Tag Archives: Family

Signs and remembering

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There are things. Things that remind me of the past or a person. Very occasionally a smell or some music. In this case there is no smell nor music but just a sight.

Sometimes it is unexpected. I catch my breath. Like this morning.

The sight was something like this:

OK so not quite as nice as this one pictured – but you get the idea.

My maternal grandmother loved Magnolia. I think it was her favourite and they had one in front of their bungalow, right outside the lounge windows. And it is still there, outside the bungalow. We passed by the bungalow when I was boring F to death with the ‘….and this was where…..’ stuff last year when we went to the UK for the wedding. I didn’t really understand, all that time ago, because it had no smell (and I liked flowers with smell). However, my last house in the UK had one because I put one in. You don’t see them so often and they only seem to flower for a few weeks but they are glorious. And they are, of course, a reminder that spring is here. The only problem in the UK was that you were as likely as not to have a frost which would kill the blooms immediately. Here it is much less likely.

And, so, I was reminded of both her and, by association, my maternal grandfather whom regular readers will know, I loved very much.

And it was a nice thought on this fine, slightly-not-cold, spring morning and I thought I would tell you.

More or less, God

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In this case it was as I got out of the shower.

Usually, these crazy thoughts occur when I’m under the shower.

A realisation came to me. It was, kind of, about my father but it could be anyone. And, in some way, it was about me. No, not in some way. It WAS about me. It was a bit like a waking dream, dreaming whilst I am awake which, in any case, is a mute point since, at that time in the morning, there is a blurring between being fully awake and fully asleep.

Anyway, back to the point of this. I realised that, those people whom we put up on a pedestal and think that they ‘know’ everything are, in fact, like me. I mean to say, they may know something or some things really well and in depth – but they don’t, in spite of what we think, know everything.

When you are a child, your parents are like gods. They know everything. Except, of course, they don’t. They know more than you. That’s really not difficult. As you grow older and learn more, you start to question their knowledge, their experience. Or, at least, I did. I also questioned their values since my experiences and my knowledge suggested that their values weren’t shared by me, aren’t shared by me.

Their place is usurped by others – who, again, know more than you. Until your increased knowledge and experience makes you realise that, in fact, these new people don’t really know more than you, have not really experienced more than you. Or, rather, may have experienced more than you but in different ways or have different experiences. People’s knowledge on certain subjects may be more than yours. That doesn’t make them god-like.

And then you get to my age and you realise that no-one knows like you do. They may know more than you do about a thing but in something else they know less. They may have experience in some things but they don’t have your experience.

In fact, no-one has your knowledge and your experience. How can they? It doesn’t matter who they are.

This fact does not make you a god either. Unless we are all gods, in which case it does.

But, it’s an interesting change in perspective.

It doesn’t mean that other people don’t deserve your respect. Indeed, in my opinion, all people deserve your respect as they have knowledge that you don’t and have experienced a different life to you. It doesn’t mean they can’t lose that respect if they turn out to be idiots or jerks. But they deserve a reserved respect …… just in case.

Of course, as I stepped out of the shower and dried myself, all these thoughts I have written down didn’t fill my head, exactly.

No, what I started thinking was that I didn’t know everything and hadn’t experienced everything and that’s how it must have been for my father when, at the age of 5 or 6, I thought he DID know everything and HAD experienced everything. And I wondered if he thought the same as I, even when I was thinking he was, more or less, God?

Italian or British? Who is which?

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“Have you two had a fight?”

I explained that no, as yet, we’ve never really had a fight (apart from last summer, at the start of our holidays). I explain that he’s just stressed.

We had been there a little while, waiting for him. He had had to wait for his washing machine to finish. It leaks from a hose somewhere and so he has to stay to mop up from time to time. So, it was almost 9.30 before he arrived. And, when he arrived, he was on the phone and seemed angry and didn’t say anything to me and so they thought that we had fought.

But I know him well enough now and know he is not pissed with me. When he comes back to the table he tells me who was on the phone. They were talking about the funeral in the UK that will be held next Friday. He tells me he is not going to go. I have mixed feelings about this and none of them selfish. On the one hand, he should go as I think he may regret it later. This was, at least for 11 years, his father-in-law. On the other hand, he is so busy right now, that even a two-day trip to the UK will throw everything into disarray for him.

He tells me it is because S would feel like he would have to look after F and S will be busy himself, given that it’s his father’s funeral and so he will be unable to look after F as he would like. But it is more complicated than that.

Next week he has several places to go and one is Venice, so a night away. The following week is a full week in Germany. So a trip in the middle of this to the UK would just add to his feeling of stress.

In the lift, on the way back to my flat, he informs me that he is working both on Saturday and Sunday.

I say how sorry I am. Again, there is nothing selfish in this. I am sorry for him. He really needs the rest.

During the meal, last night, for some reason I now forget, it came up about the end of him and S. Apparently it was not a good ending. And it went on for some time. It’s part of the reason that he doesn’t want to ‘go there’ again. And I do ‘get it’ even if I don’t agree with it. And I don’t. But it explains some more things. It explains the way he is.

At one point he tells the colleague we are with that he keeps home and work seperate. He doesn’t talk to me about his work – good or bad. He doesn’t take his personal life into work, he says. Although, of course, he does, he just doesn’t realise it.

But I thought about him and how stressed and uptight he gets about things.

I thought, “but this isn’t what I expected from an Italian.

An Italian should be more relaxed and easy-going. An Italian shouldn’t get this uptight”.

And I wondered if, in fact, this uptightedness was more of a universal thing and not just confined to the British. Or if, with me being more laid back than he is, we hadn’t, somehow, got trapped in the wrong country when we were born. Is he Italian or British? I mean to say, is he more British than Italian? Am I more Italian than British?

As one could say he was a little more anally retentive than your average Italian (unless they are all like this and I just didn’t realise). But, perhaps, the British shouldn’t be portrayed as they are?

He says that “the problem with English people is that they don’t tell you the truth”. I am included in this. It’s not that we lie, it’s just that we don’t say it like it is and nor do we give our true feelings.

I think we call them white lies. These aren’t true lies, of course. These are things said so that you don’t hurt people’s feelings. Like – “you look lovely in that dress”, etc.

Perhaps they don’t have them in Italy? White lies, that is.

Do they?

Just an old woman who is dying

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I don’t really know why I did it.

I suppose it was mild curiosity as to where she was now.  I mean to say, she must have moved on.  It started when I ‘liked’ or commented on her friend’s, H, status or something. It made me think about her and where she might be. And, so I looked.

Her ‘wall’ gave regular updates. We are in so-and-so. We are sailing to so-and-so. I didn’t recognise the names anyway. Is she still in Australia? There was a mention of Fiji (is that near Australia?). I can’t look these things up. Too much like stalking. To weird.

There’s a ‘conversation’ between her and her niece. Is she (the niece) looking forward to going to stay with her nan, to look after her?

Of course, I have to find out which nan. I have to know what had happened. If she’s the one I suspect, she’ll be about 74 now, I guess, if my memory serves correctly.

I find out. There’s another conversation with other people. There’s been a fall. Something to do with an operation, a hip, a replacement, perhaps? So it IS her. The niece has to look after her for a while after she comes out of hospital. For sure, it means her husband is already dead. I was right. That doesn’t make me happy but, then, it doesn’t make me unhappy either. It just IS.

In doing all this, reading all this, I feel a sort of thrill. I can’t explain it. I don’t feel any real emotion but it’s like I’m spying and so I get this kind of thrill.

It crosses my mind that she might do the same thing. Through her friend (as otherwise nothing shows up – not that I put that much on there anyway – a few photos but nothing of any real interest – my security settings are tight and limit most people as to what they can see – except friends, of course). But her friend could see some things, I suppose. The photos, if nothing else. It gives an indication, I suppose.

I wonder how she is – after the fall and the operation and the new hip – but not in a connected way. It’s all detached. It’s like a reality show. A reality show in slow motion. No television, no pictures, just a few words from time to time.

Of course, it got me to thinking. What happens when she’s close to death? Maybe she already is? Will she ask her daughter to find me? Not if what her husband once said was true. She didn’t want to know ….. apparently. But, if she dies, will her daughter try to contact me anyway? Or is that door now closed. Will I feature in the will? I doubt it and, anyway, if I did, it wouldn’t be so much. I’m not that important – not after all this time.

I go through the steps that will happen. Her daughter makes a friend request. Or her friend, H, contacts me.

Do I accept? Well, why not?

Then, when we are ‘friends’ she send me a message: Mum wants to see you. I reply: Why? or Why now?

It goes blurred at that point. Do I go or do I stay? I want to be nasty but, also, in my head, I should be nice. After all, she’s nearly gone. She’s already nearly gone in my head whether this be true in ‘real life’ or not.

The meeting, should there be one, is not clear. Only one line from me.

“But, you’re just an old woman – an old woman that I don’t know who is dying”.

But since all of this is in my head none of this will happen. Anyway, she might live like the Queen Mother did – for years yet. But the fact that, probably, no certainly, none of this will happen is a relief, to be honest.

After all, this is just some old woman that I don’t know who is dying.

Could I possibly tempt you with a banana?

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“Have a banana”. Actually, it was almost a question.

“No thanks, Bampa”, I would reply. Well, normally.

It was a thing he always said. It was after a meal and it was always a banana. I wonder if that’s why I like bananas?

I was reminded of this talking to Al, a colleague.

He said that his parents were at his house doing cleaning and stuff. They hadn’t told him they were going to get there early to do this stuff because he would have said no. And so it led on to the fact that often, when we say no, we mean yes but are just being polite.

Except that when my grandfather said it, I was usually full and could not have eaten a banana. I even wonder why it was always a banana?

More differences in the after-death

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In my last post, I forgot something else that I have just found out!

It seems that, after a certain period of time, the cemeteries dig up the remains of a person and re-bury the bones (or whatever is left) with other members of the family! This saves space, obviously.

I’m almost certain that this does not happen in the UK although I’m hoping someone will tell me if it does.

I am aware that, sometimes, some very old graves, no longer tended and, maybe over 100 years old are, sometimes, ‘recycled’ and the ground used for new graves but not digging up remains of close relatives of people still living!

It is a strange place, Italy :-)

But it led me to think about my Nan. She was very involved in the local life. She was, for quite a while, a councillor on the local council, she was in the WI, she was one of the people, on a rota, for doing the flowers at the church.

The church, a medieval structure, sits on a hill top overlooking the beautiful Herefordshire countryside. To get to it, you used to have to drive through a farmyard (although now there is a ‘ring road’ of sorts to get to it). In the past, the farm was the only building near it although now, possibly because of the ‘ring road’, there are some cottages nearby.

If we were staying with her, we would go to the church on the Saturday with her. She would do the flowers. Whilst she was there, she would also tend three or four graves. The graves were special. Two were for her parents. Her parents died in their early sixties. She was about twenty-one. They both died not long before her marriage – to my grandfather. She didn’t get married in white as a result but, rather, in a red flapper dress with sequins. It wasn’t the ‘done thing’ to marry in white if you were still in mourning for your parents.

One of the other graves was a small grave nearby. It was for a sister that she never knew. From what I understand, this sister was born before her and was either a stillbirth or died within a short time. In any event, her mother was very old (even now it is considered old – in 1908 it must have been very unusual to have a child in your forties) at the time of both births.

My grandparents are both buried in the churchyard although, as is customary these days, they were cremated so are in a small ‘garden’ dedicated to this purpose. When F and I went over last year, I dragged him to the church and showed him the graves of them all – finding the ones of my Nan’s sister and parents was not difficult, having been to them so often in the past.

Of course, they are all overgrown and uncared for now (those old graves), difficult to read. No flowers at them like there used to be when my Nan put fresh flowers every couple of weeks.

Eventually, I suppose, the land will be ‘reclaimed’ for new graves and the stones will be gone. And, anyway, maybe I am the last person to know where they are and any story that is behind them?

I attach a picture of the church (the photograph having been taken, more or less, in the position of the graves I mentioned):

And one that looks similar to (but is not) the area where the graves are located:

Stop looking for your soulmate

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For those of you who have been reading this blog over the last 2 years or so, you will know that, having thought I had found my soulmate, I found that I hadn’t, apparently. At the end of it I thought that, given my age and, having already done it all twice before, I wouldn’t even be able to find someone else to live with but then I changed my mind. I decided that I DID need to be with someone and that there had to be someone out there, somewhere, who was looking for me. I did the internet dating thing to save myself having to go to bars and clubs, seeing it, as I do, as an alternative to those social places.

I was determined. I don’t know that I ever thought I would find my soulmate or, even, if that was important. What was important was to find the ‘person for me’. I had some preconceived ideas about who that would be. The criteria narrowed after a short while. They couldn’t be too young nor too old. In the end I found someone and, to be honest, that someone was a surprise and (partially) unexpected. But I remain intrigued about how people find their soulmates and, even, if that really exists or if it is your soulmate but only for a period of time (that period being undetermined and indeterminable).

I remember my sister. She, as I told her more than once, always tried too hard. Her criteria, it seemed, was always non-existent. If they moved and were male it was enough. Now I look back on that as probably her trying to hard to be straight and conform, since she has a girlfriend now.

I was at a friend’s house on Sunday. She is setting up this internet dating lark. She is very clear. She doesn’t expect to find the perfect man on the internet – only to determine exactly what she DOES want. To be able to refine her criteria. But, I wonder, is she just saying that?

Anyway, I was interested to read this:

Relationship gurus expend enormous amounts of energy debating whether “opposites attract” or, conversely, whether “birds of a feather flock together” – largely, it seems, without stopping to reflect on whether relying on cheesy proverbs might be, more generally, a bad way to think about the complexities of human attraction. Should you look for a partner whose characteristics match yours, or complement yours? The conclusion of the Pair Project, a long-term study of married couples by the University of Texas, is, well, neither, really. “Compatibility”, whether you think of it as similarity or complementarity, just doesn’t seem to have much to do with a relationship’s failure or success, according to the project’s founder, Ted Huston: the happiness of a marriage just isn’t much correlated with how many likes, dislikes or related characteristics a couple does or doesn’t share. Compatibility does play one specific role in love, he argues: when couples start worrying about whether they’re compatible, it’s often the sign of a relationship in trouble. “We’re just not compatible” really means, “We’re not getting along.” “Compatibility” just means things are working out. It simply renames the mystery of love, rather than explaining it.

According to the US psychologist Robert Epstein, that’s because a successful relationship is almost entirely built from within. (He cites evidence from freely entered arranged marriages, arguing that they work out more frequently than the unarranged kind.) All that’s really required is two people committed to giving things a shot. Spending years looking for someone with compatible qualities may be – to evoke another cheesy proverb – a classic case of putting the cart before the horse.

For F, of course, his most ‘successful’ previous relationship was with a blue-eyed, English, Taurean. He cites this often as if to explain why he is with me. He is saying that it is ‘inevitable’ that we would be together. Conversely, of course, it could also be inevitable that we will split up!

I look for things that we like ‘together’ and find few. I worry that we don’t have enough in common, the most obvious being my love of all food whereas he is so picky. As I said to my friend (mentioned above), if F and I had met in some bar or club, I’m not sure that either of us would have given the other a second look. We met only because we had chatted for some time first.

Yes, the pictures I saw of him – he was sexy. But, mainly, he was funny – he had the ability to make me laugh and feel better. He still does and may it long continue.

As his friend R said, he was ‘ready’ when we met. So was I. We both wanted the same thing and so, together, we can get the same thing from each other.

And, I suppose, that’s why V and I split up. We no longer wanted the same things. F is not V in any way. V wasn’t M in any way. F and M are not similar either. Being compatible or not seems, as it says, to be unimportant as to whether it works or not. You (both) just have to WANT it more than anything and be prepared to step off the deep end and see how it goes.

And that, together with making those small sacrifices to make your partner happy seem to be the only requisites to have a happy and loving relationship – for however long that lasts.

For the above ‘piece of advice’ plus other tips (that can replace your New Year’s resolutions) go here and enjoy :-)

Clear and concise thinking come with a hangover from hell

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For those of you who don’t drink alcohol, I guess you’ve never had this.  That moment when you wake up, your brain seemingly turned to some sort of half mush and having grown so that it is attempting to expand your skull.  The woolliness of thought and motion as you try to grapple with even the simplest of tasks, including rising from the bed in the first place.

Ah yes, the painful joy of knowing that last night was a ‘great night, wasn’t it?’  Maybe the mixing of drinks didn’t help?

And, inevitably, there is the ‘Oh my God!  What did I say/do that for?’  An embarrassment that surely, next time, will make you stop just one glass of wine or can of beer earlier.  That ‘never again’ feeling.

Except that, on Thursday morning, at around 4 a.m., when I woke up with all these symptoms, the thoughts of guilt and shame did not stem from the night before when I did not say or do anything untoward.  No these horrors that I foisted on the rest of my associates/friends/relatives happened around 30 years ago!  Worse still, I wasn’t drunk.  at least not from alcohol.  From youth and lack of knowledge, perhaps.

And, as can only happen during the mother of all hangovers, this was particularly clear and concise thinking that led me to understand what a hopeless bastard I was at that time and that the things I did then (for this particular ‘problem’) were really juvenile to the extreme.  And it made me wonder that, if I had approached and reacted to the situation differently, would it have made any difference to my life, to the path that my life has taken?

Probably not.  And, even if I should have behaved so very badly, I still stand by the things I said and did – although maybe now I could have said things is a more meaningful way and done things slightly differently.  And I also realised that enormous sway that they held over me at that time, for I was young – too young and unable to handle anything with real maturity.

However, the effect on me of these thoughts was the same as if I had acted terribly the night before and woken up with my befuddled brain to be appalled with the antics I had carried out the previous night and filled with shame over whom I may have offended with such outrageous behaviour.

But not quite.  For, as it was 30 years ago, I cannot remember it so precisely.  And I forgive myself as, in any event, things are as they are.  One little incident would not have made such a huge difference either way.  But it would be interesting to see the parallel universe and see how things turned out by a change in my behaviour.

Don’t you think?

Serious training required

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“I want a new baby”, he says. He is slightly drunk. I love him when he’s drunk. He’s more affectionate and also quite funny.

“You mean a puppy?”, I ask.

It seems ‘yes’. “We shall have to talk about the training first”, I state.

Of course, I don’t mean the puppy training. The puppy training is not a problem. I mean the ‘F training’. Of course, I don’t actually specify that. He thinks it’s the puppy training. There will also have to be less of the ‘can you take them out tonight’ or ‘do you mind if I don’t come’ lines. However, one thing at a time. And, anyway, it’s not happening before Rufus goes. Three, as I found out one time, are just so much more work.

We had been out with the ex-parents-in-law to al Grigliaro, a predominately fish restaurant, not far from our flats. F knew it because, when they are busy with the showroom sales and working till late in the evening, they sometimes go there as a group.

And, the staff know F, which is always a good thing as we get a much better service and, usually, a discount off the bill.

I asked him, as we were walking down to it, why he had changed his mind about me coming, since it was a complete about-turn and I was interested as to why the change of mind.

“I rang S”, he says, adding “and he said ‘of course you should take Andy'”. And, so, here we were walking down to another restaurant I hadn’t tried before.

It is another Sardinian restaurant but nothing like the same as Baia Chia. For one thing, this is not as ‘rustic’ as Baia Chia. There is more room and many more tables. It is also more expensive. We wait outside for M and S. They are from the Manchester area. I have my expectations of what they will look like and what they will be like. They are, of course, not really anything like I expected.

They are very nice, middle-class, people from the North. They know, of course, that we are not just ‘friends’ as F had said. But, then, S is their son and, no doubt told them that F had a new boyfriend. But, later, when F and I went out for a cigarette after the main course, I learnt of actually ‘why’ F was a little concerned.

They had met some time after S & F split up. They went out for a dinner. Apparently M (S’s mother) started crying and asking if S & F would get back together. He was worried about the same thing happening; or her being disappointed with him being with someone other than S; or something like that, I guess.

In typical Italian style, the restaurant was very brightly lit. The tables and chairs were OK but nothing special. The food however, was really lovely and the service very, very good. S didn’t eat shellfish (and was a bit of a finicky eater anyway). F asked the waiter (owner’s son) to bring us a selection of antipasto, mainly hot but also a little of the cold antipasto.

Plate after plate came. Some poached salmon, anchovies with a celery and ginger sauce; octopus with tiny courgette-type vegetables, squid with a rich, creamy, tomato sauce and polenta, prawns with artichoke, etc. For cold it was rather large prawns (that blue colour that looks as if it was someone who spent a little too long outside in freezing conditions), clams and, my favourite, oysters.

We chatted about many things and I asked appropriate questions, as one does. They were very nice people. And they were obviously pleased to see F had someone, probably, particularly, as they will have already met S’s new American boyfriend.

By the time we had finished the antipasto, none of us were really hungry. We decided to have three portions of fish (one of each poached, pan-fried and grilled) and split them between the four of us. The best was the grilled branzino – as branzino is, by far, my favourite fish.

We drank two bottles of very nice white wine. We had sweets. We had mirto which they had never had before and they brought the rest of the bottle, which we finished.

It went well. We are meeting them again tonight. Also, probably, A who is over from London again, for work. Tonight we shall go to Baia Chia.

As we are going up in the lift, with him slightly drunk, leaning on me and wanting cuddles, is when he said he wanted another ‘baby’. I know it is true, even if he is not there all the time (having to travel – even more now, probably, for work).

But, as I say, there will have to be some serious ‘F training’ for it to work :-D

On being uncomfortable.

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“I’m worried that it will be uncomfortable for them”, he says.

Yes, I can see that he’s worried but I wonder if the ‘uncomfortableness’ won’t really be his.  It isn’t about explaining who I am since no explanation will (probably) be necessary.  No, it’s the fact that I would be there.

“Do what you feel in your heart”, I say.  He feels like I shouldn’t go.  I tell him that that is what he really feels (for he won’t say it). He agrees. “Then I won’t go.  It’s not a problem”.  And it isn’t.  And I understand.  After all, I didn’t go and see V’s parents when we went over to the UK for almost the same reason.  My thought was ‘What do I do with F’.  The choices were to leave him for a few hours (but that was unfair) or take him but I felt that was unfair on both him and them and so I avoided it and didn’t go.

So, I really do understand and I really don’t mind.

So, tonight, he will be going out with them. They want to eat fish. I think he was genuinely unhappy that I wasn’t going to be there. He, at one point, said he would phone S to see what he thought. I’m sure S would have said to take me – but I know that, even then, he would have been concerned.

It makes me think that this was one of the reasons it took so long to go down and see his family. Maybe he thought it would become difficult. As it was, me being on my best behaviour and all, it was all easy. As this would be too – but he has to have the confidence in me that would permit him to take me anywhere and meet anyone. He will learn and it will all be OK in the end and, at the end of the day, however nice they may be, I don’t actually need to meet the ex-parents-in-law :-).

UPDATE: Sometime later in the afternoon.

He’s taken the ‘babies’ for a wash and brush up.  He phones me to tell me that I will be angry with him for they have shaved Rufus’ head (well, his snout, actually).  He is worried.  I say it’s fine but I want pictures.  He doesn’t want to do that.

Then I get an email of photos.

We exchange emails.

Then he says – ‘We are going to a new restaurant tonight – Al Griglia’.  This is with his ex-parents-in-law.  I reply saying that I’m sure it will be nice.  I add; Will I see you tonight before you go or are you coming back to my place?’

He replies that he will bring the babies back home to mine about 6.30 (they are in the office with him), then go and get ready and then I can come to his and we go from there.

I am, a little, surprised.  I thought we had agreed that I wouldn’t be coming.  I say so.  He says no, I am coming too.  It’s difficult to explain that, even though this is all by email, he seems happier about it all – or maybe that’s just my projection.  Or maybe it’s because I really didn’t mind and was so understanding, last night?  Or he has spoken to S?

What is quite funny is that he doesn’t say or ask me directly – just puts in an email that I should come to his place at 8.30 and we would go from there!  He makes me laugh and that’s one of the reasons I love him so.  More exciting than anything else is the new restaurant.  I’ve checked on the Internet and they do fish and meat (yay!).  It seems it is a Sardinian restaurant.  I will let you know.