Hey, Google!

J has always kept up an up-to-date household. Me, not so much, but he has always been on the ball with gadgets. We had a ‘Home PC’ since 1982 and all the upgrades since, and we were first on the block with a video player. Oh yes, we were. We’ve run the gamut of giant video cameras propped on the shoulder, all the way down to dinky things that made us laugh that we ever toted the camera bags around on holiday in ‘the old days’. Now it's all on the phone of course, although I like my wee point and shoot, digital camera. We had the best stereo players (still have our fandabidosy Sony one from the ‘70s although it’s up in the loft). Then the stereo towers got smaller and smaller until we ended with a wall-hung B&O model that I still very much like. I’m not in a hurry to change my giant, deep-backed B&O television as I know and like the interface it uses, but he has the flat screen in 'his room', where he keeps all his DAT tapes and player, plus ancient LPs and CDs and all he needs to still listen to them (and all 'his' books despite the e-reader he has).  

He took a while to get into mobile phones, but is now hooked of course, and knows how to do stuff with them that I can only imagine. I do like that we can turn on lights while we’re away, or have the central heating turn on for us coming home, from the train. All via the phone.

The latest doodad makes us all very ‘Space Odyssey..y'. Took a while to see the use in the thing, and it’s not completely ‘SMART’ compatible (so for instance, doesn’t close the curtains remotely - leaving aside the fact we don’t have any) but it is quite the handy thing for asking questions you want the answer to, and of course, listening to music! Who needs a stereo of any description, or CDs (or LPs for that matter) nowadays?

However, the hilarity of getting it to actually do what you want is, alone, almost worth the price. We’re not quite speaking with HAL yet, and to be honest, I rarely approach the thing at all, but when you get it right, it is good. It’s just that, we don’t always get it right. This is an example of how it goes.

J: Google, please play xx by xx (no reaction, you have to say Hey Google).

J: Ffs (only, not as an acronym)… Hey Google, please play xx by xx.

G: Sure, playing abc by xyz on Spotify.

J: No, not abc, I said xx by xx! (music by total unknown plays on as you have to say Hey Google, stop, first).

J: Google stop. (music plays on… I interject with ‘say hey!’)

J: Hey Google, (schnagglefaggleskwatchsplutter) play xx by xx ffs (music plays on, he’s still not said ‘hey google, stop’ first).

J: (speaking loud and articulate, like 2 inches from the thing) Google, play xx by xx (music plays on).

J. Arghgh! Hey Google, stop! Hey Google, will you please just bloody play xx by xx. Any time you like!

G: Sure, playing xx by xx on a Spotify playlist.

J: Thank you. At last! (no reaction, because of course you have to say…)

J: Hey Google, volume down please (no response because ‘it’ (she?) can’t hear him and we’re bouncing off the walls!

J. (back to 2 inches away) Hey Google, lower the volume please (volume lowers).

So we’re ten minutes further and we finally can listen to whoever it is he has requested. And then it stops after one number because he didn’t ask for the album, and it just played one track. 

It’s smashing like, great sound (I do hear it with my CI and HA on), but I can’t help thinking we need some kind of improvement to the voice recognition.

When the boys are over, it’s a constant ‘hey Google…’ with them asking it questions as well as playing daft Dutch stuff), which is great fun but ‘she’ doesn’t always understand Dutch as is tuned to UK English and IF they use English they have a dutch accent (and a Scottish accent throws things out of kilter too). And that’s another thing! I don’t like this beatch in her English accent, saying ‘sure’ to me all the time!! ‘Shoa, hee’s xx by xx …’ Grrrr.

All this is not even exaggerated. Well, maybe a bit… but not a lot. Still, he got one for upstairs, ‘for when the boys are over’ and a rival one for in his room.

We now also have another one of the things (the rival version, called Echo) that he listens to before falling asleep in bed. Which I don’t even know is on (deaf). That one also replaces our radio alarm, which I never hear anyway and tend to wake up before it goes off, which is good, because when I don't, I barely hear it but it has him almost hitting the ceiling when it turns on, so loud. I only know that Echo is doing anything at all, from a wee light that whirls around, and I know to just say Echo stop, to shut it down. All mod cons, me!

I like it, I do, and with four of the feckers in the house, we are still up there with the Jones’ I’m sure, but I think I like my ‘retro’ record player better and will stick to that when doing the ironing. The wait is now on the 'rivals' rising up in the battle of the robots and taking over this asylum, so I'm keeping them on-side for now.

Knickers to that!

Knickers eh? What a strange garment.

I was contemplating them... as you do... and the more I looked at the various sizes folded neatly on my shelf there, the more the mind boggled at the whole industry that has arisen over the years, around just that (relatively) small item. It's big business, from the six pairs for a tenner made in some horrible dungeon in India, to one tiny bit of fluff for... oooh, way too much!... made in some horrible dungeon in India. (Well, who knows!)

It's a fairly modern bit of apparel by all accounts and used to be very 'sensible', going on the examples still to be found from Victorian days. Imagine if your knickers were to be on display in a museum. Arghgh. Big giant bloomers, originally crotchless too. I suppose the long gowns worn at the time kept the drafts off. I do wonder why anyone would want antique knickers of any persuasion from any previous owner, even if she was the Queen. 2nd-hand of any age do not appeal to me one bit! I suppose it's handy, for historical purposes if nothing else. Bras, I can see, sure. Knickers... not so much. 'If they're not new, they're not for you!'

There was no such thing as knicker elastic in those days either so, untying when you've a long gown on top... hmmm, makes sense to be open to the elements so you don't have to do that. So now I'm imagining the horrors of the easily-tripped-over hems on grand staircases with legs akimbo, head over heels... bad enough nowadays, with crotches intact! Not counting the risque crotchless affairs available.

I remember when first married, we had two old age pensioners in the flats below and they shared the same drying green with us. Old Maggie used to rail at us about old Janet with her dainties hanging out for all to see... 'You can't tell me she wears them!' she'd rant. 'They're just for show! Do you see the size of them?' They were indeed of the rather tiny variety, and given the age, not to mention shape, of Janet, they were on the small size. You can't know though. How would we know?! Though Maggie did have a point, there was no finding out for sure. It was hilarious listening to the rants, I have to say. Discussing your neighbour's ludicrous, knicker-wearing habits has to be up there with the best of comical memories. Aaah, good times.

Myself, I've never taken to those string affairs... thongs, whatever they're called. I know plenty wear them, but have never seen the attraction. I suppose they can look good on a beach but the examples of actually attractive derierres are few and far between... let's be honest here. Not worth the horrors that are displayed with impunity... and man, but they're uncomfortable (I did try). I really don't see the point of them and dread to think what the neighbours would say if they saw them hanging out on my line!

I will admit to, fairly recently, still buying the ones that are just too bloody wee. I mean, they fit, sure, but they don't... cover. Ye cannae tuck yer vest in! I've finally capitulated though, and will no longer subject myself to the discomfort of anything but nice, comfy BIG pants. You can get them nice now too! You can! 

They do look horrendous on the line, I agree. Even I can hold them up in disbelief that 'these are mine?!' but I'm now that pensioner neighbour that Maggie was wont to ridicule behind her back and really, what IS the point of flaunting wee bits of lace and elastic that merely make you look ridiculous - and are uncomfortable to boot?

I am at peace with myself that there will be no more 'dance of the seven veils' at the bottom of the bed. Comical as it was to start with, it didn't used to make him want to poke his eyes out like it does now. So, the tiny knicks really are history... or at least will be when the currect supply runs out. I don't see any of my cast-offs turning up in a museum display cabinet in the year 2345, but then again, I won't be around to complain about it so, fire ahead you historians.

I do have some nice ones, damn it though. I'll probably never even get through all of them because, as is usual, I tend to keep rewearing the newly-washed comfies until they wear out, which isn't fast, not really, and the wee useless things stay unworn at the bottom of the pile. Then I buy new ones. I think the trick is to combine 'giant' with 'pretty' with 'practical' with 'comfy'. They do exist, and not all of them are extortionately priced, so I'm golden for a whiley yet.

So. This was not to gross anyone one about the thought of my knicker collection, but just to get it off my chest about one of the luxury problems we women all face at some point in our lives. There are more pressing problems in the world, I do realise, but I have little or no say about most of them. 

I feel so free now... almost like I'm not wearing knickers.

The Old Days

I had been thinking, as you do, of ‘the old days’.

Now, that’s a loaded phrase really, as it means different things to different people and what’s old to one, is really, REALLY old to another (although at my age, living witnesses to that much older are thin on the ground)… But also, not all THAT old to yet another. It’s the nature of things.

For instance, when I see the likes of The Old Grey Whistle Test repeated on the telly… that looks so dated and so long ago, and then Top of The Pops repeating stuff from… the 90s… what? That’s not long ago? I don’t even KNOW that stuff! Hah! And yet that generation look on it as 'history' already. Funny how music does play such a role.

Things in the world are definitely different to when I was a kid though. I only just make the cut and can’t say, in wee quivery old granny voice, ‘there were no tellies when I was wee’… but only just. The one we had was the iconic giant wooden box with small screen.

I remember too when we got an ‘automatic’ washing machine that superseded the washhouse. It was a weird-looking thing, noisy and a bit of a stood-in-the-way item. We used a clothes pulley to dry the washing too, which is quite the chic item to have nowadays, great to hang dried flowers on for instance… haha, the very idea. I still would rather like one for clothes to be fair. Funny thinking of it hanging over our heads in the kitchen.

It’s more in my adult life though, that I notice the huge changes in the world. Of course, things always change, but when you think of videotape players not even being around when your kids were small, the mind boggles. We were the first in our neighbourhood to have one, and this huge thing would be handed around, house to house, for others to have a go on it. Imagine! A Walkman… man, it was so small compared to the huge cassette player I had bought him ten years previously and which was lugged around faithfully just the same. Then DVD players… and those minidisc things… home computers for goodness sakes… we bought them all early, for a fortune every time. It’s all on our phones now, and more, and it all costs less!

How things are done changes too of course. I know the world is a different place, but my ‘hen night’ was a boozy mistake of a party. One night ending in a pile of puke, shortly before my wedding day, and I know all my friends did the same. Now, it’s weekends in Prague, or a week on Ibiza! I couldn’t have contemplated that. ‘Newly weds’ are often late 30s… older… with whole lives behind them and they have already lived together for years or have kids, perhaps even together, before marriage is even mentioned. Even younger ones wouldn’t dream of moving into a house without having, well, everything, first. Some things are better right enough.

Music changes too. I remember as a teenager, the phrase ‘it’ll never take the place of music’ being said about a favourite ‘album’ of ours, by ‘the older generation’. How we laughed. Look now… I cannot get my head around some of the stuff they call ‘music’ now and it will never take the place of music! It’s like, what goes around, comes around. But our music was the best. Said our parents.

I can appreciate loads of music from before my generation I just often find myself unable to follow new stuff at all, and yet kids belt it out… you see them at filmed concerts, and the new ‘stars’ of today have just as huge followings as the stars did when we were kids. The musicians of my generation (yes, I hear myself saying it, bah) are still great musicians though. I just cannot imagine anyone getting nostalgic for techno though! Mind you, I can’t differentiate one track from another, nor one ‘producer’ from the other, and I know people can.

Nostalgia eh? We’ve managed to see most of our ‘heroes’ live in concert, if not at the time we first knew them, then at silver, hell, golden anniversary tours, and they were (are) still great although I prefer it if the likes of Jagger doesn’t jump around as he used to... really too old. But I still hear myself say ‘these new fly-by-nights will never be having reunion tours’… followed by headline news of ‘Take That’ already doing similar (for instance, and they were my kids’ generation). It won’t happen with the new, new ones though! Will it?

I honestly think, if the dead could come back (never mind The Rapture, just plain old visiting) they would run back to wherever they came from. Everything gets faster, louder, crasser, cheaper, madder, ruder… All. The. Time. And doesn’t look to be slowing down any time soon. Despite lockdowns and viruses. Will there be a limit? Or will it all go ‘retro’ at some point?

I do try to keep up. I’m not in my box yet. And yet, there seems to come a point when you just turn into the old person that says ‘remember when…’ all the time. This all may or may not have to do with me researching things on genealogy sites and ‘finding’ evidence of direct family from way back, who couldn’t have imagined the world of today in their wildest dreams. Even my parents were around long before regular flights abroad were ‘normal’ (never mind even considered for hen nights!).

So hold on to your hats you young things. It’s going to be a wild ride… assuming us lot leave enough of the planet around for you to ride on.

Positive

I have to be more positive.

All this Covid shite - it’s hard to see the good side to that, though. There isn’t a good side to that!

Mind you, there are nice little news items of people helping people. Selflessly like. Of course, there are nice things out there, uplifting stuff. Just need to be more open to it. All the clapping for nurses is long gone I noticed.

Never realised this vibe of negativity before. That’s not me. I’m a wee ray o’ sunshine, me! Am I not?

Apparently not. Well, that’s depressing! I don’t want to be contributing to anyone else’s ‘hard times’ so… have to think. Have to just be more positive. Now that I’m confronting myself with this, it turns out to be harder than I’ve ever imagined it to be. I’m a ‘glass half full’ kind of gal, me. I am!

I’m the one always looking for the bright side to things. Excusing really bad actions by… whoever… strangers even, as ‘must be a reason for them doing that’.

I’m the one who doesn’t get immediately mad at slights or put-downs as ‘not meant that way’… I’m always looking for the positives. I’m not cynical at all. Am I? Have I become so?

Maybe it’s an age thing? Accounting for all the grumpy old folks out there hah! Maybe even the happiest person gets cut down with the mounting pile of pure badness in the world, the longer they live?

Wait though, this is not being positive, this is looking for crap stuff and reasons for miserableness.  Okay. Right. Positive. Think fairies and unicorns and rainbows and wee baby toes and cute grandkids and Christmas coming and ‘next year will be good' and… sure, even the news does the ‘happy last item’ to cheer folks up after half an hour or so of gloom and doom. 

Right. It’s autumn, the place is looking lovely with the sun shining down today, leaves turning all shades of gorgeous and (dead hedgehogs aside) that should be enough to cheer anyone up. Even if you’re sick… with the Covid. Or if you’re stuck in hospital having just broken a hip, like the old neighbour, or… no, going wrong again.

This is hard! Positive, positive. Count my blessings, sure. That helps. There are many, I do know it. I’m still in love, know I’m loved, have a lovely family all round, all healthy, all doing well. Fabulous grandkids, can’t see some because of Covid… but no, not that… all doing great at school. We’re in good health, sun is shining… damn, said that already. Covid, Covid, Covid is all I keep returning to right now.

Seriously, it taints everything. Instead of ‘can’t travel yet’, maybe I should say, ‘we’ll be able to travel soon’? See the wee spin I put on that? Is that not just trying to fool myself though? No, no, I’m just bucking myself up. I’ll need to watch that though, can’t be going around with blinkers to the shit-storm that is the world right now. Or maybe I should think of that as ‘a world in crisis which is on the way to being a better place for all!’ There you go!

See, I can do it. I honestly think this is quite new for me, this ‘sounding negative’ but do think it’s also to do with waking up, somewhat. Finally waking up to the fact… fact!... that not everyone is a nice person, even if you do try to believe it until stamped-on-your-face-proven. I think, too, that I blame the Big Orange Creep that troubled the world for far too long recently. And his Blow Job of a counterpart this side of the Atlantic. We’ve all been bombarded with their horribleness for so long it’s a wonder the world still exists at all. If they’re not the epitome of negativity and all things worrisome… well…

Goodness, that went downhill again, fast. I’m almost thinking that the most positive I can come up with is ‘I’m trying to be positive’! I will keep at it. Underneath, deep inside, I’m a positive person. Honestly. I’m thinking too, that maybe people notice it more when I’m negative (sounding) because they don’t expect it from me? Others get away with it more because it’s the way they’ve always been? My theory. All this reminds me about the likes of Robin Williams… now there’s a case in point. Comedians - spend their lives making people laugh and it turns out they’re themselves constantly deeply depressed. Did they use their humour to pull themselves through the day, or what?

I’m not depressed, not at all… wee tad despondent at various times, sure… I want to travel! I know I’m not alone there though. Especially now, we’re all in the same boat… oh don’t start me on refugees in boats. Positive, positive.

Lots of lovely people help refugees. Including the guy on trial right now, in Greece, accused of people-trafficking while only trying to help (I’m convinced!). Sure he will be vindicated. Yes, I’m sure. See I can do it. Just don’t think of why he even felt the need to go help anyway. Nope, not thinking of it.

I don’t want to just not think of things though. If everyone just shut their eyes to realities in the world where would that take us all? Bad things would happen for sure. We have folks on the ball though, right? Folks that will oh… make new vaccinations available, invent things to help the world survive climate impact, cure cancer finally... all of that. And I know the world will return to normal soon. Even if it’s a ‘new normal’. A liveable, happy, shiny world where truth and kindness prevails. We’re heading there right now. I just know we are.

I’m finishing this little essay on positivity here, on a high note, before it turns again. No, that’s not negative, shoosh you.

.....................

Addendum... not helpful, having composed this, you get a wee cartoony face at the bottom, advising you 'how your text may sound to readers'... and it's a screamy one, head all turned blue. I may just give up.

Swimmety swim swim

I’ve been and gone and done it. I’ve signed up. No getting out of it now, the monies are deducted and I’m tied to this for… months, years? When will I learn?

But no, be positive, it’s a good thing. Knowing me, if I don’t ‘sign up’, it just never will happen. This is good, this is clever, this is going to be fun.

Trying to put a positive swing on it, I rummage around in my shelves to dig out the long-hidden swimming costume. So much has not even been possible this last long while (Covid restrictions) that it hasn’t seen the light of day in ages and I’m just hoping there’s exponentially more elastic in the thing than it was probably manufactured to have. Because let’s face it, my skin has had to be… erm… elastic - ‘this last long while’ too.

It’s why I’m doing this. That, and the still-not-certain wedding coming up. I’ve tried the obvious, like ‘eat less and move more'. Turns out, you need to actually eat less and move more for any kind of difference to be made! Who knew! I’ve tried the ‘avoid eating xx’ and the ‘use this supplement (x23)’ and I even took to walking (slightly) more, but, surprise, surprise… all to no avail. The only consolation has been that my wrinkles are all puffed out so I, obvs, look younger. Fatter, but younger. Bit of a ‘you scratch my back…’ situation going on there. It’s not all doom and gloom.

So, the cozzy. Hmm. Best not to look in the mirror with the lights actually on, but it’s not too bad. Shorts to cover the worst of the ills, baggy top that, if I stand THIS way, hides those bits… hmm. Will do. It's called a two-piece, while not actually a bikini... oh, a tankini, that's it... I'm just a bit miffed at that though... who are they calling a tank?!

Anyway, we went. Fun ensued just trying to open the locker via the onboard computer (!) and I paid double for it somehow. Why you need to be tech-savvy to use a bloody pool locker is beyond me (as was how to punch in the necessary code) but with a wee smile at the guy, he fixed it for us. Between the closing and opening of said locker, we had a wee swim, a looong languish, blethering in the Jacuzzi, and another wee swim. A cuppa in the canteen ensued, once I’d found her, after sitting waiting on her for ages (I left by one door, she left by another). Next time we will be taking an actual class with exercises in the water. We might resort to ‘our relaxed method’ after trying that, but we’ll see. The idea is to move more… more than we probably did on our own.

I’ll let you know when the difference shows. I rather like the swimming pool job as you don’t get all sweaty and exhausted with it all, but I do hate getting dry in those little cubicles. There’s always a used plaster on the floor or hairs lying about and I never do get properly dry before getting dressed. Still, it’s at least doing something and it’s not expensive. Even I know there will be no miracle transformations happening any time soon, but nobody can say I’m not trying to look after myself.

 

Med-El Advocates Online

Over the weekend there, 2 and 3 October, Med-El HQ in Innsbruck held a ZOOM conference for interested parties, called Advocates Online. As a Med-El HearPeers wearer of their RONDO2 and an ‘experienced user’, I signed up and tuned in.

I think since the restrictions of COVID-19, we’ve all become pretty much abreast with the technology necessary for the use of laptops to communicate via video link, and Zoom is just another one of those. Even I manage it, although I tend to end up with way too many windows open, before going through the whole ‘can you hear me/can you see me’ routine. I get there eventually though and this was the biggest number of attendees I’ve been involved with. Fifty-five at one point, from all corners of the globe.

Subtitles were available in lots of languages, but I managed better without, as they didn’t run synchronously. I believe the glitch was sorted out by the end of the first day but I hear well enough through my laptop speakers, thanks to my RONDO2. I just did without.

Throughout Day 1, we were given a tour of the offices and labs and ‘met’ some of the people involved in actually making our implants and processors. Was fun to read ‘and this is xx who made Caroline’s implant’ but I suspect it was probably more random names to pictures. Nice idea though.

There was a choice of workshop and I chose the one called ‘Ask Us Anything’… chiefly because I blinked and missed how to get to the other one called ‘Hearing Implant Surgeon for a Day’ and didn’t want to interrupt proceedings to get there. The one for questions was good though and my own query was answered fairly satisfactorily. It really made you feel involved. The first day lasted from 16:00 until 18:15.

 

Here's me not looking very attentive in the top row there.

I was a bit late logging into day two and left early as I wasn’t really up for more of it, but thoroughly enjoyed hearing about, and from, two huge advocates of Med-El: Vera (Russia and Canada) and Mary-Beth (USA). Strange to hear their voices indeed. I missed ‘meeting’ the CEO, but perhaps next time.

We have all since received a very handy .pdf with lots of tips on it. Basically, Med-El, rocks. All in all, a worthwhile experience and if I’m ever in Innsbruck, I will be knocking on the door for a face-to-face tour. 

Some handy youtube links

Grounds for Divorce

Apparently, I snore. AND the rest! Now, this is nothing new. What IS new, is him refusing to listen any longer and decamping to the spare room. I don’t really blame him, but I’m a perfectly lovely bedfellow otherwise I’m sure?

It’s comical in a way as I have been sending links on various ‘cures’ for snoring to others with horrendously snoring husbands (you know who you are!) and here it’s me that is the prime candidate. I’m also up at the loo 2 and 3 times a night (disturbing), cough, and clear my throat continually this last six months (uber-disturbing and apparently the last straw) and have a tendency for jumpy legs which disturbs me too, have to say. So I can’t really blame him but still do not approve. We’ll be getting separate hotel rooms on holiday next!

He is ‘lucky’ that I’m so deaf because I just know he snores to beat the band himself! The fact that the smoke alarm could go off and the fire brigade hack into the window and still not have me hear anything, is beside the point. Burglars could come and go with impunity, I’d be quite jocose as long as I didn’t see them. They wouldn’t disturb me unless they physically rolled me out of bed. Well, then of course there would be all hell to pay (not least because they’d be plucking out their eyes at the sight of me) and they needn’t think they can come and burgle me now because he hears pins drop on cushions from three flights up. Or biscuit tins being surreptitiously opened. Equally irritating!

I am wondering though, would ear-plugs not cover more disturbances made by me? Everybody surely turns over in bed a few times so it can’t be just that. It’s the ‘noises’. I apparently run the whole gamut of nightly noises, plus the coughing and spluttering that has held on for way too long now to be at all conducive to a happy marriage. So I can imagine him lying there, seething, thinking of ways to do away with me and finally capitulating to the call of the spare bed.

The flipside of all this is that he near gave me (and by consequence, himself) a heart attack the other night. He’d thought, ‘give it a go’ and joined me in the marital bed. When you go to sleep alone and you suddenly feel the bed wobble… well. ‘Who’s there?!!’ My yell had him near leap out of bed in one go. I of course immediately realised, gave him a pat, (‘oh, it’s you’, I don’t really remember) turned over, and started snoring again (I’m reliably told). He lay there with his heart pounding in his throat having to listen to me for another hour before giving in and stomping off to his quiet corner upstairs. So, give him his due, he does try and put up with me.

My jumpy legs are also why we rarely watch a film together. That, and of course my inability to follow a story without asking questions, or speculating on next moves, or speaking to the characters performing whichever scenario they find themselves in. I don’t do it in the cinema (although we rarely go) as you have to whisper there, and then I don’t hear the response. At home though, how can you not? I hear myself even when watching stuff alone. So there’s that.

There are enough irritations around here (sufficient for a whole book, probably) without me manifesting as THE irritant to beat all irritants. I’m well aware of my shortcomings and don’t want them to multiply to divorce degree. So, c’mere you Internet and supply me with at least a decent snore prevention kit. I refuse to let 50+ years of sleeping together end in separate beds!

Dreaming

Today, I will mostly be talking about dreams.

Not those things we each aspire to. Not those things we save up for and never quite achieve, nor those ideas we have that don’t entirely match the image presented to us in the bedroom mirror. I mean those things that float around in our heads while we are asleep. Some of those might be classed as nightmares. Depends how you look at them maybe? And to what degree a nightmare? But in general, I’m referring to the stories, whole films with beginnings, middles and ends sometimes, as well as those totally random scenarios, where you’re quite at home in a totally unfamiliar place, with complete ‘onbekenden’ that you do somehow know, doing and saying things you have never done, nor ever would do. Or is that just me?

I do have those regularly. So, what is a dream at all? Why do some people say they never remember them or never have them? What does it say about a person who is otherwise perfectly sane (ahem) yet has the weirdest dreams? I for one have never had anything to do with gorillas, nor any kind of sexual relationship with anyone remotely resembling a gorilla, and yet would cheerfully wipe all memory of the dream about just that particular thing. That’s surely classed as a weird one.

I of course can only speak for myself, on dreams that I vaguely do remember. Some are so daft, it makes you wonder what I’m not remembering. I’d like to dream about nice things, things I’d want to remember, however unlikely the scenario, but there is no telling what’s ahead in dreamland, once you shut your eyes. Well, not in my head anyway.

Last night – probably this morning, I sleep late - there was a long one about, what was it about? That happens too, I have it right there in my head and as soon as I go to tell about it, it fades (thank feck for that, says he who positively hates hearing about my latest escapades in dreamland). However, I made a point of remembering this one so there is not too much random embellishment.

It was all to do with a talent show. X-Factor kind of thing? Yet not, not at all. There were various singers up there, one after the other, in a bright room (I’m looking through a window, as you do (?) ) and then I’m Louis, bent over, leaning on a chair in front of me (him) saying ‘aye, he’s good’ and ‘no, off!’ and the performers keep changing, like in a flipbook so fast, male and female, young and old, and I know them all, but I know none of them. I feel sorry for them all attempting Whitney Houston’s ‘I will always love you’ and they all fail as soon as the ‘And IIIIIIIeeIII…’ kicks in. Buzz… Buzz… Then there is a wee Indian lad, sings it great! Top notes and all, and I’m all tearing up behind my window there. I think P was involved at some point, not sure now. If I’m honest, I’d just be inventing more if I wrote it down and things are insane enough without me adding anything in there.

So this was quite a long and involved one. About stuff I am not particularly interested in and mostly involving people and places to which I have no connection. See, I could understand it more if it was all familiar people doing ordinary things, even if I was watching it all from ‘off stage’, so to speak. It’s the random, mental stuff I find confusing.

Some dreams, I’ll get up for the loo and tell myself not to think too much wakeyuppy things ‘so I can get back in there’. Whole films that have gone on all night (probably about five minutes, hah) that seem to be going somewhere. Then, damned if I can remember the feckers. I think I actually dream most nights. It’s just, I don’t get it.

I don’t believe the dream analysis stuff I stupidly wasted an hour on one day. If I did, I fear I’d be knocking at the door of the secure wing somewhere, to take me off the streets. I don’t hold with all that ‘if you dream about xx, it means xx’… I honestly could not afford to be going down that murky alleyway. And anyway, what do they know? What a nonsense!

The flying car though. That’s another one I’ve had a few times. I don’t drive and the most I’ve done is one trial lesson - not for me thanks! I was always even the passenger on the dodgems - so steering a car through the clouds was quite the revelation. I was doing gears and all. I don’t understand gears so I’m patently better at things in my dreams than in real life. The only flying car I’ve ever seen or read about was in Harry Potter (which really sparked the memories of this dream which predates all that) so hey… maybe it was a premonition? Although, why would I predict a thing, in my head, from someone else’s imagination? Seems unlikely. Pass

I rarely dream about loved ones. Although I do remember one where mum was railing at me about something. It was all in Dutch too, which was quite the revelation. I remember lying there, thinking, in an aside to the dream, that this was a weird dream, mum doesn’t speak Dutch! I quite like those ones, where you are aware that you are dreaming all this bollix, but still don’t wake up. I have tried to steer those ones but it never works. I get lost in the dream before I realise it. That’s a thing too actually, which language am I dreaming in? I don’t really know any more. There was a time when there was a definite crossover, but now I don’t even notice. They’re probably in both languages, swapping about as I go. Me talking Dutch to non-Dutch speakers that understand me perfectly, and non-Dutch acquaintances, babbling away to me in Dutch… or half and half, kinda like I speak to folks at times. I’m barely aware when I do it when awake so knowing while sleeping is pushing it somewhat. Suffice to say, we all understand each other. Except for why any of us are there… in the dream, not in waking life.

I have laughed at a dream a few times. You have to when it's one where you woke up mad at him! That rat! What he’d been up to (in the dream) was well worth a good punch on the nose! Had one like that a couple of times, poor man had done nothing wrong and I was well p’d off with him for ages after waking. Even knowing ‘it was just a dream!’ Daft eh? But oh, you… !

I don’t think I’d like to have a dreamy premonition. That’d put me off sleeping for the duration! I don’t want visions thank you very much and it freaks me enough just seeing through my eyelids when shut, and in bed. Of course I don’t, I’ve obviously just dozed off, but that’s quite enough of that, thank you. I ain’t no Bernadette and to be fair, nothing holy ever transpires in any of my dreams. Phew. I wish to be no one’s conduit between ‘there’ and ‘here’… just sayin’.

I forget, is it during REM sleep they think you dream, or before, or after? I know there are sleep studies but also know they will never know what is happening in an individual’s brain during sleep. They might see flashes on some graph or other, but they will never have the pictures I’m seeing. I like the idea that your brain is re-booting your system, but don’t like to think of the reasons why I’d be dreaming stuff I am totally not connected to in any way. The question also arises, do psychopaths (big bad baddies) dream differently? Are they all about nasty things, but they enjoy them so not a nightmare? Or are they all daisies and fairies and puppies and stuff, in contrast to their waking hours? Does your brain find other stuff for you to think about just to keep you on your toes? Or does it present things to you totally randomly just to sort out your filing? I just don’t get how I can dream of things, discuss even, things I have no knowledge of. Why is such stuff even in my brain at all? For the shuffling of? For the rebooting?

Anaesthetic is totally strange too, no? That blanks you out entirely (thank goodness!) and just when you’ve closed your eyes, you open them again, even if hours (days) later and you haven’t even dreamed at all and had a great ‘sleep’ even if enforced. Nothing memorable in there anyway. What’s that about?

There’s also the theory that we use, what is it, like only a fraction of our brain capacity and scientists know so very little about our brains in general. They know millions more than they used to, but still don’t know, so, so much. We could all do so much more if we just access it, somehow, apparently. More like what though? More crazy dreams? Is the inaccessible part where all our knowledge really lies? Why I dream about crazy stuff, is because it is all in there and only comes free for perusal during dreams, when it’s all being reshuffled, to fit the disc better? Then once I’m ‘reformatted’ there’s more room for more facts that cross-reference to other, older facts and occurrences and… dreams?

All of the above cannot account for the fact that everyone, everywhere, has always dreamed though. Compuspeak is pretty new after all. It’s quite a good theory though, I think. The wait now is for some smarty pants to actually be able to access someone’s dreams. I believe they can already influence them to some extent. We can all already instruct ourselves please not to dream last night’s one again because that was shite! It works sometimes! Just not sure if it works because we said so.

But dreams eh? You have to wonder.  

Philosophising

Was thinking. I think too much at times. This time, it was about how you can’t go back in time. No idea where my head is at times, but I’m going with it today. And when they do (in films) they have to be sure and not change the least little thing because then their own ‘timeline’ would surely change and they might not even be born… so then they wouldn’t even be there changing things at all, anyway and… well, it gets complicated. So okay, no trips back in time for me, but I carried on thinking. Not always best.

So I was thinking, if I choose to take this road, instead of that, am I forever changing the course of… well… history? It’s enough to paralyse you when you think about it too much - as I am currently doing. I just want to get it off my chest though, so I’m writing it down.

If what I do, or you do, or anybody does, maps out how anything, anywhere, ever, turns out… then what is the point of doing… anything? Ever? Where or when, ever? How do you know it’s not the ‘wrong’ thing? What constitutes ‘wrong’ if it eventually leads to a ‘right’ outcome. Which is possible! And on those occasions when you are consciously faced with a choice, how the hell do you make a decision when it might well have... consequences! Perhaps not right now, but further 'down the line'. 

It was a song that got me thinking about this. About moving a pebble in a stream, which changes the way the water runs. I’m rather extrapolating, but maybe it sends it down another path altogether, ending up crashing down over a precipice as a waterfall and picks up pace, flooding through a town - killing many and destroying livelihoods. Or does it just run in a different direction, quietly to the sea… which crashes on a beach, miles up the coast, throwing a boat onto the rocks as it does so. All from one little stone being moved. There’s something too, about butterfly wings causing a stir in the air… which becomes a wind with other butterflies’ wings, which is a storm, then a hurricane… should we flatten every butterfly we see to prevent those hurricanes? I’m going to say, no.

Still, Hitler’s mum didn’t take that job in the greengrocer’s so never met his father, so he was never born and… you see where I’m going with this (I have no idea whether his mother worked in a greengrocer's, I’m just saying… )

None of us, apparently, would even be here, if A hadn’t happened, which led to B and then C… etc. Hmm. Does it stop at Z? Honestly, it’s paralysing.

I don’t want to analyse my own ABC, in case anything particularly obvious sticks out. You (me) then start wondering if you took a wrong turn somewhere. Did you choose correctly that time? Were there choices? I don’t actually remember any. There are always choices, what am I saying! I realise, thinking on it, I have never been good at making choices...not even the least of them. Of course, I do, we all do, every day, but when faced with making a choice and you give me several to choose from... not my forte, have to say. 

Life choices, well we all make them too. I'm happy with mine. I am. But don't start me thinking (as I'm doing right now!) about how, if I'd done this, that time, instead of that... see, you try it! I keep coming out at the same end result though - even if I'd done that, I'd still end up... how bizarre! Because right here, right now, is where I want to be, so... is that how it works?

Was my stone moved by someone else, and would things have been worse if it hadn’t been? Or better? Why does life work out great for me and not for… I don’t know… someone that lived just two doors away from me as a child? How does that work? Did they make wrong choices? Is going down this street instead of that actually a choice, though? Is fate a thing? Paralysing! Honestly!

I’m not sure where I’m going with this. I think maybe it’s just a bit of a brain fart. Needed out. I worry about me sometimes, the stuff that goes on in there. I have the most mental dreams too. Have they ever figured out what dreams are? It’s the ones that look real, plausible, not too crazy, but that are filled with people I have never seen before and yet are familiar. Those are scary. What are they about? Why would my mind make them up? To what end?

I’m thinkin’ someone moved a pebble in my stream!

DEAF is as DEAF does!

This DEAF malarkey will be the death of me yet. Dead inside, more than, you know, dead dead. I maybe have mentioned before about honestly worrying... about being old (old old, before the snarky remarks) and I’ve finally been dragged into a home and they just think I’m mental but I’m really just deaf and they haven’t charged my processor, or put it on even! And I’m old, maybe a bit loopy? And can’t tell you I’m not hearing right… something like that? Or, I’ve had a stroke and scoring less on my check-up because I can’t hear, no processor on, and not capable of telling them.

You just know they won’t think of it and I dread to think of how many old buddies are currently in the same boat. I’m sure things will go wrong, as they do. Even now, while I'm fully compos mentis it happens (hold those snarkisms). Anyone that could speak for me and ensure I’m tuned in won’t always be around. New staff arrive, new ways of doing things, it happens. I might need to get a tattoo with CI WEARER on my forehead or something. With a bag around my neck for my charger and batteries for the hearing aid. Then of course I'd still need to rely on folks actually knowing what my tattoo means. People still don't know... loads of folks. Why would they?

I was reminded of this frequent nightmare because I attended a new (to me) doctor at the health centre the other day. All plastic apron and hat, and with a mask of course. Blablabla - my mask with HoH sticker on means nothing - so I tell him, then he actually ROARS at me. Anyone with any degree of hearing loss will tell you, speaking louder to us does not help, not even a little bit. He actually hurt my ears so loud. Articulate speech was out the window too though - mask - and he didn’t remove it, nor replace it with a clear facemask, which you would think a year into the pandemic he might have had handy. People just do not care!

Then upon listening to my lungs, I made the mistake of speaking, explaining this and that. He shouted ‘don’t speak’… okay. Then when he was finished he said… he actually said to me, after me explaining about me being hard of hearing… ‘I can’t hear you at all with the stethoscope in my ears you know.’ I just smiled, he’ll have seen my eyes smile I suppose, and I said ‘Well you should realise now what it’s like?’ ‘Hahaha’, said he, continuing to speak to his laptop, behind his mask.

So you see, I KNOW, I positively KNOW there will be no difference, come the time I really, really need help. I actually manage okay despite masks, with my CI processor, but believe me, others definitely do not. And if I’m unconscious… I want to listen too! Just in case! But no one will tune me in. I do wonder if it is even a consideration in old folks homes… care homes, whatever they call them.

Now, I’m not saying I don’t take advantage of being able to switch off at times… avoiding the noise from the dentist’s drill is definitely a plus, for instance. There are lots of scenarios where we deafies have one over on you in the hearing community. In general, though, it is shite and not to be coveted.

I have been sleeping on the couch for a few nights recently, coughing like a horse on crack, ending in gagging noises (ergo, visit to doc and lungs checked, all perfect if you can believe it, nobody does). I’m sure the neighbours are kept up too. But of course I don’t keep my aids on when in bed (or on the couch). When I eventually awoke the other morning, I opened the blinds and thought ‘I’ll make his coffee, take him up a cup, he’s not up yet.’ Jumps back in amazement - the coffee machine was on already. He’d been down and gone back up again. Now this machine, anyone will agree, it’s like a jet taking off and it goes on, seemingly interminably when you want to get a word in. The racket is huge. Yet I do not hear it (even if awake actually), without aids in/on. Not even if I stare at it and strain to hear, because I KNOW it's making a noise. Not a whisper. It's quite disconcerting. I don’t hear the toilet flush either, or the shower run, and a herd of buffalo could crash through the house, I would sleep on because… DEAF.

I cannot stress this enough and it’s why I say deaf instead of hard of hearing because, well, just what does that mean? In some situations, you’re ok to chat? With certain people? Particular places, not? Masks on or off (this is of course a new and horrible situation for all deafies)? So, technically speaking, I’m HoH, but practically speaking, *I am deaf*. The next one that says ‘but you’re wearing hearing aids’ GETS it!

So yeah, hate this shite with a vengeance but hugely grateful for my CI especially, (my hearing aid is useless to make me functional on its own, but handy to round out my processor). I'm honestly pretty fab at this hearing thing, with my CI processor on. Even with masks on, with a bit of consideration from the person addressing me.

So please, anyone that knows me but especially family, make sure they tune me in come the apocalypse, will you?

Caroline Mackie, 15^th April 2021

 

 

Dehydrated Rehydrated

He’s been coming home with dried figs lately. Dried dates too. Dried apricots as well, which I like fresh, dried or rehydrated… yum. Figs and dates though, they’re not your usuals. Not like apricots, or even apples or raisins and sultanas (what is the difference there except size? Never did find out).

Anyway, it had me remembering my (our!) first encounters with fresh dates and fresh figs. Wee stories attached there.

The figs, we were in southern Spain. Wee place, end of season, empty and almost closed. God knows what lockdown looks like there but surely even worse. Not that it wasn’t lovely, it was. Just… deserted. No cash dispenser, no restaurants and no shops except one tiny grocery kind enough to cash a cheque. Phew.

Walking back to our lovely digs from a saunter to the beach (only a few minutes walk away) we passed an old man lugging a bucket stuffed with… what the hell is that? Looks like wee dods of jam, duly being followed by the odd inquisitive insect. He sees us looking and reaches one of the dods to us… oh, it’s figs! A whole bucket of freshly picked figs, some a tad overripe and bursting, hence the dods of ‘jam’.

We ask how much for a couple, his index finger indicates 1 euro and he smiles toothlessly at us. Okay, dear, but worth it for a taste. We nod and offer the money… he nods and hands us the bucket. He meant 1 euro for the bucket load! We gave him more money, he reluctantly but finally, happily took it. Was more than he thought he’d get and we were certainly pleased enough so, everybody happy.

So now here we were, with a shitload of fresh, never-going-to last-long, figs. From zero to 120 in a heartbeat. We indulged, sure we did, but there’s only so many fresh figs… delectable little pots of jam as they are… that anyone can take. As we headed further up the road, we passed three rucksacks outside the grocers. More late tourists, hah. We left them eating from the bucket full of figs as they sat at the kerb. They were well chuffed.

Dates now. Don’t know about you but the only dates I’d ever seen were those hard lumps of toffee-like things in a long, rounded oval box at Christmas. Who knew they were actual dried fruits? I never did! Then we went to Egypt. Fabulous holiday, Nile cruise, bus trips to all the monuments, plus a week in a resort… but I digress. Dates.

Now, they do warn you, don’t drink the tap water, don’t take ice in your drinks, don’t eat fresh fruits as they’ll have been rinsed off in water. But then they passed around a tray of real, fresh dates on a bus trip. I couldn’t have passed it off, I just couldn’t. Smarty Pants did, hmph. Well, he missed the delights. So this is a fresh date? Wow. Bares only a very vague resemblance to a Christmas date, and the taste is just heaven. I may have had three. I may have paid for every one with one hour on the loo – boy, was I sick. Worth it though.

And now these dried affairs. Now, apricots, I’d always enjoyed a chew at them and had also discovered, not that long ago, that if you steep them in water, they plump up. Also delish. These dried figs and dates though, had never tried rehydrating them and wasn’t that enamoured of them straight out the pack, dry. I’ve since found Medjoul dates (since being in Egypt) and they are just fabulous, sort of semi-dried, still plump and yummy - especially coated in chocolate. So these were more like the Christmas dates only loose. Edible at a push, but hard. Stones already removed. I decided to soak them, see how that went. Same with the figs… still jammy, tasty, but not attractive to eat at all. Soak.

Well, the jury is still out. A skin sloughs off the dates when soaked, looking decidedly unattractive as it floats there, but the dates are more edible, have to say. If I can avoid the skin, doable. Figs, definitely plumper but the skin on them is a bit tougher. Very sweet and edible if you keep your eyes shut and avoid the sight of what you drag your teeth through, and the wee stub where it was attached to the tree. How else do you describe the contents of a fig though? It’s nature’s ready-made jam! You don’t normally eat spoonful’s of jam so, you’d best not eat too many figs. Both dates and figs (Egyptian water notwithstanding) are good for the old (ahem) movements, so moderation is key I suppose. The water you soak them in turns to a lovely syrup too… also best in moderation.

So, every day a school day eh? I had at one time intended buying a hydrator, to make dried strips of chicken for the dog, initially. But those things are expensive and have to run for days too. I tried drying tomatoes in the oven a couple of times (Spanish and Italian holiday influences seep through at intervals) - both times unmitigated disasters - so I would still like to get one some day but, not happening. Don’t need it for the dog any more so it would be hard to justify the purchase, other than for flowers… and tomatoes. I think I had the oven on low for like three days at my dried tomato attempt. Can’t be doing that for half a dozen toms haha. Sure it should be easier though!

Probably for the best, cheaper too in the long run, just to buy dried and then rehydrate. Anyone reading this has a foolproof, inexpensive tip for dyhydrating tomatoes, I'd be glad to hear it. Also, let me know what you think of dates and figs. Dried or otherwise.

Fridays

It’s like, it’s always Friday. I look away, turn back, it’s Friday!

Every Friday, one of us will say, ‘Friday again’ or with more emphasis ‘It’s Friday. Again!’ We know it’s insane but it’s become a thing these last years for some reason. Time just zooms by and, bosh, it’s Friday, again. A wee in-joke we enjoy. We should get out more I know. Our excuse for now is, of course, nobody can go anywhere, but we’ll probably not stop just because we can go out again. It has been years already, so…

Friday did used to be the night eh? Going way back, it was payday! Wee brown envelope, decimated by the time he got home with it (but that’s another story). An end of the week that developed into TGIF! Followed by the Sunday night scrabbling for any excuse not to have to go in on Monday… oh, so often been on the phone trying to sound hoarse, bilious, in pain of some sort… ‘can’t. come. in. so. sick’ (in best feeble voice). But Friday, yes. Free! Straight from work, right to the pub… yahoo!

I didn’t grow up in a home with ‘fish on Friday’ and was amazed to discover that others did… ‘mince on Monday, stew on Tuesday...' etc. so I never continued doing so with my own family. It was just potluck, what I could be bothered making and Fridays weren’t scheduled particularly. Over the years Friday morphed into ‘school’s out’ and then ‘what do we do with the kids over the weekend?’ Then, later, ‘let’s see what concerts are on?’ (Then loads of those changed to Tuesdays. What was that about?’) Then it was the years of Fridays shrieking ‘where the hell is she? Not home yet?’ which seemed to last a while, one errant child taking over from the other.

Fridays have long been anonymous entirely though, in this house. No boss to turn up for, not in years now. Both of us, for different reasons but equally relaxing. He, way longer than me. The most mention is of ‘what programme’s on tonight?’ and Fridays are never that great - I do like 'Friday Night Dinners' though funnily enough, makes me laugh, but not being Jewish, it was never a thing here. Being official pensioners does actually set you off reminiscing for sure. I suppose a lot of the nights out we could speak of were actual Fridays. Saturdays of course were different again. It was Fridays really... changing at work to get out straight from there... none of your not even going out until 10pm like they do now. Man, the pubs were shut by then! I have barely ever drunk much, it was more just being there and going home smelling like an old ashtray from all the cigarette smoke. Never did like that mind. Long time ago now. I was always the one sleeping in a corner while others partied on.

But now it just seems to BE Friday. The rest of the week seems to whizz by and Friday has taken on the role of marker. Marking our lives out. Lockdown hasn’t helped I’m sure. This last year of going nowhere, staying safe, has been very strange. No visits, no holidays (so no travel, ‘leaving on Friday’) no meet-ups, no gigs, no dates marked in the diary at all (barring hospitals and doctors!), no grandkids, no fun... and then suddenly, it’s Friday again. We just seemed to notice it all of a sudden. It could have been a Monday, or a Wednesday or any other day, but we seemed to have gravitated to Fridays. So that’s the aim these days… get to the next Friday so we can say ‘It’s Friday. Again!’

And then, writing this, I looked at my calendar. It’s Thursday.

Winner takes all

While the wind rages, and the fence just hangs by whatever fixed it into position in the first place, the plants and ornaments in the garden are chastised by the wind just enough not to destroy them quite yet. If that fence were the wall of your house, you would be in dire straits, it’s true. It’s only the fence though. It’s allowed to dance and wiggle like that.

While the rain lashes, filling the basin you insist on calling ‘the pond’, only just faster than it takes to leak out again - somewhere in the base of it, underground - you watch the wee mouse battling across the pebbles on the patio, desperate to reach the shelter of the border. Ah, he’s made it. Good.

While the clouds scurry past and the awning flaps and the trees sway and the guttering overflows, you keep staring out through the slats of the blind, too apathetic to lift it for a clear view. It’s not new what you’re looking out at but it will never look the same again. It is familiar territory, and yet, uncharted.

How can that be? How can this… be?

How can you be grand one day and oh, way less than grand the next? How can you be worry-free yesterday and positively laden with woes today? At least, that’s how it feels. How do you wrap your head around… this? Whether or not things ever go back to being ‘grand’ is very much an unknown. And it’s the unknown that is freaking me the fuck out. How are we going to get through this? What’s in store? Nothing nice, nothing to look forward to… nothing not worrisome.

Instead of just trundling along, living our lives, passing time, fighting, making up, laughing, lazing, planning, worrying about things not worth the headroom, sharing, well, it’s all just like, stopped. Everything is focussed on this. Everything has to be. Everything is… this. The researching, the reading, the extra freaking out. The pretending it’s okay, the regrouping, the questioning. The what-ifs, the now whats, the did yous, the have you seens, the why didn’ts.

So, knowing, that if you stood like, say, on a hill overlooking a town, somewhere, anywhere, that life would just be going on for everyone there as it always has done, you watch through the window at the wild weather. Like it’s a metaphor for what’s going on in your head right now. It couldn’t possibly be sunny and warm right now. It would not fit. And too, the lives of those around do not come to a standstill because yours does. We all know this. Well, I suppose some lives do, but only coincidentally. Not like ‘because of’. Not like in solidarity. Basically, life goes on, so ours will too. It will. Apparently, you have to take hurdles whether you want to or not. They are there to be taken, not sidestepped, not ignored. They need tackled, even if you knock the bastards over as you go and keep running right to the tape (just to keep the analogy going). The tape’s the goal.

We’re aiming for the tape.

Rant

A rant you say? It’s a rant you’re wanting? You want to know if I can rant? Or how? I’ll give you rant!

I’m a champion ranter. I’ve got a PhD in ranting. I’m a fully qualified, graduated, CEO of Rant & Co. Rants R Us. The Rant Shop. Rant & Son. Rant Bros. Author of The Wee Book of Rants. Don’t talk to me about ranting.

Moans are big on the agenda too, but rants take the medal I’d say. Definitely. Gold Medal rants are where it’s at in this house. Often enough aimed AT me, plenty do go back the other way. Rant Central here boy! Why bother to ask nicely when a rant will do it quicker, more… enjoyably? You’re going to be a pain about xx, you’re going to get a rant from moi. You know it, I know it.

While I could really be doing with conserving the energy, the vocal chords if nothing else, there are few subjects which do not elicit a decent rant around here. Washing? Not sorted well enough, not clean enough, not ironed yet, not put away yet… the list is long for washing, practically inexhaustible rant material. Cooking, cleaning, spending (oh, spending’s a good one, good for lots of swearies thrown in too), TV (ouch), dishwasher, the garden, the door handles in this stupid feckin house, DIY in general, beds needing changed, doors left open, lights left on. Snoring, taps left running (by me, but intro to other environment type subjects which make for interesting rants, up to and including the bins), heating, kids (in general and specific), holidays (incl. those not happening but paid for, so back to money again)… (online) shopping (leading to computers, which are ALWAYS rantable), time spent on Facebook versus time watching bollix…

Any subject can descend (ascend?) into a rant of some kind if you allow it. Some easier than others of course. Some less enjoyable, with dubious outcomes… Is there any satisfaction had via this particular rant? Did I even get my point across? Is there some sort of outcome to it all? Often enough the rant is literally, more of a rave, stuffed with inaccuracies and total nonsense accompanied by foaming mouth and googly eyes and a raw throat, from the growling. Basically not your healthiest (mental)health vent.

I am the champ, it’s true, but I’m hanging up the laurels. Soon. Will try and keep it to genuine rant-worthy causes. So here endeth this rant, of sorts. Until the next one is goaded into existence.

Being a Pensioner

Lightly rubbing the skin on the back of my hands makes me want to weep. I have to accept this condition of being truly old now and it does not sit well with the 22 year old that lurks behind my eyes. No, I'm not ancient (depending who is looking) but I'm now in the class of being 'elderly'. Bah.

I could probably be fitter, carry less weight and I know I could certainly sit a lot less than I do… I know all this… but you can fool yourself, even perking up and pulling a pose for the mirror. ‘I’ll do’ you tell yourself. ‘I’ll pass’. Then just a look at the palm of that one hand… no idea why it looks so old in comparison with its mate, but it really does… and the back of both hands. No springy skin that just jumps back into place, but this wrinkled stuff. Yet to turn papery, I’m not ancient, no, but definitely loose and not at all springy. Let’s not even mention the neck, the décolletage. The knees!

I’m not quite a bag of wrinkles, but a blind man can see the direction it’s all going. I’ve long embraced the grey and even prefer it to any colour in my hair, but the jowls… I do object to the jowls. Gravity is a cruel master of your average face and although I have no intentions of any Botox treatment, nor would I contemplate plastic surgery, I can easily see why it is popular enough even among non-celebs.

The legs really only save me nowadays if hidden in a pair of tights. Those are my mum’s legs! When did that happen? The belly, well, it’s my own fault and too long been too prominent (literally). Not sure I ever had ‘abs’ but I do remember hip bones. And what the hell happened to my arse?! It just sort of… went. Up and left me, bereft. What the hell are these bits?! Honest, it was sudden.

I know it’s only going to get worse too, that’s the thing. I do understand, the alternative (being dead) isn’t what I strive for. But a wee bit… leniency? Perhaps a slowing down of the decay? That’d be nice. I don’t think I deny my age, it’s not that. I’m pretty sure I don’t do the ‘mutton dressed as lamb’ horrors. I also don’t want a bloody blue-rinse perm yet either! Or a wee car coat and a peeny with baffies, or a giant handbag (actually they’re popular, but no thanks). I’m happy being Grammy, but don’t want categorising too quickly on sight! I know that the likes of, say, Raquel Welsh and Jane Fonda do (have!) a lot of work to make themselves look such fabulous octogenarians but I’d like to think I’ll still look less like a decaying old apple and more like a barely week old one by the time I’m their age.

Ach, I know we all do. Also, I’m not likely to start with all the makeup at this stage of my life… the very idea!... but perhaps, due to my lack of made up sophistication, I’ll look more like myself first thing in the morning, than many others of my age? Perhaps. Not that that’s a great thing but, I just don’t believe that Fonda looks much less than 80 first thing of a morning. Which is fine, she’s still lovely, not saying otherwise. Just, she’ll look her age. Surely. I do know how much difference makeup can make, just, it's not to me. Plus, I never was as fit (in all meanings of the word) as she was. I do know this, I'm not delusional.

Given I hope to reach ninety years of age, there are still many years to go, so I should try and improve, or at the very least, save, what body I still have, for as long as I have it. The intentions are there, as they have been for a long time. Making no promises here, no vows, no resolutions. I know me. Fat, wrinkled, ageing me. Bear with me, I’m a pensioner. 

I do like THAT bit... the pension coming in. I know it is only my due, I paid to get it, I'm not tugging my forelock in gratitude exactly, but it's sort of like... compensation. 'You're as old as God now, so, here you go... enjoy.' So it is a kind of compensation to have it come in every month, despite no longer working. It will be a great shame if the powers stop arranging the collection and distribution of it all. I'll be voting against that all my days... 'up the workers' and all that. We wrinklies will man the barricades, don't you worry kiddo.

I remember being given up a seat on the tram for the first time, in my thirties. Not pregnant, not loaded with shopping, just 'here you go, mrs'. Manners, to a woman standing, by a youth. My first confrontation of true, polite, condescension to 'an older person'... at least, one older than them. It killed me. I took the seat mind, I'm not stupid and my feet were killing me. But that was the start. I've often enough been miffed at not being offered a seat since then, but times and attitudes change so it's not all me being shunned or ignored. I've seen me glare at some kid not even offering and I've seen myself stand for younger than me with a toddler (for instance) rather than berate the teenager opposite me. 

Age though eh? It's not a thing anyone can halt. The most plastically enhanced, Botox injected and gorgeous person will still be their given age. With a wrinkly neck and age-spotted hands to prove it. With memories of things they couldn't possibly know of if they were the age they are attempting to look.

So I'm holding on to that. If I wasn't the age I am, with the (ahem) imperfections I have, I wouldn't have the fabulous memories, or the children, or grandchildren I do have and I really couldn't contemplate that. It is ever-expanding, the memory-bank. Putting aside the forgetfulness, it is continually filled with new memories. Actually, it's a miracle when you think of it, just how much it all can hold. I'm aware, Alzheimer's etc. but those memories have been there to start with. You can't lose or erase what isn't there to begin with.  So yes, I'm holding on to that. Wrinkles, loose skin and jowls... the lot of it. I don't like it, but apparently, it is the fare to the end of the line so... not ringing the bell to stop the tram just yet. Come the time, and I'm ninety-six or something, these ramblings will surely sound excessively ludicrous. One request though, can the tram slow down a bit?

The Miracle of Hearing

I shower first thing usually, but we had the boys over so had first put my HA in and my CI on when I got downstairs, the better to converse with them at breakfast. I left them drawing and of course then took off my HA as can’t shower with it on (and is why I normally shower before even putting my HA, in which I leave in the bathroom).

To my (short-lived) amazement, I heard the ‘tick’ as I lay it on the shelf. Eh? I tapped the washbasin… what?! I can hear!

It was all of one and a half seconds I suppose, but what a wonderful one and a half seconds it was. My hearing has returned! But no, I still had my CI on. I normally wouldn’t until after I’m showered and downstairs, but of course, had been downstairs already, for the boys. Of course I could still hear! I was still switched on, tuned in and of the hearing world, wearing my CI.

Just as well I realised, as you can’t shower with your processor on. I have almost done that before, wondering, as the water heated up, how come it was all so noisy today. Luckily I hadn’t yet stood under the showerhead.

The day is approaching when even our processors will be implanted. Not sure how they’ll charge them, but have every confidence it will happen, and I’ll be first in the queue for it. Until then, we shower, we swim, we sauna and generally we sleep (although not because of water) without them.

Always grateful, always, still, in awe.

Side Effects

It started with the underwear. None of your 4 pairs for a tenner pish either. Bamboo no less. Then it was socks, also bamboo, first these, then others. One must diversify! And vests, same, bamboo. Never worn vests in his puff! Expensive designer, summer shorts were next. Really nice, great gear. Then shirts. Shirts! The man goes nowhere but he’s looking cool doing it.

A winter jacket was found. A real cracker. Nanook of the North didn’t have a look-in. Need decent longs now so, same expensive brand as the shorts, two pair. Might as well get the lounger ones long too, good old elastic waistbands, but still expensive. Shoes. Shoes! The man hasn’t bought shoes… ever!  Well, not never, but now on-line, cool Chelsea boots. Now walking shoes too! And walking. Every day, miles and miles. Needs long-sleeved Ts now. Can’t be wearing these same five or six for another year.

He’s not wrong, but this is Mr 145-T-shirts. Mr Needs-forced-to-look-in-a-mirror on the odd occasion he agrees to shop for (discounted) jeans. Mr These’ll-see-me-out. A pensioner no less. Cutting about like an Italian model at times these days.

He started interfering with the washing too… ‘what temperature is that?’ ‘have you turned them inside out?’ ‘is it not time for…’ I did my best to stamp on that but have to say I like that he likes to hang stuff out. That’s not new though, he’s always done that. He’s nothing if not domesticated. It’s just that the messing in my washing schedule is definitely recent. That, and the clothes.

In hindsight, the emotional reactions are certainly more noticeable too. The tearing up at sad stuff and the cringing at fights in a film, say. That’s not all that new either, but perhaps more intensified now? Yes, we both think so. Of course he has had a lot to contend with. A lot that would bring tears to a glass eye! Plenty to cry about indeed. He’s always been a crier to be fair, and it speaks volumes for him that he’s ‘always been in touch with his feminine side’ as we have always laughingly put it. But this does seem that little edge further.

Then you read up on things and, well, a wee light starts to burn. It could be I’m on the wrong track altogether but, a neuroendocrine tumour messes with your hormones. So it all kind of fits. The timing is hard to ignore. I mean, he didn’t just grow a tumour the day before his colonoscopy! But then, surely not as long ago as the first set of boxers? Hmm… maybe though? Slow growing and all? It’s been since the prostate horrors for sure. I think. Yeah? Yeah.

He got through that though, with flying colours to be fair. A year past the ‘five years cancer free’. Woohoo. No more hospitals, finally. The man’s had his fill of those… long since! Let’s ignore the 20 years before the prostate cancer. The ones with the melted brain cells disaster. He wasn’t on invalidity all those years for nothing! Then the bloody prostate op, the abscess from that and his amazing recovery. Hospital poster boy for the Prostate Dept. even! Now this! Not remotely related, just ‘here’s another bombshell for you!’.

Last scan showed no metastases so… that was a whole load off. Basically proving that everything is relative. Still got cancer, but we were almost having a party because ‘not as bad as…’ Still a long road to travel and hopefully can be zapped as minimally invasively as possible. Not having spread means it’s not quite Death Row. Not yet. The interminable wait for results honestly felt like waiting on a verdict -‘To fry or not to fry’. Turned out, ‘not’. The fact that that even springs to mind is sad in itself because they can do a lot nowadays. Cancer, as we already know, is not just the plain, upcoming-painful-death it used to be.

So anyway, if a wardrobe full of nice clothes is the worst side-effect… I’ll take it. Of course, I’m being flippant but you kind of have to be in these circumstances. I’m telling myself he will be fine and all things positive, until proven otherwise. I’m a reasonably attuned believer in the power of positive thinking and I’ve bulldozed my way through life with it in mind for a long time now so… onwards and upwards. A new chapter begins. We’ve another thirty years to go yet so, not taking any arguments otherwise.

Damn, I totally forgot about the jeans too... never had so many decent pairs of jeans either!

So how's your carbon footprint?

Let's start with...

Electricity: well with two laptops running all day and two TVs (from evening until bed) we perhaps use quite a lot. Phone chargers not plugged in when not charging though and so sue me, I left a light on for five minutes! We use what we need I suppose, but do keep it down. Not a huge oven or microwave user, rarely bake and the new hob is supposed to be sparing. Never leave outside lights on unnecessarily and we’ve solar panels on the roof and wind turbine shares. There’s always more you can do but we’re not going to live in a tent and we generally get returns on our payments.

Plastics and fuel: we do really try. Always separate in the bins although still not sure it doesn’t all go in the one place anyway. Avoid it where possible, but could probably do even more. Plastic toys for kids have been banned from day one but it is hard to always comply. Not bought a plastic carrier bag in years I don't think and 'bags for life' have long been a staple. We've never driven, so never had a car with all that entails and have travelled via public transport over large swathes of Spain and Italy and anywhere else we've ever been.

Veggies: we try to have ever more of, with less and less meat. Saving the planet one chop at a time eh? Short of growing our own greens, which has been variously mooted, we try to keep it to locally grown but, not always possible.

Carbon footprint as a whole is easily saved this past Corona year with no travel possible! Not really sure I’ll be too great at continuing it in any way once we’re back to normal, but while I’m surely worse than some, I’m not as bad as many others and try and help with compensating measures when booking flights… just, not always. We were also given a great Christmas present of xx number of trees planted every month for a year on our behalf. Love that. Every little helps I’m sure.

Central to the heating system in this house is a nifty little, fairly newly-installed doodad (new enough for me not to know much about it, which may or may not be years), easily accessible on the wall. On. Off. How hard could it be? Hmm, auto… wassat then? Aha, to be fixed via laptop or phone, set up to come on and off when you want. Even when you’re away from home. Coolcool. Can check room temps (never on in bedrooms and rarely higher than 20 degrees needed) and can have it turn on coming home from… wherever… then the place is all cosy when you come in. Neat!

Until it’s not neat any more! Auto doesn’t work and wtf knows how to fix the thing in the metre cupboard? Radiators fire up when you switch it on sure, but then they have to be at ‘open’ and as someone (ahem) has the tendency to turn them to ‘closed’ they then do not heat up. So you think you’re coming home to a nice warm house (spoiled or what!) but of course it’s still freezing because... duh. Wasted effort. What we need is something to warn us, remind us (okay, me) that the damn things are at ‘closed’. Like before going to bed or something. Or maybe just switch the brain back on momentarily before retiring.

We haven’t used the open hearth in at least two years, and we were fond of it. No radiators needed then and it is so nice to see. But using wood (even although from well-sourced places) causes smoke and there are neighbours with breathing problems that can be exacerbated by it, so you feel mean. I honestly like to sit without the heating on of an evening, as long as it has warmed the place earlier. My super-hoody is great and I like my hot-water-bottle, but if it gets too cold I’m not averse to putting the heating on again… opening those rads again!

What I do find though, is this inability to slide under closed doors. I do still have to open them to exit and enter a given space. So to countermand this act of sedition and prevent it from causing WWIII every time I have the audacity to move around (probably causing huge draughts just by moving) I had the radical idea of keeping the hall heater on too. Helps with condensation on the front door I feel, but has the disadvantage of then heating a space rarely used, which is also not great. The jury is still out on this one but I do think it helps the heat stay in the room, only then escaping out the front door when that is opened. This house is well insulated, we get quite a good score on that, and we do ventilate sufficiently.

Opening the back door, especially when the heating is on, or has been on, is tantamount to mutiny in this house. Me ‘n Fletcher! I don’t see the big deal as long as I’m not leaving it open. Even I can see that would be stupid, but a quick open/shut (out) then open/shut (and I’m back in) just cannot be so wasteful and surely beats the inconvenience of waiting until tomorrow to empty a bin? I play along, mostly, curtailing mutinous behaviour until considered unavoidable. The blinds are all down at night, keeping what heat there is, in, as much as possible.

I now need to work on the water wasting. I adhere to all measures, I do, and we don’t have a garden hose so pretty sure we save (have saved) thousands of litres, watering the garden from the canal, but we’re both getting too old to be humphing those buckets so might have to reconsider this one. The rain barrel helps but soon empties. It’s me leaving taps running when not even using them is probably our biggest use. There’s an old juice bottle in one cistern, the other is a miniature one anyway. I don’t always flush when I know it’s just me and I take short showers. The dishwasher’s very sparing (his pre-rinsing is a bone of contention!) and I only have a soak in the bath as a treat. And then I go and leave a tap on all night! Hate myself for that, have to admit.

Clothes, both buying and recycling, we’re quite good at, not least because we’re not huge consumers. Not averse to second-hand (aka ‘vintage’) but actually don’t need to even go there. Bamboo instead of cotton undies and socks when being replaced these days. Washed with soap strips nowadays (great stuff, no big bottles of liquid or powder and posted through the letterbox at three monthly intervals), on cold, mostly, which again saves water and electricity. Dryer only in winter, (usually) outdoors all summer.

All in all, I think we’re quite good at it all. You can only do your best, but at least we do try and we are very conscious of the whole ‘movement’ to save, spare, protect etc. We’re not vegan, nor even vegetarian and there is still loads we can do, but we manage it to quite a good extent.

How ‘bout you?