Ailsa Abraham's Blog: Ailsa Abraham, page 56

Religious Pick n Mix

To a season

This is one of my favourites. OK so it is Judeo-Christian in origin but if one has followed an earth-centred path, it has resonance. Today’s beautiful flowers are tomorrow’s compost that will feed the garden to make more beautiful flowers next year…it’s just a case of waiting (or being around) next year.

There is a Buddhist aspect to it as well – acceptance. I love this quotation – it is the last line that ties in with the above. Right living and right thinking are encapsulated in that last line.

So. I am hobbling around like Chester to Badger’s Matt Dillon and sneezing is hilarious – Achooo eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! This too shall pass and as Mother Julian of Norwich would say “All shall be well, all manner of things shall be well.”

Except I may have to live with change. The time to be a rock and rolling Granny may be over and who knows what wonders I may discover for which I’ve had no time so far, zooming around on my motorbike and getting half of me removed?

One of my seasons is ending. I know that. But if autumn come, can Christmas be far behind? If the leaves are falling off the trees, there will be piles of them to jump into and kick around.

The secret is to live in acceptance and hope. Sing a jolly song and trust that all shall, indeed, be well.

Who knows?

Where’d she go?

The physical remains of my accident are dealt with – painful, awkard but easily handled.

The psychological effect of being out of it for nearly three weeks and losing Titch are going to take longer to get over.

I feel like I have lost a flatmate. She was a funny girl, bit of an idiot, quite clever but a total clown. She would sing opera while washing up and cry while watching funny movies. Despite being intelligent she could go away and make things up that sounded more plausible than the real answer.

She had a fiendish temper and would lose it, throwing things, plotting revenge and generally behaving like a two-year old in a tantrum.

Her mind was a mixture of toddler and sage. She was the keeper of all my secrets from my earliest memory and my staunchest defender, even when I was wrong.

For some reason, probably because my husband didn’t like her very much, she moved out while I was in hospital and I feel very lost without her. Her name was Me.

Fighting back…

Well, despite still doing a good impression of “Eyegore” from Young Frankenstein due to left side being useless, I’m coming out of it.  The attitude is returning.

 

I am not, by nature, aggressive or mean but I feel some people are on this earth to learn a lesson and if I can give Fate a helping hand, so much the better. Badger says I am dangerous and need a guardian … matter of opinion.

You will all have realised by now that I am used to being a stranger in a foreign land and I have a few tricks up my sleeve. In Germany, where people are very accommodating and pleasant, I am polite and civil – if they say something I don’t understand because my German is crap, I tap my ear and tutt at myself, meaning – do forgive me but my hearing isn’t what it could be.

Without fail, they talk slowly, mime and point. That helps enormously. I shake hands, thank them effusively and all is well – but that is the civilised Germans.

Today I went to ask someone if he might stop whistling. Not a cheery, whistle while you work tootle, but like he had lost a dog. I thought if he HAD done so I might help him but as he has been at it 24/7 for three days I doubt it.

My trick over here where I am not known is to carry a large dictionary. It is obvious from my accent that I am foreign. The dictionary is similar to a walking stick – please be nice to this funny lady who cannot walk properly – let her cross the road and you’ll get a cheery wave and a grin – everyone feels good about themselves.

However – there is another use for it. Today when I went politely to ask the man if he had lost his dog, because my own dog was distressed by his calling, he said some very rude things; I smiled and nodded and then opened my dicttionary, muttering “Je m’en fous de toi et ton chien”, as if remembering what he had said – that in itself is a bit awkward. He stood there while I thumbed through the pages, repeating the mantra.

Satisfied that I had understood I smiled at him, closed the dictionary and whopped him around the ear with it.

What was he going to say? Nasty crippled foreign lady hit me? Not good for street cred.

Getting better xxxx

 

 

 

Winker!!!!

I reeeely is eejit. Go to kill self, drop off ledge without rope n hurt knees.

Go out for nice bike ride n neerly kill self.

It seems I ws in hospitl for bout 3 weeks but don’t remember it, or the crunch. Lots of new stories flotting round in hed but giddy spells stop these being writted.

FORGIVE TYPING THE LETTER for “” for pple is stuck.

So I’m in lots of hurties n mind is going in circles. Every time I think of good story there is check-up – whooooo there, did tht hppen or is this story?

Toddling round slowly on stick, remember zero for five minutes then everything t once.

Doctor sez I must give up motorcycle…… think bout it. More effective thn hnging!

Miss my on line friends but hev very little to sy. Not sure which lingo to use so smile lots n wve to people. “Eccentric but hrmless”.

Speech is weird too – not sure where in history we iz. Fun fun fun!

Go away….

This feeling is becoming familiar. I’m a communicator but following a stroke, I can’t do it. My mouth doesn’t move fast enough, the face muscles are stiff and gestures just won’t come.  I can’t do it.

 

In any language, I’m a born exhibitionist. I tell stories, I act them out. I play every role. Mime is second nature. This is why learning new languages is so easy. Now, following a stroke, a bike accident and several rather nasty bits of damage, I can’t communicate. I have to think “Surprise” before my face will settle into the amazement mode.  Many parts of me are stiff and sore so I can’t move them.  Shrug? You kidding?

I need to go away and practice. A little time to go somewhere I don’t speak the lingo and make a clown of myself…. it’s the only thing that will work.

I miss you all and love you lots. I’ll be back when I can communicate xxxx

Which month?

According to Elliott, April is the cruellest month. Well, he’s entitled to his opinion but most of me tends to go with October through to December.

The feet are voting for December because it was then that we were beguiled into having an operation, after which we were assured we’d be “up and about” after six weeks. Six months’ of pirate impressions later we were still hobbling.

A har har

End of July

The brain is very logically saying December because Christmas is always a wash-out if internally one is only six and externally one is nearer sixty. That is a given.

The rest of the Union are coming down heavily for August / September because we’ve lost it. Well, most of it. We had a visit, we had my birthday and then zap – we were in dreadful pain and out of it in a hospital.

So here we are, with the last of the good days fading and much of my body not functioning. Brain has come back to live but cannot work out which French to use – foreign, local dialect or Parisian. We think we know what year it is but it was touch and go with the Second World War for a time… don’t ask.

Left shoulder, three ribs below left arm and spine are not voting. They are out with the spleen and off sick.

Mind is saying “Make the most of it and toddle off. Go somewhere”. So that is what we shall do .

Of course, it is wonderful to know that all our friends out there care enough to send cards and flowers – perhaps these aren’t the cruellest months, but the kindest xxx

Quick Stroke

 

 There are several things one cannot do at the same time.. most of which include “have a stroke and….”

Some of you may remember that I had one following a car crash last November and they think this is why I described graceful cartwheels over my motorcycle handlebars, ending up in hospital with various injuries a couple of weeks ago.

I know this game. Both my mother and grandma  played it in their later years. So I think it is going to be “Farewell to Hath” and let him move on to a new and younger owner.

Ehhhhhhh well. Have to face facts. I’m nearer sixty than any other decade and got away with it for a while. I shall have more time to knit now.

Is there a plus front? Well yes, there always is, if one looks hard enough. I can sit in my semi-deaf shell and ignore people. I don’t have to react if I don’t feel like it and several “Sorry, didn’t hear you” is enough to put most people off.

Being wobbly and clumsy is a way of life for me…. so nothing new here. Now looking for a tricycle…. push variety ……..

 

Where I belong.

There are lots of questions that can be asked to reveal the “correct” answer to this and up to recently I’ve only found the “wrong ones”.

Come on, dance!

 

Having a serious motorcycle accident landed me in hospital with a lot of physical damage and a bit of a bump on the head. This gave me a chance to sort out some things that were whinging around in my head and may end up published. I seem to have lost a couple of weeks but am coming out of it, slowly, on sticks and with a shattered memory. I won’t go into the physical damage because that is just yukky.

Originally put in the trauma surgical ward, I found the noise and geriatric high- jinks a little off-putting but it gave me a chance to sort out some ideas in my head that may well be published.

For a start it gave me to thinking ” how much of our previous life do we actually remember and how much is repeated wisdom from our parents etc?”

The results are rather interesting. So while getting back together physically and trying to walk and chew gum at the same time; I will be sorting these twisted skeins into a tale. Were you to wake up in a time and place you didn’t expect to be, how would you get any answers?  Given that some of the people around you might be involved in a conspiracy? Even dates can be lied about.

I will be slowing down for a while and with the support of the local medical team, trying to get off to Portugal for a holiday once Badger has been trained to inject me. I’m now convinced I’m back in 2014 having come through a couple of centuries to return here.

Inevitably, the end conclusion has to be that – one’s health is all that matters. Spending a lot of time confused, in pain and wondering what happened is not healthy. I suspect my drink was spiked but that would be hard to prove. Lesson learned.

I also discovered what a spleen does, not I no longer have one. Balance  I have managed to live without for most of my life so we are just working on forward, backward and vertical.

Another lesson has been that, feeling sorry for oneself is an invitation to Fate to show one how much worse it could be – no thanks. I’ll spend most days being able to walk about and rejoicing – a tree hug from my Hazel to all of your trees

May your days end like this!

Bless the Badger and other friends xxx

and thank you again for your caring and prayers. Badger has done a marvelous job

 

Baby!

Who’s his Mummy’s baby then? Titch was! Note Scottish humour, six week pup that looks like a calf? Call it Titch.

There are drawbacks to being a shaman and keeping animals (should I say share your space with?) They know what you are thinking and Titch informed me at the beginning of this year that this would be his last. He’d not see another Spring.

He then went off and waited til I was in hospital following a ding-zapper of a motorcycle crash to cover his disappearance. My head and Spirit were in a bit of a state so he took advantage and raced me for it to the Rainbow Bridge. He didn’t want me going there alone, so he went on in advance, where I know he’ll we waiting with my other fur babies when I get there myself.

At this point he was cheating. I’d lost my spleen, lots of skin off my arms, several ribs and was a bit distracted when his Spirit came to say Goodbye and take on the journey solo. He didn’t realise I have been there before and wanted to wait for me, his body having become a burden to him.

I was out of my mind, having dreams, always aware it was a “family matter.” So I was not surprised when I discovered that he had slipped away; I knew there was a big hole in the family.

I should not have been surprised. Who’s Mum’s baby then? Who’d do anything to spare his Mum any grief?

Who thought his Dad had enough on his paws? Nice boy, kind, patent Titch. Wait there, sunshine, catch you up.

Even animals respond to hugs.

All good things………….

There are two ways that can end, aren’t there? All good things around us are sent from Heaven above, OR all good things must come to an end. Maybe it represents the positive and negative side of the human psyche.

Don’t you just love those mini “solve your life in one sentence quotations” you see on Twitter or FB? It’s never too late for a Happy Ending? Reach for the Moon and you may be a star? Negativity can be ground to unicorn powder and used to paint pictures? All of those………..

No I am not being pessimistic, well, yes, I’m being downright caustic and for some people with a few woes they might work. But when your life has fallen apart biggest time possible, they are actually quite funny. I read them and wonder what folks in a worse situation than me make of them.

I’m known for my “purple boots” nature. We all know that I am mentally ill, whacky, mostly harmless and often very caring and nurturing. What most don’t know is that I got that way through a series of total disasters which I will write as an autobiography under an assumed name because even I, big silly, jolly, fat lady that I am, wouldn’t want people to know the truth.

It’s quite possible that Badger and I are at the end of the road. No fault, no blame and I want to put things straight. I tell jokes about him. I paint him as “Les Dawson’s mother-in-law” but it is accepted as a joke – he cares for me, he puts up with my Bipolar flips and he has done so for nearly twenty years.

For our non-British mates, Les Dawson was a comedian who came across as the biggest misogynist in the world and his target was his wife’s mother. In fact he adored her. She was the butt of his jokes, just as (I suspect) my friend David Robinson takes it out on” Her Indoors”. Take the piss but would be lost without her.

Well it’s the same for me and the ex-Navy, hairy one. It has not been easy for him. He is getting to the end of his tether and although I talk about him as the “toddler throwing a tantrum” he may well have reason to do so.

Of all the good things that have come into my life – he probably had to come to an end and he probably was sent by Heaven above.

So nobody take sides, nobody say nasty things about him. Living with a Bipolar is HELL. He’s done bloody well for a long time and if he is getting old and tired, who can blame him?

http://www.motherinlawstories.com/mother-in-law_jokes_page.htm

Snarly but adorable