Stuffing Nemo
It wasn’t forecast snow today, so I regarded the heavy white flakes falling doggedly to earth as simply adding insult to injury as I faced the morning without my customary coffee. Not so much ‘out of coffee’ as ‘not allowed’. Which in itself is a horrific thing to inflict on any woman. The combination of waking and caffeine deprivation is not a good one. Particularly when a further two mornings minus my customary beverage must be faced and loom darkly over my weekend.
And I’m sorry, regardless of the suggestion on the paperwork, weak black tea is anathema to this Yorkshire lass. Unless it is the colour of mahogany, with enough milk and sugar to sustain a small army, you can keep it. Adding snow into the equation too was just plain mean.
Ani, meanwhile, with unconscious irony , is casually disembowelling Nemo, and is perched as usual in the inevitable open doorway while I freeze. She is eyeing the white stuff with expectation and a tongue lolling with delight. Sadly she will be disappointed this time. I, like Nemo, am going nowhere.
There will be no hours spent frolicking with her in its scintillating purity this weekend. No wandering through magical woodlands or the wide spaces of the manor grounds. Nope. I am not leaving the house.
Why am I being so uncharacteristically antisocial, you may ask? When the snowflakes are falling the size sherbet lemons and the dog so excited? Is the mere lack of coffee, of itself, such an impediment to joy? Does it have anything to do with a dear friend posting that pic about the stuff on Facebook last night…? Or the utterly delicious virtual breakfast that was emailed, including all my most favourite things? These beloved people are, I might add, at sufficient distance to ensure, at least, some modicum of impunity… for now. I had to chuckle though as another friend chose this morning to send me an article on preparing for death. I have some truly wonderful people in my life. And oddly, I mean that. I would much rather have the gift of their torments and laughter than anything else.
No. It has to do with the preparations for a hospital visit Monday morning that include serial fasting, gallons of water and a bottle of what I can only, for the sake of what is left of my ever diminishing dignity, describe as industrial strength drain cleaner. This I shall shortly be obliged to swallow.
It is not as if I can generally eat much to begin with these days. In fact the problem that they are looking at, with a scanner and the prospect of flashing blades, has had among its effects the reinstatement of a waistline of dimensions not seen for many years and my visual re-acquaintance with my ribcage.
I, of course, choose see the waistline as a silver lining. There always is one. Somewhere.
I am incredibly and joyously busy. My body, however, has a mind of its own and keeps reminding me that it is not as well as I am and has a small but effective arsenal of unpleasant ways to do so.
When these kick in at the vulnerable times, the sleepless moments of solitude, it is sometimes inevitable that the ‘what ifs’ creep in too. There are these gremlins in all our closets sometimes, I think, and unanswered health questions can raise the ones about mortality too. I could, of course, brush them aside and ignore them. But you may have noticed I don’t care for stuff lurking unseen so I stubbornly haul them out and have a look.
Am I afraid of death? No. Never have been. It seems no different from birth to me… the other side of the coin, a simple, natural and inevitable change of state. Every birth holds its own death. I do not fear the surrender of the ego, the dive into the unknown of who ‘I’ might be when I am no more. If I am completely wrong in my beliefs then there will be oblivion and ‘I’ will not be and so will not know. If I am right then what comes will be what should. Something will survive the transition, and that will be what is right and natural. It will not matter if I got the detail right from here, regardless of my convictions, for whatever remains will be there. I do not worry about who I will be tomorrow, only be the best I can be now.
Like most people, I think, only the manner of death concerns me. And the timing. I’m not finished with this little body yet, thank you. But I am not prepared to idly speculate and be like the chap in the story who read the medical book, ending up believing himself victim to everything except housemaid’s knee. I am no believer in dwelling on negative uncertainties. They can make their presence felt and niggle away in the early hours if they really must, but I choose to focus on the positive outcomes, having duly considered the varying possibilities and consigned them to Hades.
Regret always comes up with the question of mortality, I suppose. Do I have any? Really? Oh I still have a long list of to-do and to-see that is beautifully incomplete. I don’t regret that incompleteness… I’d have nothing to look forward to and work for without it, now would I? I like the fact that the story is unfinished and the possibilities open wide. And I certainly have no regrets for life so far… it has taught me a great deal. It is crammed with experience, with laughter and tears, friendships and adventures, love and loss… it is rich and vivid, a life full of Life. The only regrets I have are for hurts I have caused, and yet…even those are part of the continuing learning curve. I cannot change the past, only be in the present and welcome the future. So, no. I have no regrets, only hopes, dreams and joy at the wonders still to come.
So right now, as a kindred spirit and eternal optimist, and as the damnable medications kick in, I intend to re-stuff Nemo.
And I’m sorry, regardless of the suggestion on the paperwork, weak black tea is anathema to this Yorkshire lass. Unless it is the colour of mahogany, with enough milk and sugar to sustain a small army, you can keep it. Adding snow into the equation too was just plain mean.
Ani, meanwhile, with unconscious irony , is casually disembowelling Nemo, and is perched as usual in the inevitable open doorway while I freeze. She is eyeing the white stuff with expectation and a tongue lolling with delight. Sadly she will be disappointed this time. I, like Nemo, am going nowhere.
There will be no hours spent frolicking with her in its scintillating purity this weekend. No wandering through magical woodlands or the wide spaces of the manor grounds. Nope. I am not leaving the house.
Why am I being so uncharacteristically antisocial, you may ask? When the snowflakes are falling the size sherbet lemons and the dog so excited? Is the mere lack of coffee, of itself, such an impediment to joy? Does it have anything to do with a dear friend posting that pic about the stuff on Facebook last night…? Or the utterly delicious virtual breakfast that was emailed, including all my most favourite things? These beloved people are, I might add, at sufficient distance to ensure, at least, some modicum of impunity… for now. I had to chuckle though as another friend chose this morning to send me an article on preparing for death. I have some truly wonderful people in my life. And oddly, I mean that. I would much rather have the gift of their torments and laughter than anything else.
No. It has to do with the preparations for a hospital visit Monday morning that include serial fasting, gallons of water and a bottle of what I can only, for the sake of what is left of my ever diminishing dignity, describe as industrial strength drain cleaner. This I shall shortly be obliged to swallow.
It is not as if I can generally eat much to begin with these days. In fact the problem that they are looking at, with a scanner and the prospect of flashing blades, has had among its effects the reinstatement of a waistline of dimensions not seen for many years and my visual re-acquaintance with my ribcage.
I, of course, choose see the waistline as a silver lining. There always is one. Somewhere.
I am incredibly and joyously busy. My body, however, has a mind of its own and keeps reminding me that it is not as well as I am and has a small but effective arsenal of unpleasant ways to do so.
When these kick in at the vulnerable times, the sleepless moments of solitude, it is sometimes inevitable that the ‘what ifs’ creep in too. There are these gremlins in all our closets sometimes, I think, and unanswered health questions can raise the ones about mortality too. I could, of course, brush them aside and ignore them. But you may have noticed I don’t care for stuff lurking unseen so I stubbornly haul them out and have a look.
Am I afraid of death? No. Never have been. It seems no different from birth to me… the other side of the coin, a simple, natural and inevitable change of state. Every birth holds its own death. I do not fear the surrender of the ego, the dive into the unknown of who ‘I’ might be when I am no more. If I am completely wrong in my beliefs then there will be oblivion and ‘I’ will not be and so will not know. If I am right then what comes will be what should. Something will survive the transition, and that will be what is right and natural. It will not matter if I got the detail right from here, regardless of my convictions, for whatever remains will be there. I do not worry about who I will be tomorrow, only be the best I can be now.
Like most people, I think, only the manner of death concerns me. And the timing. I’m not finished with this little body yet, thank you. But I am not prepared to idly speculate and be like the chap in the story who read the medical book, ending up believing himself victim to everything except housemaid’s knee. I am no believer in dwelling on negative uncertainties. They can make their presence felt and niggle away in the early hours if they really must, but I choose to focus on the positive outcomes, having duly considered the varying possibilities and consigned them to Hades.
Regret always comes up with the question of mortality, I suppose. Do I have any? Really? Oh I still have a long list of to-do and to-see that is beautifully incomplete. I don’t regret that incompleteness… I’d have nothing to look forward to and work for without it, now would I? I like the fact that the story is unfinished and the possibilities open wide. And I certainly have no regrets for life so far… it has taught me a great deal. It is crammed with experience, with laughter and tears, friendships and adventures, love and loss… it is rich and vivid, a life full of Life. The only regrets I have are for hurts I have caused, and yet…even those are part of the continuing learning curve. I cannot change the past, only be in the present and welcome the future. So, no. I have no regrets, only hopes, dreams and joy at the wonders still to come.
So right now, as a kindred spirit and eternal optimist, and as the damnable medications kick in, I intend to re-stuff Nemo.
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