Are the voices in my head too loud for you?

Slices of Life

Recently I was sent some wonderful photos of the French branch of my family.  My partner and I had a good look through them this afternoon and were struck by how many similarities there were between the families.  My cousin is a master engineer we could tell by looking at his photographs of a garden railway layout he has constructed.

My son feels blood relationships are stongest.  I think they are distinctive and there is no doubt I understand my identity within a context which is a group of people who share similar DNA.  However, I feel I am who I am because of my experience - and so those I have chosen to share life with have profoundly influenced the person I am becoming.  Blood relationships are a very real benchmark for me but I feel they are just the beginning of the journey.  Becoming fully myself is a life long activity, aided and occasionally abetted - or perhaps reflected by friends, wider family and Life.

In the photographs I saw the essence of Wallman identity.  A passion for construction; creativity; love of animals; attention to detail - almost to an autistic level of engagement; tenaciousness - and love of a natural environment; introversion; a certain self-awareness.

In my heart I know that how I have interpreted this blue print in  all I have done with the raw materials.  Within this context genes are less important than mutual respect and care.  For all that - still fascinating to see when something is nature and not nurture.

Wonderful Day

The most glorious day weather-wise.  The sea - a bewitching blue green, sparkling in the sunlight.  All the daffodils bobbing in a gentle breeze and still snow on Ben Wyvis.  The warmest day of the year.  Nutmeg, our rabbit, has sensed Spring and the trees are showing the first hints of blossom.

Preparations underway for our Great Adventure South for our foster daughter's Wedding.  My partner is busy preparing our caravan - Edmund while I am feeling like Mr. Toad about to set out with everything including the kitchen sink!!!

Today we shopped for dog harnesses as the old ones were worn or chewed - so each dog will be secure in the car.  Also indulged in large raw hide bones for certain smaller dogs who get bored and some new discs for collars as one is lost - another 'bald' and unreadable and the other two do not give an up-to-date mobile number.  They will all look smart in matching blue bone discs!  I was tempted by a dog t-shirt with "Little Devil" on it for Mungo - the smallest, loudest and most extrovert - but decided that was an unwanted side effect from  my current medication.  A dog is a dog.  Felt a little broodie for a Newfoundland as I caught sight of the Giant Dog Puppy Food in store.  The time will come.

Started reading Waugh's Scoop! which is beautifully written and still speaks to media engagement today. 

Noted with huge sadness the death of Humphrey Lyttleton.  I am a fan of his Jazz playing and his humour.  His timing was impeccable and his humour has never failed to make me laugh even in the darkest of times.  A wonderfully generous artist to other performers and a massive loss to broadcasting.  Pure genius - absolute attention to rehearsal and presentation - which made his skill look effortless.  Barry Cryer paid tribute this morning on Radio Four, describing him as the only person he knew who could get a laugh from dead space - the pause before he either responded or gave a punch line.  A rare and timeless gift.  Gosh I will miss him.  When we get the Newfie I think he will have to be Humphrey Lyttleton Jethro (my partner's choice) W-G!

Myself?  Bubble like - desensitised quality to the day - but the weather and the signs of Spring are heartening at an almost subconscious level.

Tribute for Humph

Caught the rthymn,

Blast precision,

Made us laugh.

Word incision,

Hate derision,

Super fast.

Tap and tonguing.

Inuendo coming,

Clown,  rest atlast.

Humph RIP.

Temporarily Engaged

Out today.  Bought our son's wedding outfit(s) for his half-sister - our foster daughter's wedding.  We bought two contrasting outfits for him to choose from - one is a 'take' on Dr. Who and the other is a more formal suit.  He can mix and match whchever way and we will take back anything he doesn't wear.  Shocking to realise he is now a small man rather than a growing young person.  A message he has been giving us for a while but has become a reality in terms of sizing.  I think he will be chuffed with the choices. 

Wedding present purchased and I spent a token - so I did quite a lot really.  Felt special spending the token.  Generally felt very distanced from the activity of being out and shopping.  I felt as though I was watching a movie rather than actively participating.  Yet, at the same time, a part of me was fully engaged in organising something I hoped our son would enjoy.  I can do things for others still.  Just in a disassociated way.

Had a very powerful card from an old friend in Suffolk.  I was very moved.  It caught me deep in my psyche.

Have purchased Tommy, my father's ventriloquist dummy and an important part of my childhood.  He will be collected in July when I am South.  I suddenly thought that I might have a problem taking the doll back to the place I will be staying as security is high at the location.  I sent the strangest e-mail I have sent in ages to the co-ordinator asking what I should do about bringing a large doll, that might look a bit like a body, into the building in a suitcase on my day off!  Fortunately she took my enquiry entirely in her stride.  The hope is the police will do no more (probably) than check and move me on.  (I could imagine the headline:  Major Security Alert - Priest has small boy in suitcase! Priestess in strange sacrifice of wooden boy - ho hum!)

Not present - but a little more active and engaged.

Jane W-G writes:

An empty mind dazzled by retail therapy is distracted for a moment.  An empty mind cosseted and loved remains available even when it feels remote and distant from the places others stay.

Grieving in the Moment

If Bea did need Bertie as a familiar companion as she crossed to her new level of consciousness - she has been kind enough to return him.  Simon woke me at 3.45am by placing Bertie on the bed between us.  He had suddenly appeared in an unusual place for him - on top of our chest of drawers (Teazle's territory).  He tunnelled down the bed - something he has never done before and went fast asleep.  If he went as far as the gates of glory then there is certainly bracken and small burrs near the entrance.

There is a real finality in registering a death. I am glad we weren't hurried on Friday by our own adrenalin and need to complete - or at least get on with everything.  We took the weekend gently.  We visited the Green Burial and we took time to sleep, be still and quiet.

Today has been busy.  Putting the final touches to Bea's funeral liturgy which she had written but I have changed slightly after accompanying her during her last hours; setting the date for the Funeral:

Tuesday, 11th December

at 1pm in The Sanctuary followed by a private Committal at The Crematorium with either just the priest taking the service and myself present or my brother too.

We are making lists - Bea would be proud and gradually applying ourselves to the practicalities.  We are imagining a very small gathering as so many friends are in the South of England - particularly Bea's - so the service will be informal and intimate.  We are asking those who attend to avoid black unless clergy and to wear the kinds of clothes Bea would have been used to seeing them in.  Be comfortable and be present.  We are not dressing up - apart from our son who will wear his Sea Cadet number ones if he can still get into them!

Now to eat that Lasagne that was left yesterday and try and finish the list of before and after the funeral must do's - and trust the wall-papering over my own cracks stays in place a wee while longer.

If you do decide to come to the funeral could you let us know as we will need a bigger venue if more arrive than anticipated!!!  That would be wonderful but we need a rough idea!  After the service which will include an informal Eucharist, there will be a wake - all being well at The Marriot in Inverness.  I may well not come to this as I don't want to push my luck regarding my own health, but there will be informal time later in the evening for any family and close friends to come back to the house.  I was thinking of getting out the super 8 cine film of when we were children!

It is beginning to sink in that Bea has died and that empty ache that accompanies new grief is slowly surfacing.  I am trying not to keep busy.  I need to grieve in the moment this time. 

Jane

Natural Burial Ground

We spent a significant part of the day trogging over to the Cairngorms National Park to visit the Natural Burial Ground -all biodegradeable etc...  The position has it's own beauty but the list of things you couldn't do was longer than we needed and we came to the conclusion it was a bit precious.  We were hoping for something with a little more freedom.  Plant a living wreath - choose freely a tree - but it's a bit like the Caravan Club - you can become a member - but you must follow the rules.

Reluctantly we left.

We are registering Bea's death tomorrow and seeing the funeral director.  All being well things will be clearer after that.

Further sad news is that on the day of Bea's death our cat, Bertie, went missing.  He has never gone away for any length or time.  It has rather spooked me I must admit.  Bertie was a close companion of Bea's often sitting beside her fast asleep on her office chair or watching TV together.  I just hope it was quick. We have searched and called - but he could be anywhere - dead or alive. I need to sleep. I am not coping well with Bertie as well as Bea.  Cuth(Bert) has seen me through some of the worst parts of my illness too. 

When we came home the sun was setting and a large lasagne was waiting for us in the Boot Room.  It was a wonderful surprise - thank you!!!  Sadly though another sign of Bertie's longer term disappearance as there would have been half a lasagne on our return if he was still about.  Such a shame.  He was a doll- an absolute sweetie - but not as streetwise as Teazle I suspect.

Betty June Wallman RIP

Betty June Wallman

12th March 1924 - 30th November 2007

RIP

Bea died at Raigmore Hospital in Inverness at 2.45pm today.  This is Jane blogging really because I have had to very, very rapidly apply elastoplast to my own needs because of Bea, my mother whose illness  suddenly became acute.  I haven't read any of my partner's previous blogs as yet suffice to say that Bea deteriorated very quickly. 

It was discovered that she had a whole new cancer unrelated to her one last year which had developed on her liver and she had secondaries in her kidneys and both lungs not to mention a blood clot on one lung.  I think we all realised how costly her operation and radiotherapy last year was when the first cancer was found.  We feel she made a conscious decision this time to hold on until a point when her Living Will could be inacted seamlessly.  It was and she died with dignity and some flourish; with periods when she was able to realise her death was approaching and we were able to share old jokes.  She passed beautifully and looked very much as she did when she was alive - snoozing - with a pretty much creaseless face - and at peace.  It was a privilege to midwife her death and I learnt a lot from her in the last 24 hours of her life.  A unique, creative, feisty feminist has entered another realm to wreak havoc, challenge and defend her principles.  Yesterday would have been her Wedding Anniversary - so her timing- as always is impeccable.

I haven't slept for 24 hours and so can't tell you how I am yet.  Mostly thrilled for her and in awe of her courage.  My partner is pretty much ditto.  We are planning 24 hours to just be and then we will begin to get our heads round the practicalities and our grief.  Until then...  Jane

RIP

Jessica

Jessica, Jessica, what a wonderful girl you are.

Jessica, you can be, just whatever you want to be.

Queen of the Sea, Queen of the Sea,

You can be, what you want to be.

I composed this song for Jess in preparation for her Naming Day as

Jessica Persephone 'I am what I am' Wallman-Girdlestone

RIP

Newfoundland, Friend, Playmate and Companion

25th July 2003 - 24th August 2007

May you find rest from your aggression and new life.

The Queen is dead, long live Queen Dido - new pack leader.

Jessie's death was peaceful and swift.  Our dear friend and our most trusted vet did all that was necessary while Jessie's head rested on my knee and she lay on the sofa, with all her human family around her.  We had decided the dogs should see Jessie once she had died and we had said our own goodbyes.  They were brought in one at a time to embrace the new situation.  Each one realised and tails went down and noses up.  Mungo was the most overtly stressed and they are all subdued.  As soon as Jessie's body had left the house,  Dido climbed on to the 'dog's sofa' and took up residence in Jessie's place.  Rainbow, my guide dog, disappeared into the kitchen and tried to eat half a bread and butter pudding left for dog recycling - and broke the dish.  The sometime second in command claimed her rightful place - Dido is now pack leader.  My son wished we had a flag pole, then we could have flown a flag at half mast.  It caught our mood absolutely.

Re-framing my Experiences

There are some 24 hour periods when I wish we could simply press the rewind button and start again.  Today is a case in point - it can only get better.  As I write a step-grandchild is recovering from one of our dogs biting her.  As I write she is in the day children's ward at the local hospital.  Stitches under general anaesthetic and some time to come round and be checked out.  The dog in question very nearly saw the condemned cell today - but her defender was my step-granddaughter's mother - who felt it had been an awful accident - but an accident never the less.  The poor child attempted to cuddle a large Newfoundland half way through her breakfast - and the dog bit her lip.  I could weep for the little girl on her first big trip to stay with her Grandpa with her Dad, Dad's partner and her big sister.  First day of the holiday she has got to know the local A & E.  Welcome to the Highlands.

The Newfie has a reprieve - but we need to look at the dynamics of the situation that occured and guard against a child full of life and curiosity - and a dog who is middle years and rather set in her ways particularly when it comes to eating!

There are no excuses; some lessons to be learned and a horrible sense that always accompanies an accident that we all wish hadn't happened.

In amongst the anxiety of the day - I had a joyous and inspiring letter and card from a person who I have worked alongside.  She is gifted, funny, original and her own person.  I commisioned a banner some months ago from a local amateur artist and priest and, quite unexpectedly, as we began the usual rather long-winded negotiations about style and emphasis, she withdrew and no longer wished to create the piece.  I was very disappointed, her work is often beautifully crafted and intricate in ways that would work well in St. Columba Chapel, here at the retreat space.  However, this morning a drawing arrived with the letter from this person I have come to admire and respect very much - and I suddenly saw exactly the sort of hanging/banner/collage I was looking for in the chapel.  It was beautiful.

Today's events have felt random but somehow congruent - all one.  In a moment of wild possessiveness our dog pack leader lands the youngest member of the family in need of stitches - by another turn of perception there have been moments in the day when new bonds have been forged through phone calls and updates and conversations over coffee while some of us waited at home for news.  It all added to the sense that all this can only build towards a greater understanding and more confident relationships.  In another turn I have heard, in a form I can still hear in amongst mounting anxiety, that there are some things I do well and excel at.  Encouragement and acknowledgement that we all need, but that I am particularly appreciative of at this time.

Somehow today we all worked as a team; we communicated well and we recognised we all had a little girl's best interests at heart.  We lived community and we experienced family - and not just those present here - but also from those connecting from a distance.

After the Dog BIte

For my Step-Granddaughter K.

For in the moment

When I saw blood

stain the cloth

and you were whisked away,

I knew the pain of

what cannot be done

when mayhem reigns.

I caught within

the strongest sense

of personal attachment to

your wellness and being.

For as you hurt

and went in search

of healing

I named a love that

is the touching fullness of protective shame.

If only time could be returned

and a pause inserted where violation once was flamed.

Vulnerable and impressively

present,

your arrival in our life

has transformed and changed.

I am sorry for the pain

your enthusiam unleashed,

but know, my little one and be assured,  that you are beautiful

and wonderfully made.

When wounds have healed and life goes on

you will know

you are surrounded by a circle of support

which is life and love itself.

JEWG

Hold Fast to That Which is Good

An amazing few days. 

Friends I haven't seen for years have come and stayed at The Sanctuary.  There was a remarkably good level of connection given the time span and the fact that we have inevitably taken very different paths in terms of the out-working of our lives. 

I remember a gifted young girl who was an able musician (some things don't change).  Popular - with a wide circle of friends.  I attended the same school as her for a few years and it was amongst the unhappiest period of my life.  The school just didn't work for me and it became an emotional endurence test.

I remember attending a reunion years later - walking into the hall - meeting a couple of teachers - and needing to leave.  The whole experience got under my skin and made me deeply uncomfortable. 

These days I think a Reunion would make me smile, but then I desperately wanted to believe the whole ghastly experience of being at the school had been somehow worthwhile - and I realised instead how angry I was to be back in the building and amongst teachers who sounded just as patronising as they had when I was 11!

My recollection was that this sense of our school days was not an experience shared by my friend - who I think gained a great deal from the diversity of the other youngsters we encountered and from many of the teaching staff - not least the music department.

Having an old school friend around has made me reconsider why I hated that particular school so much.  Ironically, when I moved schools for the sixth form I loved my new school and have the happiest memories of school friends and an incredibly gifted teaching staff.

I think in reality I was an awkward customer.  Articulate and insightful with an off the wall sense of humour.  I can remember is that I was devastatingly bored at school.  Somehow I was left under stimulated with the exception of English and to some degree - Art.  I had an extraordinarily gifted English teacher called Rosemary Smith - who went on to become the Headmistress of a Girls Public Day School Trust Independent School in Wimbledon.  She had a passion for language and literature but was also a very anecdotal teacher.  She taught the set I was in - The Grotties - for four years and over that time we learnt all about her family and her life outside school.  Some of the more extrovert members of the set became very adept at setting Mrs Smith off on a family reminiscence as this was often much more entertaining than ploughing our way through the poetry anthology set for our O'Level Literature examination.  However, Mrs Smith taught me the importance of learning by rote - and I can still recite some of the poems and quotations from texts we studied.  She taught me to become a confident creative writer - to believe I had something to say.  I don't think she ever particularly 'approved' of the content or style of my stories - but she rewarded a wide vocabularly - and eventually agreed that the two girls in the class with quite a passion for writing and reading could sit together.  I sat with Pauline New Year for a while.  Pauline introduced me to black soul - still a love;  Jazz; and the writings of James Baldwin - an author I return again and again to down the years.  We'd meet at Tooting Library sometimes.  I have maintained a passionate respect for black American authors ever since and cannot resist test driving anything that catches my eye.

My art teacher was Mrs Owen and she was Scottish, gifted and mildly eccentric.  She taught us nothing formally and I failed O'Level Art - but she let us experiment.  I learnt to be fearless in artistic terms and to see my efforts as work in process.

My old school friend's visit brought back memories of school which were good to revisit; to test if old wounds have healed in terms of memories of school days - which they seem to have - not even a twinge.  Now I don't feel angry - just sad.  I suspect a number of girls at the school did not realise their full potential.

I discovered how different life could be for me  when I went to a new school and grew in confidence and my sense of self.  The school my friend and I attended wasn't intrinsically bad - it was perhaps a little dated in it's approaches and expectations - and retrospectively I can see with the eyes of a teacher myself that there were many of the staff who were not gifted at inspiring young people.  In our examination years many staff were at a low ebb as the school prepared for amalgamation and to become a comprehensive.  The days of selective education in London were over and many of them did not have the skills to teach a truly mixed ability intake.

For all my negativity about the quality of the education I received between 11-16, I recognise that there were some seeds sown at that time which have shaped the whole of my adult life.  Amongst them are friendships experienced and enjoyed during this most formative of times.

As a consequence it was tremendous to have the opportunity to spend time with someone who had been an important part of that formation.  I met this week the woman that the young girl had become.  I wish we had had more time - just to natter and mull - but we both had families with us and things to do and be -  but it was good to reflect and to check out and learn about the now in each of our lives.  I am sure we will do this again.

Funny too the tricks my memory had played and the way I could challenge my own assumptions made all those years ago when we met and made friends as 11 year olds.  I always thought I was so thick and unskilled as a youngster.  I believed I was clumsy and without any noteworthy gifts, whilst my friend was a rising star as a musician and the life and soul of the party (or at least our social set of kids who didn't really fit in the more conventional groupings).  It's been fun growing up - and loving that young girl inside me who thought she did not belong and had no real ability into life.  Encouraging her towards laughter and sitting light on the many things that cannot be changed but must be owned for healing to take place.  Life is about being me becoming me and you becoming you; enjoying being what we are; becoming content in our own thoughts, feelings and skin.

New Life

Our fostered daughter has told us she has had a baby son.  I am so pleased for her and thrilled that one of his middle names is after our adopted son, his uncle!  Much celebration.

I am now a fostered grandmother.  I think we should be called Grandiose and Grandimose!  Realistically I think I will most likely be Jane!

Mum and baby sound as though they are doing really well.

My son and I were talking about whether to buy a small gift for the new baby.  He favoured a tiny set of combat fatigues.  I can see he will want us to check out Mothercare tomorrow!

New life and such opportunities.

So much to give thanks for.