the hours are sometimes terrible
the lack of help is worse
they smile and do their duties
to which we’d be averse
they’re treated so abusively
by some who scream and curse
and yell at them accusingly
of trying to steal their purse
so now’s the time to give a smile
and bring along this verse
they always go the extra mile
they’re the ones that we call Nurse.
As told in an earlier story, I’ve had a problem with sleeping drugs (hypnotics) for the last five years or so. As of today, and under supervision, I am down to one quarter of the dose I was using two months ago. The sleep has not been good, with four or five awakenings each night, and corresponding daytime tiredness, as well as other withdrawal symptoms. By next week, there will be zero pills. I have hope that things will improve. I have been a good boy, sticking to the schedule, but this kind of stuff is hard on us old guys.
I was driving eastbound on a familiar road. It went straight as a die for many miles and had a low horizon of bush. The day was overcast, in early fall. As I drew closer to the perceived line of trees, there was an object in the sky slightly above the horizon. It resembled nothing else but a huge black kite, and, indeed, it behaved like one, in the respect that it gradually changed positions in the sky. Sometimes viewed almost edgewise, other times as a definite kite shape. What struck me was its size. I knew it had to be immense, because the further I approached, it did not seem to grow larger or change positions relative to me, a sensation very similar to trying to drive by the moon. It stayed with you. I viewed it for a full five minutes before I had to cut off towards my destination, for which I was already late. I regret that now. It was definitely changing shape or moving obliquely in the sky, and presented different aspects during this time.
It had a stark outline, with straight sides, and could not have been a cloud. This mystery has stayed with me for the twenty some years since I witnessed it.
I knew him well.
We met forty years ago.
Not a big man, but wiry and wise.
Wore the same hat for as long as I can remember.
He used snuff, and would sometimes spit into the wind
From the open window of the truck.
I cleaned it a lot.
He called me city slicker for my naïveté.
I was twenty seven, he in his sixties,
but he still outclassed me in the brawn department.
When we visited, he showed me the ropes
Of backwoods country life.
I learned how to thaw a frozen water pump
In a stone basement crawlspace with no heat or light.
How to start a city slicker car frozen at minus 40.
Where to go to collect nets full of minnows.
How and when to pick earthworms.
I shoveled shit with him, and rounded up an errant pig.
Watched him string it up and bleed it.
We hauled it in, and cut it up on the garage workbench.
I learned, also, how love was shown to a woman
Whose spirit had gone to a different place.
Sitting her down, he clipped her fingernails, combed her hair,
Put on her favourite music, and asked for a dance.
We wandered through the second hand stores
To pick up a treasured trinket for her.
Always spurned. Had he ever learned
That what she really was saying was
This is not the thing. Do you not know what is needed?
He was saddened, but not enough to give up.
I went with him to these forlorn stores
When he was able bodied, and then when he needed
A walker.
The thing still had not been found.
She tisked, wrapped the prizes in soft cloths,
And laid them to rest in her dresser.
We time travelled more and more quickly, it seemed,
And, at last, when his shuffling steps were measured in inches,
And I had turned away after spying the lace of little blue veins in his eyelids,
We went yet again, hunting once more for her happiness,
The walker packed in the trunk.
I knew this shopping search would take us long, and I said
Look, they have a wheelchair here. I can take you around the aisles.
He stood uncertainly within the entranceway. I brought the chair up.
This was the first time in his life.
The light within him dimmed, and his knees seemed to buckle
As he sat involuntarily.
We were in the store for five minutes when he looked up and said
Let’s go.
And so, we went home.
Empty handed.
Empty hearted.
Photo: The hat…………by Lee Dunn
Her parents once told her she was an accident, and as the years tumbled by she grew into a catastrophe. She told me; I’m gatecrashing a party here. I have no rules. I have no (finger quotes) dress – code. I exist in a vacuum. I am in the empty spaces. I am life.
Or maybe the echo chambers. I didn’t say that. It came to me years later whilst going over our conversations again and again and again, trying to find a clue. I realise now that my one-liner would’ve killed her. She would’ve laughed, thrown her head back to show me those home-made fillings, those gaps where her brother forced her skull into a doorframe before violently closing it, the tongue chewed into ridges by dreams of murder and foxes eating people alive. Of course, even if the reply had come to me in the moment, I wouldn’t…
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each lazy and hazy morning
of late
I see, with blinking sandy eyes
too long a sorry time’s been spent
in slumber’s strange cocoon
encased within this wooly secret
there has been no metamorphosis.
Instead, I am imbued with an insistent tune.
A siren song surreal.
Mayhap it is uplifting, or a disturbance unwelcome.
Like the bit of grit inside the oyster’s shell,
it is a provocation.
Will there be a singular pearl?
Not now, but one day.
I make a small incision.
I part the fluffy case.
The Day obscures my vision.
‘Tis full upon my face.
The melody still lingers.
Its weaving lasts the morn’.
This phantom choir of singers.
This afterlife unborn.
Each night, the pod will form again,
the butterfly awaiting.
Or will it be the final pearl
for those whose hope’s abating?
Trigger warning: Dementia, Alzheimer’s
The old couple had lived alone in their house for the last thirty years. Their kids would visit, along with the grandchildren, but, in the end, it was always old Ma and Pa who would say goodnight to each other. Ma was a stickler for organization, and was the drill sergeant of the family. Pa liked to think he let her do it, and said as much under his breath, but usually kowtowed to her every whim.
Now that they had raised their family, and the kids were gone (although not far away),
Ma started to find that her skills and eccentricities were wasted on the old man, and she began to get a little more anxious, restless, and obsessive with her cleaning and such. The visits from the kids were now a little less frequent, and, when they did come, some odd things about the house were noticed and discussed amongst them. The bathroom was often short of supplies such as tissue. A loaf of bread, newly purchased, would be found in the garbage can. All of the blinds would be closed (and tied down) even during the day. I don’t want anyone to see in here. Pa’s personal effects would often go missing, and he would find them inside Ma’s dresser.
If any of these things were mentioned within her hearing, she grew agitated and more restless. If someone asked for a roll of toilet paper, she would get up abruptly, go to her bedroom, close the door behind her, and come out a minute later with the prize. She developed an aversion to bathing, or even changing clothes, and underhanded methods had to be used to get her to do these things. Once, the old man suggested that someone could “accidentally” dump a glass of grape juice in her lap as they walked by. It was the first uniform change and bath that she had had in quite a while. When missing items were discussed, she would accuse “someone” of stealing them. She made frequent requests to have the furniture rearranged “just so”.
Finally, the kids drummed up the courage to suggest that they both needed to be in a continuous care home. She became almost violent, and they were at their wits’ end. None of them had the time or the capacity to look after their 80 year old parents. On a time, Pa, who was still lucid, devised a plan where they would persuade her to get dressed because they were going for a nice ride. The kids were almost in tears with guilt, and could not look at each other, but co-operated in this little charade.
Until Ma, getting into the spirit of things, began to clean herself up and to put on her Sunday best.
“We’re going home, aren’t we? We’re going home!
Pa kept a stiff upper lip, and they all bundled into the car for the drive to the care home.
Are you sure you packed my suitcase? Yes, Ma.
They stayed with her there, all afternoon and part of the evening, encouraging her to meet and greet some of the folks there. She treated them as long lost friends, and seemed right at home, much to everyone’s chagrin. There was a small room for her, and Pa was allowed to stay with her for the night, to ease the transition. The reality was that he had not been assessed yet, and it would take some time for him to take up residence.
And so, some of the kids took turns staying with Pa at home, or having him to their place, until better arrangements could be made. They took him to see Ma every day, and, as the couple were used to sleeping in separate rooms, she seemed not to find it odd when he kissed her goodnight.
One cold night, after Pa had stayed with his daughter and son-in-law for a couple of days, they discovered he was missing. It would be the last night of his life.
He was going home, too, but not to a house.
Ma had never found her home, but her keyholder was now gone. She knew it, and was gone three days later.
A must read from Rusty, on the death of a friend.
https://whistlingfarandwee.com/whistling-far-and-wee/dear-mr-z-2/
Thirteen years of my industrial career were spent in a certain manufacturing plant, seven of those as a machine operator. It was a job that required considerable training, and you were initially hired as kind of a “first mate”, pairing up with the actual operator, helping out, doing some basic changeovers, and learning the ropes.
When I was finally given my qualification, I was proud, and sincerely wanted to do my best to match the quality and output of the senior guys. It was a learning curve with a lot of responsibility, and I made my share of mistakes, but never enough to lose the job. It helped that I had a reasonable boss, who I think saw that I was genuinely trying to do better.
As I became more proficient, I did match the big guys on many occasions, and eventually found ways to increase the output from there. As you can guess, this was not very popular with some who had their set ways of doing things, took extra long coffee breaks, and were members of the Old Boys’ Club. When new people were promoted to operator after I had been, some of them sensed which way the wind was blowing, and took part in a program of sabotage. This would consist of any number of things, including leaving the machine in a mess, without product changeover being done, putting out parts for the changeover that I believe were deliberately damaged or incorrect, and needlessly shutting down the machine in the middle of a run, while waiting for me to relieve them. I put up with this crap for a while, until my boss came to me one day at the beginning of my shift, and asked me why it had taken me over an hour to get started the previous day. I told him to refer to my production report, where I had penciled in the reasons: cleanup, wrong parts, changeover not done, etc. He nodded and we did not speak further.
Next day, I was approached by my counterpart on the opposite shift, who said something like “So, Lee, you ****, how come you had to rat on me yesterday? I got chewed out by the supervisor this morning. You f**** ass****. I said ” If you quit booby-trapping the machine, you won’t get into this kind of trouble.” That did the trick, but of course resulted in greater unpopularity and more ostracism for me. Two of them actually attempted an ambush down the road from the plant one day, but I was tipped off and managed to avoid them.
Eventually, I was befriended by a small group of people who were of like mind to myself, and just wanted to do their job and go home feeling some kind of accomplishment. Out of the 500 people who worked there, we were in the minority, which is pretty sad when you think of it.
Aremyfeetofftheground 