Ups and Downs, Gains and Losses...
Well, it's been quite the long time since I posted, and a fair bit has happened in that time. So I suppose that I'd better split things up.
Well, we went on a raher unexpected (but nonetheless enjoyed) holida to Port Stephens for four days. For me, the highlight of this was a trip to a 'degustation' restaurant called "Ritual Restaurant". I'd highly recommend it if you're into trying something different. It's run by the head chef and a scientist who design the menus, and it's one of those restaurants where it's more about enjoying and apreciating all the different tastes rather than getting big plates of food. You get lots of small courses (some, naturally, larger than others - some are literally one-mouthful courses merely meant to cleanse your palate for the next lot.) You don't go away hungry, but I'd definitely recommend not arriving feeling ravenous, as you'll end up eating the first few courses quickly to satisfy hunger rather than to enjoy them, which would be a shame. I'd suggest having a lunch that's light but filling (soup worked perfectly for me) and then when you arrive you've got plenty of room in your stomach without having that ravenous desire to inhale food before getting to taste it.
My favourite part is when they give you two different flavours on Asian soup spoons to try, you choose the one you liked best, and your next course comes based on that choice, not by simply ordering off a menu. So you never know what you might get. For one course I got duck, and I thought "uh-oh" (because I'm not a big fan of duck) but to my surprise it was gorgeous. Of course there are ways to stop yourself from getting things you can't eat - when you make your booking you let them know if there is anthing you can't eat, and they show you a list at the beginnning with a list of things they make the courses from, so that you can point out anything you can't eat (for medical or religious reasons or whatever) so if you accidentally choose the flavour that is used for say, a pork dish, they can tell you so and sugest the other one. That happened to me wth dessert - I chose one flavour but they told me that the other one would be better for me as they could adapt that oneto be gluten-free, but not the one I'd asked for. Seriously, it's a great place and deserves a try if you're in the area of Port Stephens.
Dirge Witout Music by Edna St Vincent Millay is one of my favourite poems. It has been for a very long time. The last line "I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned." resonates in me - and yet, when someone frequently spends a few hours a week in a nursng home, chances are you will end up being resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts into the hard ground. Resignation keeps you from grief-induced madness.
John Morgan passed away on Thursday 25th of June. I'd grown very close to John over these past few years, especially after the passing of Joyce (see Here) even to the point of calling him "Grandpa John" and the news of his death came as a mingled sadness and relief. This entire year, his once-robust frame had caved in to skin and bones, but his wits were still keen and his heart was still warm. But about two months ago, I visited him before my volunteer shift started (as I always did) to find him very vague and confused. He tried to roll me a cigarette (as sharing cigarettes at this time was our common ritual) yet he struggled to make it, and his hands (which had been so capable just a fortnight ago) ended up producing something hat barely held together. Yet I couldn't not smoke it when he lit it and presented it to me so proudly, and I sat there worrying as he would gesture to a plant (he was a keen gardener and often sent home a flower for my mother) and say something completely unrelated to it, such as "I used to be a highwayman." He used to be a stockman - shearing sheep by hand and so forth on a farm. This confusion and inablity to concentrate or have the correct facts left me very unhappy and afraid, because I knew what it meant wihout wanting to admit it.
This parody of our normal, once-cosy morning chats continued for that week and the next, until I learned that he had been taken to a hospital for palliative care. I prayed that he may be released quickly, because it had been unbearable to see the man I knew John was become a cruelly confused mockery of himself. I wanted to visit him, but various circumsances prevented it - the holiday which my parents took and brought me with them, the vicious cold I caught and couldn't shake (they don't let you into a hospital to visit someone already so sick if you have a cold like that) and so on. When I learned he died, it was a relief, but also a sorrow. couldn't go to his funeral, but I'm glad - I went to Joyce's funeral and was horrified to find it was a "template funeral" - the correct details such as names, dates, places etc had been put into a service that could have been used for almost anybody. A stranger could have wandered into the service and left not knowing anything about the woman named "Joyce Wilson" aside from dry facts like date of birth, marriage, how many kids and so on. A woman with such a personality and character deserved better than a funeral which had none at all of herself in it. I didn't want to witness that for John Morgan, though I asked someone who did go to give my love to his family (I had met some of his children and grandchildren a few times, and I didn't want them to think I didn't care.)
So, yes, ups and downs. Without darkness, one cannot comprehend the value of light.
Well, we went on a raher unexpected (but nonetheless enjoyed) holida to Port Stephens for four days. For me, the highlight of this was a trip to a 'degustation' restaurant called "Ritual Restaurant". I'd highly recommend it if you're into trying something different. It's run by the head chef and a scientist who design the menus, and it's one of those restaurants where it's more about enjoying and apreciating all the different tastes rather than getting big plates of food. You get lots of small courses (some, naturally, larger than others - some are literally one-mouthful courses merely meant to cleanse your palate for the next lot.) You don't go away hungry, but I'd definitely recommend not arriving feeling ravenous, as you'll end up eating the first few courses quickly to satisfy hunger rather than to enjoy them, which would be a shame. I'd suggest having a lunch that's light but filling (soup worked perfectly for me) and then when you arrive you've got plenty of room in your stomach without having that ravenous desire to inhale food before getting to taste it.
My favourite part is when they give you two different flavours on Asian soup spoons to try, you choose the one you liked best, and your next course comes based on that choice, not by simply ordering off a menu. So you never know what you might get. For one course I got duck, and I thought "uh-oh" (because I'm not a big fan of duck) but to my surprise it was gorgeous. Of course there are ways to stop yourself from getting things you can't eat - when you make your booking you let them know if there is anthing you can't eat, and they show you a list at the beginnning with a list of things they make the courses from, so that you can point out anything you can't eat (for medical or religious reasons or whatever) so if you accidentally choose the flavour that is used for say, a pork dish, they can tell you so and sugest the other one. That happened to me wth dessert - I chose one flavour but they told me that the other one would be better for me as they could adapt that oneto be gluten-free, but not the one I'd asked for. Seriously, it's a great place and deserves a try if you're in the area of Port Stephens.
Dirge Witout Music by Edna St Vincent Millay is one of my favourite poems. It has been for a very long time. The last line "I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned." resonates in me - and yet, when someone frequently spends a few hours a week in a nursng home, chances are you will end up being resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts into the hard ground. Resignation keeps you from grief-induced madness.
John Morgan passed away on Thursday 25th of June. I'd grown very close to John over these past few years, especially after the passing of Joyce (see Here) even to the point of calling him "Grandpa John" and the news of his death came as a mingled sadness and relief. This entire year, his once-robust frame had caved in to skin and bones, but his wits were still keen and his heart was still warm. But about two months ago, I visited him before my volunteer shift started (as I always did) to find him very vague and confused. He tried to roll me a cigarette (as sharing cigarettes at this time was our common ritual) yet he struggled to make it, and his hands (which had been so capable just a fortnight ago) ended up producing something hat barely held together. Yet I couldn't not smoke it when he lit it and presented it to me so proudly, and I sat there worrying as he would gesture to a plant (he was a keen gardener and often sent home a flower for my mother) and say something completely unrelated to it, such as "I used to be a highwayman." He used to be a stockman - shearing sheep by hand and so forth on a farm. This confusion and inablity to concentrate or have the correct facts left me very unhappy and afraid, because I knew what it meant wihout wanting to admit it.
This parody of our normal, once-cosy morning chats continued for that week and the next, until I learned that he had been taken to a hospital for palliative care. I prayed that he may be released quickly, because it had been unbearable to see the man I knew John was become a cruelly confused mockery of himself. I wanted to visit him, but various circumsances prevented it - the holiday which my parents took and brought me with them, the vicious cold I caught and couldn't shake (they don't let you into a hospital to visit someone already so sick if you have a cold like that) and so on. When I learned he died, it was a relief, but also a sorrow. couldn't go to his funeral, but I'm glad - I went to Joyce's funeral and was horrified to find it was a "template funeral" - the correct details such as names, dates, places etc had been put into a service that could have been used for almost anybody. A stranger could have wandered into the service and left not knowing anything about the woman named "Joyce Wilson" aside from dry facts like date of birth, marriage, how many kids and so on. A woman with such a personality and character deserved better than a funeral which had none at all of herself in it. I didn't want to witness that for John Morgan, though I asked someone who did go to give my love to his family (I had met some of his children and grandchildren a few times, and I didn't want them to think I didn't care.)
So, yes, ups and downs. Without darkness, one cannot comprehend the value of light.