Happy Gauda Prime Day!
Happy Gauda Prime Day! Because death is part of the basic design concept.
As usual, I spent part of the day visiting my old schoolteacher, in whose house I first watched Blake on December 21, 1981. She's now moved into a residential home, so I wasn't visiting the original house this time, though it's very close.
It was the second time I'd seen her there; the first time, a few weeks ago, I was astonished by how happy she seemed there (and it was an awful pity I couldn't ring my mother, who would have been highly amused - the background to the story is that our friend has made complaining about everything from her health to the state of the world something of an art form).
This time I realised quite soon that something more like normal service was being resumed, as once she'd said how pleased she was to see me she explained that she didn't feel well today. Sure enough, quite a lot of complaining followed, particularly about the low intelligence of most of the residents, and about the food. (She had a point on both, though I think she's failed to realise that her fellow-residents may represent her future; perhaps just as well she hasn't.) She was also quite snappy with some of the staff. But in the middle of all this she suddenly repeated what she'd said on my previous visit, about this being a good place, much more relaxed than the last one (a geriatric rehabilitation unit) which had all kinds of rules and regulations.
So I'm not quite sure whether disenchantment has set in, or whether it was because she wasn't feeling well, or whether it's just her normal state of dissatisfaction reasserting itself. I suppose her initial enthusiasm may have been a bit too good to be true, but on past experience and that one positive remark I'm hopeful that she isn't unhappy. One thing did occur to me on my way home: on my earlier visit, which happened to be on a Sunday, most of the staff I saw appeared to be Muslim (as is the proprietor). Today, on a weekday, most of the staff seemed to be white. (Obviously they work different days or shifts.) It's probably unfair to draw conclusions from two short visits - I think all the staff are kind and decent people - but the white carers did seem rather loud, and the Muslims quieter and more polite. So I'm wondering if my friend's attitude may be influenced a little by the staff on duty.
I'm glad, though, that my mother is safe from all this.
As usual, I spent part of the day visiting my old schoolteacher, in whose house I first watched Blake on December 21, 1981. She's now moved into a residential home, so I wasn't visiting the original house this time, though it's very close.
It was the second time I'd seen her there; the first time, a few weeks ago, I was astonished by how happy she seemed there (and it was an awful pity I couldn't ring my mother, who would have been highly amused - the background to the story is that our friend has made complaining about everything from her health to the state of the world something of an art form).
This time I realised quite soon that something more like normal service was being resumed, as once she'd said how pleased she was to see me she explained that she didn't feel well today. Sure enough, quite a lot of complaining followed, particularly about the low intelligence of most of the residents, and about the food. (She had a point on both, though I think she's failed to realise that her fellow-residents may represent her future; perhaps just as well she hasn't.) She was also quite snappy with some of the staff. But in the middle of all this she suddenly repeated what she'd said on my previous visit, about this being a good place, much more relaxed than the last one (a geriatric rehabilitation unit) which had all kinds of rules and regulations.
So I'm not quite sure whether disenchantment has set in, or whether it was because she wasn't feeling well, or whether it's just her normal state of dissatisfaction reasserting itself. I suppose her initial enthusiasm may have been a bit too good to be true, but on past experience and that one positive remark I'm hopeful that she isn't unhappy. One thing did occur to me on my way home: on my earlier visit, which happened to be on a Sunday, most of the staff I saw appeared to be Muslim (as is the proprietor). Today, on a weekday, most of the staff seemed to be white. (Obviously they work different days or shifts.) It's probably unfair to draw conclusions from two short visits - I think all the staff are kind and decent people - but the white carers did seem rather loud, and the Muslims quieter and more polite. So I'm wondering if my friend's attitude may be influenced a little by the staff on duty.
I'm glad, though, that my mother is safe from all this.