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"Bags of space", said the Mobility saleswoman, as we assessed VR's bum width against the wheelchair seat. Should make France more explorable, if we get there this year |
Drove VR to Mobility to check whether her backside fitted the seat of a wheelchair I’d chosen. Wheelchairs can cost thousands; this was secondhand, priced at £50 (“one careful user”). It fitted. Driving back I listened to the familiar lilt of Beethoven’s Spring sonata for violin and piano. Improving the afternoon gloom.
Reflecting: This had been a trip “outside”, something mildly different, a forty-minute treat. Breaks in the routine are rare.
If you flitted round us at home you’d conclude ours is a very dull life. Tangible silence; VR downstairs, same easy chair, reading her Kindle for hours with leisure breaks of FreeCell. Me upstairs, grinding out the words, fidgeting Solitaire.
Bursts of incompetence as I prepare brunch and sometimes an evening snack. Cursing a spoon falling from arthritic fingers. Food no longer a major priority. A modest glass or two in the evening. Often a foreign movie on Netflix or Amazon Prime (free, courtesy of grand-daughter and daughter).
VR’s illness hinders talk so we choose subjects carefully, using a minimum of words. VR damns her reduced mobility. Recalls childhood memories in précis. Thanks me for my burnt offerings. Says she’s lucky to have me. Once – A veritable thunderclap! – says I’ve still retained some looks so why don’t I find someone else? I’m speechless. And undeserved.
I summarise what I’ve read and what I’ve written. Speaking loudly. Sigh heavily when mealtimes roll round. Make a big deal out of “doing” the garden while only planning to weed a couple of pots. Most days I visit Tesco, on foot if I may, by car if there are too many bottles.
We can live comfortably without chat. That’s when I inspect VR’s lined face with enormous affection, a gentle and cumulative delight.
Dull? Let’s say private.
Your soft side is no longer private. I never expected anything so tender from you in print. So lovely.
ReplyDeleteI always read your posts but often don't know what to say; the words you've written feel self-contained and sufficient. One day, this will come to us and I hope we can handle it with as much grace as you are. In any case, I wanted you to know I'm here and reading, and caring.
ReplyDeleteAnd now you made me cry.
ReplyDeleteSimply beautiful.
ReplyDeleteAll: I’ve mentioned VR in TD many times but only rarely have I written “about” her. I reckoned closeness disqualified me. But 2023-24 has been hard. She’s tried not to give in but I fear I’ll remember her whispered “It’s so degrading” until I’m dead and gone. A proud woman among many other things.
ReplyDeleteAny summary would merely be a list. I needed some fragments from which truth might be inferred. What you see above was rewritten a dozen times and it still isn’t quite right. But, then, what would be?
One lesson I’ve learned and its crankiness may remind you of the other less surprising me. In dealing with emotion it’s a good idea to avoid the woefully over-used, misunderstood, carelessly employed four-letter word that for me has outstayed its welcome. A carefully chosen fact in the right place kicks that old-stager into the long grass. Meanwhile…
MikeM: What I’ve written is not necessarily what I am. But the jury may be out on this.
Beth: A few months ago I had the gall to suggest a course of action to you. Perhaps I suspected that I’d live to rue that day. If so, today’s the day. As a coda, I think experience has taught both of us that there is a price to be paid for greater life expectancy. I very much appreciate “self-contained and sufficient.” I don’t think I’d ever ask for more.
Sabine: Very occasionally VR has quiet spells which may do justice for tears. Reminding me of what I need to do. Incidentally, I’m well aware none of the stuff I allude to here will be personal news for you.
Colette: I think I have to confess that if there is beauty it’s accidental.
I started following you again because I miss your blog; to say I miss you sounded a bit too over familiar. I recommend The Expats on Prime, free, staring Nicole Kidman. So far four episodes available, the rest come Friday nights, probably two more. If you still read my blog you will see I have been recommending it.
ReplyDeleteRP: As to being missed, I tried your blog some time ago a couple of times but was denied access. I'm easily discouraged. Even more so when it comes to English-language TV drama series. The incessant "trailers" seem to consist of brief clips - usually violent - expressly chosen to put me off by virtue of their banality. As a result I remain in ignorance about Thrones, Handmaidens, Tourist and all the rest of them dating back decades; if I'm not tempted I don't feel obliged to try them. Oh, at the urging of my daughter, I did try Succession but dropped it after one episode - there wasn't a single character that interested me. On top of this there's further discouragement in the pitiful three-line summaries intended to attract me to Eng.lang. streamed movies. That's why I tend towards the foreign movies sections of Netflix and Prime - stories from Scandinavia, Croatia, France, Germany, even Iran, more often have the ability to suprise me.
DeleteYes, me too also in ignorance of those you mention.. I like European films. I am only ever absent for a day or two from the blog. I watch only Ndtflix and Prime.
DeletePrivate, as it should be...I love those little knowing moments when a couple connects with a gaze, and you think you then know their whole life story. Sweetness personified. Sandi
ReplyDeleteSandi: It's usually the telling fragment that gets you, while the windy generality leaves you flat. What happened sixty years ago differs hugely compared with today but both have their own relevance. I'll accept sweetness. It's not the dreaded four-letter word.
ReplyDeleteI laughed outloud with your reply, and was glad you didn't translate sweetness to saccharine or perhaps you were just being polite. SM
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