MenoAZinkulling: T

This month here at the Wild YAMster's bloggy, you are going to be regaled with words related to feelings and happenings of the last twelve months. Oh yes, you know of what I talk.  This is to be the ALPHABET OF AAARRGFIZZZ... We've all had to deal with it. This will be a reflection purely from my point of view. You don't necessarily have to agree with what I say; just appreciate where it's coming from. Normal service will resume on May Day. (By which time I may be yelling that down the ether phone loud and repetitively!)

☀♉☀

This is another letter for which words Tumbled forth. Where to begin? 

Training. No, not that sort. The riding in a carriage behind an engine sort. Transport in general. Which, of course, leads to Travel and Thoughts Thereof...

I occasionally used the trains between the Hutch and #15 (it could take about three hours door to door). More often, however, after selling the car, I opted for the buses. Here in the Bonny Land, once we turn 60, we get bus passes for free travel throughout this braw place. I had mine for nearly a year before we couldn't go out and about anymore. (Well, we could... but... y'know...) In that year, I not only made monthly to-fros from west to east but got in a trip to Inverness, then from Aberdeen to Edinburgh. Locally, I travelled over the Cowal peninsula onto the Isle of Bute and back. I went all over the place within Edinburgh because there is hardly a street that doesn't have a bus route running through or close by. Our public transport is second to none. 

I miss tootling aboot on oor transport... and although we can do so freely again (at time of writing), I shall not be rushing in. There is still too much that is variable and uncertain about our situation. 

Thankfulness. Oh, you think mentioning gratitude in gee was enough? Well, gratitude is the attitude - thankfulness is the expression. The saying it out loud. In my case (and my siblings'), there was immense thankfulness expressed to the doctors and nurses of the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, first in A&E and then the neuro ward. Father's condition got steadily worse and at quite a pace from August onwards, and Mac1 and I were a bit Torn in attempting to get dad to cooperate in his own health management. Stoic Highlander of the war generation. Internalising it all and driving us spare with concern. We finally got five weeks of external care assistance for overnights - though that did not actually prove to be as successful as hoped. The girls were lovely, but - well - he just needed to be in proper facilities. Nature took its course, and I had to call the ambulance... 

Three weeks. For three weeks, Mac1 and I took it in turns to visit morning and evening - I used the bus then. One almost outside the main door goes directly to the door of the hospital. Thank you, Lord. I risked that travel knowing I probably had antibodies and anyway took all precautions ... and, anyway, by the end of the first week, we knew This was iT. On November Thirty, it was.

Tears. I remember back to the Tantrums. Part of the Parkinson's picture is the change of mood and Temperament. Combine that with my own altered mood from CFS/?LC? and dad and I could sometimes find ourselves in quite volatile moments. So I tear-up but also cannot help giggling from the memory of the day he told me I was a Toe-rag and he was firing me. "Can't do that," I said calmly back, "because I quit."

Clearly, he didn't, and neither did I. He hated me in that I could see him Truly, warts and all and would call him on it. He loved me in that I turn that same lens upon myself. Transparency is one of my drivers. I detest bulls*** and deception and betrayal and secretiveness and furtiveness and ... well, you get the picture. I will always call things as I see them. Sometimes, when I am Tired or at the end of my Tether, I know that I can be a Tad Tactless in doing so. Perhaps, in the past year, things have been just a bit rough and ready... and raw. 

Yesterday, I pointed to the possible Treachery of the propaganda machine with the removal of an LSE blog post. Today it is followed up with diaries of an ex-colleague of the performer known as Assk Buteye dinny Promise Jollies. It appears I may not be alone in my estimation of his odious Toadyousness. There is growing concern regarding Westminiseries (i.e. ABdPJ et al) working up to Tyranny. .. ... ... ... ... Surely not?..

Let's lighten the mood. Theatre. Thespians everywhere are concerned - well, I ought to say performers, for there are also dance, acrobatics, music... again the utility of the internet came to the fore. The abundance of performance which has appeared online is astounding - and the standards have been high, even from amateurs. I have subscribed to the Original Theatre and watched a few plays already. I would like to share with you, in closing today, a little experimental dance piece from Bridge Street Theatre's Thang Dao Dance Company. The name, Proxemics,  gives a clue to this being the pas de deux of Coviditionitis; Together - and yet - not. I loved it. What think you?

See you tomorrow for the ongoing saga. Please be aware that there is more I amAZing over at 

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