Menogoggled; It Looks Well

The late father's home finally went to market on Monday. Mac1 forwarded the link to the promo video the realtor has created. The old place has brushed up very tidy indeed. Gone are all the cobwebs, the dust marks on the walls from picture frames, the space-sucking self-built unit in the kitchen corner. That kitchen scrubbed to sparkling, walls of other rooms brushed over with emulsion and the gloss paint touched up to cover all the desperate dings from the electric chair that dad insisted he was still 'licensed' to drive. He would be proud of the efforts of my siblings, and rightly so. I admire all the work they've put in to clear out the 40 years of stuff and clutter and bring the flat up to standard. The true end draws ever closer...

SCENEINVIDEO Virtual Viewing - 15 Esslemont Road Edinburgh EH16 5PX.mp4 from Square Foot Media on Vimeo.

Farewell Father

You will not expect much of me today dear readers. Today, we lay father to rest - and with him, finally, mother's ashes also.

PLEASE NOTE, DUE TO NEXT WEEK BEING RATHER A BIG DAY IN ITS OWN RIGHT, FFF WILL BE SKIPPED THIS MONTH! 

HOWEVER... IF YOU ARE UP FOR IT, HOW ABOUT EVERYONE POST AT LEAST ONE IMAGE FROM ANY SOURCE OF A PIECE OF HOLLY? YOU KNOW, JUS' COS'... 

Thanks for all your kind comments and warm thoughts over this strange period of time - this weekend I shall be returning to the Hutch full-time. There will be readjustment and then time to get on with being just me again. You'll no doubt be reading about it.

Menostalgialismaling

It's the week in which this needs to be done. Another cousin has come up with the goods - the first image is dad aged somewhere between 10 and 12 years. When I got Jade, he was inclined to spoil her. This surprised me, as we had always been told we couldn't have a dog as kids. I thought it was because he didn't like them. 

Turns out it was because he was so devasted when his boyhood chum died, he never got over it and didn't want to ever face that again. However, we did face it with cats and tortoises and fish and rabbits... so he didn't escape entirely from facing the end of life. 

The second shot is taken, I think, on the Scottish west coast and is clearly a hydro dam somewhere. 

Macs 2 and 3 will be here this evening. Big day tomorrow.

Menostalgialism

Och, he was just a lad!!! In the first photo - about 18 years. In the second, about 20. Some of our cousins have come to the party with some images that were not in dad's prodigious image library. Can't help but smile - and that is what such things are for. 

We're a wee tad concerned. Having had a really rather blissful autumn, suddenly winter is declaring itself and the rain... O.M.G. the rain... maybe it'll run out by Friday?

Menofrizzzlinked

 It's all a blur. You know... organising... date is set, an order of service now discussed and debated and devoured .... and dissonance sorted and balance restored... Roll on Dec 18th... 

Me-Now-View...This Man Will Do

 

Alexander MacLean, 1936 - 2020
R.I.P. Daddy

I know that there are a few of you out there who would be willing to give a wee donation to Parkinson's UK for research into this ravaging disease, for which, thank you! If any of you can reach my brother's page on the book of faces there is a specific-to-dad linked giving page, should you wish to participate. 

Menopalongalingaling; Deep Breaths

Mac3 made a flying visit north. Drove up Friday. Managed three visits to see father, leaving early Monday morning. It was a good decision on his part, for the days of life draw less.

Father has been swimming solo in these his final days. I am sure that the sound of our voices is part of the sea in which he floats and our Love is like the waves, lapping him. It is a reality that we all must swim alone, be it to enter life or leave it. When we arrive we take deep breaths. Again as we leave.

We are on watch and wait. In between the watching, during the waiting, we take deep breaths and busy ourselves with everyday stuff. It's how it goes, heh na?

Menoooopsss, I Did It Again...

Sigh... another day late... for those interested parties enquiring, this is the day that decisions were made. Nature is to be allowed her course and father is in a top place with the best of care that the National Health System at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary can provide. 

The view from dad's room - a single room with private facilities, all the bells, whistles and cuckoos. If he were but present enough to know how he is being cared for.

I rest now knowing that Mac1 and I have done all that we can and finally we are being afforded the space to return to being dad's daughters. For how much time? A piece of string may be able to tell you. Day by day.

Bless you all for your loving support and patience with me during this time.

Menocreatikul; More Makerings

Currently, crochet is providing me with something to stabilise my days. It's always good to have the hands busy as it can help keep the thoughts from wandering too. As father sinks ever further into the grip of age and Parkinson's, one must guard against 'sinking' oneself. 

I am very accepting of life's processes. It begins. It ends. All sort of nonsense takes place between those two facts. But if it began, then indubitably, it will end. I am not overly emotional, but am not unaffected by seeing a once vibrant man become little more than a blob. The worse for his knowing it himself and having to witness the storm that creates inside him. (Or facing that storm when it leaks out.) One finds oneself wishing for a clean and sudden end... all the time knowing that the disease in question prefers to drag things out for its victim, to make life as unpleasant as it can for them before departure. 

We hold onto the lighter moments when they come - like the one just as I was typing this, where his 'chariot' took off with him asleep at the control. He'd forgotten to switch off the power when he went through to the lounge and was doing doughnuts in front of the telly. Of course, according to him, there was no sleep and he wanted to be doing that...

Then there's the news from Mac2 that one of her pals has produced a new life. She wanted a little set to gift. I got busy. A purpose beyond endless shawls and slippers! Received a lovely letter back, too. Artemis Elizabeth left her fingerprint. Her first 'authorship' at age one month!!!

Menolyrical; Final Friday Fiction

The last Friday of March 2020 and the world is very different from what it was even a month ago. Here in blog land, we are keeping each other good company, and for this, we must be grateful. 

As more of you will have a bit more time on your hands, perhaps you'll have a go at the FFF challenge. See the dedicated page (check tabs up top) to find out how to join in. 

REMINISCENCE
One of the brilliant things about memory is that it generally recalls the good and - mostly - forgets the trials and tribulations of a particular time or relationship. Of course, there are degrees to this, many shades, and there are a few who remember only the dark. Predominantly though, the good times light our paths.

One of the tasks undertaken recently while adjusting to the new paradigm since Covid was a clear-out of my late mother's old dressing table stool. Which, I think was really always a sewing stool (you know the type) but it served in the bedroom too. It would have been her birthday on March 24th. It was a nice way to reminisce.

There was all manner of stuff in there. Clearly, my sisters had had a rummage and, I suspect, 'cherry-picked'. Much of it I could happily trash. Some scribbled notes on scraps of paper in mother's handwriting. Things about knitting stitches, or that something that she had heard from 'Shiela' or 'Wilma' or needed to pass on to 'Betty' or 'Dorrie'. There were cuttings from papers and mags which held no interest beyond the fact they had been of interest to her. Some sewing stuff. The odd nail, washer and screw. An inch of wool kept for 'just in case'. And another and another. This was the quintessential Elsie; always be ready for a rainy day, waste-not-want-not.

Among the items I opted to preserve were these. The photos were taken in Australia. The outside one at Old Sydney Town (historic re-enactment compound). The inside one, from our first visit to the newly refurbished Sydney city storehouse, the Queen Victoria Building. It was quite novel in the late 1980s to have old buildings repurposed to modern mall-style usage. It remains a very popular destination.

Who knows whether the box had been a gift sent from the USA or was a found item, but it is cute. (I have a 'thing' for little boxes and tins). Inside was some costume jewellery, most of which was trashable. I have kept, however, the little roll of bias trim. 'Just in case'. Will use the hair clasp as a paper clip. The diamonte necklace is worth nothing and has some spinels missing. However, I can remember my mother getting it for her 30th birthday and she wore it often when going out with dad. The little diamonte spray brooch she inherited from her own mother and I am happy to have it in my possession. Pure nostalgia.

Then there is the 'roo brooch. A tourist kitsch item, really, but of better quality than would be found these days. Who knew we'd be saying that about 1980s paraphernalia?!

Last, but far from least, the Children's Service pamphlet. Produced by the 'Scottish Council of Churches' (now known as the Action of Churches Together). Where on earth mother obtained this from I have no idea. I don't remember it ever from my own childhood... it is quite possible she picked it up from a bowls club fayre stall in her last years. Possibly finding some solace in the prayers within it? She never attended church, beyond the basic requirements of weddings, funerals and other nominated occasions.

It's a bit of a mystery, then. However, as a spiritual being, a philosopher and researcher of all things faith-related, I shall keep it in her memory. Tomorrow, you will find one of the small prayers quoted here. I hope you will find it fitting.

Nothing fictional about today's post, yet, in the recall of memory, it can only ever be coloured by the direct experience of this individual. Whether that would tally with the individual who was my mother, is quite another thing. I know that when family memories are discussed with my siblings, there are often differences in 'view'. Sometimes, one wonders if one actually shared the same space, or whether one or the other is living in la-la-land.

Do we all create our own lives? Is all of this just a fiction anyway, our lives just an imagining; like the sparks from a fire, looking bright and flame-like, but - in the end - falling away to ash and merging with the earth?

©Yamini Ali MacLean 2020

Menoutfittery; Wetrooms Rock!

Some of you may recall that there was the decision made by the father of Macs to have his bathroom (finally) converted to a wet room. I do wish I had taken some before shots now. You have no idea how impractical it was for him in his motor-chair! Here, though, are the after shots.

The drive right in and sit right down version!!! The sink was moved from the sidewall and onto the new 'bulkhead', which also provides some level of improved warmth in the room. A new suspended ceiling lowered things by about eight inches, and the wet-wall siding brought the room 'in' a couple of inches all around, again improving warmth, as well as lighting.

The loo is a top-end, all-singing (literally), all-dancing (kinda) bidet pot. The seat has a heater. The water spout can be altered for pulse, brush, spray, and there is a warm air-dryer. The lid/seat can be lifted by a press of a button and it is dual-flush. Being wall-mounted, there is room for dad's feet on his chair to ride under for turning. He can readily access the washbasin for morning ablutions and hand-washing. You'll note there is a drop-down support arm to the left of the toilet. 

The new towel-warming radiator is now where the sink used to be. Dad is loving this thing! Who wouldn't? 

The shower area, complete with support bars, curtain and a new double cupboard. The shower chair has been provided by our council support worker. Dad was not at all sure about it, to begin with, but having experienced four showers in the time since completion, he is appreciating how much less strain the whole ablutions business is now!!! As a carer, it is an absolute dream.

We were particularly impressed with the support/grab bars provided. They are actually quite discreet and stylish. So much so, that Mac1, at first glance, wondered whether grab bars had been intended - and we had to point out that these were them! The non-slip rings also help to disguise them and - apart from the drop-down sidebar - you'd never guess this was a room for the less able.

If I tell you that we really got lucky with BMAS, I am sincere. Everyone should experience such professionalism! Right from the minute Colin called to discuss things, we were filled with confidence. So much so, that the other two plumbers we had contacted were just not called for interview (though one anyway had said 'we don't do wetrooms' - despite advertising them!) The other two were on the council 'approved' list. BMAS wasn't. I just found them online and found that they responded within a matter of two hours. Colin, the assessor, clearly knew disablement and age-care requirements, as well as the works required. Dates were set, Imre and Kris (Hungarian lads) were our outfitters and they, too, filled us with ease. Such gentlemen, careful in all they said and did. In four days, they worked from arrival to completion of each day in cheerful and non-stop fashion. Excellent skills. Then, as they left, they vacuumed and I had hardly a thing (beyond some major dusting) to do!!!

It is almost impossible to say how impressed we were with this business... and the wetroom is a 100% success!!!

Menotoptional; Getting Things Done

You all know that life is a bit, well, not my own these days. Increasingly it is becoming surrogated to the father. Legal and financial and health matters have been getting discussed in depth this past couple of weeks.

Not that Mac1 and I have not been seeking to get father onside about arrangements for some six months now. Sure, it is hard to surrender when you have had complete, and sometimes secretive, control of your affairs. The other side of that is that the mother used to be the family financier. Dad just finds it all a bit of a chore. He'd rather play ostrich, by his own admission (at least, "should just put my head in the sand" comments suggest he thinks he's related to one...)

I'll admit it's not my fave activity either - but I am good at it, having been in both banking, and self-employed for quite some of my years.

Anyhoo. With a wee bit of cranky and the old argy-bargy, at this point, we have appointed a builder/refitter to upgrade the bathroom to a full wet-room (watch this space!) at long last. Work to commence at the end of the month. The solicitor has been called to finalise power of attorney matters. Thirdly, if all went well on the day of writing this post (Wednesday), then an accountant/financial advisor will have been appointed also.

Once things were falling into place, father brightened a bit. He even agreed to a haircut and beard trim (LONG overdue) and to dress for business...

Couldn't get him out of those slipper-boots though! A somewhat challenging run, this duty-rota, but satisfying and worthwhile, in the end.

Menooooooooeeeekkk!!! (Something Akin To The Discworld Librarian)

You know: the Terry Pratchett series of books which transform real-world politics and social commentary into a fangtambyoulush melee of mayhem and magic.

The Librarian is a member of a small, elite group of senior librarians, who have the knowledge and ability to travel through L-space. The very strict rules that members of this group are pledged to enforce are:

1. Silence.
2. Books must be returned no later than the date shown.
3. Do not meddle with the nature of causality

Why do I compare myself thusly? Well, it's my preferred option over being held up to others by father as being like a) Herta Bothe, concentration camp guard, or, b) Hattie Jacques' matron from the Carry On films. 

So, I like peace and quiet, clean and tidy surroundings, clean and tidy bodies, and talking the plain facts of things. Maintaining any of these requires a level of discipline. This may seem regimented when one has simply let everything go to hang. At least the move from Bothe to Jacques is a progression of some worth. Could it be he is beginning to see the humour and benefit of routine and rhythm in life? I shall be mentioning the Librarian and the 'rules' and see what kind of conversation that might spark. 

It's just lucky for him that I have the strong and sturdy constitution of an orangutan and the thick skin to let the barbs fall away! The ability to laugh at oneself, and to giggle at other's attempts to dislodge the good humour is an essential tool in the box for any carer!!!

We're rubbing along just fine. I'm physically shattered but will be returning to The Hutch next Monday for 10 days of recovery time.  

Meanwhile, I do have to make a dash across and back today. The small matter of voting. I have never missed using the privilege afforded me to have my say since I turned 18. Despite having to leave one coast to travel to the other side of the land to mark a paper, I do not intend to break my record! It comes under point number three of the L-space rules!!!

Me-no-filmitype; Skillz? Nope!

I mentioned on Monday about taking father along to Men's Club. I managed a few not very grand photos and even less grand recording snippets. Have cobbled them together - so here is something you weren't expecting to look at today!

Menollowerdaplace; When Life Twists And Turns

There's is no getting around the fact that the father's health is looming large in my time management now. You don't need all the details - suffice to say that Mac1 and I have had to formalise things somewhat, with father's go ahead. He recognised his deterioration and need for full attendance, which is positive. He's not the sort of fellow who engages easily in any kind of conversation beyond technical or political stuff!

I shall now be sharing a two-weeks-on-two-weeks-off roster with Mac1, with me being flexible to extend where required. Macs 2 and 3 will be taking up the occasional weekend here and there as 'respite' for us and to keep them in the loop.

Many of you have been in similar situations and I know you understand there are challenges - but also joys - in caring for an ageing and ailing parent. It is what it is and we will all adjust in our own way. I am perfectly content with the need for this to happen, but do have the one little heart-pull that my 'serious' writing has taken a hit. Have done nothing of any value for a month now and I will need to find a way to set a rhythm and get back to it. Mainly because it is my therapy, my balancer, my heart-salve.

I do also miss The Hutch. I was due to return there for a week last Wednesday. Things happened to change that. As a compensation, Mac1 called a 'family day trip' and drove father and myself over West... and blow me down it was an absolutely SPARKLING day. A rare one of blue skies, clear air and dry - though very cold.

That view along the Clyde from Dumbarton rock (on right) to Helensburgh (behind that tree), the Arrochar Alps behind and that peninsula at left in distance is over towards my bit.

Getting father to go out his front door has been a big challenge the past few months. Toileting matters. Found a solution for him and so he was quite comfy to make this full-day outing.

At home, I had to collect the few things for family Christmas to put under dad's tree.** I also had to put up my own decorations, which Mac1 happily helped with... and father put his two cents worth in by advising that my "two calling birds" needed to not be on the tree, but on the dried hydrangeas beside it. Great idea!

Mara's nativity set is now in place... note the angel up on high!!! I shall need to make some kind of diorama for next year, but I am loving these!

We had a fish N chip lunch (one of my very occasional breaking of sattvika), which held us in stead for the trip back, which took a whole hour more due to hitting rush hour in Glasgow AND Edinburgh. It was a special day and to be treasured in memory.

The next morning, emboldened by his new 'freedom', father wanted to attend his Men's Club for the first time this year. I was happy to help with the wheelchair and was invited to stay as it was their annual 'ceilidh'. Tremendous morning and so special to see how his old pals all sought him out to shake hands and share hugs and stories. The music was delightful.

These are the rewards of the not easy task of age and care.



** Thank goodness I had the energy and forethought to get pretty much all my festive mail sorted and posted as I left The Hutch two weeks back. Some of you have already confirmed receipt which is fab. Not all that many really, on the snail trail. Most of you for whom I have email addresses are going to receive the now acceptable e-card greetings from me in the next week or so. Crikey - stop the train someone!!!

Menootanaboot in Auld Reekie

The stalwart readers will recall that I am currently residing in Edinburgh with the father. Something to do with broken paws... (it will be all change again as head back to the Hutch on Sunday and to the fracture clinic on Monday. Hmmmm.)

Moving on. Last Saturday, Father, Neighbour M  and I poshed ourselves up a bit as we had a preset date for the Queen's Hall. It was organised a couple of months back. A concert with Aly Bain and Phil Cunningham, two of Scotland's finest trad musicians. Anyone who knows anything about Celtic music will know of these two players. They each had individual careers, but their duo has endured 32 years of almost constant touring together, with no sign of retiring. They don't just play with great virtuosity, they are also great raconteurs and regaled us with many a fine reminisce about life on tour, ageing, fellow musicians...

Now, it has to be said that as the Parkinson's has advanced, the father has been less and less inclined to venture through his front door, so this was a big occasion in the Mac household. The fact he actively engaged in the concert with laughter and clapping and didn't fall asleep, speaks volumes to the fun that was had!

The best way to give you an impression of the experience is to provide an example. This was from ten years ago, but they are consistent, these boys. We too had a Fergie MacDonald anecdote albeit a different one and different tune. Our sound quality was rather better too. If you enjoy this, you will find lots more on the tubular!!!

Menonindy - keeping on the industry

Here we are, 17 days into the 'break'. Feels like a lifetime. As does the typing of these sentences. Had thought that my natural dexterity might result in improved speeds and accuracy with only the one hand. The former - slightly. The latter - not in the least. Just getting this far with corrections and backtracking has already taken a goodly eight minutes.

So why persist?

In one of the very low moments last week, the realisation came that writing - the physical act of typing - is the core of my life. It is my anchor, my ballast... my therapy.

When am not blogging, am researching, emailing, taking notes, 'composing'. Am almost constantly at the keyboard. Also, when not doing that am usually either doing stuff with papers and books - or am the kitchen concocting. Oh yes, I like to concoct.

Take yesterday for example. Took it into my head to devise a recipe for 'brekky buns'. Healthy muffins to nibble with some fruit and save me battling with toast in the morning. I thought and planned for an hour then went to the kitchen to start the process. A fair bit of bang and clatter ensued as ingredients were gathered from various places (nb: the father's kitchen is not the YAMster's kind of organised), placed into a bowl and got ready for mixing.

Two things. The flour required getting out of its clumsy bag and the bowl required stabilising to enable the mix.

Like a cake troll bun pixie, the father appeared. He loves when baking is happening and couldn't quell his curiosity. He was put to use - even though he too only really has use of one hand. Between is we got those little blighters baking. This morning, it was date and raisin muffins with butter, honey and bananas. Teamwork, a grand thing! Two wilted beings can still be beautiful...

What? You want the recipe? Come back tomorrow!

Menoical; Just a Teeny, Weeny, Itsy Bitsy Kinda Nuts. Part One.

Oh yes, peeps, that said 'part one' up there. Are you ducking for cover already? I don't blame you really, but this is, after all, my journal, a place of memoir recording and things to keep the record straight in the YAMster's menoplyxinaemic brain. Shall we begin?

This entire week will be mainly pictures. That too, pictures of and about aeroplanes. I mentioned that I had returned to Edinburgh for a week with the father after dropping the visitors at Glasgow airport... the old man is a bit of a telly-fiend. He also has a habit of recording almost everything that airs. Mainly because he falls asleep much of the time so it takes several runs at things to see them through.

Unless that is, it really captures his attention. One of the things that do that is anything related to engineering or flight. I had barely sat down with my cuppa on arrival before he'd lined up a program about flying around Britain in a single-engined Cub. Very enjoyable. I mentioned to dad that I wanted to go to the Air Museum at East Linton on this visit and asked would he like to come. It was exciting to hear him say he would! (Getting him out and about these days is pretty difficult.) We agreed to go on the following Tuesday. Meanwhile, we filled up the days with me doing a deep clean on the flat, as well as baking and cooking and shopping and lots more watching recorded programs - he had heaps about WW2, and a whole lot more which related to flight. We had a theme going!

On Monday, though, we had Bertie's Gail come to visit. She had been down in Edinburgh for a couple of days at the Book Festival and we took the opportunity to have her visit. This also went well - one can never tell how the father will be with folk he's never met before, but the conversation flowed. He was a little disappointed that Bertie had been unable to make this trip - he enjoys when I show him Bertie's posts from Torridon!

Tuesday arrived and we had reasonably fair weather for our drive out to East Linton - it's about 40 minutes out of the city. One of the key reasons to visit this place was to see Alpha-Alpha - the very first Concorde. We went to the cafe first for a cold drink to keep us going, then went into the 'experience' hanger... let me tell you, peeps, I came over all horripilation! I showed the father. I quite literally shivered with excitement.

What a magnificent flying machine!!!

Me-no-here; or the F.Y.E.O. post 2

Picking up from Monday's post, wherein you had some background offered to the place called Orfordness. It is nothing but a long shelf of shingle on the Anglian coast, but it has served a strong and mostly silent part in Britain's military history. My father was a part of it in the late 60's early 70's of the 20th century.

Everyone was hyper about nuclear attack (or potential for it) and the intended purpose of the antenna being built was to provide early warning if USSR got trigger-happy. Building such a visible item, though, meant having to provide cover stories and the key one was that this was simply a radio relay and transmission station. Fake News, if you will - government generated. It is quite the art. Even though much (most) documentation in regard to Cobra Mist has been declassified, there is still quite a bit of the mysterious about it. Back in the day, though, all sorts of things were being reported.

For dad, though, it was just a job of engineering. There was recently a Channel 5 show about that time, which he and I watched together with great interest and I was much entertained by his mutterings of disagreement in places. One of the comments of the presenter was that there were very few photographs of the array...

Father trundled through to his cupboard and returned with a binder in which were the newspaper clippings and a host of photos he had taken at the time! (This was when he had a dark room at home and I would go in and help with developing...and, oh yes, he'd signed the Official Secrets Act.)

His memory remains quite clear about the work carried out and some of the challenges faced. He never named to me the main contractor, the American partner whose design and specifications it was Balfour Beatty's job to make manifest - only in researching for these posts did I discover it was RCA. One of the things the show didn't make clear - or was even misleading about - is that only the end poles were of the metal 'pylon' type. The rest of the array was concrete poles. Different from anything BB had done before, these poles were in sections and to be 'cemented' with a fancy-schmancy resin glue.... which didn't work as planned. There were also design flaws in the way the lines were tensioned. Lots of hurdles to be jumped to get the thing together.

There was trouble with the poles cracking. This he told me about but it was not spoken of in the tv program. What was mentioned was that the whole thing, after only a few months of commisioning, was shut up and demounted. He also backed up the talk of 'too much noise' for the billion-dollar (in today's rates) array to be useful. That's one big white hephalumpus! There are a number of archived and declassified docs on the inquiries made as to the whys and wherefores of so much US Govt funding going into a shingle spit to lie with all the unexploded ordinance there. Nothing is really conclusive. Without saying anything, I got the distinct impression the father considered the design doomed from the start. This paper was the shortest and (potentially) most interesting to read on the matter of RCA's part in things. It contains this excerpt, which pertains directly to the flaws mentioned above.

Some of the 'heavy plant' caused issues too. The 'push-me-pull-you' truck was okay till it got grabbed by the gravel. The crane was fine; until it wasn't.

Fun times. What struck me most was the futuristic beauty of the structures and the intended coverage of the completed array. It's all done by digital signals and satellites now, of course.

I leave you with a few more images.