Bit dark out.
Doesn't match my mood though.
Funnily enough.
I should be depressed because mum is being kept in hospital for a couple of days.
Tests.
But I feel strangely alright, bit tired but ok overall. I must be suffering from some kind of mental aberration. I'm so worn down I'm almost UP. A kind of flight or fight mentality has kicked in/broken out.
It's amazing what the mind can do when it needs to survive.

Anyway...

Two docs, one consultant. All very fine professional people who talked a lot yet managed to say very little.
"Time...tests....waiting....."
They went on.
Nurses excellent. But they didn't know anything either! They were "kind and pleasant" said a washed-out mum.
"Especially Nora" I said.
(Huge woman with parched brown hair. I liked her too. No nonsense, no waist. But as gentle and loveable as a sleeping bear.)
She was the one who, by the way, gave me the best tasting coffee my lips had ever been wetted by AND had the sense/heart to bung a few Rich Tea biscuits in the saucer.

Time went........
Arrived at 9.
A busy place running alive with the sick and their companions. Only got in temper once when wheelchair bound mum, a porter and me were waiting in line to check in at the X-Ray dept....A couple of bleached haired pink jacketted vulgar hard faced probably drink soaked tarts/chavs tried to push in. Yeah right....Dream on you nasty bastards.
It's at times like this when you KNOW you could kill or at least draw a little blood.
Mum wasn't aware but Adam the porter was.
"I hate people like that" he said as he pushed mum along to the room.
"Don't let 'em get to ya" I said, silently wishing their downfall.
Ok over the top. But I felt raw and anything and everything was hurting.
I had to get mum through this day and didn't need louts taking liberties.
They tried and failed:)

After 10 hours...
Mum was moved to another ward where I did my best to reassure her. Where I found the words God only knows, but somehow they popped out from behind my arid tongue landing like drops of Evian on her dry pasty face.
Left at 8.
My walk to the outside was made light knowing that a pal was picking me up.
A real tonic.
A friend.


Now I must.................fly? Not on your nelly, I'm taking it easy...
Tea, bed and a motherless quiet stillness...



:(

Bit cloudy.
Matches my mood.
But I'll plug on:)

Mother is dressed. Ready. But definitely not able or willing to go to the hospital.
But go she must.

Now we must fly.
Wish us luck.
:)

Supper

Spiced Pork and the Humble Cabbage.
A smashing little supper.


Either pork belly or shoulder, sliced
red onions, quartered
carrots, sliced
mushrooms, left whole
green cabbage, shredded but not too finely

Curry powder, at least a tablespoon
Soy, a good shake of the bottle
Garlic, at least four cloves
Pepper, as much as you like, I like it very much

Chicken oxo cube
Enough water to make a little gravy, don't want the pork floating about in gallons of liquid.

Fry pork.
Add onions, carrots and mushrooms.
Add curry powder, soy, pepper, oxo and water.
Stir till it all bubbles up.
Lid on and leave for half an hour or so.
Check it now and again.
Quick stir then make yourself a cup of tea.
Then.
Dunk cabbage in boiling water, leave for 30 seconds, remove , add to porky mix.

All done.

I tend to serve this piled up on boiled rice but have had it with mash.
Rice or Tatties? Not a lot in it.
But.
Mango chutney is essential.

What a gorgeous day.
Sunshine... but not too hot as to get me in lather, a silly breeze.......... just enough to brisk my cheeks and a jolly good runaround in Sainsburys.
Barbie was wearing false eyelashes:(


Between 7 and 9 spent some no-fun time with Mother. Her laying on the floor, me carrying her from a to b and signs I'd rather not mention. Lol!
But all is not bad because as I drove past Roots Hall (Home to Southend Utd) my phone rang and being mobile aware I ignored it till I got to Sainsburys car park where I checked my voicemail.
Mum has a hospital appointment tomorrow for a thorough going over by the assessment team.
Wheelchair will be waiting!

Now I must fly and I wish I could, fly I mean. Imagine taking in bellies of breath and with a swoop of your arms and a push from your heels you're up...I feel a poetic piece brewing...

Ta ta!

Prose Poem 2. Carer

Am faced with keyboard not knowing what to write.
"Write what you know" say publishing giants...
"Whose bones hurt most?" I thought, cradling mum's veined body
"Hers" said my half bent self
For I am lusty without failings , she, contorted, without identity.

Angela Norris


Had a bit of a day so decided to steam a couple of shop bought Steak and Kidney puddings instead of making my own.
For pud? Raspberry jelly inlaid with jewelled canned fruits!

:)

Prose Poem 1. Wordless

Instantaneously their thoughts were the same. And being close... each echoed their liking.
There was no space between them not even a paper thin crack. Alone, except for the prowling cat on the split grey path and singing birds aloft ragged branches the tangled lovers knew.

Angela Norris

Just seen off the very likeable district nurse Janet, who did what needed to be done then, on my path, had a few words with me.
Words which enlightened and calmed.
She also made me chuckle.
Which, for a busy Monday morning was remarkable, I don't usually do chuckles so early in the week.

While all this went ton Mr H. skated around the garden borders doing a little something or other. He loathes being outside but I don't feel guilty, after all my cup doth overfloweth:(

To keep a smile on my face and hope in my heart I'm reading an anthology of poems called "Staying Alive" real poems for unreal times....
Edited by Neil Astley no relation I suspect to the pop singer whatshisname Astley, you remember...Never Gonna Give You Up...Never Gonna Say Goodbye...Never Gonna Hurt You....
In it are examples of prose poetry which I've fallen in love with. Looks awfully familiar to the type of verse I've been known to write...No rhyming, no iambic tetrameter.
See below*



Absolutely must fly on account of needing to make beef sandwiches, the marinating of chicken thighs and general mismanagement of time.
:)


* On Walking Backwards

My Mother forbad us to walk backwards. That is how the dead walk, she would say. Where did she get this idea? Perhaps from bad translation. The dead, after all, do not walk backwards but they do walk behind us. They have no lungs and cannot call out but would love for us to turn around. They are victims of love, many of them.

Anne Carson


:)