Tuesday, 24 November 2009
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Last week Dr P went off to play bridge. Usually he gets a lift from friends, but that morning the friend whose turn it was to drive rang to say she could not drive him home. I had other engagements that day so was not available for chauffering duties. She and I urged him to get a taxi home, but he decided to drive himself. He set off. I felt rather anxious.
Just after 10 am he rang to say he had had an accident. He had been turning into an area of the carpark which led to a small parking area near an entrance with a ramp, which enables people to avoid having to climb the stairs into the club. Despite this bridge club being full of elderly people, there is no lift. Dr P's foot hit the accelerator instead of the brake pedal and the car hit the concrete wall.
Fortunately he was not hurt, just rather shaken, and went on to play his bridge. His kind partner drove him home. He has now decided not to drive any more, and once the car has been repaired he will give it to his grandson. For some time now he has not wanted to drive, and when we go anywhere together, or if he has a medical appointment I drive him, and accompany him to the appointment, and participate when necessary.
Along with everyone else, I am very relieved at this decision. Using taxis will cost him much less than registering and insuring a car, and it is much safer. He was not driving well, but was not amenable to persuasion to abandon driving. Understandably he was reluctant to abandon his independence, and to acknowledge yet another limitation of old age – he is almost 86 – but it seems that old people can get quite mean, and that he begrudged paying the cost of a taxi. Often he just won’t listen to reason, and he is used to having a servant class available to him, and I am the latest – probably the last – in a long line. He can be extremely stubborn, impervious to argument, and ready to shout people down. I do not want to be totally at his beck and call, and want to be able to lead my own life.
And yes, old age can be a real bugger. Dr P's old age shows itself in lack of mobility, severe forgetfulness, which necessitates constant repetition of everyday facts and arrangements, worsening deafness with consequent difficulty in conversing with family and friends, various health issues, the needing of frequent naps, the rigidifying of attitudes, and a far greater dependence on others. It is harder to maintain cheerfulness, and impossible to live life as before. I do sympathise and feel sorry for him, and do all I can to help, but it can be very frustrating and difficult. Although in many ways he is very generous, he is often very selfish.
A couple of years ago I read David Lodge's book Deaf Sentence. Lodge is quite deaf himself, and in this novel deafness is central to the plot. He writes 'Deafness is comic, as blindness is tragic.' Deafness, he says, might arouse pity, but not terror. He quotes Milton's Samson 'O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, /irrevocably dark, without all hope of day' and offers'O deaf, deaf deaf' to illustrate the fact that deafness does not have the same pathos. While the blind have pathos, and there are visible signs which reveal their blindness, he says that 'we deafies have no such compassion-inducing warning signs' and indeed provoke irritation rather than compassion, because people must shout and repeat themselves constantly when trying to communicate with the deaf.
It is indeed quite unfair, but very true. My voice is soft, it makes me hoarse if I have to shout, and it is amazing how quickly my mood changes from kindness and helpfulness to irritation. I remonstrate with myself constantly 'Control your temper! He can't help it!' But he could at least use his hearing aid! Then I get depressed, thinking that these should be my good years, and, if I should outlive Dr P, I will probably have become so decrepit myself that I won't be able to have any fun or do anything, and there will be no one to care for me. That is no way to live, so such thoughts must be banished. And the decision to stop driving is a good one.
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Thursday, 12 November 2009
Monday, 9 November 2009
Just for general information, here is the recipe,
and the lined tin.
The six egg whites, stiffly beaten, and then folded into the mixture. Again, the spurtle works well.
But hands are required to get it well mixed.
Here is the cooled cake. You can see the little dents in the shape, signifying domestic authenticity, and not some automated factory process.
It is now wrapped up and hidden. Dr P seems not to realise that it is a Christmas cake, and thus not to be hacked into bits for his immediate delectation. In some respects I am happy to take on the role and responsibility of a domestic dictator.
Today I did some general food shopping and visited the health food shop there, which had all the fruit in the (formerly) standard quantities. Too late for me and my cakes this year, but I will know where to shop next year.
Friday, 6 November 2009
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Today’s lesson deals with the continued use of archaic, outmoded and grovelling forms of address and tiles. It is time to consider their appropriateness and to rethink their use.
Here are some titles which really aggravate me. There are probably many others.
His Imperial Majesty
The Most Reverend
The Right Honourable
Be it noted that there is a certain gender bias in some of these titles. They seem designed to create an aura of grandeur, of authority, inequality, and separateness from others, and may imply both overtly and indirectly that the holders of such titles are more worthy of respect and good fortune than us lesser mortals. However, such titles can also suggest, to put it crudely and unkindly, that the holders are up themselves. My argument is that such titles originated in authoritarian, hierarchical, unequal and stratified societies, and were intended to indicate authority, distinction, royalty, nobility, religious office-holders, and general importance. And to keep people in their places.
Some titles, of course, describe occupations, professions and qualifications, such as Professor, Doctor, Judge, Commissioner, President, Prime Minister, Minister, Speaker, Leader of the Opposition. These do not present any problems. They describe the occupation, office or function, and separate it from the personality.
Titles such as Duce and Fuhrer are indelibly linked to evil and abhorrent people who brought great misery to the world. It is interesting that the Italians no longer use the word Duce (which means Leader). These days, it seems, the word used is capo.
Some people, possibly traditionalists, old fogies or monarchists (the David Flints of the world) are not only happy to retain such titles, but would see them as appropriate and expressing respect. My rejoinder is that there are less grovelling and more accurate ways of expressing respect for a person, or an office or an occupation.
After the French Revolution the general form of address, until the restoration of the monarchy, was Citizen. I quite like this, though the practice seems to have got a bad reputation from the Terror and the Scarlet Pimpernel novels of Baroness Orczy, which sent out a strong message that equality was bad, while aristocrats were inevitably noble, courageous and honest, and could outwit an evil democrat any day of the week.
The Americans seem able to cope with addressing their President as Mr President. This seems an excellent way of giving respect to the office, which does not require or imply any obsequiousness or grovelling. Respect is important, but ought to result from legitimate and democratic authority, responsibility, functions and general courtesy, rather than from the continued adoption of outmoded and ridiculous titles.
Here endeth the rant.
Your humble, devoted and obedient servant,
Her Opiniatedness Persiflage