Long time no write

In the last few months I have occasionally opened this page and contemplated posting, but inspiration always seemed to vanish before the screen. However, if one is not within reach of the screen, inspiration briefly visits. And then it evaporates.

So instead of creative or factual writing, I have let my mind wander around and float. Subjects and themes briefly visit and then just as briefly evaporate.

How much all of this avoidance of writing is due to being alone, I wonder. Solitude is my companion, inside the house. Outside is another condition. There are many things which occupy my mind and time. Singing, walking, housekeeping, Italian and other courses, and plenty of reading. But some degree of sadness is always with me. What more I could do to banish or reduce it?

I do not know. It is not as though I have nothing to do, or lack friends, interests and activities.But I am alone, and this will be my permanent condition. No family is nearby, and other than my children, no one visits. The initiative must be mine, it seems, and this saddens me. My siblings frequently visited my older sister, who died two years ago, after suffering from dementia for some years, but in the five years since Dr P died, I have had only one visit, from one sister,  for less than 24 hours. I am sad.

One becomes invisible. I know solitude and loneliness afflict many, not just me.  At least I have books and music. I do not sit around idly.

Much time has been spent - I use the passive tense here to avoid the incessant use of 'I' this or that - in reorganising the house and its contents. Quite a a lot of furniture went to the Salvos, and a man from the local market happily made off with the old Parker chest of drawers and mirror which had belonged to Dr P. Today a new blind was installed and new blackout curtains are being made for my bedroom. And I have partially pruned the bay tree and can now see the camellias behind it. However all the cleaning up and disposal of surplus items has had its costs, as I foolishly moved a 4 drawer filing cabinet down to the corner, for the council clean up. In so doing, I have damaged my shoulder. I should have swallowed my desire for independence, and asked for help from a neighbour.

 Having had a new bookcase made, I am now busy reorganising the books, and have even managed to give some away. Not very many, though. Going through the contents of old files and old documents inevitably takes much time. My first pregnancy is thus still documented, with the doctors' bills, the rubella contracted early in the pregnancy, and the loss of my twin baby boys. I could not bear those memories to be obliterated.

I feel that getting rid of old documents, and letters, in a way destroys one's identity. There are letters from my first husband, which I keep, although I doubt that he would have kept my letters to him. I think he just wanted the obliterate the records and the memories. And my very old letters and documents from the first few years of my marriage.

I wonder whether we keep more records of sorrows than of joys.

And then there are photographs. Relatively few from my infancy and childhood, more from after the birth of the children, and masses once digital photography replaced film. Physical copies should be made. Electronic storage is all very well, but hard copy is better.

Enough for now.

Evil, wicked, criminal, merciless deeds. Let us remember the innocent who were slaughtered. Surely not in the name of God?

Evil flourishes. Killings abound. The wicked persist in shedding innocent blood. How can we bear such evil?

The innocent suffer,  freedom is imperilled, and our hearts break, for the suffering of so many, who were going about their everyday lives, and have been slaughtered by the wicked.

How can they justify this slaughter?

My day has been spent watching SBS TV, which has been broadcasting the dreadful crimes committed in Paris. Not that much is known, as yet, or if it will be known at all.

Today in the newsagent's I talked to two other customers, strangers, to each other. All of us had been in Paris in the last month. We are sore and sick at heart. How is such evil overcome? How can people think such slaughter of innocent strangers can be justified? I do not know. I have no answers, only a reaction of appalled sorrow and anger, and a wish that this frightful willingness to kill others could somehow be overcome.

Let us remember this latest atrocity, in the long history of wars, slaughter and oppression.

Point of departure

Here I sit in the lounge at Madrid airport, waiting for my flight. The morning was spent walking around Madrid. Being Monday, galleries were closed, so I retraced my steps hither and thither. The loud amd prolonged sexual actity in the room adjoining mine kept me awake, as did the subsequent garbage collection. Etcetera. I feel weary. It will be a long slog before I arrive home on Wednesday.

The hotel proprietor unbent slightly this morning, going so far as to urge me not to leave early for the airport, and even going so far as to walk to the end of the street to find a taxi. If ever I travel again, I will splurge a bit more on hotels. Lesson: read the fine print! However I did leave, even though it has meant a lot of sitting around. I pulled out my crochet and worked away at that. At a sleeve. I have in fact made two sleeves, but the tension is different, so I am trying a third time, with a smaller hook size. I think that in Australia there would be conniptions at the very idea of a crochet hook being wielded on board, but in Spain they seemed relaxed about it. I did check with security before checking in!

The airport here is huge and you have to take a train to get to the appropriate departure gate. It was a very threatening day, with wild and dark storm clouds all around, and a perfect rainbow. The Spanish seem to me to be a kind and positive people, ready to help, and to enjoy life. I hope to learn more more about their politics. The issue of Catalan independence is looming high and I wonder what will happen. My Spanish is not good enough to give me more than a glimmer. When I try to speak, it is at a very basic level, and I cannot remember many verbs or tenses. I have managed some basic exchanges, and it seems people appreciate efforts to use their language. We English speakers tend to be lazy linguistically, and mostly we get away with it.

However for my last two evening meals, I had sushi. And enjoyed it thoroughly. I can be multicultural with the best of them"

Last days in Spain

This post is from the cafeteria of the MuseoThyssen-Bornemisza, where I am spending much of the day. And having something to eat and drink. The hotel which I foolishly chose for reasons of economy does not serve breakfast, nor permit any food or drink in the rooms What a poor choice that was. If ever I travel again, I will not try so hard to economise! Apparently Madrid hotels are totally booked out. I must post a review of the hotel on Booking.com. Rooms must be vacated by midday, and bags may be left until 3 pm. My flight does not leave until after 9pm, so there will be quite some time to kill.

Yesterday was Halloween. I had gone past a sushi restaurant and decided to eat there. One of the waitresses had her face painted accordingly, with stitches and wicked witch like grin. The sushi was lovely, so  I had two serves and two glasses of wine.  Around 3 am I was woken by screams, shouting,  sounds of violence, things smashing, and it was quite scary. I asked the concierge, who seems to me to be suitably witch-like, what was the violence, and she shrugged and said it was Halloween! When I left the hotel at 9.39 am,  all was calm, all was quiet, hardly anyone about, except the melancholy looking guard outside the Camera de los Diputados.

All the companions from the trip have gone their separate ways hither and thither , and I feel as though I am filling in the time. Having used the tourist bus I now have a better sense if where things are in relation to each other, although come darkness I can stll get lost all too easily. Yesterday evening I joined the throng to visit the Prado, which is free from 6 to 8 pm. The queue was really long when I joined it at 5.30, but it all worked well, eventually. But I had only just found the Goya paintings at 10 to 8, when we were all shooed and hustled out, so I will go again this afternoon. Perhaps I will visit the gardens of the Retiro. So far I have not managed to find a church to get into,
the only promising one being occupied with a wedding.

Far far away

I am on a trip to France and Spain, concentrating on mediaeval art and architecture. So far so good. After several days in Paris, we arrived yesterday evening at Dijon, where I am sitting awaiting le petit dejeuner. I am a bit early, and still in the throes of jetlag and overall confusion, trying to dredge up some remnants of school French. Other languages keep intruding. . Especially Italian. I wonder whether, once I am in Spain, all my schoolgirl French will interrupt as insistently as Italian is doing.

In Paris we visited Sainte Chapelle, with its glorious stained glass windows and soaringly high ceilings.. Then we visited Notre Dame, where High Mass was being celebrated, officials quickly separated the sheep from the goars and we goars were allowed ro walk around the outer aisles.
I cannot believe the number of selfie sticks there are used at every possible opportunity, irrespective of place, context and whatever else may be going on. It is quite bizarre.

The group was taken to a welcome dinner, at an apparently notable restaurant. We were given a mixed menu, and it was pretty ordinary. However the lights in the restaurant were very pretty, but we were left wondering what the food would have been like had we been able to choose.

The Cluny Museum was next, and it was most interesting. I do like mediaeval stuff, but am lesskeen on the negative attitude to humsnity and its manifold imperfections. Especially in all the  attitudes to women, as the source of sin and evil, without rights.

 There has been no formal process of introducing people to each other. It is all casual and happenstance, and Ithink quite a few of us find it difficult to remember names. Perhaps had there been an introductory meeting, this could have been done. Those of us who arrived on the same flight as I was on were picked up, but there was some sort of protest demonstration by motor bike riders, which completely gridlocked the city, so whatever would have been dine at that meeting did not get done.
The countryside is beautiful, the cattle are white, the trees are turning into their autumnal colours, and it is fascinating looking at the different housing and roof styles, and seeing how many flowers and vegetables are grown in people's gardens.

It is time now to assemble for the day's programme. We are going to Vezelay, and somewhere else. As I recover from jetlag  my possible future blog posts may become more coherent.
A bientot. 

Post-operative

The first cataract operation was done on Wednesday, and my daughter was with me, to drive me to the hospital, and bring me back home, and to note all the instructions for eye  drops, etc. She was great.  I am so glad she was with me, and able to get me home and organised before catching her flight home.  It made me better able to tolerate the fright and the stress.

When the anaesthetic is administered, so is an amnesiac, so that there is absolutely no memory of the procedure. This is a good thing. When you wake up you are plied with tea and biscuits, and tissues to mop up any tear duct which insistently and independently overflows. My daughter sorted me out and organised everything before flying back home.

Yesterday a friend took me for the first check up, and it was declared satisfactory. I am not permitted to drive yet, which cramps the style somewhat, and I decided to have a quiet day at home, rather than trying to get to the Italian class and then the lecture. I cannot get to choir, or drive to do some food shopping, but there are plenty of places nearby, such as sushi, quiches, and there is plenty of food in the freezer. I walked to the shops to buy a bag of chips and other things which are bad for me.

My expectation was that my sight would be improved immediately, but this is not so. It is a gradual improvement. But colours look different. The better eye, which is to be done next week, sees as before, but out of the left eye, the colours are all wrong. How weird.

Even weirder was the fact that while typing this, the alphabet suddenly changed into a language with a non-Roman alphabet which obviously wrote from right to left. Now how the heck did that happen?
 I should stop now while the earth is still spinning correctly on its axis.

Yet more proof of one's myriad imperfections

it took me four goes to type that heading. I blame my own incompetence, the fact that I am typing this with one finger on the iPad, and so on and so forth.
I am typing this on the iPad because my iMac has just been taken away to be made better. It was made worse because I foolishly downloaded an upgrade, only to remember too late that the upgrade will not support Word, or, in face, my photographs. I did manage (I think) to copy the documents onto a disc, and even this caused me a certain amount if grief because it took me some little while to get the disc out, until from the far off and dim recesses of my brain I remembered that the keyboard has an Eject key. Ecco fatto!

My next step was to search the internet to see whether I could  uninstall the software update. Oh No. Alas, and  Woe.

Off I went to the knitting group , where it was my particular and designated task to teach people how to crochet granny squares. There are some very speedy learners there, and we all had a good time. Usually some of us have lunch together afterwards. I told them all of the latest in what seems to be a long list of mistakes and other silly and humiliating things I have done. We all laughed heartily and shared various other horror stories. Then I said I needed to get a computer person to come and see what could be done. Oh, they said, there is a shop in this little arcade, where we always have lunch. You walked right past it, they told me.

So I went inside and discussed my errors and problem. It reminded me of going to Confession. The man came to my home and checked this and that, installed something else, and said he would need to take the computer back to the shop so that it could do all the things he had told it too, while he could be in his shop attending to people like me and perhaps with a few normal and rational people as well.
I hope all will be well, although I will have to learn a little about the alternative word processing system. This sort of thing is supposed to keep the brain active.

Next week is the first cataract removal. My younger daughter is staying here for a couple of days and will be able to take me to the hospital and back home, if they finishe me in time for her to do that and still catch her 3pm flight home. It will be a great comfort to have her with me. I should be all better before I leave on my trip. Perhaps after both eyes are better I can marginally improve the French and Spanish which are in my brain. Somewhere!