An apology

This afternoon my brother in law rang Vixen, telling her in very direct terms about my right to privacy, her wrong-doing in her unauthorised removal, in my absence, of documents which were not hers, the possibility of the police being called, and various other matters relating to the marriage between her father and me. He strongly suggested she return the documents, apologise to me and undertake to reform her ways. It sounds as though he gave her a big fright: he said she blustered and was very defensive at first, but was obliged to change her tune.

He rang to let me know to expect a call, and shortly after she did ring and apologise, undertook not to visit without notice, and to return the documents. We had a discussion, and I told her that she should have asked me instead of helping herself in my absence, and that her father could remember nothing about what she wanted when she visited.  She acknowledged that she had been wrong, and that her father's memory is extremely poor. I asked what her reaction would be should she discover I had been in HER house without her knowledge or permission, and had removed documents. We discussed her sister's forthcoming visit, and I specified that she should visit for short periods only, as Dr P otherwise becomes both tired and confused. And I said I would NOT be going away during the visit. I accepted her apology and said I would do my best to put all this behind me. She said that she and her sisters all appreciated my care of their father, and that if I were not there, the burden of care would fall on them. However she then swung onto the attack, telling me how dreadful she thinks the bathroom and shower recess is, and that we need a whole new bathroom. (I am not sure how I could keep Dr P washed while such work was being done.)

She arrived late in the afternoon, rang to say she had arrived, returned the documents and talked briefly to her father and me. Naturally we did not mention the war. There is no point: he should not have this burden or be put in a position of having to take one side or the other. He would not cope, and it is extremely difficult for any parent to have a child criticised or attacked. Hear no evil, see no evil....

She has not said why she wanted the documents, or why she failed to discuss it with me, so I still think she is Up to Something, which very likely involves her sister.

My brother in law intends to write her a follow up letter, which he thinks will put even more fear of God into her. I hope so. I will remain on guard.

He is very good value, my brother in law, and is able to be clear, concise, direct and forthright, not to mention being an excellent lawyer, and a decent and honourable person. He can call a spade a bloody shovel, and does not pussyfoot around. He remains ever calm and civil. I owe him a lot. His wife, my sister, told me she has been dreaming of giving Vixen a piece of her mind!

I am calmer now, although my mind is still churning and heaving,  and am so glad that this action has been taken. Even if I do fall apart and feel like an absolute sook, a soggy mass, and a scaredy cat. At least something has been achieved. But what will the future hold?

Tidying up the study and chucking stuff out is good therapy, and shortly I will be ringing people to come and take it all away.

Much too much

I don't know if I can keep going. My ebb is as low as it has ever been, and my thoughts are dire, distraught, distressed, dreadful and depressing. I feel I want to die. It is too hard.

Vixen came here while I was out, and carried off Dr P's  legal documents. I know what they are, but of course Dr P does not. I asked him did Vixen ask about anything, and he thought she did, but could not remember what. Well, I said, documents are missing from your files. What sort of documents? he asked. The sort of documents which she could use...he looked mystified.

She does not know about the one I can use, which is put away in what I hope is a safe place.

I knew she was here, because the carer phoned to let me know, and that she'd gone into Dr P's study. When I checked the filing cabinet, these documents were missing.

She left me a note, in unaccustomedly honeyed tones, giving details of her family's overseas trip, and of her sister's (the WSD) visit a couple of weeks from now. It would be 'an ideal time' for me to be able to go away. Yeah! Opportunity for mice to play - but rats and vermin more likely.

Sorry, not going anywhere.

I cannot sleep, or eat (not that that is doing me any harm, at least some weight has been coming off, and I feel like giving up, totally.

My brother in law said he would telephone Vixen, as I felt incapable of doing so, but I have not heard from him yet.

I could care for Dr P cheerfully and lovingly, as I have been doing, but I absolutely cannot cope with this sort of tension and enmity. What could possible be worth it?

Raining thoughts and whether pigs have wings

Today it is coolish, and raining. Naturally I put the washing on the line this morning, when the forecast rain looked unlikely to materialise. But it did. Mind you, I am very happy that it is raining. We had a couple of days of fearsome heat, when my brow just dripped all day. It was revolting.

Our washing machine conked out at the end of the week, and our trusty repairman advised we buy a new machine, rather than get the old one repaired for the second time this year. I had a new one in use by early afternoon on Saturday, and it has already been used several times.  The laundry is tiny and narrow, so the washing machine had to be a small one, so you can go out by the laundry door, and also get to the toilet. Our local electrical appliance shop had this particular model on special, and it was recommended by Choice. Why stuff around, I thought, just do it! So I did.

The trouble with a new appliance is that you have to read the manual. This is a most dislikable task. Somehow manuals are cast in language which is unclear and impenetrable, which certainly requires re-reading a number of times, and which clouds my mind with severe doubts and uncertainties. The old machine had a a lint filter which used to be cleaned out regularly, and acted as a sort of indicator of the wear and tear being experienced by all our linen and clothes. The new one has no lint filter. The place where you put the detergent is something of a mystery, and it took a number of tries before I managed to work out how to extract the piece where you put the fabric softener.

Anyway it does seem to wash well. However, the lid is not flat, which means you cannot rest a container of detergent on it. This is a more serious matter than it may sound, as there is no flat surface anywhere in the laundry. The nice men who delivered the machine installed it for me, and managed to bang their foreheads on the clothes dryer above the machine, not once, but twice. And they took the old machine away. After that I walked up to the shop to pay for it all.

I like to buy from this shop. It is a local business, and their prices are very competitive against those of the larger retailers. After ten years in this area I know the staff, and they know us. They do nice obliging things  such as putting your electric fan together  when you have failed to attach the pieces in the privacy of your very own home. They deliver without charge when you buy a heavy new heater, and then come back and replace the globe which gives you pretend flames.  And when it came to the purchase of the new refrigerator and dishwater, we got a very good deal. And a couple of weeks ago I had to replace the blender (necessary item for pureeing the pea and ham soup Dr P enjoys so much.) It chewed up the rubber seal, which had not been put properly into position. Then soup spilled into the bowels of the machine itself. Not a good thing to happen. They are a good place to shop and we have been good customers, although now that so many of the genuine antique electrical appliances which graced our homes for so many years have been replaced, our custom will probably peter out now.

It is a quiet-ish day. I have been to see our GP to discuss Dr P's condition and associated complications, and will shortly take Dr P there for his appointment proper. I am not in a brilliant condition, having been smitten all day yesterday by a horrendous migraine, which really wiped me out and which did nothing for my levels of peace and tranquillity, etcetera.  Yesterday, when it eased, I went outside and hacked the lemon grass, which strangely enough is a very bamboo like specimen and not at all easy to chop or grate. So it has to be replaced, and I hope the new one grows quickly.

In between writing this blog, I have been poring over the photos of Spain, trying to identify them all, and looking for the ones of storks' nests to show Dr P. Good clean fun, that is, but it takes a long time.

Who could have nicer and better stepdaughters?

Practically everyone, really.

I am still sick and seething at what was revealed to me last week. Certain measures are in progress, I hope, and material has been sent to my brother-in-law, who is my solicitor, for his consideration and advice. It is all delicate stuff, as They must not know I know.

We had another ACAT assessment yesterday, and I was able to communicate some of the problems to the team. Happens all the time, they said, and not just stepchildren. They were supportive and made some helpful suggestions. It is probably a good idea to get the carer here for an additional period so I can go out and do the shopping. And with luck and good management further respite services may be available. And there is always internet grocery shopping, I suppose.

In the meantime it is Fortress Persiflage here. I am not opening the curtains of the front room (it gets too hot now that is is warmer weather), so no one can see in. I have locked the  screen door to the front, and I have the only key. The garage door is staying closed (as most garage doors do). So Vicious cannot get in unless I let her in. And I am not going out for extended periods, and thus visits in my absence are less possible. In my view it is rude to just let yourself in, and she never rings to say she is coming. Tomorrow and Thursday mornings I go to my classes while the carer is here. She has to be able to get in and out, so I cannot lock the screen door. I will have to get another key cut, so I have a spare. Apparently the other solicitor is planning to drop in to see Dr P at some stage, having been advised as to the best time.  I would like to be home for that visit. Oh yes! I do not know how much stuff they found in Dr P's files, or on my computer, but am busy making sure that things are more secure.

Oh joy, oh bliss, SD2 will visit for a few days sometime in December. And SD4 and family will visit for a couple of days around Christmas. I won't be going anywhere, except that I might be able to take Dr P with me for a visit to friendlier places. Vicious and family will be away from late December until the end of January.

I had a talk to Dr P this morning, about his finances, his care and his possible future needs, and have taken some protective action. I don't think he understood most of it, or will remember it, but I think he certainly does understand that I care for him, look after him lovingly, and have his interests at heart. Certainly he is very loving, and understands how much he needs me.

I am not sure I can outwit or counter them, but I will be doing my level best.

Proof

Through a strange combination of circumstances, specifically lack of respect for my privacy, I now have hard evidence of my stepdaughters' ill will towards me. I need legal advice, and expect to get it soon.

I have been shaking all day with tension, and feel ill,  enraged and outraged. Such malice is very hard to bear. To my mind there has been improper behaviour, and exploitation of a father's increasingly failing memory.

I attest here, that notwithstanding tensions from time to time, I have at all times acted honourably and honestly towards my husband, and I think those who really do know me would concur with this statement. And my husband keeps telling me how good, kind and honest I am towards him. And that he believes himself to be lucky to have me.

How right I have been to have guarded my privacy and my own affairs from them all, and not to have expressed my anger or disagreements at all.

SD1, who I will now refer to as Vicious, if only to vent some spleen, called this morning, as I was about to go out. I stayed home instead. After she left I discovered quite a lot of her opinions and actions. Despicable, they are.

It behoves me to watch even more vigilantly on all flanks, and to see what action I can take.

The Death Notices: Vale Audrey Oldfield

From time to time, as I browse through the newspaper, I look at the Death Notices. Not because I am expecting to see names I know, as, being relatively new to this city, I don't know many people. However, as part of my fascination with language and its usage, I began to note how infrequently the occurrences were of 'Death' and 'died'. These days people pass away or pass away peacefully. Or birth and death dates are given, without any actual specifying of the death.

Yesterday as I browsed, one name stood out. The death notice was that of Audrey Oldfield. She was a scholar and researcher, a member of the Australian Society of Authors and of Womens Electoral Lobby. She wrote a book on the history of the female franchise in Australia, Woman Suffrage in Australia: a Gift or a Struggle?  published in 1992 by Cambridge University Press, as part of a series entitled Studies in Australian History.It is an excellent piece of work. I own a copy, which I pulled out to have another good browse through it.  She dedicated the work, I discovered, to her grandchildren, in these terms: "A generation which will learn that their mothers, as well as their fathers, made Australian history".

Of course, the female franchise is a fascinating subject, as are most aspects of the struggle for equal rights for women. When I consider the manifold and numerous injustices and inequities perpetrated against women, I still seethe and rage. Women in the English legal system had no legal existence, and thus the very notion of their being able to vote seemed a contradiction in terms, a great nonsense and an appalling and outrageous attempt to overturn divinely ordained and eternal prescriptions.

Oldfield gives a concise and comprehensive history of the condition of women in Britain, the USA and Australia, the development of theories about women's rights, from Wollstonecraft, John Stuart Mill, the American feminists Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott before moving on to the Australian colonies from the granting of self-government and then to the federation of Australia, which came into effect in 1901. Section 41 of the Australian Constitution provides that no person entitled to the vote in any of the states may be deprived of that right in federal elections. Because South Australia and Western Australia had legislated to give women the vote, women could not be deprived of their vote in elections for the Commonwealth Parliament.  The Commonwealth Franchise Act 1902 established a uniform franchise for Commonwealth elections. Thus women obtained the vote, although Aboriginal natives of Australia, Asia, Africa, India (but not New Zealand) were excluded, a dreadful injustice not rectified until very many years later. Oldfield disputes the notion that Australian women were granted the vote as a gift rather than through significant and intensive arguments and campaigning - although she notes that in one way the female franchise was a gift as of course women had no power to enact it themselves.

Having done quite a lot of work on Australian electoral history and law during my working life, I feel very strongly about the fundamental importance of a fair and honest electoral system. By and large we have such a system, and we are very fortunate. Such equity has not come about by chance, and it is important that we celebrate, treasure and preserve it.

We owe gratitude and thanks to such scholars as Audrey Oldfield for her work in this area, and accordingly I pay her my small tribute.

Sorting out lives and getting things done

If only! How much easier it is to sort out life when that particular stage is well and truly over. However, it really is a matter of thinking 'If only I had done this, or that, things would have been different/better.' Whatever.

I would like to think I can manage my life better these days, now that I am somewhat older than 59a (thanks Isabelle, you youngster over yonder) but such improvements are faltering, few, and on the fringes rather than on the central issues.

As I am, perforce, having to be more active and decisive, perhaps it will be possible to convince myself that the worm has turned, that intelligent decisions will be made, and that my cringing and non-assertive aspects of personality will wither away, allowing a transformation to shine forth and bloom.

Before I went away, I issued a general directive to the dearest and the nearest. 'Sack the cleaners' I said. I was not happy with their cleaning, and they had cut corners and ignored past requests to do this, that or the other. On my return this injunction had been avoided. You might think that the powerful personality of Dr P would happily have taken action, but No. He did not feel he could do it.

So it was up to me. My stomach heaved and my heart pounded as my mind rehearsed the action: how to phrase it, what reasons to give, whether I could bring myself to do it. Surely Dr P would and could do this little thing for me, the darling of his life, his wife, lover, friend and carer? After all, said my suddenly burbling subconscious, he's  the Man, and Men are supposed to do this sort of thing. Not little, feeble, helpless women. (What a pathetic subconscious you are, I told it, to be giving in to untold centuries of conditioning like this.) My stomach still heaved away, but as the cleaners were leaving, I seized the bull by the horns, bit the bullet, put my shoulder to the wheel, to coin a phrase and put it in a nutshell, as they say in the classics, and told them that we did not want them to work for us any more, as Dr P is not well, and I had to make all sorts of arrangements.

All this made me feel bad, but also good. It has been done.

Now all I have to do is find new cleaners, get them to come for longer and on a day that suits me. The other major task is to get home based respite care organised. I began trying yesterday but there are (inevitably) other people to telephone, and I need a good amount of time to get all this done. I cannot do it while Dr P is up and around and needing attention and help. It is necessary to have peace and quiet, and to be organised in my thoughts. The bureaucracy and the policies seem very complicated, and I have to take notes, and try to remember who said what. It all makes me feel my own powers are failing, and certainly my memory is not that good any more, and we need me to do this well and effectively. Tomorrow I intend to arrange for the commercial agency which provided the carer during my trip to provide care twice a week in the interim.

Yesterday I went to one of the Italian classes, having got Dr P up, showered, dressed and fed before leaving the house. Although it was choir practice night, I decided not to go, and also did not go to the other Italian class this morning, but did go to the art history lecture. the other thing I did was to get a new head (?) for Dr P's electric razor. His shaving had become a one-sided affair, and when I looked at the shaver, discovered that there was a big hole. When I got home I had to put it all together, and clean it out, and then help with the shaving. This was a multi-skilling experience I could have done without. Friends then called around, and then the day was done. Dr P has gone for a sleep, and I am wondering whether to feed myself, or whether to just quietly starve over a glass or two of red wine.....

Maybe I will have some prosciutto and canteloupe with the wine. I decided, after eating lots of Spanish jamon that Italian prosciutto is the better product. See how travel educates and broadens the mind, not to mention the palate?