Non capisco...
Can anybody please help?
Blogger claims below that my old blog has been moved, but it clearly hasn't. The process seems to be permanently stuck on stage three of the migrating process, and there seems to be no button to press to either start over or stop the damn thing.
I've looked on the Help pages and forums but can't understand them.
I always thought French philosophy was the most incomprehensible thing in the world; but then I got involved with Blogger...
Well, anyway, now that I'm here, perhaps I should actually write something!
It's been a busy couple of months. The biggest thing was that my Dad died. He was almost 91 and had been getting steadily slower and more exhausted, and had been losing recall at an accelerating rate. His mind was still good, but when you have nothing to use, your mind is at a loss. 'Am I going mad?' he asked more than once. 'No, Dad, you're not... it's just that you're confusing your memories with your dreams.'
Once, he was convinced that his wife had visited in the night, and had taken him outside to see the snow. 'It was so real.'
After the research I've been doing for my Grand Oeuvre, I take this seriously. I now see no problem with people re-visiting from 'the other side'.
I do wonder if Mum came for him that night, but he wasn't ready, for some reason. Instead, he stayed with us for another month, getting weaker and more absent. I became anxious that soon I wouldn't be able to help him up from his chair to get to the commode, and was wondering how much longer I could cope on my own.
The last act took place in hospital. He really didn't want to go to hospital, or into care ('Demands', he answered, when I asked why not), but his feet had swollen up a lot and were beginning to look unpleasantly red. The doctor and the nurse thought he should go in for a brief while to be 'rebalanced'. Dad nodded his agreement. I think it was a rational decision.
In hospital he rallied for a couple of days, as they re-hydrated him and gave him a whiff of magic oxygen. He even asked for his sketchpad and pencils. But then he had a fall, and could not get comfortable. They gave him pain-killers, which made him woozy and even more out of touch.
Then he had a stroke. They took him down to the scanner but he refused to accept the process. The nurse told me that the next step would probably be to sedate him and then take down again. I protested that this was not 'treatment' but a bureacratic procedure, and did not consent to him being dealt with that way. The doctor agreed.
The last time I saw Dad alive he was rambling. Something that seemed to matter to him was 'Where do you want the knots storing?' He asked this a few times, but probably not of me. Then he carefully asked something else, which also made no sense. He asked 'Do you understand?' I said I understood the words but not the meaning. He stopped talking then.
A few minutes later he started giving orders to somebody who was apparently not there. He was back in the army,I think.
At the next visit he was in a side room, on a drip, head back, eyes curiously half-closed and vacant-looking. His breath was very irregular. He could not respond to my holding his hand. After twenty minutes, we left. There was nothing we could do there.
Ten minutes after we got home the hospital rang to say he'd died. Even though we knew it would be happening one day soon, it was still a shock. Such a definite word. So permanent.
But I'm sure he had died before we got there, ushered out on a cloud of morphine. Those eyes...
Mum would have him now.
We saw him on his way with a Chopin nocturne, and Sogno by Andrea Bocelli. He'd have enjoyed that. Perhaps he did enjoy it! My views on the paranormal and the transcendental have altered dramatically since I started writing the Grand Oeuvre.
And that's the other big event of recent weeks: The GO is actually 'finished'. That's 'finished' as in 'needs months of editing', but the bare bones are probably OK.
I guess I'd better get on with it....
If Blogger can't sort out this blog and its new location, it's possible I might be getting another space on the Good Life Press website. GLP seem to have accepted a little book on organic veg growing for beginners that I've written. Not certain yet, but promising.
To work....
Best wishes to all Chas
Blogger claims below that my old blog has been moved, but it clearly hasn't. The process seems to be permanently stuck on stage three of the migrating process, and there seems to be no button to press to either start over or stop the damn thing.
I've looked on the Help pages and forums but can't understand them.
I always thought French philosophy was the most incomprehensible thing in the world; but then I got involved with Blogger...
Well, anyway, now that I'm here, perhaps I should actually write something!
It's been a busy couple of months. The biggest thing was that my Dad died. He was almost 91 and had been getting steadily slower and more exhausted, and had been losing recall at an accelerating rate. His mind was still good, but when you have nothing to use, your mind is at a loss. 'Am I going mad?' he asked more than once. 'No, Dad, you're not... it's just that you're confusing your memories with your dreams.'
Once, he was convinced that his wife had visited in the night, and had taken him outside to see the snow. 'It was so real.'
After the research I've been doing for my Grand Oeuvre, I take this seriously. I now see no problem with people re-visiting from 'the other side'.
I do wonder if Mum came for him that night, but he wasn't ready, for some reason. Instead, he stayed with us for another month, getting weaker and more absent. I became anxious that soon I wouldn't be able to help him up from his chair to get to the commode, and was wondering how much longer I could cope on my own.
The last act took place in hospital. He really didn't want to go to hospital, or into care ('Demands', he answered, when I asked why not), but his feet had swollen up a lot and were beginning to look unpleasantly red. The doctor and the nurse thought he should go in for a brief while to be 'rebalanced'. Dad nodded his agreement. I think it was a rational decision.
In hospital he rallied for a couple of days, as they re-hydrated him and gave him a whiff of magic oxygen. He even asked for his sketchpad and pencils. But then he had a fall, and could not get comfortable. They gave him pain-killers, which made him woozy and even more out of touch.
Then he had a stroke. They took him down to the scanner but he refused to accept the process. The nurse told me that the next step would probably be to sedate him and then take down again. I protested that this was not 'treatment' but a bureacratic procedure, and did not consent to him being dealt with that way. The doctor agreed.
The last time I saw Dad alive he was rambling. Something that seemed to matter to him was 'Where do you want the knots storing?' He asked this a few times, but probably not of me. Then he carefully asked something else, which also made no sense. He asked 'Do you understand?' I said I understood the words but not the meaning. He stopped talking then.
A few minutes later he started giving orders to somebody who was apparently not there. He was back in the army,I think.
At the next visit he was in a side room, on a drip, head back, eyes curiously half-closed and vacant-looking. His breath was very irregular. He could not respond to my holding his hand. After twenty minutes, we left. There was nothing we could do there.
Ten minutes after we got home the hospital rang to say he'd died. Even though we knew it would be happening one day soon, it was still a shock. Such a definite word. So permanent.
But I'm sure he had died before we got there, ushered out on a cloud of morphine. Those eyes...
Mum would have him now.
We saw him on his way with a Chopin nocturne, and Sogno by Andrea Bocelli. He'd have enjoyed that. Perhaps he did enjoy it! My views on the paranormal and the transcendental have altered dramatically since I started writing the Grand Oeuvre.
And that's the other big event of recent weeks: The GO is actually 'finished'. That's 'finished' as in 'needs months of editing', but the bare bones are probably OK.
I guess I'd better get on with it....
If Blogger can't sort out this blog and its new location, it's possible I might be getting another space on the Good Life Press website. GLP seem to have accepted a little book on organic veg growing for beginners that I've written. Not certain yet, but promising.
To work....
Best wishes to all Chas
posted by Chas Griffin at 12:05 pm
1 Comments:
Sorry, that's all, sorry.
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