Filed under: Parents, Relationships, Single life | Tags: award, blog, compatible, complaint, grandfather, house, hugh laurie, misery, sugar
I’m alone. For the first time in weeks, it seems. My Grandfather is returning to his native Dublin tomorrow, which means my stint as best friend/carer has come to an end. I’m sad to see him go, but thrilled to know that the next few days are mine, and mine alone.
We’re incredibly compatible for an 81 year old man and his 24 year old granddaughter. We have similar tastes in literature, a common disinterest in TV, a shared love of travel and an emphatic hatred of Bono. He would be a wonderful companion if it wasn’t for his negativity. Maybe he’s entitled to a degree of cynicism after eight decades of life on earth, but there’s only so much criticism I can bear listening to on any given day.
Today, lunch was too big. Portion sizes, everywhere in Ireland, are too large. He finished his meal regardless. The tea was cold, after adding milk to it and leaving it sitting on the table for twenty minutes. Lukewarm. This was mentioned a few times throughout the day, until he had a hot cup of tea in my house to satisfy his craving. We had coffee in a nearby hotel with my parents. His hot chocolate was too frothy, and too chocolaty. He ate three lumps of brown sugar (the snazzy ones, crystallised and attached to a little stick to be melted into coffee at your convenience) and two slices of cake, then complained that he was over-full.
He made a remark a few years ago that has stayed with me since. He believes that some people are lucky enough to be constitutionally happy, and others aren’t. Happiness, to him, seems unobtainable, alien. I admit to a few years of feeling the same way, and I wish I knew what changed. As far as I can see now, happiness is a choice. You can let yourself see the beauty of the world around you, or you can ignore it and hold onto the misery you’re bound to experience.
How do you teach an elderly man that the world is bursting with goodness?
In other happy-making news, the lovely SSG has listed me as deserving of this:
The Rules:
1. Post the award on your blog.
2. Pass the award on to five more other bloggers.
3. Post these rules for your recipients.
The nicest thing about an award like this? That lovely sense of community. The realisation that there are other people out there who spend as much time as I do, sitting on their couches with their laptops on their knees, sharing their thoughts with the world and commenting on mine. Thank you, SSG.
I read a lot of blogs. When I find a blog I love, I’ll happily spend hours reading backwards through the posts, clicking every link available. I’m nosy like that. Here are the five I love the most:
22 Words – because this man gets to the point with 22 words or less. He loses me a little with the God stuff, but I’m okay with that.
The Northern Belle – for her honest coverage of her relationship, her wardrobe and her cellulite.
A Free Man- completely loses me with the sport bits, but that can be fogiven due to his otherwise humourous and insightful commentary of everyday things like parents and angry birds.
I have two guilty pleasures at the moment – blogs I read for the sake of keeping in touch with my wild side, which has been keeping its head down lately. These are Sequins and Glitter and Y Tu Hermano Tambien. You know you want to.
Time to rustle up some food and get stuck into House. Quality time with Hugh Laurie before the weekend ends!
Filed under: Parents, philosophy | Tags: convalescence, depression, family, galileo, grandfather, problem, resolution, single parent
My grandfather is a wonderful man. Sadly, he wasn’t so wonderful when my mother was growing up. She suffered mental and emotional abuse at the hands of an alcoholic, depressed father who was miserable in his job and trapped by his family commitments. His own father, a single parent after his wife died at a young age, was an unskilled labourer on a low and unreliable income with four children to look after. The pressure on my grandfather, the eldest, to succeed in school and find a permanent, pensionable job had such a great effect on him that he is still recovering from it.
To me, he is the inspiration that has led me to lead an unconventional life. To value my freedom and happiness above all other things, to take responsibility for myself and my ambitions at an early age. He has always been supportive and encouraging, possibly in an attempt to make up for his shortcomings as a father.
I’ve always been aware of the strained relationship he has with my mother, and since my grandmother died two years ago that relationship has been tested to its limits. Although I understand that my mother sees a different person than I do when we look at him, I have to admit that her reluctance to travel to his bedside during hospital stays, or provide him with company during periods of loneliness, has infuriated me. Last night I somehow resolved our different opinions as we discussed his plans for convalescence on being discharged from the hospital today.
I realised that we’ll never agree, that she’ll never love him the way I do, and that there’s nothing anyone can say or do to change the dynamics between them. It’s a personal journey that we have no part in, and something that they can only ever resolve between themselves. Instead of arguing, disagreeing or confronting her, last night I simply agreed with her, and I can already feel the relief of that unspoken tension dissipating.
Ah, the simplicity. I agreed last night that there is no point in considering my mothers’ home as a possible recuperation pad for my grandfather. I emphatically pointed out that there is no point in her feeling guilty about it, and no point in pretending things are any different to the way there are. I encouraged all present to discuss alternative options, and we agreed on a Plan A and a Plan B that suited everyone involved.
As my mother realises that the next generation are willing to take responsibility for her father, she might also realise that she is free to work on her relationship with him. She is still a child herself when he is around; she hides behind inane anecdotes and trivial conversation to avoid her personality or intelligence being judged by Daddy. He loves her, and is proud of her achievements (and the beautiful grandchildren she has produced!) but they can’t seem to communicate these feelings to one another.
“You cannot teach a man anything, you can only help him to find it within himself.” Galileo
Filed under: Relationships, Single life | Tags: asshole, drunk, feelings, filter, pee, rebel, single, weekend
Oh dear. Occasionally my instincts betray me to such an extent that my basic asshole filter is compromised. The guy I mentioned in my last post, in the same paragraph as phrases like “my feelings towards him are still undecided” and “He’s hot” showed his true colours last night in a spectacular fashion.
He called me at 2.30am, asking if he could come up to see me. He had no way of getting home (he’s from a small town a very expensive taxi ride from here) and naturally, I let him in. Because I didn’t want him sleeping on a park bench, because I was awake anyway, and because he’s been trying to see me all week but I haven’t been able to accommodate him.
So he rocked up a few minutes later, looking a little worse for wear. He sat on the couch and launched into a booze-induced, profanity littered monologue about my previous relationships, the books I’m reading, his hometown, and his mammy. Oh dear. I extricated myself and left him on the couch with a sleeping bag, only to be woken by the sound of a stumbling drunkard at around 4am. I found him in the hall outside my room, disoriented, and obviously just after peeing against the wall outside The Pirates’ bedroom.
I chose not to mention it today, and I tactfully got him to leave as quickly as possible. He seemed oblivious to the events of the night, and had definitely sobered up, but the angry monologue continued this morning. His language makes him seem juvenile, almost as if he’s rebelling against grammar and courtesy the way teenagers rebel against their parents.
It’s interesting that our budding friendship would have wilted last night even if he hadn’t peed on my floor. As I’ve mentioned before, words are too important for me to settle for someone who can’t stimulate me with his vocal chords. Even then, the pee would have been unforgivable.
I hope this was a freak temporary glitch in the asshole filter. I’m not going to ask what the worst thing you’ve done drunk was, but I would like to know the worst thing that has been done unto you by a drunkard. Entertain me!
Filed under: LOVE, Relationships, Single life | Tags: butterflies, first date, hug, laughter, LOVE, new friends, passion, poker, suitor, weekend
I met some interesting people last weekend, and was lucky enough to be involved in some wonderful conversations. One of the comments made was that people are more attracted to those who are in love. I think this might explain the curious number of prospective suitors I’ve met lately – right now, I’m in love with the world.
I had a date last night with a really nice guy – he’s Canadian, he enjoys travelling, he’s passionate about his job and getting the most out of life. Yeah, he’s nice. Maybe too nice. The men in my life need to be able to disagree with me, debate with me, challenge me and stimulate me. Full of ideas and opinions and… personality. The Canadian and I are in the early stages of getting to know one another, and he seems to be in ‘agreeable’ mode for now.
This weekend I’m meeting a guy who took a liking to me in the pub a few weeks ago. We’ve been out together once since then, and my feelings towards him are still undecided. We went to the cinema last week, but due to conflicting schedules and early mid-week pub closing times we didn’t have a chance to do anything before or after the movie. He’s hot. He’s not afraid to share his opinions on the world.
I think it’s obvious from the above that there haven’t been any real sparks flying. No intense passion, no uncontrollable desire, no butterflies. But there have been smiles and laughter, mild feelings of warm fuzziness, and a great game of poker. I don’t want to be truly involved with anyone for a long time… I just want the freedom of single life, with added board games and the occasional hug.
Filed under: philosophy | Tags: chaos, daytime TV, debate, draft, happiness, help, philosophy, self, therapy, typing, writing
I started writing a new post earlier this evening but I have the feeling that it’s going to linger in my Drafts for a long time before being fit for public scrutiny. The topic? Em, the essence of man, the constitution of self, or, Who am I?
I love sitting down and hearing the keys beating out my ideas, the steady rhythm of my typing lending a semblance of order to the chaos of my mind. Writing in any form has always been a form of therapy for me, and it’s still the only thing in my life that forces me to tabulate my thoughts. When it comes to the big questions in life, such as ‘Am I truly happy?’, ‘What should I do with my life?’ or ‘Is watching daytime TV ever acceptable?’, the most direct route to the answers that inevitably lie within is for me to sit down and transform my thoughts into comprehensible sentences.
It’s amazing how putting thoughts into words can wake you up to your own reality. I’ve realised that it’s common to be surprised or even mildly embarrassed by your own thoughts as they look directly back at you from a page or a screen. It’s as if you’ve transformed them from esoteric objects into material things – words are more measurable, more final and more solid than the contents of your mind.
As for the ‘Who am I?’ question, the internal debate continues. I’ve been overwhelmed this week by a catalogue of conflicting ideas on the subject. Help me out, if you can – who are you?
