Fleaing refugees and flowers

When you lie down with dogs you wake up with fleas. Oh okay, I don't have a dog but I do have three cats and I decided that fleas were not welcome in my bed. So I did the whole 'chemical on cat' to kill the fleas thing and it seems to have worked. Venus loves sleeping with me when it is cold and at the moment it is extremely cold. She snuggles up under the blanket and then, as she warms up, she moves until she is nose to nose with me. All the better to lick me at odd times of the night and wake me up. Barry hated the cats sleeping with us, but now he is no longer occupying the bed space, Venus has moved in. All well and good so far, except last night I felt something jump from the cat and onto my ear. It felt suspiciously like a flea and I spent the next few hours thinking about 'flea in ear' issues. I must finally have fallen asleep because I woke up at 6 am with no fleas in ears or anywhere else. But it did inspire me to cut my hair. Almost 8 years ago when Barry was first diagnosed with cancer, I felt powerless to help and then came up with the idea of growing my hair to donate to the Cancer society for a wig. Today was the day. I walked into the hairdresser and she kindly trimmed and measured and finally cut my hair. She handed me the hank of slightly gray hair and I placed it in the envelope and am sending it off to the wig factory today. Yay, I feel I have achieved something momentous. Not that my action has any effect on cancer or the devastation it causes. But it made me feel that I was doing something after all and was not powerless anymore. There was another lady in the hairdresser's salon who had lost her husband to cancer 18 months ago and she felt I was brave and courageous. Nah, I am not really. But it was nice to hear it from a stranger. I do like compliments. I am silly like that. Egotistical maybe? No. No. No. Kind and generous. Yes.

People have been telling me to be kind to myself lately. What does that mean? I have never considered self mutilation or flagellation or masochism of any sort, so its not that. But I am a past master of the guilt trip. I still blame myself for not saving my daughter from dying almost 40 years ago. I lie in bed at 2 am and think of all the awful things I have done or not done in my life as a mother or a daughter or a wife. Especially as a wife. So when people say be kind to yourself, I would like to know how to turn off that inner voice of blame. That would be kind. I decided when Barry went into hospital and people started the 'be kind' commentary, that I would stop myself every time I said something mean to myself. But more than that, I would try to tell myself positive things each and every day. So what if I only got out of my pj's at 11 am ... positive thought would be, 'hey, I didn't cry today.' or 'Look at that, you washed the dishes all by yourself.' No more self doubt or blame .. no more of what a terrible person I am and more of the things I do get right. If the dishes lie languishing on the kitchen sink for a week I will not castigate myself ... no, I will be Mrs Happy and Mrs Positive each and every day. 'Oh look, I have clean dishes to eat off.' Yay for me. Don't feel like cooking myself dinner ... no more feeling guilty about my diet ... no, I did have a banana during the day. Bananas are fruit and good for you so if I have a slice of cheese and a cracker for dinner, then it is no one's business but my own. And the days I don't get it right and revert to Mrs Sad and Lonely ... well that is okay too. I am allowed.

Yesterday Chad (our son) and I took all Barry's shoes to the Refugee centre in Hamilton. I had visions of men in dishdashas and kaftans donning Barry's boots to march off down the road in search of a better future. It is something Barry would have approved of. He believed in helping those in need and giving them his shoes was my idea of honouring his memory. Two large black rubbish bags full of shoes. Yes, there were a few pairs of Crocs but there were also some rather nice Dr Martens and a few dress shoes that look like they could stand the test of time. No one in the family seemed interested, so Chad and I bagged them up and threw them in the boot of the car. But when we got to the refugee centre we were told that they no longer handle the clothing and that it must be given to the Salvation Army or Red Cross. Oh, well, I suppose it all ends up in the same place in the end. Next week I will tackle the shirts and jeans in Barry's cupboard. I have already taken all his unused medication back to the pharmacy ... shucks who would have thought that the death of a loved one required so much running around? I have filled in forms and informed and changed details, I have smiled at all the bureaucracy and red tape and pulled my hair out at times. Our daughter, Angela, was supposed to write an exam on the morning that her father died .... so not only was I dealing with bureaucrats but Angela was dealing with them too.

I was watching an amazing story on YouTube today about the Zimbabwean refugees. I sat and cried (it's okay, I am allowed to cry at sad stories ... just not so much my own sad tale of woe). One thing that struck me was that the reason that Mugabe has been allowed to run riot through the Zimbabwean civil rights of his people, is that Africans do not want democracy. Their culture has been based on chieftains that decide what is best for everyone and the idea of each person having a say is just not African. They consider it too Eurocentric. Wow. We once fostered a little Zulu boy many years ago. And it was quite a culture shock for us to change our belief that education was the cure all for his problems. He just couldn't see what we were getting at, wanting him to learn to read and write. He never did learn no matter how hard we tried. Is that what is happening to Africa? Is it reverting to tribalism and the belief that Chieftains are the leaders and that democracy is only for the whites? A bit depressing. So I changed the channel and watched my grandson, Omani's stop action movie. Omani is 10 years old and bright as a button. My Dad, his great grandfather would have been so proud. My Dad tried his hand at stop action movies in his day .... wonder where that all went to? Did the film ever get made? I can imagine him sitting in Heaven peering down through the veil to encourage Omani in his efforts. Did I tell you that my latest colouring-in/adult story book was live on Amazon this week? Yup, another thing that my Dad would have been watching through the veil. The book is called 'Rock Brothers' Yes, life is good.

So now I really do need to do something positive for the day ... yes, I have cut my hair and returned the medication to the pharmacy ... but is that enough? Do I want to go and accost a man in a dishdash and ask him if he is wearing Barry's shoes .... or should I just feel satisfied with the small victories of day to day life? Oh, and I need to apologise to friends that I might have offended. I mentioned that I only got flowers from two friends and I really didn't mean to imply that they were not good friends if they didn't bring me flowers .... I know that the shop bought ones are expensive .... I suppose I was channelling my mother, who would whip up a wreath from stuff in the garden in the middle of winter. Or myself. I often buy a vase from the op shop and throw in some dried leaves and a few daisies as my contribution to funerals etc. But it is not everyone's forte ... sorry if I made you feel like you should dash out and buy an overpriced bunch ... not that I dislike overpriced bunches .... in fact I do love a bunch of pretty pretty perfumed joyousness in a vase. I did love the bunch of narcissus ... which cost nothing at all. But flowers aside .... friends are worth more than all the orchids and roses and peonies in the world. Thank you for the lovely flowers that did grace Barry's grave and coffin.... and the ones residing on my lounge side table. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.