Showing posts with label grandmother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandmother. Show all posts

Tuesday, 4 November 2014

100 word biography - Endlessly tearful - Hospital/Paramedics again



Biography

Ten lines of my handwriting. I have made several versions. All not right at all. I thought it would be easy. Writing in the 3rd person about myself is very odd. I wind up name dropping wildly and surely that's not the point. A blunt statement that I was into extended breastfeeding and then home education won't entice anyone, nor a comment that a house that is too big can be overwhelming. Hence the escape into poetry and online anything. I don't suppose anyone at a poetry reading wants to know about my struggles with Arabic either. Or autism and the school system here. My hinterland will have to stay where it is. I can put it here instead.

Tearful

What is up with me, age, youth? The songs at the assembly at H's school set me off, the little child fiddling with my hair from behind and kicking my chair in a meditative sort of way, all these songs I listen to, the voice of a Big Issue seller in Oxford looking up at me and saying 'pliz' a voice from a home land and a family totally zapped, a grandfather in Observatory Street just standing there while the younger ones did things with push chairs and car doors, the hair and hands of the artist in his films at the unattended basement showing of various incomprehensible and necessary films at Moma...

My grandmother cried a lot, I was told, when she was in her last nursing home in 2000.  I was at home here with H and T and was not talking about my miscarriage. I didn't tell her, maybe I should have, she would have been kind and would have been sad with me. What a total fool I was. Maybe she knew somehow?

I just watched a piece of film by someone I follow on Twitter, Eyad El-Baghdadi. He talked to another activist who said she never cried about all the horrors she saw in Syria, but finally cracked when he asked her something when they were both in a cafe in exile in KL, Malaysia.

Madonna Frozen, not that I'm into Madonna in a major way, but this is beautiful.

...and then...this happened...

Paramedics

While the para was here I helped my mother in law. She was 95% confused, so was turning taps on and off while I made soothing comments. A couple of times she giggled in her normal way and she said one or two usual things. I am hoovering, washing laundry and have washed some carpet. We now have the hamster. Back to hoovering and tidying next door. There is no perfect way of being on hand, just approximate attempts. How could I have caught this sooner? Things have to be a certain way before you can just make the 999 call. I didn't make the call myself, but said if my husband needed the para then call, irrespective of whether he thought his mother did or not. Now! Rather than at 3am.

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This is from last Friday/Saturday, the night of 24th/25th Oct.

Wednesday, 19 March 2014

Beautiful written portrait of a grandmother - thoughts about grandparents - moving abroad

Lina Sergie Attar wrote this piece about her grandmother and family, published on the SyriaDeeply website.

http://beta.syriadeeply.org/op-eds/grandmother-country/#.Usx_P2RdVAR

It reminds me of the way my mother talks about her French grandmother's flat in Paris, 'grandmère's flat'. That's a typical mix of English and French, which is what we do in our family. I never saw it and there are no photos of it, as far as I know.

I will talk about my other grandparents' house at 10 Ovington Square in London. It is a building site still, I think the new people are building downwards. Every time I drive to London I weave my way around the square in my car to go past it one more time. The balcony is unchanged and the number 10 is still there above the door in this Google Street View! I have the right to be nosy as we all used to live there with my grandparents from 1969 to 1971. The house was only sold after 2008.

Moving country is a wierd thing. I hated living abroad because I knew I was such a foreigner and couldn't speak the language properly. No-one got me, I was just anonymous, apart from to my family to whom I was an English cousin who couldn't speak French fast and was reserved/private anyway. No wonder I joined a choir at the Embassy Church and made English friends. I decided I was still very much at university. I didn't want to suffer in order to get into a French social circle I'd never be properly be part of anyway.

When I tried to find myself in Scotland I merely got recognised instantly every time I made phone calls at work as my voice was the only English one in the insurance industry around Glasgow! They would say 'Ah, good morning Sarah' before I had even introduced myself.

I did love Paris and Scotland, just didn't like being so different.


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