I said this..

.. elsewhere.  And some people didn't get it.  See what you think:

I've changed my mind. I found a psycho-delic one.

This can't be right (but it is)...

Thanks to the vagaries of a life ruled by the forces (and farces) of an insurance company, I've had to pay out multiple many shekels of hard-earned superannuation recently.

Now we are reduced to eating toasted gravel and re-using our socks for teabags.  Yes, I will eventually (and that's a loooong eventuation) be re-paid, after a fight about the details and no doubt lots of nice expensive correspondence via the solicitor.

It's absolutely NOT fair, but it is the way it has to be.  They are indeed liable; the crucial question is 'for how much?' and that is what all the arguing and denying and madness is about.  We forge on, counting our small triumphs as we go, and trying not to get caught in the emotion of it all.

I have wondered, sometimes, how any decent person could work for such a company, but of course it's not about us or the human element or fairness in general, it's just business.  They want to protect their investment from illegal claims and make their shareholders happy.  When we feel like we're being singled out, we're wrong. Not only does every person making a claim have to go through a similar process (not necessarily as complicated a process as ours, but the same basic forces apply); every person is both benefitting and being compromised by this process. Our claims for third party or flood damage or burglary are all equally subject to the scrutiny and regulations that rule this industry and guide how it operates.

That doesn't make it easier.  It just makes it impersonal.  It's not ME, or M, who is being treated this way.  It's claim # 550293B-iiZ and it goes through all the office processes just like every other claim.

Some of you who read this blog may find this concept comforting, or become even more annoyed or frustrated for us!  Don't, though.  Remember we have excellent help; we're in the right, and we WILL get M home and get back to whatever our new lives are going to be.

I, myself, may need to sit down heavily for a bit once the settlement is settled.  Possibly requiring some spontaneous unnecessary pamper-shopping to relieve my feelings via unguent-therapy.  M may feel he needs to acquire another 200 books.  Whatever works, once we get there.

I visited Little Miss Wendy's house tonight to borrow the vacuum cleaner.  She squeaked and rubbed and meowwwwed and demanded foods until I gave in, although it was clear her evening meal had already been served and thoroughly consumed. Then she led me to my side of the bed and indicated I might lie down for her delectation.

As I was unable to oblige (needing to return to my honey) I am sorry to report that as I departed, she was stomping around the kitchen snarling to herself about being quicker on the uptake to bite me when she has the chance.

Poor puss.  Lucky me!

A thoughtful series of remarks..

I'm lucky to have a good friend (let's name this friend Sam), who shares (mostly in a very amusing way) stories of the dysfunctional family Sam belongs to.  Sam's experience is that although immediate family members are still alive, they are not loving or respectful. But they still make it clear what Sam's role is in their construct of what 'family' needs to mean and what therefore can be asked or demanded or assumed from Sam as part of the family unit. Apart from my emotional reaction to this situation, it raises all sorts of issues about what 'belonging' means, and the strength (and therefore amount of love and pain) that these ties can engender.

We all want to feel we are part of a greater social whole. Our social world begins with our immediate family (usually) and grows out from there, through friends and school and extended family and work etc etc. Usually. But what about our expectations?  They tend to grow along with what we witness and experience.  So if you come from a loving family and having loving people around you in your greater world, you learn to expect that those people will, in the main, treat you kindly.  Will listen, and care about what you say, and generally interact with you as an equal.  There will be times when this isn't so, but these situations will be resolved without huge emotional stresses or 'deal-breaking' situations.  You are in essence able to be fairly certain of your foundations.

But what happens when your starting point, your immediate family members, have a different way of operating? If their emotional makeup is flawed or skewed or a result of their earlier life experience causing scars?  If somehow their model has been flawed and they're not able to pass on the loving, accepting model because they haven't experienced it?  Or if, say, they are not insightful, reflective people, or emotionally responsible people, or even people who don't much care what impact they have on others, and whose ideas and feelings don't get scrutinised?  We can't all have the good fortune of strong emotional foundations and positive life experience and the inner strength and wisdom to find our way.

My point is that we learn from what we know, and if what we know is something that causes us pain or frustration or anger or something deeply disturbing in some way, what are we to do with it?  Our own emotional evolution is something we can choose to think about and perhaps explore and modify.  If, say, we are filled with guilt and paralysed by this guilt, we can seek ways to examine the guilt and try to find a more emotionally effective way to live with ourselves.  We can make choices about what we choose to carry as emotional baggage, and what we want to make peace with, and even what we want to leave alone because it's part of what makes us feel vulnerable.

When we turn to our family to help us, or accept us, or respect us as equal in emotional status, we are putting our selves in a position of some kind of need.  And if those family members are not able to accept or meet this need, we're in a very vulnerable position indeed.  Being needy and asking for help is admitting that there's something we can't do, can't manage, or can't understand.  Expecting those close to us to treat this with respect and not exploit this vulnerability can be a gamble.  If your experience is that admitting neediness is probably going to lead to a situation where you are ignored, exploited, ridiculed or made to feel you are 'lesser' somehow, what does this teach you?

I think you learn, very quickly, to keep your needs out of the equation.  If 'belonging' is something you need to feel, you have to change your expectations and understand that you won't get the acceptance and respect you feel you deserve.  This is insidious stuff, and in my view can lead to crippling outbreaks of anxiety, feelings of abandonment and low self-esteem.  Because if your family doesn't accept you as you are, where do you turn?  Many people learn that close friends are safer, more reliable and stronger emotional relationships to participate in.  Friends we can choose.  Friends can be that unconditional accepting emotional model we all want to participate in.

Sam is caught in a very unpleasant place - wanting both to cut ties and to feel that Sam can belong  as the person Sam is.  There is much to lose by choosing either position, and it doesn't surprise me at all that Sam can't choose.

In my own explorations of these kind of emotional ties and expectations within the family, I frequently forget that what *I* feel is generally understood; but it may not be the case for all the others.  I am as capable as the next person of thinking it's all about me, and forgetting that the others, as close to them as I feel, might have other priorities and other emotional pulls on their resources.  I make lots of mistakes but I believe that I at least try to start from a loving, accepting point of view.

It hurts a lot when things don't pan out, and somehow I or we or they end up stumbling over false expectations or simply wrong ideas and assumptions.  Like everyone else, I want to belong, and to participate, and to feel that my 'stuff' gets equal time.  When it goes wrong, it's awful.  Because in loving and respecting my family members, and believing as strongly as I do that we all need our space to stuff it up, sometimes I expect too much or assume the wrong thing or simply get overwhelmed by what's going with me and not be able to see past it.

This is perhaps an apology as much as it is an exploration.  Because it's better to learn from a mistake than to just feel bad about it.  For me, it's better to think it through and try to understand than to let it go and find that expectations and assumptions are even more off the mark next time.

Brought to you by a day when I was peaceful; then scared, too full and then too empty of adrenalin; and then very lonely for a while.

No perfume was harmed in the production of this post.

You never told me THAT

.. this new life means talking, talking talking.. and not for fun. Double-checking, fixing, arguing, explaining, misunderstanding, understanding only too well ... advocating, shouting, speechlessly-goldfish-mouthing, trying, failing and sometimes getting the point across..

.. M would need me so badly or leave me so easily!

.. I'd be moving out of my house against my will, fixing up a teeny flat against my will, and LOVING the reason why .. and discovering that you can replicate many things in your temporary second home, but not your favourite mug, your pillow or your cat..

.. I could manage with only two perfumes in the stash (today) ..

.. I'd dream of being bored..

.. I could travel so far without moving; learn so much without trying, or do so many things I can't do ..

.. having friends is one of the most undervalued, underestimated, crucial and crazy blessings to not even know you deserve..

.. catching up with schoolmates I barely remember, 35 years on, could be so much fun..

.. I'd write like this without blushing.

[Day four and except for bits dropping off the wheelchair; moments of terror and FAR too many towels to wash, all is well.]

Reflecting on enough..

Hi there neglected bloggie, how are you under all that dust???

We're still here. We 'celebrated' eleven months to the day since M's accident on Tuesday. Eleven months! How wonderful, WONDERFUL, it is not to know the future. I can't tell you how I've managed it, and I certainly wouldn't have wanted to know, at the beginning, that this could be the reality.

Times have been very shaky. My M has had physical, emotional and psychological challenges which have stripped him of independence, flesh, ability, dignity and strength. He's been back to ICU twice, with dangerous collapses and arrests. I've had to have the 'how much cardiac resuscitation does the family want?' conversation several times. I've had a long visit home, during which I did nothing but grieve for 18 of my precious 21 days. The last three days I spent in wonder, looking at the exploding garden - the drought has well and truly broken! The roses are magnificent and I so enjoyed taking a huge bunch of them back to the ward. They lasted nearly 9 days and were a wonder to behold in so many ways. ENOUGH.

I have had a trough of sadness lately, to dig through my thoughts and feelings and try to find something to feel optimistic about. But today, as I schlepped through the mall, again, trying to remember why I'd gone there, again, and not just because of christmas, I suddenly thought this: enough. Enough of worry and uncertainty and helplessness and insomnia and broken plans and sad faces. And spending, and thinking about christmas, and what's for dinner and why won't the last noisy pub patrons go HOME so I can get some sleep (if you value your quiet nights, don't live in a pub!).. enough. I can do this. M has no choice; he is suffering very badly from such a very long and fraught hospital stay and he keeps going. Not as sweetly as usual, but he does it. Day after day. And, somehow, so do I. ENOUGH.

I don't have to cook, clean, garden, change the cat box, deal with doorknockers, ring the plumber, put the bins out or do anything much for anyone unless I feel like it. The expectations others have of me are very simple - stay standing and keep writing. Come home when I can. ENOUGH.

A large chunk of my extended family visited us this afternoon, and we all sat in the ward courtyard and sang carols.. with kids wearing blinking Rudolph noses, other patients wheeling around, and the breeze cooling us in the humidity. Spontaneous; simple; ENOUGH.

Tonight my step-daughter and I shopped for some extra food to take into M tomorrow. And what a delight to IGNORE christmas foods and plans and must-haves, and realise that all we wanted was the makings of a fairly simple picnic, largely from the deli and fresh food sections. A quick bottle of bubbles and some plastic champagne glasses. ENOUGH.

We will stay with M til we are sated with unwrappings and the humour of what the hospital will serve for lunch. We will do his washing even though 'it's christmas' (we still need clean jox, right?). We will share our goodies and sing together for whoever is around. We will nap in his room after the sun makes us sleepy, and later the two of us will go to the beach to lie and sigh on the sand until we have had... enough.

And on Sunday, the world will begin to turn again, and all the things we usually do that didn't happen won't matter, and all the new things we did will, and I for one will continue to feel so very lucky in my family and friends. Because this year, if nothing else, I have learned that when it comes to love, there is always ENOUGH. It doesn't run dry, go away or leave you dangling. It doesn't criticise or restrict you. Love in all small and large ways, is how we roll from one day to the next, cradled in the concern and hopes and wishes of loving people.

ENOUGH.

...

except... I DID buy some more perfume. Vivienne Westwood 'Let It Rock'. Indeed!

Buzz buzz..

So, what does the intrepid blogger do when she isn't packing, unpacking, finding herself or losing herself?

Not much ektually... bumped into friends at Tilleys ... topped up the scripts (sigh) at the doc ... pulled up the first zillion of a trillion forget-me-nots .... cooked twice! ... spent time with friends and family trying to re-engage in what I longed for so much - my real life.

This is clearly conceptual: I longed for tangible things, but now I have them I find they are only tangible physically. Robert Dessaix writes (I paraphrase) of the difficulty of travel being 'boredom - the boredom of oneself'. So true. When you are pooped to pieces and you need a big wow to motivate you to do anything, it is not the travel experience which is letting you down, it is your own poor, raddled, incompetent self. I have been reflecting on how much this is true and how much it sucks. MORE things one has to find willpower for!

Or maybe not ... the work I'm doing on anxiety recognition, management, 'control', coping mechanisms, etc, is focussed very much on the 'chatter of the mind' principle. And why, I ask, is the mind such a mean, negative, nit-picking, critical, doom-saying and downright nasty piece of work? Why are we apparently programmed to think only ill of ourselves? Critical, judgemental, adversarial, self-talk you wouldn't find in a bunch of drunk Harleys, all kinds of shit. Easily. Any old time. In fact, difficult, bloody very difficult, to escape. When I find myself struggling to get up and face the day, do I lie thinking "well that's alright; yesterday I weeded and cooked and made my dorter's life wonderful and I didn't murderate anyone or neglect a cat'. Oh no. I lie there thinking 'if I were a better person; a competent, capable reasonable intelligent person I'd just hop out of bed and get on with it, no mulling it over and feeling awful and wondering why and BLAMING MYSELF'.

It's just so ineffective. As a work practice it has all the efficiency of ... a championship delegator who can find and fling, but never fully understand. Never manage, create, contribute, control or complete a task or challenge.

Sheesh.

So, I'm up against it. Arguing with myself is a good game, it can take hours; days out of my life. All completely useless of course, achieving nothing but the semblance of activity of the mind, but only leading to stronger feelings of crapitude, downness and general pointlessness.

What is the antidote? It's very simple, you just let go. Let all this chatter flow right on through, past you and your conscious self and off somewhere, it doesn't matter where. Just be in the now.

An elusive place! Think about it, when was the last time you were sitting somewhere, engaged wholly in your surroundings but not yakking away to yourself in your mind, or dreaming up a list of to-dos, or regretting something, or chivvying yourself to stop all this foolish blobbing around and go and DO something.

I'm working on it. And, sorry, but you haven't achieved now-ness if you are fully engaged in saying 'SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP' to yourself. It's SILENCE in the mind; full engagement in the moment we're looking for. Physical stillness might help but walking or swimming (anything soothing, repetitive and meditative) might do the trick.

How are you doing??

Today, deeply felt, brought to you by a new one: Trussardi's "Inside" (for women; there are two variants). Leathery, intense but not musky, and quite sexy. I think. I hope!

Krakow, Tuesday 9th September; futzing around..

I've been trying to work out some improvements to my blog, like how to put a 'fold' into each post; and how to add photos, and that. Not very successfully as you can see!

I guess I could investigate the blogspot list of goodies and see if I understands it a bit betterer.. anyone who cares to write in with suggestions for brain-dead travelling blog-dags is most welcome.

So, what we up to? M is still suffering ennui and self-shoulda/coulda/oughta wrangles. I am not so down, but SO tired.. we got up for brekkie after I'd had a good 9 hours of sleep, and afterwards I lay down and went out like a light for another 2 hours.. weird. Even for me this is kinda long. Cuts into the day of prospective touristing too.

We both have a strong sense of relief that tomorrow we travel (by train) to Berlin. A return to Western life! M speaks fluent German, so negotiating the city, the usual shopping/banking/posting/Netting details, and making our eccentric way through the days, should be much easier. I know that lotsa lotsa people don't speak English, but I'm getting a bit distressed by the 'blank face/don't wanna know' reaction from most people here. It's too much like Beijing, 10 years ago, especially the 'don't wanna know' part. In shopkeepers, waiters and the service industry in general, I don't understand the hostility - don't they want the money to keep in business? Me no get it. Me want peoples to be NICE to me. Foolish moi.

Two days ago we leapt up at the crack of breakfast and joined a group of about 10 people for a bus and walking tour of Krakow, the Old City. Our guide, the glamorous Caterina, was very good, explaining the significance and historical value of the places we visited - I particularly enjoyed seeing the remaining one synagogue still operating, and the old cemetary next door. Of course the two World Wars have had a huge influence on the city, both visually and culturally, and the markers are plain. As we saw in Riga (yes, yes, the Riga walking tour blog entry is coming) there are bullet holes, walls built from the rubble of previous structures, and restored and over-built sites of all kinds. One part of Krakow which I particularly enjoy is the parkland which encircles the Old City - it used to be the moat with a huge stone wall. Now the walls are largely gone, and the moat has become a park. This green belt around the city is a strong reminder of dear old Adelaide, the home town of your faithful correspondent.

After our tour finished (as we walked through the street where one John Paul II was once the parish priest) our legs were gone boom. We retired for a siesta, before going out to a short concert in a nearby stone church - the church of St Giles. The performance was a collection of pieces for organ and soprano. It was a strange concert - the soprano had a beautiful coloratura and was clearly experienced in stagecraft and presentation. The organist complemented her performance by playing as if he'd never seen the music before that morning. I was speculating about whether his right hand could play faster than his left, and the numerous times when he and the soprano seemed to disagree about which piece they were actually playing. He performed a couple of solos, not very well at all. He chose speed over accuracy, and his lack of musicianship was stunning. I took a couple of sound recordings on Le Camera, but I think they aren't worth keeping. The clash!

Yesterday was fairly quiet, we rested and read for ages in the morning. In the afternoon we went out to see a concert at the cathedral of St Peter and St Paul, but it wasn't on for some reason. I've written about this in a piece which I hope to upload very soon.. I had a good shopping opportunity after this, making my luggage to Berlin look kinda complicated. Oh well, that's nothing new.

Today my favourite thing has been the time I spent sitting in a cafe in the Market Square, having lattes and super-fresh raspberries, oh NOM, and watching the world go by. And what did I see? Firstly, a bloody lot of smokers. So many people busy inhaling themselves to death. Then, a lot of icecream eating, hand-holding, strolling, pigeon-feeding, busking, eating and laughing. It's a lovely day today. Every day we've been here, we've heard at some point the piercing top notes of a counter-tenor who aspires to the type of musical interpretation we experienced with that organist at St Giles - this fellow means well, but his approach to pitch is to belt out a high note and hope for the best. Agonising! He sings Schubert's 'Ave Maria' with all the delicacy of a hippo burping after dinner. Today he began 'performing' on the church steps (another church) just as I finished my second latte. That was enough to send me on my way to this Net cafe!

Shortly we'll be off for an early dinner, and then our final Krakow concert - back to the Bonerowsky Palace for a piano recital of Brahms and Chopin. And I need to do some feverish packing as we'll be up at 5:45 am, ouch ouch, to get on the 7am train. Which I most decidedly do NOT want to miss.

Better go, then. Today brought to you by 'Enjoy', those delicious raspberries, and a sigh of relief.

Polish National Day!

Howdy from Krakow.. it's Saturday night here, with celebrations of all kinds going on outside (in the main city Market Square) - live music, stalls selling exotic cosmetics and beer and other useful things. It's warm (28ishC) and humid - yes, sigh sigh, my personal weather dark star is working again; locals tell me it's NEVER humid here, and hardly EVER this warm at this time of year. And our hotel, while purrfectly ok, has given us a west-facing room, oh sighhhh. We do have two fans however, cos we have our own as you know, and there is one in the room. We can manage a rather nice cross-current across the beds, which is enough to cool me, but not so windy that it bothers M.

I have travel-ennui.. perhaps partly because of the bloody Vilnuis fark-up and the physical and mental strength required yesterday. I will post the details when I come back to this 'net cafe with my lappie... but, briefly, nothing went wrong, it was a huge relief to get here so easily compared to the rather dire train option.

[We got into our room, changed to cooler clothes, staggered out to the nearest cafe selling sandwiches and fresh juice, and then collapsed for a long sleep. Then repeated the activity in the evening - up, out for dinner, then collapse for sleep again. Showers and sorting a big bundle of washing for the hotel laundry service happened too. Damn the expense, I'm sick of washing stuff in small bathroom basins..]

I had a big catch-up sleep (in part I think to help fend off a small throat thingie, which I believe I picked up thanks to someone sitting behind me on an airport bus, who sneezed several times before I had the chance to get a tissue over me face - 'airport bus' meaning the buses which took us from the terminal to the plane and vice versa; in one case, because of the long and roundabout route, we were convinced we were being taken to the back blocks to board an old helicopter or perhaps one of those bi-planes where you can get out and do Hollywood posing on the wings...).. I woke up very down. Why??? I asked myself, am I doing all this travel? Another bloody hotel room. More time to be spent finding things and hunting for food and managing suitcases and avoiding cigarettes etc etc. Moop moop I went. M was out, getting concert tickets for tonight and looking around and having a big 'net fix and being NORMAL. There was no chocolate left in our stash.. no trashy mags or new bottles of purrfume... I want a CAT, in fact I want TWO CATS. And my garden and ALL my shoes, and .. and .. home. Even the filing I haven't done yet, waiting for me in boxes in my study....

M returned looking very happy, with bananas, the concert tickets, and lots of news about various useful places he'd found. He tempted me with loving patience to have a banana (low blood sugar fixed), more water (ditto dehydration, probably), gave me a gentle pep-talk ('we can't go home now, think of all the ppl reading your blog who'd be disappointed'; 'our house-sitter would be suddenly homeless'; 'think of having to go home on one of those 27-hour flights with no stopping half-way to recover and shop in Hong Kong'... ok, he didn't really say that last bit but it's a good point - even with those super-don'tdropdeadfromaclot-socks my legs and feet swell alarmingly on planes. And yes, I DO twiddle me legs and walk and stretch and drink water like a fish etc etc... but I digress, again).

He asked me if I'd cut his beard and hair and that was excellent distraction; I spent a long time over it and made quite a big mess in the bathroom - which *I* don't have to clear up! That was enough to get me considering a bit of smiling again. Once we'd washed the hair off ourselves and dressed, it was a bit cooler outside and I was ready for some coffee. M took me to see the wondrous combination of goodies for droopy princesses - AIRCONDITIONING in a shopping mall which had a decent cafe/bar serving LATTE, emergency-strength CHOCOLATE CAKE (chocolate mousse with espresso cream and a praline topping, wowee!) and with a recent copy of The Times for me to read, while he went out to another Information Centre nearby. When he returned, the icing on the cake for me was the L'OCCITANE SHOP upstairs, which he'd noted especially for me. What a guy. No you CAN'T have him, I won't share!

I spent a very happy half-hour in there inspecting every item. Then, with some reluctance, I only bought things I needed ... well, 3 out of 4 were definitely 'replacement' items (skin care). M had suggested I get a candle there, to help with the 'make a hotel room feel like home' supplies. [We both enjoyed a lavender candle I bought from L'O in Melbourne earlier this year; found the scent enjoyable rather than soapy, as cheaper scented candles tend to be.] I chose a cinnamon and orange-scented candle, which on reflection is a bit Christmassy, but purrhaps that will help my Festive Attitude Problem!

~~~~~~~~~~

The concert was a wonderful performance of Chopin pieces for piano, held in a room at the Bonerowski Palace, built in the early 1500s. The pieces were performed by Pawel Kubica; a slim, intense fellow in his 30's I'd say. He had the knack of seeming to coax the piano to produce its music - I feel this sometimes when watching orchestral performances; the conductor seems to be 'magicking' the music from a space above the musicians. Kubica seemed to barely touch the keys, leaving the piano to 'sing' on its own. Fantastic. The event was slightly marred by several audience members taking flash photos. Surely the flash is distracting for the performer? Certainly the 'click' of the shot being taken was distracting for me. I disapprove. This is right up there with mobile phone pollution in concerts. Grrr...

Now I need to go, tomorrow is another day and all that. We're going to be up and doing at a reasonable hour (by 9am) to go on a 4-hour bus trip around Krakow to see the city highlights, and have a short tour through the castle. See you all soon!

Today brought to you by ... M. He deserves all the credit this time.

Remarks on Russia and Reverie on Retailing; 26th August

Thoughts... as I walk to the Autobank to fund lunch and interwebs...

Russian young women are GORGEOUS - slim, beautiful skin, graceful. They walk along Nevsky owning the city.. one prevaling fashion is a fitted dress with a fullish skirt, worn quite short over long, long tanned legs and high, high heels. Many of them are wearing high-heeled Mary Janes, which is a demure look on the feet making a strong comparison to the luscious legs and body above!

Another look, although even here it is fading out, is the skinny jean with bare midriff. Most of the women who wear this look overdo the trimmings, especially with high-heeled pumps, sparkly tops, major makeup and fussy hair. I have even seen a few Paris wannabes wearing a dog in their handbag!

Many of the more mature women wear tailored pantsuits; as I have remarked before they fit incredibly well, and the fabrics are high quality and as up-to-date in fashion terms as anything I see in a Vogue magazine. The men, by contrast, are mostly blokes. They wear jeans and hoodies and loafers or sneakers. From time to time I see a fella in a gorgeous suit; the favoured look is a slightly shiny grey fabric (sometimes it’s the gloss of silk), a purrfectly-ironed white shirt, and a quiet tie. Woven leather loafers and an honest to god leather briefcase complete this look. The other prevailing look for men is rather handsome - very short (but not clipped) hair, a thin black jumper, very form-fitting (slight drooling by writer), and dark jeans with leather shoes. They look great, a bit dark and dangerous , their strong features are enhanced by the short hair and the trim look they have because of the fitted clothes. I much prefer it to the slouchy jeans and hoodie look, although I reckon that might be THE most comfy gear on the streets.

And I'm happy to report that I haven’t seen so many little girls dressed up as pole-dancers, as one does in Australia. I’m glad to see that fashion seems unpopular, although I did see padded bra tops in a children’s clothes section in the big department store, the other day. Pffft I say.

~~~~~~~~

Later... I’ve had a shopping fix of my own - I asked Olga and Ivan (staff at the hospital) where to go to buy ordinary clothes, not tourist trap shops, and they sent me off to the wonderfully-named “PIG” shopping mall, which is where I bought my watch the other day. First I have to buy M a b/p machine. Easy! I find the 24 hour Apotek (chemist) and the pharmacist demonstrates a wrist-machine - I note that HER blood pressure isn’t so good; the reading is quite high! Anyway, purchase #1 successfully made. Next door is a huge supermarket, so I wander in, looking for bananas (nyet, of all the rather wonderful fruit and veg on show, the bananas were the only poor quality item, bugger). I found the washing powder but. I noticed a security guard watching me closely while I queued for the till - I had my pack with me, and I thought he might challenge me outside to check that I hadn’t nicked anything (has HE been reading the blog and seen the confession about the geraniums? - and no, Miss B, I am NOT returning them to the Astoria. If you could see the obscene displays of wealth in that hotel! - why even in the entryway they have fantastically ornate and expensive porcelain-ware on display, and the boring old windows opening the cafe to the street have gold leaf urns on the ledges, ick). The guard didn’t stop me, I’m glad about that even though I know I didn’t have contraband in me bag...

I go upstairs to all the clothes shops, to see if I can find a cardie for me, a pair of jeans, or a jumper for M. The boutiques are full of tiny clothes, being inspected by tiny people. Hm... even the English clothes store has a limited range of sizes - their idea of a size 16 is my idea of a small 14, unless we 16s are meant to wear our clothes so tight that every teeny bulge and freckle shows. NOT for me. Even the ‘sloppy’ cardies are made to be worn with a waist belt (a disastrous look for me), and not really done up, the buttons are for show. No point to it, in my pragmatic view; what’s the point of a cardie if you can’t wrap it around you like a hug?

Next stop is a jeans shop - one of my worst nightmares for years. However I am delighted to report that in spite of the language barrier, I have purchased a pair of jeans which fit very well, and (gob drops to the floor in disbelief, cos I got loooooooong leggies) they are even too long! I think this might be only the second time in my life that I’ve been able to buy daks that are too long. It will be my pleasure to sew the hems up, one day soon. When I can bear to not wear them! Yes, I have them on now, of course I do! The shop assistant was a very non-standard person for a jeans shop (cf Australia I mean) - she was in her 30s, quite pregnant, and not even wearing jeans herself. She understood me well enough to find different shapes and sizes, and I understood her well enough to be able to make decisions about colour, and all those different leg choices you get in jeans (straight, boot, regular, comfort, etc... huh? I just avoid anything which says ‘skinny’, never wear boots, and hope for ze best..). Ta-da!!! I am delighted. [I think I really put my finger on it earlier when I described jeans as ‘so normal’. Normal is good. It’s a dangerous word in nearly all situations I reckon, but applied to putting yer daks on in the morning it’s ok I think.. hey while I’m writing this, on the teev there’s some sort of history of Russian/Baltic ancient buildings, and the background music is something I recognise with great delight (is this the gods sending me an apologetic early birdy offering???) - it’s Arvo Paert’s ‘Fratres’, oh swooon. I love this spare, elegaic music. Wowee....]

Where was I? Oh yes, in shopping mode. Well, on the strength of the successful jeans purchase (not cheap, in fact it’s the most I’ve ever paid for mere denim .. nyup I’m not gonna think about that. It seems really REALLY bad in roubles, cos to get the cost of roubles from Aussie dollars, you multiply by 20. Puts the numbers into the thousands!), I looked in a few menswear shops and found a good cotton jumper that M and I can share. It’s maroon cotton knit, cables all down ze front, maybe a touch fancy, but cotton is good, long man-shaped jumper is good, and maroon is a lovely colour for both of us. I left M wearing it at the hospital, after I staggered back there with all my stuff. It was fun unpacking all the loot, and he’s delighted with his new little travelling b/p machine. Even Olga the nurse had a play with it.

Yeah, retail therapy. As I stomped home in the rain at 9pm, I was thinking “am I shallow; easily-led; a mere money-laundering machine in human form?” - this being one of the eternal worries that women berate themselves with (I don’t know if men do it, I’m only generalising about women cos I’ve never discussed it with a bloke). But I dunno, if shopping IS a wasteful, indulgent, shallow, mindless and self-deluding pastime, it sure works. And I don’t think we can ALL be these negative things. I came round to thinking (as I passed the rich, useless gleam of the Astoria doorman’s waistcoat button) that shopping functions as a diversion, which can be a very merciful thing. And being good little capitalists, we are programmed to acquire, accumulate, enhance ... and when one has money too, it seems quite a natural process. I’m not going to enter the debate about the moral issue, if it IS a moral issue, of consumerism, I’m sticking to my point which is wondering why *I* felt better after I’d been shopping. And one can read as much into this as one likes, it’s an old, old debate which can have all sorts of irksome lurking guilts and depths of moral turpitude attached to it. Nyet to that. I think I felt better because I’d ACHIEVED something I needed to achieve - the b/p machine and the wash powder -; I was happy to get good service AND to find something I wanted - the jeans -; I was feeling affectionately happy about being able to give M another jumper, and feeling satisfied that it was a good discount for what I could see was a decent quality item (that old Virgo gratification of value for money, the elemental practicality!); and then I found an excellent giftie for my darling dorter. Which of course I can’t describe or it won’t be a sprise for her.. and the thing about THIS purchase was that it was a total impulse buy, and the young woman who tempted me into it had excellent if eccentric English, and was happy to discuss with me various words she needed to describe her wares, and to have a little sisterly sort of chat, and we were best friends in five minutes. AND it was a good price and so pretty.... heh, darling dorter, is all this driving you nuts not knowing? Sowwy...

AND my reward for all this money-for-jam activity was to see an actual cat, the second one in 10 days. This guy was a short-haired torty, quite dark, wearing a most attractive yellow collar. He eschewed any contakt with me, speaking purrfekt Russki kat in his total ignore. I didn’t want to pat him in case I got germs, this is NOT the time for me to get sick. But I went ‘puss puss’ and he went ‘staring in opposite direction because I am too supurrior to notice a mere wet stranger’. And then a woman walking a bloody great bear of a German Shepherd monster went past, and the cat had to give it a really hairy eyeball. I noticed that the dawg looked away first! This evidence of the natural order cheered me, too.

My thoughts on the value of shopping have not exactly coalesced, but I wonder why we put a moral value on it as an activity (as we do eating, ‘fatness’, purrfectly normal variations in body bits, sex, gender relations of certain kinds - eg having doors opened for one, or not; getting paid less as a workforce if you’re not a bloke; drinking ‘too much’, etc etc.). I don’t understand the moral value bit - why is it a good thing to spend money and then feel guilty afterwards? Why bother? Guilt is paralysing and leads to nothing much in the way of a good thing in my view. I prefer to examine what conscience I have and try to take a less emotional approach - if I feel ok, then I think it’s ok to feel ok. If I don’t, cos I’ve broken the Visa or paid more than I know is within my means, or is what the product is worth, then I reckon a bit of self-admonishing is about right. ... I think I’m saying the same thing in different ways, and getting PROFOUND. This is an alarming manifestation which occurs when I am tired, and/or pissed, and/or being allowed to talk too much. So I’m off to me bed, happy, OH so happy, to know that M will be released from room 2, 4th floor, American Medical Clinic, St Petersburg, tomorrow morning some time. We have until 4pm to loll about and get ready for the bus, and we’ll be in Tallinn by 11pm. Yoiks tally ho!

Today brought to you by mild cheese, the aroma of my lunchtime grilled chicken, and a few more buckets of Chanel No. 5. And I’d like it noted that I went PAST a purrfume shop at “PIG” - I dearly wanted to go in and buy a bottle of Chanel No. 5 ‘Huile Sensual’ AND I DIDN’T. I’m sorry now but.

MY blood pressure going down...

Hello all,

Firstly thanks, very very BIG thanks, to all of you who have been in touch. All the hugs and sisterly swears and cat news (and a special thanks to Miss G for beyond-the-call-of-duty cat pix, I love them all, and so will M when I take the puter off to see him) and support has made the world seem a lot smaller.. I don't think I've been particularly stoic, more focussed on the many practical things I could or had to do.. and the schlepping, of course! And the bloody hand-washing...

M was not so good last night, he had a bad headache. The docs (right from the start on Friday) had to make major adjustments to his usual regime of blood pressure meds, and headaches are very common when that happens. When I got to see him, at about 7.30, he was quite pale and clearly in pain. He had an injection of something like "fixupsky" which Xenia assured me would help head, stomach, everything. But in an hour he was no better, and getting very anxious, so I did a wifely intervention and told Xenia I thought he was really quite upset and certainly in pain, could she do anything? Well! Next thing a godly figure sailed into the room, starched white coat and all. This was Doktor Anton, who came over and gripped M's shoulder and delivered (in excellent, elegant English) a short homily on the lack of catastrophe, major advances in healing and good blood test results, successful visa-extending, etc etc, and then said 'You myust nyot worry; all will be wyell in the myornying". He also prescribed M some type of diazepam. Then Xenia returned with another shot (this is all going into the drip so M is not holey) and soon, the diazepam. I left, after administering the only thing a wife can - patting with wafts of Chanel No. 5 - at about 10pm, when he was fading out. This morning he sounded much more cheerful, even managing to swear a bit about having the drip in his hand.

I've not been eating properly, because of the difficulty (perceived, to some extent) of finding cafes at 10.30pm. I've had Maccas twice, mea culpa - the second time definitely reminded me why I don't eat this except in emergencies - and last night I couldn't be stuffed finding even that, I was out of roubles and my leggies didn't want to go the extra half-km to the autobank, so I had a rather pathetic meal in my room... a cheese sandwich, made of stale-ish bread, plastic cheese, washed down with my last mini-tin of gin and tonic. I crept out to the fridge for a little thing of condensed milk for my sugar fix. Moop moop...

It's quite windy at the moment, about 17 degrees and rainy. The wind was making my door rattle, it sounded just like someone pulling the door handle to see if they could get in. Not conducive to sleep. Eventually I had to find something to stuff between the door and the door frame to stop it. I'm not saying exactly what, but Carefree was how I felt when the noise stopped....

Today I've made an effort to get money and come back to the WiFi cafe for real food - grilled chicken and a huge salad - to wash down with my Net fix. Wunderbar! And the travel agent person came to the hotel this morning to get my autograph on a Visa charge, so the tickets for Tallinn are now paid for. The actual tickets are supposed to be delivered to the hotel later on today... we were told we were booked on the 2pm bus; then Paulina rang me to say there was a 'blockage' on the computer (the mind boggles at what a Russian computer might get blocked by!) and there was only one 2pm ticket... this means the 4.45 bus, which arrives at midnight, not purrfect. She was hopeful that the blockage would clear (heh, I can imagine someone taking to the cables with Ratsack) and the 2pm bus would be okay-ski after all. So keep those distant fingers crossed, please.

My only complaint is that I have developed a craving to wear jeans, which I don't have with me. Why? Purrhaps because I do wear them a bit at home ... they're so NORMAL ... I noticed a jeans shop with a sale on (when I was trekking St Petersburg on Monday, getting losted and founded again and enduring the smoky Cafe Max etc etc).. I may possibly have the oomph to go there later on .. haven't seen M yet today, we spoke by phone at 8.30am and then the princess needed some more sleep. M was also complaining that he was sick of wearing his grey jumper and didn't we have another one? The short answer is no, but maybe (heh) I can fix that too! He'll be horrified if I tell him I'm going shopping, so I won't. Tell him, I mean.

I expect there are other things I ought to be commenting on, but my brain is blank. Tourist activity is simply not possible, all my mental and emotional energy is going into the practical things I need to do, and keeping myself calm and trying to get enough rest. The last is the most difficult, because as soon as I lie down the brain goes CHARGE!!!!!!!!!! and I have to invoke major interventions to get it to shut up. ... and thanks to Mal for the excellent training in how to do this.

So, off I go now to waft lots more Chanel No. 5 at M, hear the story of his day, and maybe get that shopping done. I need to buy a blood pressure monitor for M, because his 'case' doktor asked that we keep records of his b/p for a couple of weeks. We'll be in Berlin in about 15 days, and that is a good place to find a quality medical centre and have blood tests, a checkup for him, and get them to review his case notes and make sure all is well. Of course we have a purrfectly good b/p machine at home. Oh well. We also have a purrfectly good coffee plunger at home, and we bought another one of those on about day 5.

Gotta go. Keep writing, please! All news, remarks (esp rude ones), advice, cats and ramblings are very, very welcome. I salute you all!

You already know what today is brought to you by. But let me add cheesecake, because the waitress just blandished me into some.... :-)