Opening up the mind

We sat on the bench looking East toward Lake Macquarie. The day was bright and sunny, although the wind had a chill of its own. A literal, not metaphorical, chill. I listened mostly, as he spoke. Sometimes when listening to him, it is difficult to know how to respond. We had just moved 10 x 30 litre bags of premium garden mix. He held the gate to ensure I was not locked out and that other residents did not walk out. I lugged each bag onto the removalist trolley and pushed it up into his developing courtyard garden. He was told he could not help with the moving of the soil. He has a heart condition, and they have a duty of care. So, the I had the job of toting that barge, and lifting that bale. By the time we had left this bench, for the return journey to the aged-care facility, the 'heart condition' had been transformed into a physical defect meaning that half of his heart no longer existed. Sometimes it is difficult to know how to respond. This week I get to know the mix of dementia, stroke, and Wernecke's Psychosis.

Sharp, hot stink of Fox

My jaw dropped as I watched these little beauties rattle gracefully down the grass track and onto the concrete apron of the old WW2 airforce base on Lake Macquarie, just north of Sydney. If only my father were alive to see this!! Scrabbling through my folders I unearth the photo taken in 1942 after he joined the army at Middle Head in Sydney to train as a 'DonR' - a despactch rider. But now, for the life of me, I cannot think of the type of motorbike Dad had. My head says a type of BSA, but the indistinct logo cannot be distorted into anything remotely like 'BSA'. The title of this post comes from 'The Thought-Fox' by Ted Hughes: Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox It enters the dark hole of the head.

When I grow too old to dream

In the twilight of their years in an aged-care facility on Lake Macquarie.

The accompanist

Shirley, who is closer to 90 than 80, and a diabetic, accompanied 'The Neighbours', as they entertained the residents of an aged-care facility on Friday. Note the absence of music!

From "Defrocked, of Wangi Wangi"

The decommissioned power station on the shores of Wangi Bay, on Lake Macquarie. It operated from 1956 to 1986 and supplied New South Wales with electricity. Here is a set of 8 images on Flickr of the station in 2009 courtesy of "Nammo".

Taking a running jump

Catalina Bay, Lake Macquarie, New South Wales

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From a park bench

We sat on a park bench, with the lake before us, in the perfect spring sunshine; the world parading past. As he turned the pages, our joint pasts floated into the present, and we yarned. His demented understanding embroidering stories out of all reality. That is his current reality.

A bored Eucalypt

This is the trunk of the Eucalyptus maculata aka Corymbia maculata. We thought long and hard about this, and gave it the common name, 'Spotted Gum'.

NB ... update ... In the comments, Joan has queried whether this is really a 'Spotted Gum' as the variety she knows from the South Coast has colourations on the bark but not the dimpling. There are a number of varieties of gum (not all eucalypts) that have the common name, 'spotted gum'. The variety I show here starts the same way: as the bark peels, the trunk beneath takes a colourful, but mottled, appearance. This variety takes a more or less dimpled appearance. It could also be the scientific name Corymbia citriodora (MYRTACEA). The dimpling is not caused by a bug.

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Contemplating the void

Barry, Lake Macquarie

Trying to encourage the right hemisphere to take on some of the tasks of the destroyed left hemisphere.

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Water mesmerises

Private jetty into Catalina Bay, Lake Macquarie

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Half so much worth doing ...

Come over to the CDPB Face Book page and join in voting for a September Theme Day. The choices are: people watching; roadworks; or, flower boxes. Voting closes Friday 24th August.

No Ratties, or Moles in sight; lots of simply messing about, though. Catalina Bay, Lake Macquarie.

Is all vanity?

"Vanity of vanities; all is vanity" Ecclesiastes assures us.

I showed Norma the colour photograph that I took during our first meeting, and she was horrified.

"Oh dear, look at that mouth. That will never do, dear."
"Here. Take another one."

She pulled her beanie down, straightened her clothing, and carefully took her glasses off.

"Are you vain, Norma?"
"Oh, no dear. I don't really need them. I just wear them to humour the children."

Norma is in a high care, secure dementia unit. She uses a walker to get about. I have heard tell that she is a challenge.

Fingers of rust

Catalina Bay, on Lake Macquarie, is fingered with jetties and boat-ramps, and fringed with expensive homes, and holiday shacks.

Overjoyed that I would ask

He was. Overjoyed. He practically galloped to the armchair that I waved to. A photograp. Of him. Paul was excited. And apprehensive.

Here they are, in reverse order.

Paul is still growing into his feet, with a permanent stoop from bending down to listen to us lesser mortals. He is one of those people who moves slow as a tortoise but whose strides are so massive they reach their destination in good time.

He does not know it, but he will be waiting for me to bring the print to him next week. Paul has profound dementia.

A wish to build a dream on

If you can blow all the seeds from a dandelion globe with one blow, you are loved with a passion.

If a few remain, your lover has reserveations.

If many remain, you are loved very little.

Or, perhaps you just have weak lungs.

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Tapping gingerly through the fog

Freddie lives in the room next to my brother. He tends to follow me, when I visit Baz. It is very easy to include him in my banter. He is one of six, is Freddie. In the middle somewhere. I know this because I met his siblings last week, five of them. All very similar. They were the ones who cajoled him into smiling for me.

Growing old together

Iris has lost the ability to smile, but Twiggy doesn't mind; Iris is still Iris. To Twiggy she is. They still belong to each other. Best mates.

They spend time together every other day: they shuffle the corridors; they listen to stories. Twiggy sits at her slippers, while Iris slurps her cup of tea, waiting for the crumbs of biscuit that flutter down from the trembling lips.

It is hard to know who will toddle off first: Twiggy or her Iris.

Dusk gathers us in

Looking into Wangi Bay, on Lake Macquarie, late on Saturday afternoon.

Up the down line

If (when) I miss my connection, the next train does not come for an hour. Plenty of time to actually see what I look at.

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A line has been crossed, she said