Fran’s School of Hard Knocks

February 11, 2018

Reading a book to the end

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Reading a book to the end

I used to read lots of books at once. Five was about right: two long fuses, a couple of interesting reference books and at least one of the ‘sit up all night’ variety.

These days, I am more inclined to read one book at a time – though I still have a couple of reference books I dip into and am determined to finish one day. Rather like the Bible, these tend to be on a long lease… but I remain determined with them, and they do provide daily interest.

But, whereas I used to persist with books that I was less than keen on and make a virtue of reading a book to the end, nowadays, I will usually give such volumes a heave ho after, perhaps, managing through one half. It seems I haven’t the time or inclination to hope that the last chapters of a book might yield an interesting denouement, if the first half of a book has been okay but not fantastic, overly violent or simply not what I want to read, right now.

Hubby – my infinitely better half – will not only read every book to the end, but will choose all kinds of books – about the first world war, the Irish wars of independence, ‘Les Miserables’… – worthy books about worthy and serious subjects, as if, by reading them he will in some way atone and make the world a better place. He is immensely patient, or perhaps proud, that he will not be found slacking on his watch, and that no man will ever be able to accuse him of skimming his duties, missing the greatest opportunity for wisdom the world has ever known or passing by on great enlightenment.

Such motives as these may, at one time, have inspired me. Now, they make me tired, so that I long for some gentle escapism. Thankfully, I have lots of that ready to read on my i-pad. Each to his own.

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February 5, 2018

Non invasive prenatal testing

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Non invasive prenatal testing

I was listening to BBC Radio 4’s ‘From Our Own Correspondent” which contained a very interesting report on a synod being hosted by the Church of England on the subject of non invasive prenatal testing and Downs. The report was candid and raised some interesting questions, some of the ramifications of which just seem to roll out like a ball of string in my mind.

To summarise, certain countries – I think Iceland and Denmark got a mention – use a form of non-invasive testing to screen for genetic abnormalities in foetuses, testing which is so prevalent that, in Iceland now, no children are born with Downs. It has been postulated that with wider use of such non invasive testing, genetic traits such as Downs might be screened out altogether from a population. What are the ethical ramifications?

Traditionally, testing for prenatal genetic abnormalities has often been invasive: the scary amniocentesis test carries its own risk of subsequent abortion, which tends to mean that mothers who have the amnio test are strongly advised to proceed with an abortion if test results indicate a tested-for anomaly.

Now, with the widespread use of non-invasive tests, the risk to the mother is nil, and so the pressure whether or not to proceed with a termination in the event of a positive test for a genetic anomaly becomes almost purely social. Non- invasive tests are great – and will doubtless be touted as a big step forward for the free mother lobby – but I doubt that freedom itself is so straightforward.

The risks shift the nature of maternal choice further from the medical sphere and plant it more firmly in the social sphere. I suspect that ‘freedom’ will move from the rights of the mother not to put herself at medical risk, to the right of the mother to do what is socially expected of her.

And, does it benefit society at large that all individuals should be the same? I personally am concerned that, because of the nature of medical advances, individuals of difference will, increasingly be tolerated only within social spheres that take a moral or political stance: Churches, or societies that embrace the totality of the human condition will probably be in a minority, although the gifts that individuals bring to such communities is immeasurable. And mothers will have to have the strength of Job to resist.

To be continued.

Thanks for reading

 

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February 2, 2018

Lessons learned from writing

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Lessons learned from writing

My first book, ‘Trapped’

is my first baby, with which I am well pleased, and which shares more hopeful lessons learned from decades of misery. It was a very challenging work to produce – and it very nearly didn’t get written; it would have been so easy to simply turn my head away from the challenge and say, ‘Can’t be bothered’ – but I did pick up the gauntlet that was left lying there, and learned a great deal in the process. I’ve often said, if one other person has also been helped, that has made the whole ordeal worthwhile.

But in some ways, ‘Trapped’ is only a first step. It represents a coming to terms with things, a decision to put away yearning, and start living; a resolution to put an end to simply existing and start moving forward, creating things more consciously. Its narrative ends at the point where coming to terms – what do they call it, a coming of age? – has been reached. But having come to terms, we then need to move forward – and fast, if we have spent so many years simply dawdling on the side-lines. There is living to catch up on.

Which is where my second book comes in. In ‘Happiness Matters’

I had ten years to refine the lessons which remind me, over and over again, that I can only hope to be helpful to others if I can find it in myself to be happy first.

I can’t hope to find any of the answers, or any emotional or spiritual sustenance, unless I learn first, to do, and say, and be, what I would like. Which is not an invitation to a life of hedonistic indulgence; I would soon get bored with that. But it does recognise that the only things worth doing are those that come from sincerity, joy and contentment. So happiness within ourselves is not the outcome, as much as the spring-board that gives life to our most relevant, worthwhile actions. I’m glad to remember that, again, today.

Thanks for reading, and for all your support.

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January 31, 2018

Spring weather

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Spring weather

A recent trip north to see my family, to say hi to Mum, finds her ensconced in her slippers, reading a not very good book – which she is determined to finish – and the rest of my family hard at work on household chores or employment elsewhere. A big house takes a lot of tending.

To join in the spirit of the gathering, I have also brought my work, which means that after an amazing two-hour drive – through torrential rain between Edinburgh and Kinross and then out onto quiet roads in bright, calm sunshine – we all now sit in companionable peace, not needing to be entertained but all pleased and doing our own thing. I am glad to be able to report that Mum is settled, and with her new glasses and finally sleeping well, she looks and seems better than in about two years. Come to think of it, since before my father died, and before all those notaries – my mother, in jest, refers to them as notary 1A, 1B, 2A, 2B, 3A and 3B… – started variously raising our hopes and dashing them.

In the legal morass there have been several heroes and heroines – thank God! – foremost among them my eldest sister, and my mother, who has borne it all, through intense grief, with courage and her trademark sardonic stoicism.

It is wonderful to be here now, and to reflect that all is growing into new beginnings, just as the Spring is about to take hold. I have high hopes for 2018, and not just because all our legal troubles are – hopefully – coming to a close, but because, unexpectedly, we have all weathered them so well and come through stronger, more peaceful and more kind with each other. For which I am so grateful.

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January 29, 2018

The last two years

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The last two years

Since my father died – in March 2016 – and my brother died in October 2016 – my life, the last two years of my gentle, unassuming life has been held rather in abeyance by legal minefields – estate in three countries, family in three countries, and notaries who prove reluctant to communicate, listen or act with what I would call dispatch. Thankfully, all that – all that, and so much more – is almost – finally – nearly finished. So now, maybe I can build new memories of my father and brother, unencumbered by the pain of legal decrapitude.

It is really quite sad to reflect that the last two years have been blighted by thoughts of notaries, clerical requirements, your word against mine, apostilles, trips to Belgium – at least a dozen – and endless phone-calls interspersed with pained waiting.

I have learned a very great deal from the entire process: what really matters, how to wait, how to listen more fully and be present to the gifts in every situation, how to deal with other people’s confused agendas, how to … live well while all is in abeyance and threatening to unravel. These are not gifts I expected to receive from the confusion that first greeted us, and I am grateful for the opportunities to learn. But…

I am also grateful that now, my sisters, my mother and I can grieve. At last. And say adieu properly, remembering my family fondly.

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January 26, 2018

Time and tide wait for no woman

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Time and tide wait for no woman

Time and tide wait for no woman…. Just occasionally – Not at all often, I am pleased to note – I encounter comments about my book, ‘Trapped’ along the lines of ‘miserable book, miserable git’ or words to that effect.  Not that I mind – different strokes for different folks; and these days I’m more likely to smile at that, than get upset.

‘Trapped’ took me four years or so to write, and was first published in hardback in 2014.  In the intervening period my hopes, attitudes and beliefs have undergone several revolutions.  I guess I’m hardly an impartial witness, though readers can also scan my web content to find my second book, ‘Happiness Matters’ a modest tome about how to be happy.  So I can’t be that much of a miserable git these days.  The test would be whether such comments as these reduce me to an indignant, grumbling mess.  They don’t.

What we are, who we are and what we think about what matters in life, are facets that are constantly evolving.  There is not much I would wish to alter about my books, or my writing, but all things change, and writing ‘Trapped’, my sincere attempt to reflect on my first forty years of life, changed me, and changed my attitudes to life in general, and my life in particular.  I learned a lot from the process, mostly, about the importance of doing our best, and of being as happy as possible more of the time.  Valuable lessons that have empowered me to move forward.  I can’t say I would write or do anything else differently, or speculate how my life might have turned out if I had opted to become a visual artist, say, or stayed on working as a solicitor.

The publishing industry calls memoir, ‘narrative non-fiction’ which is a very polite way of saying that the content is largely true, but reads like a novel and will probably contain some plot holes and a few examples of poetic license.  But after ten years, the truths that held true when we first wrote THE END to finish our memoir, have probably changed, as will the authors themselves.

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January 23, 2018

Editing my next book

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Editing my next book, Making Miracles’

I have made time lately – finally! – to get on with editing my next indie book, ‘Making Miracles’, which I hope to publish in May this year.  Given my legendary ability to procrastinate, having a deadline of sorts helps me to focus with the job in hand. Deadlines help me both to work better, and to relax, knowing that I can plan and aim for a certain date.

‘Making Miracles’ is based on a dream diary that I have been keeping since… let me see…since about 2002. That would be about the time I stopped my work as a solicitor and found myself plunged, unexpectedly and joyfully, into new adventures called, ‘parenthood’ and ‘adulthood’ and ‘growing up’.  The practical needs around being a stay at home mother meant my writing didn’t start seriously until Seline began school, but I did keep up with my dream diary, a process which has taught me so much, and which, if I’m honest, is proving rather daunting to review and edit so that it may be published.

Yes, I would like some of this to reach a wider audience, because I have found it so very instructive and interesting. But it is also personal, and challenges me in a ways I never really expected to be, so that the editing is not the light-hearted breeze I had been anticipating.

I’m wary of causing offence with my talk of God, angels, guides and past lives. But in that concern, I find it very important not to agonise over whether I’m doing the right thing, whether I should mention this or that, and whether any of it matters. By far my most important discipline right now is to go ahead, keep going, and leave some of that high-flown worrying until later. At least that attitude helps me to keep moving.

Thanks for reading.

 

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January 19, 2018

Walking on my hands

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Walking on my hands

I remember many years ago coming home from an evening out with a boyfriend.  For some reason, as I put my key in the lock and turned it, I grazed my knuckle, which bled profusely.  Said fellow – oh, the cad! – refused to believe me when I said I had cut it thus; and when he did, he could scarcely credit my carelessness.  I had no sympathy from that quarter.  At the time I was puzzled and confused, until I realised he thought I had been lying, trying to fetch out extra sympathy, perhaps.

Recently, another piece of the puzzle slotted into place quite obviously.  Last year, I was diagnosed by my new optician with – not serious – inferior peripheral blindness.  I appear to have been born with this.  Which means that, when I walk into a dark room, that is why I fall over things.  I don’t see them.  Ha! Something else makes more sense now.

I also notice that when I walk, I do fly about a bit, and appear to rely on my hands constantly, to field the space around me, to move about safely and find my way.  Perhaps as some kind of answer to reduced vision – of which, I must say, I am entirely unaware.  I must have always known about my hands-on navigating technique, but was unaware until recently – as a result of several injuries and cuts that have put everything ever so slightly off kilter – of the extent to which my fingers graze the roughcast walls of the stairwell, for example, or my hands grip the bannister and catch and snag as they do so when I go up and down the stairs.

I shall just have to be more careful, slow down and watch more closely.  Or wear gloves.  Which would have several other benefits.  I’m not sure if I can type with gloves on, but perhaps it is worth a try.

Thanks for reading!

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January 15, 2018

How we define ourselves

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My earlier post ‘Dissing Ability’ has left me wondering.

If, as I suggest there, most employers and most members of the public are at worst incurious about impairments and, at best willing to be encouraging and supportive, from where comes this habit we have acquired of identifying ourselves first and foremost by what hinders us: “Hello, my name is David and I have CP.”

Increasingly, anti-discrimination legislation is regulating what we regard as acceptable behaviour carried out in the public eye. We are all guaranteed access to retail outlets, to cinemas, to public pools and all forms of transport; we can expect respect in speech and in public gatherings of all sorts. Even smoking and littering are punished with a fine. So, if the public at large have few problems and are willing to see progress in more tolerant attitudes, whence cometh the idea that we must define ourselves by what we can’t do? Naturally, it seems that such attitudes are dying out gradually, and good riddance. No-one I know seems to miss them.

Is it the form-filling? The questions – on very long forms – that we have to answer, in order to qualify for public assistance? Is it the expectation, even in this day and age, that all our income must be justified and scrutinised, earned and worthy? I wonder…

Claiming benefits these days is a very complex process, designed, so many suspect, to put people off claiming their share of what should be a universal entitlement based firmly around need. But why make the system so complex? Increasingly, claimants are required not only to navigate a system that makes Mensa members look slow-witted, but to answer personal questions – can you dress yourself? Can you go to the toilet unaided? Can you climb steps? – which have no place being logged in the public sphere. Having answered questions like these to the best of their ability, service users are often penalised for later failing other requirements, time limits, box ticking… It’s not just adults with various impairments who are affected. The long-term incapacitated, single parents, those with caring responsibilities… Many people claiming benefits have to answer rather oddly prejudicial questions about their personal circumstances.

Personally, I favour a system of Universal Basic Income, which would allow us to get away from needs based assessments, encouraging us all to get on with their lives in any way we wish, without undue intrusion from the State, and without salacious and misinformed information gathering. Such as step as universal basic entitlement would remove most of the pretexts that currently exist to allow the collection of personal and private data.

Because service users become used to a system, numb to its cruelties, does not make it right, or worthy of one of the world’s richest nations in the twenty-first century. We need a system that allows its citizens to go about their lives, living as they choose to live, without undue intrusion and respecting their rights to privacy, peace of mind, honesty and personal dignity.

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January 12, 2018

Moving Boundaries

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Moving boundaries

New Year, new boundaries.

Having spent fourteen plus years looking after daughter and managing many of the small details of her life – does she need a new toothbrush? What about feminine products? – I have decided that this year, she is old enough to manage these for herself. Goodness knows, she is far cleverer than me in a whole host of ways, and she can afford to leaven her lying about our home with a few trips to the shop at the top of the road – it is, literally, at the top of our short road. And no, she does not need to be subsidised for all her trips to town. Not only do I still pay for most of her clothes – she chooses, I foot the bill – but she gets pocket cash and extra money regularly.

It’s proving more difficult than expected to wean her off the oversight I have been used to provide, and which, if I am not careful, can swing so easily into a host of small remembered details for which I am expected to assume responsibility: Has she fed her cavies today, and has she remembered to take her keys? But moving boundaries are natural and necessary.

As our child grows, my responsibility is shifting away from actual doing for her, to more of the prompting to do for herself, which in itself signals the letting go that we must all renegotiate constantly, so that when she leaves home she can manage all her own small details competently. Yes, I allow for adolescent sleeping and relaxing. I did a lot of that myself. But increasingly, I view it as my role to advise, rather than simply doing for her, again and again. Lifts to activities become weather checks and bus-fares.

I find myself deciding to cast off stuff I have usually done for hubby too. He buys his own clothes now, without any help from me: so instead of four button cuff work shirts, he mistakenly buys two dress shirts which require impractical cuff links. I could get cross, or I could simply reflect that this is a learning curve like all learning curves. Today he wore a dress shirt to work, and enjoyed doing so.

With all this delegation and consequent extra free time I create for myself, my responsibilities change too. I must do more to stay fit – swimming again, walking more, getting outside every day – and work properly, writing and producing good, enjoyable material I can be proud of. I have no more excuses for wasting time or for taking lazy short-cuts.

If this year is to mean anything, I have to follow through with my personal and professional goals, and make sure that I do my best to meet them honestly. If there are a few seismic shifts on the way, I’ll deal with them too.

Thanks for reading.

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