Gianmaria Testa

this is not begging

It probably says a lot about my self-esteem and whatever else, but I find it really hard to sort of stand up for myself right now. Not that it ever was easier but  somehow these situations didn't come up that often before, I suppose there was no need, maybe because I avoided them, maybe because I simply moved and worked and lived in an environment where I had found my place - I really don't want to analyse this any further.

Fact is, right now there are two big issues I have to fight for. Ah gosh, no, fighting is not the term. I have to do something about it because if I don't I am a right old shit and will no doubt wake up some night(s) furious with myself for not having done it. And then I will try to small talk it out of my conscience and pretend it's nothing and it will get digested the wrong way by my body and I'll get grey hair all of a sudden or a paralyzed arm or somesuch psychosomatic reaction. 

Ok Ok Ok

I just wrote my boss a benign pushy email without too much condescending waffle and just a hint of a threat explaining to him that I will be taking all my holiday entitlements due to me for the time I was out sick (seven weeks, thank you sweet German labour legislation) sort of now unless he hands over cash instead - which he is well able to. So, no, this is not begging.

Actually, I don't want to have seven weeks holidays right now. I just got back to work after 76 weeks of idleness. If I had the money and the energy and health, obviously I'd be off exploring etc. but as it stands, I'd rather be at work.

And the other thing is sitting here on my desk, pages and pages of forms to fill out for my application to get reduced earning capacity pension. The stuff they want to know just blows me: Where did you reside on July 1st 1990? Why do they need to know that??? If I tell them the truth - I suppose I  must - and write  

behind the huge old Banyan tree, east coast, main island, paradise ...

                                                     

now what will they ask next?

The ache inside my gums and teeth feels like a cold metallic lump. This is nothing, I try telling myself. This is superficial. Skin leasions and nerves picking up some signal. Harmless.

sun

my second last long walk to date

You drive along the road from Ballyconneely towards Roundstone until you get to a spot where someone has written "No dogs after this sign" on the rocks. There you climb over the fence and walk around the small lake on soft grassy spongey ground.
Soon you start going uphill between rocks and moss and little streams. You are glad that your boots are waterproof. In places it is very wet and the soil is black and gooey like liquid tar when your feet sink in. Most times it feels as if you are so close to the top before another small ravine means you have to climb down and up again and again.
The sun is quite warm and the wind is gentle and fresh. The odd sheep watch you while you carefully climb higher. It gets a bit tricky towards the top with loose stones now with less grass and moss and more barren dry rocks.
After about two hours or maybe three you are on top of Errisbeg Mountain and you look out around you: to the north the wide expanse of the Emlaghmore bog, a no mans land full of mysterious bog pools and stories of ghosts and fairies and disappearances, the Twelve Bens towering behind. To the east you can glimpse the bay at Roundstone and across to Ballynahinch in the Gaeltacht where a teenage R spent a summer practising his Irish. And to the south and west, this is what you see: Dog's Bay and the Atlantic ocean. It is still and mild up here, the sun bright and benign and you can hear the voices from the people down below, children running and playing on the beach.

Later on you walk along this beach, you take off your boots and socks, roll up your jeans and walk with you feet in the water, stretching your arms open wide and breathing in all this happiness on such a wonderful warm April Sunday in Connemara.

I've had it up to here with winter. Slushy snow again this morning and a nasty cold wind from the east. Getting ready for another trip to the dentist to rinse my inflamed gums. I am sure the sweet receptionists there think I am one big whining fake. Ah well, can't win them all.

My nailbed is also infected in places and of course herpes thought this a fine time to visit.

If I could just dive into a warm clear ocean and roll in it until this is all washed off and out of me.

This is from spring of 1986, just after Chernobyl, a time when we watched the wind and the clouds and hid away our babies when the rain came from the east across the Irish Sea. 

delayed fear

For a moment we held our breaths this morning when the worldservice news told us about an earthquake with 60+ dead near where our child is roaming the globe at the moment and there were futile attempts to reach her via various phone numbers etc. 

And then we could breath calmly again because of course she is fine, at the last minute she decided to take a different route.

So this will become another of her nomad tales like the one about the night journey in northern Laos with a busload of soldiers and guns and faulty breaks and the single Buddhist monk to smile at or the flight from Bukhara to Tashkent with the plane falling apart inside and outside.

Please, let her luck never run out.

toodle di doo

I am no fun to live with, really no fun. I mean, I wouldn't want to live with someone like me, forever moaning about this and that and always so bone tired, with a wonky digestion and picky appetite, to say nothing about those panic stations from time to time. Then there's all that self pity and what with spring and summer coming. I mean, we put last year on hold already. Don't tell me this never ends??

Rant over.

Jean-Dominique Bauby and Julian Schnabel

I tried to watch The Diving Bell and the Butterfly but it I could not handle it, too upsetting, but kept on getting back to it sort of with one eye while playing spider solitaire on the laptop and then the music got to me so so so much. It will be in my dreams tonight.

dream

I have a hard time remembering dreams so I don't know if it was one or whether this is just some figment that spun out of my half asleep brain this morning but S was stepping out of a plane, a small one like the ones we used between islands in paradise, and as she was walking towards me she got smaller and younger and when she jumped into my arms she was four years old with her hair curling around her face and she looked at me all seriously and said in her grown up voice, damn it, damn it, I think I lost a contact lense.

sing-a-long Italian pop - sticky sweet

più bella cosa non c'è
più bella cosa di te
unica come sei
immensa quando vuoi
grazie di esistere...

(Eros Ramazzotti, live in Rome 2004)

from the wise man

A given situation can be viewed as either unbearable or beneficial: it depends how we look at it. We must make certain that things don’t begin to seem unbearable. If we look too closely at problems we will see nothing else and they will appear all out of proportion with reality; that is when they become intolerable. If we can stand back from them, we will be better able to judge them and they will seem less serious.

birds

The crane are coming back. I watch their big V-shaped formations flying noisily in from the south west and we hear them at night, too.
In the mornings before sunrise a single voice of a blackbird comes through the open bedroom window waking me for a short instance just to hear it and wonder and drift back into sleep.
No more tooth ache in the last 48 hours after the dentist and the immunologist decided to cut out MTX for two weeks to give my gums a chance to heal. Endless pots of chamomile and sage tea for rinsing and soothing.

Last year at this time I was falling through space like Major Tom. And the world was covered in snow.

spring cleaning the kitchen

in the garden

out in full glory: snowdrops galore, primula, pansy, spring snowflake (leucojum), eranthis and hellebores

almost there: daffs, wild tulips,wild onion, pulsatilla, rose hip

budding: lilac, quince, black currants, pears

growing leaf: buddlia, figs, hydrangea

R moved the fig trees from their winter quarters outside as they have started to fruit but I worry about frost and have covers ready.

In the greenhouse the lemon is looking a bit weary but has made it through the winter, no fruit though.

We are still harvesting kale and sprouts and lamb's lettuce.

the great dentist disaster

After cutting a neat incision into my barely healed gums and flipping back a short section of it, the oral sugeon is using a tiny sharp scalpel to scrape back and forth along the now exposed bone surface of my upper right jaw. With neat little pliers he then proceeds to clip off a small bone fragment that has been  protruding into my gums after all of my upper right molars had been surgically removed during the previous eight weeks, slowly, one by one, due to an infection that had spread from a piece of tooth root left behind by sloppy dentist work a few months earlier. Somewhere along the lines, during the three months with a gaping wound inside my mouth, a nerve was irreparably damaged.

All this happened in the first half of 2007. It took several months and very heavy medication to check the pain to a bearable degree. However, the nerve damaged meant that I continued to suffer from waves of neuropathic pain on and off, more or less all the time, and over the next two years with the help of a fabulous pain therapist/anaesthetist I was able to slowly taper off the medication for that. It sounds gruesome but I should remember that during that time I climbed Mount Etna, did several long-distance cycle trips and translated some of my best work - and lived a wonderful life.

For the last two weeks due to a more extensive case of inflammation of my gums - a side effect of the immune supression - a phantom scalpel has been scraping along the bone surface. Most of the time.

I haven't the slightest idea how to fit all this into my present precarious set up. Sometimes I just want to kick my head against the wall or wail like a wounded dog and stuff like that. But I know that's not going to help. Not one bit.

Breath in.

Breath out.

And pin my hopes on medication once again. May all gods and godesses bless my health insurance and doctors - and R, of course, for holding me in the nights.

blame it on tooth ache

Thanks to MTX, my gums are sore and open and hence the tooth ache has been coming and going, spreading to the upper jaw into the phantom pain I experienced four years ago after the great dentist disaster that stopped me from hiking in the Golden Triangle hills with S and instead catapulted me helter skelter into the oral surgery nightmare summer of 2007. It seems that life has dealt me this card again. 

But mercyfully my doctor agreed that this is one shit load too many and so my box of pills has two more additions: one to alleviate the inflamed gums and one to handle the phantom pain. I wish these monsters would act instantly but no, patience is what's called for. And I have run out of this kind of virtue so long ago.

Sleep is a rare and precious gift these nights, a fickle one though and last night I spent much time alternatingly making up dream scenarios in full aching wakefulness or concentrating on the soles of my feet whenever the drilling pain in my gummy upper jaws seemed to spin me out of control. Those dear soles of my feet, with all mental efforts available I made them tingle and glow for most of the night.

During the days I am irritable and cranky. Working was the highlight and I feel dead proud for sticking it out even on days when all I want to do is run and hide. My in-trays are all neatly stacked now and priorities settled and long overdues over and done. Before I lock up for the night, I glance back over my shoulder and, wow, does my desk look good!!

On the home office front, I have started an assigement for a feminist/sociologist crowd translating a long essay on subsistence and autonomy - really good stuff - which is starting to become really frustrating. Frustrating because the two women I deal with are a) computer illiterate whereby anything beyond typing is wonderland, b) scatterbrains, charming but grrr! and c) never on time. They are both older than me, honoured academics, well travelled and well connected in the global feminist ecology network but when I try to teach show them the wonders of editing in word, they smile and clap their hands as if we were in nursery school discovering the miracle of how the red Lego stones fit on top of the white ones - every time anew.

I am probably certainly absolutely unfair now and way off the mark, blame it on tooth ache.

Yes, let's blame it all on tooth ache. All. ALL.

Lá Fhéile Bríde

I am one day late for this.
Don't be afraid of the light that shines within you.

work

There is this feeling of frailty, weakness, exhaustion hovering above my days and I am struggling with it, really hard, while at the same time showing off my professional and accomplished side during my afternoons at work, all smiles and efficiency. After three hours the latest, this frailty catches up with me and pins me down onto my chair with such power and determination that I am left there gagged and shaking. While my mind wants to get on with work and all the new ideas and plans, my body fails me so utterly.
Oh,  how I miss my energetic old self. I have quite some adjusting learning ahead of me. 

...our wounds and flaws are sure signs of our fundamental completeness. If speech is a finger pointing toward the unspoken, our sense of incompleteness, our fragile, tender vulnerability is a sure sign of our strength.

writes Saki Santorelli

quoting Rumi:
"Don't turn your head. Keep looking 
at the bandaged place . That's where
the Light enters you."

And that old grey-haired magician sings: There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in...

Connemara tree

Walking along the northern shore of Killary Harbour on an early April morning. The clouds move swiftly inland from the sea, bringing the odd shower. The ground is wet and soft like a sponge, There is no path, just the slope rising steeply to our left, speckled with sheep's droppings. The wind blows relentlessly. We climb along the coastal edge, pass the ruin of a cottage abandoned an eternity ago, silence. Just us and occasionally some very noisy seagulls.

the last stone

At the traffic light I watch a gang of teenage boys wrestling, red faced, sweaty, coats and gloves on the ground, breaths steaming on this frosty day. The power of testosterone.

volcano

Last week, Dr F the ophthalmologist found my eyes in beautiful shape, declared my optic nerve perfectly healed and well again. All smiles until she insisted on reminding me that living with this disease is like living under a volcano, never knowing when and where it will erupt next. Although in theory I am very aware of this, my heart sank and for a moment I badly wanted to shout at her.

In the evening I cried in R's arms while he reminded me in his reassuring calm way that many volcanoes remain silent for thousands and thousands of years.

battery change

A persistent tweeting wakes us in the early hours. Half asleep we wander the house in search of a lost bird or injured pet, slowly waking up to the realisation that the smoke alarm is calling for a new battery.

Surfing on a wave of tooth ache, concentrating on my stance, trying to hold my head upright, hoping desperately for calmer seas.

cál ceannann

a bowl full of kale - picked after a frosty night - chopped

one large onion chopped
garlic, mashed
all fried in oil or butter
mix with a couple of floury potatoes, peeled, boiled and mashed with a cup of milk
serve with fried smoked tofu 

Irish comfort food - thank you R

For days only this grey fog outside. I am running on autopilot. Just a small push to shift the fog and clouds, that's all I am asking for.

Maybe some uplifting music...

grey morning

A blanket of grey fog outside and inside, nursing a tooth ache, too lazy to even make a cup of tea. One more hour of this and I will get ready to go to work. Hard to imagine.

attempting a supportive email to a daughter who is a bit at a loss

My dearest,
while I was pottering around today and cycled along the river I was thinking of your mail and a few bits came up.

This will read a bit like a string of platitudes, sugary calendar wisdom, but here it goes:
Don't feel too driven to do something "useful". If you cannot think of doing something "good" at least don't hurt anybody or anything - and that's quite a task in itself. Striving for happiness is a killer, waiting is the skill.  It's day to day that matters. Living a day being careful and attentive and kind and honest. To yourself and those you encounter.

Write things down, always. And read it eventually.

And remember:
With unfailing kindness, your life always presents what you need to learn. Whether you stay home or work or whatever, the next chapter is going to pop right up.

Eight terracotta pots of budding amaryllis on my window sill. I am expecting fireworks of white, red, pink any day now.

The bruise inside the crook of my right arm is turning green. I place my fingers on the slight swelling. The monthly tap, checking up how I am doing. Hello?

when Vivaldi came to Ireland

Of course, he never went. Or did he?
Hughes de Courson, French composer and musical nomad spins a story, interchanging Baroque instruments with Uillean pipes, flute and fiddle. And this makes for brilliant wake up music.

Like walking through a forest towards a house full of happy childhood memories where friends are waiting with hot chocolate.

After three days of rain and unseasonally mild weather the garden is soft like a sponge. I count the little shoots of snowdrops and crocus. Come on lads, I whisper, don't be shy. I missed you.

in the words of Kurt Vonnegut

Guard yourself at all times. A lot of people believe that beauty is some kind of conspiracy -- along with friendly laughter and peace.


from a letter found on this blog

my colitis tea

 
25g tormentil root
15g sheperd's purse leaf
10g caraway seed
15g fennel seed
25g chamomile blossom
10g rose blossom

I watched the pharmacist mixing this tea, explaining the various medicinal uses of the different ingredients. When she added the rose blossoms, she smiled and said, for beauty.

 

seagull

Driving across the big bridge, a seagull flies dangerously close past my windscreen. Behind the steering wheel I duck.

a talking to

... healing does not always involve a "cure". It happens daily to people with horrendous illnesses. Healing [...] is a balanced state of mental, spiritual and emotional well being that allows for comfort in an uncomfortable body and mind. If we can learn to be with this moment, what ever “this” moment looks like, then the fears that are tangled up with pain, the anxieties that tend to tip us off center, gently reach equilibrium again, at least temporarily.
Then for a breath
...maybe ten breaths,
we can experience relief and peace
...and begin again.

found it here

watching the river rise

Lots of rain, melting snow and now this big fat mighty river has burst its banks. Not the usual little spill-over sloshing along the promenade. 

This time, a fast moving mass of slate grey water pushing its way foreward towards the sea and sideways into fields and gardens, on the tow paths, up the roads and ferry ramps. No barges, no boats, no ferries. Just a handful of confused and giddy ducks swimming on the edges between the tops of trees that normally line the promenade. The cafes and ferry stations and boating clubs are submerged, the odd roof peaking out.

Some benches are bobbing on top, anchored to the ground with their chainlink locks, the odd bin floats by, together with a mixed bag of flotsam: branches, plastic bags, bottles, brown bundles of muck.

All day people are walking down to the edge of the water to take a look. The locals and long term blow-ins, the newbies and the expats, all spellbound by this massive force of water.

Flood tourism, says R and takes a picture.

Night. Listening to the rain. Warm and safe in my floating cocoon of dreams.

blue jay

Brushing my teeth, looking out of the window. A large blue jay lands on the tree opposite, sharpening his beak on a bare branch, whoosh-whoosh, back and forth. He turns his head, we look at each other. He flies off. I rinse my mouth.

listening

It is not easy - in fact, it's pretty fucking difficult - after such a long absence. My in-tray looks like a laundry basket for a football team, I spent the last two days trying to sort out what is what and still not finished.

There is a little voice inside of me that whispers, you are safe, you are well, you are safe, you are well. And I strain to hear it even through the roaring and the shaking. My shoulders ache from all that effort.

At night when my mind wants to continue sorting through the in-tray, I try to concentrate, you are safe, you are well, you are safe, you are well, you are safe...

All that I need to manage is to somehow make it through 3-4 hours, Mo -Fr, AND get some work done.

Listening to David Fray playing Schubert. Thinking, this is thinking without words.

The garden is silent, covered in a loose blanket of wet snow. I am rinsing alfalfa seed. Tiny brown pockets of life, spring in my kitchen.

on a more cheerful note

paid labour

Nervous. From tomorrow on I have to manage at least three hours of regular work until the end of Jan. That means, Mo-Fr including commuting and the lot. What I have been doing for years and years and what I have been unable/not allowed to do for over 12 months now.

From 1st of Feb it's half day or the battle for disability pension.

My employer has built many bridges for me in all these months and more than once has it been suggested to me that there is no need to work "hard", that there are many others who spend half an hour here and there watering office plants and moving the blinds just right and still get paid.

I don't know what scares me more: finding out that I may not be able to work regularly even for a  few hours or the prospect of having to play a charade.

One week at a time. Tonight all I can see is a steep path uphill and I think I have to run it. through thick mud. With leaking boots. Carrying a load of heavy stones on my back. In freezing wind.

I could go on, melodramatics, my pet.

unrealistic resolutions for 2011

• phase out immune suppressive drugs
• visit S on the other side of the planet
• spend at least two weeks in Scopello before the next winter
• cycle from Rhône glacier to Lake Geneva
• do yoga without vertigo
• knitting and quilting (my head is so full of colours and patterns) without vertigo
• join a choir

semi-realistic resolutions for 2011

• spend time with S
• work regularly again, at least part-time
• cycling into town
• gentle hillwalking
• reduce immune suppressive drugs
• stop listening to/reading horror stories about autoimmune vasculitis
• paint the kitchen
• make sourdough bread

realistic resolutions for 2011

• go easy on R 
• rest, rest, rest
• pay attention to the moment
• good food, careful diet to avoid more itisses
• listen first
• accept, accept, accept
  
• remember
• trust
• be grateful without getting soppy
• send S a huge parcel from home
• stop being so negative about yuk I cannot change
• give without getting exploited
• welcome challenges

Scheveningen harbour 31 Dec 2010