Life has a ring about it

 A couple of years after Tony was diagnosed with a brain tumour I gave a speech at Toastmasters about the sad reaction some people had to being informed of his dire situation.

We found that certain people we had known for a number of years had made their presence obvious by not being present.  In other words – they scarpered … they kept away.  Well away.  Kept their distance as far as they could make the distance.  It was as if they had been zapped from the earth.

What bothered me so much was that some of them had been folk we had been very close to;  others were folk who had utilised our ears by sharing their problems, reaching out to us for help or advice or just to be a friend when they needed friends.  Most had been to our home for dinner, or BBQs, or other social occasions.

After Tony’s diagnosis their absence was so obvious that I felt compelled to write a speech about them in the hope that those in my audience would think twice about themselves whenever someone they know has any form of catastrophe or disaster occur.  I hoped that it would make folk think hard about their own reaction to their friends who may be facing a life changing event.

Overall the message was – when something goes wrong for a friend, it’s not about YOU.  It’s not about how YOU feel.  It’s about them.  They are the ones who matter.  Not YOU.  Or how awkward, or hard, or difficult YOU find it.  It's about them!

I was lucky; the speech won a competition so in the end I had a number of opportunities to spread the message and each time I did it was inevitable that someone would come up to me and tell me what an impact it had on them.  That made it worth it.

Then last week I was sent a link to an article in The Los Angeles Times which had a message to it that I consider is just as important and is very linked to my own speech message. 

At the risk of plagiarism, am going to paste most of the article here – in the hope that those who read it will think about themselves and their reactions and attitudes  – and contemplate where they sit in situations where they have a problem they consider more important than their friend’s problem.  When it very often is ridiculously petty in comparison.  

Written by Susan Silk & Barry Goldman

When Susan had breast cancer, we heard a lot of lame remarks, but our favourite came from one of Susan's colleagues who said she wanted, that she needed to visit Susan after the surgery. But Susan didn't feel like having visitors and she said so. Her colleague's response was ... "This isn't about you."

"It's not?" Susan wondered. "My breast cancer is not about me? It's about you?"

The same theme came up again when our friend Katie had a brain aneurysm. She was in intensive care for a long time and finally got out and into a step-down unit. She was no longer covered with tubes and lines and monitors but she was still in rough shape. A friend came and saw her and then stepped into the hall with Katie's husband, Pat. "I wasn't prepared for this," she told him. "I don't know if I can handle it."

This woman loved Katie and she said what she did because the sight of Katie in this condition moved her so deeply. But it was the wrong thing to say. And it was wrong in the same way Susan's colleague's remark was wrong.

Susan has since developed a simple technique to help people avoid this mistake. It works for all kinds of crises: medical, legal, financial, romantic, even existential. She calls it the Ring Theory.

Draw a circle. This is the centre ring. In the ring put the name of the person at the centre of the current trauma. For Katie's aneurysm, that's Katie. Now draw a larger circle around the first one. In that ring put the name of the person next closest to the trauma. In the case of Katie's aneurysm, that was Katie's husband, Pat. Repeat the process as many times as you need to. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Parents and children before more distant relatives. Intimate friends in smaller rings, less intimate friends in larger ones. When you are done you have a Kvetching Order. One of Susan's patients found it useful to tape it to her refrigerator.

Here are the rules. The person in the centre ring can say anything she wants to anyone, in any ring, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, "Life is unfair" and "Why me?" That's the one payoff for being in the centre ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.

When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the centre of a crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you're going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn't, don't say it.  People who are suffering from trauma don't need advice they need comfort and support. So say, "I'm sorry."  Or, "This must really be hard for you," or, "Can I bring you a pot roast?"  Don't say, "I had that happen to me once,” or, “You should hear what happened to me," or, "Here's what I would do if I were you." You don't say, "I can’t handle this,” or, “This is really bringing me down."

If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that's fine. It's a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.

Comfort IN, dump OUT.

There was nothing wrong with Katie's friend saying she was not prepared for how horrible Katie looked, or even that she didn't think she could handle it. The mistake was that she said those things to Pat, someone in an inner circle. She dumped IN.

Complaining to someone in a smaller ring than yours doesn't do either of you any good. On the other hand, being supportive to a principal caregiver may be the best thing you can.

Remember, you can say whatever you want if you just wait until you're talking to someone in a larger ring than yours.

And don't worry. You'll get your turn in the centre ring. You can count on that.

  

                         

Some Aussie Ranting

Cannot pass up the opportunity to be in Australia and not write at least one blog - or have one rant.

Presently sitting in a really cool (ambience and temperature wise) café in The Rocks - one that even Katherine has yet to discover and one that my friend Joy brought me to a couple of days ago.

Katherine and I flew into Sydney last Friday - she had to come over for yet another business reason and had to be here for a few days, so at her suggestion I managed to have Lovely Big Son Danny organise a staff family member fare for me to fly over with Katherine.  The really interesting thing was that the fare was exceptionally reasonable in price - but the Sydney airport tax far exceeded the cost of the Air NZ fare.  It did almost have me cancel the trip for financial common sense, but when I thought it through for a whole ten seconds, realised this was one of those opportunities I should never turn down.

Katherine's business meant she had to stay in central Sydney, in a rather up market hotel. Due to the hotel being totally full with guests in every one of the rooms in the 32 levels (was City to Surf run this past weekend which brought thousands into Sydney), we had to have a room with only one bed.  Fortunately they made sure we had a room with a king size bed and we certainly clung to our respective sides of the bed each night as we slide into those hotel crispy sheets.  Just in case Katherine did inadvertently roll all the way over to my side of the bed during the night and in her comatose sleep state mistook the figure lying there as her Lovely David, I strategically placed one of those over large hotel pillows down the midline of the bed, thus meaning she would have to mountain climb in her sleep to get anywhere near my side.

In saying that - I consider Katherine a warm and dear friend.  But not that warm and dear!

The weather has been magnificent.  I do not feel at all pleased that the Auckland weather turned to custard the day Katherine and I left - as had hoped that everyone would be enjoying the sunshine as much as we were.  And that all those budding Ironman and Half Ironman triathletes would be enjoying delightful bike rides in the country and sunshine.  Seems not so.  Methinks no one went cycling. ??

Saturday & Sunday Katherine was not required at the office - so she determined that we would walk to all the places of interest she deemed necessary for me to go to.  That meant there were two and a half days of walking.  Lots of walking.  Walking for eternity, but we never found eternity.  By Monday morning my hip joints were requiring titanium replacements and as for my bung knee....?  800mg of Brufen three times a day did nothing to stop my inability to swing the attached bones below the knee into going forwards in a straight line.  I am still suffering from the initial two days of walking - however it has been compounded by my managing to entertain myself, without cost, via my legs, over the past couple of days - and more walking.  I am coming home a cripple.  The weather meant there would be no inside time wasters - far to lovely to be inside museums and art galleries- so it was outside, walking sojourns each day.

Which meant it gave me ample time to take in a broader perspective of Sydney, of Australia, of Australians, of tourists in Australia and of butt cracks.  All things I would have seen and absorbed on previous visits but those visits were always with my darling man and he's no longer with me which left the onus on myself to entertain myself with the observances from this one set of Kiwi eyes and ears.  I felt like I had internal split personalities, talking to myself each time I saw something that Tony and I would have enjoyed seeing, hearing and sharing. 

As for ears and hearing - judging by the conversation I heard on the bus yesterday afternoon us non-convict-descended Kiwis are certainly not seen in an enlightened light by some Australians.  The young man behind me on the bus yesterday was berating to his other male and female friends yesterday that his sister, for whom he had originally had high praise, was now categorised in his lower status of personage due to the fact that she is now, "Dating a f____king Kiwi!"

I daren't open my Kiwi accented mouth for fear of feather and taring. 

Funnily enough, it was on my bus journey back from Bondi yesterday afternoon when I was reflecting on my days excursion to the golden sands of Bondi, Bronte and the day before to Manly and was noting that the much maligned male Speedo bathing trunks are a necessary form of attire for any male from 5 years to 105 years in this country.  In two days I saw more men in Speedos than I would otherwise ever have seen in my lifetime had I not had this present trip here.  And all Speedos have to be black.  Blue, green, red or any other colour is a no-no.  

Thus my earlier reference to butt cracks.  I followed a number of butt cracks as I strolled the shores of Bondi and Taramara and Bronte.  

Never been one to have found  the sight Speedos as a no-no fashion cloth (no nicer sight that a nice body in a pair of Speedos) I do now have a firm opinion that Speedos are, or should be, standard beach attire for all males - at a beach.  As those in board shorts tended to be those who were pale, unmuscled, of insipid personality, only toe-dippers in water (as opposed to all Speedo wearers being strongly able to swim, surf or bogie board) and they stood out like ... well like ....  umm... well, they just stood out and looked gormless.

In saying all that - there is one strict rule for Speedo wearers - dare not to ever let them get loose.  Then they truly are obscene.  Guys, keep the Speedos relatively new with all the tightness of the lycrac and polyester they are made with.  Once the thread becomes thinner and looser - ditch them and go purchase your new pair.  I saw a number of 60, 70, 80 year old men in loose fitting Speedos - now they and their other free flowing appendages were not a sight to behold.  YUK.  Especially those with the well formed, pregnant looking abdominals - and butt cracks.

Oops, time to publish and close down - have a train to catch to the airport and a short walk to get there.

Maybe more ramblings later.  There's so much more I have.  Soooo much more.



Seeya mate.....

A great follow on from my last blog

An email received this morning:


Hi Verna

Just finished reading your blog, went on the NY Times site and saw this:

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/08/06/science/seeing-narcissists-everywhere.html?pagewanted=1&ref=general&src=me

A slightly different topic, but nonetheless....'all about the I' - but for the younger generation. 

And how true it all is! 

Reminds me of the quip:'

"I want to get a tattoo of myself on my body, only 2 inches taller and with perkier boobs"

There are too many Know-it-alls out there. Someone remind them, silence is golden.

• Wikipedia’s definition of a Know-it-all:
• A know-it-all or know-all is a person who obnoxiously purports an expansive comprehension of a topic and/or situation when in reality, his/her comprehension is inaccurate or limited.

Obnoxious.  That's what it is.  Obnoxious.

This morning, when standing at the kitchen bench, I picked up the little cards of inspiration that I have sitting on the window sill, a gift someone had given me some while ago – and flicked through them to see which one I would have up for this week.  It came up with ‘Silence is one of the greatest arts of conversation’. 

Oh how true that is.

If only more people would have that little message sitting on their window sills to remind them of the skill of a great conversationalist.

This particularly relates to people leaning towards my age.  Know-it-all people.  Pain in the a…..es people.  And generally those people approaching the early sunset of life.  In other words, people in and around my age group.  Boring know-it-alls. 

Seems to be an infliction that comes on with the aging body, aging mind.  Bloody know-it-alls.

It’s driving me nuts.  They won’t shut up.  They don’t seem to know or understand that yes, one can and often does know it all, but who the ......  cares!??  Shud up about it and let someone else talk.

It has been bugging me forever.  The Know-it-alls.  

This breed of constant bores was highlighted to me yet again tonight.  Met with some friends this evening – lovely catching up – always is when you have not seen folk for a while, such a lot to talk about and such a lot to share.  

There were six of us, chin wagging over a wine or two.

As when groups of people get together there tend to be the dominant, the not-so-dominant and then those that actually add value to the conversation.

Re read that sentence, take off your Know-it-all hat and try your best to understand what I mean.

I speak from one who is probably seen as a ‘dominant’ in many situations.

Yet (and I am being a Know-it-all on this topic) I usually am not.  I like to hear other people talk, even if I do know more than them.

Tonight it happened on three or four occasions in one conversation.  Someone was relating a story, an experience, when one of the others in the group could not restrain him/herself and butted into the conversation with their own view of the topic line.  On two of those occasions they started the butt in with, “Well when I last did that I …..”   Grrr, methinks.  Let someone else tell the story, it’s far more interesting; you are far more boring.

With so many people who come from my era it seems to be a case of constant ‘I am-ness”. 

Only a few weeks ago was with another group of people where someone was relating their first experience at having run a marathon.  This person held the interest of the rest of the group when extolling the virtues of his marathon effort and what a supreme achievement he had deemed his crossing the finish line.  None of the others in the group were aware of my history of running or running marathons so was interested in how the new marathoner had his audience metaphorically in the palm of his hand as he gave advice on the whys, wherefores and howfores of running a marathon.  Indeed, the more he spoke the more he realised people were tuned in so the more he elevated his self position into one of being an expert on marathon running and its virtues.

I have only run over a hundred of them – so probably don't quite know it all -but felt this was his opportunity to feel good, his time to feel credit for his knowledge and his time to have the others admire and congratulate.  It was nice.  

I was glad I did not butt in with my own experiences.  I was glad I stayed smut.  Even though I disagreed with much of his so-called words of wisdom, I still enjoyed his time in the lime light.

This incident reminded me of another situation with a group of ladies and one of them had recently returned from an overseas trip where she had visited parts of North Wales.

She gave a lovely account of her journey there, her exploring various villages and towns of North Wales and relating to all in listening distance the advice on walking or travelling through the North Wales countryside.  For those that know me, North Wales holds a big sentimental part in my travel life and history.  My dearest friends have lived there all their lives and whenever I have travelled to the UK, which has been numerous times now, I never travel there without a sojourn to their little town in North Wales.  I have run every walkway, every old train line, through almost every village and crossed every field and style available.  Seen every view, topped every mountain.   I feel like I know the area better than I know my own backyard in Auckland – I know North Wales really well. 

But this lady was so engrossed with retelling her first time experiences and travels there and relating some of the history and scenery of the place, as though she was an old traveller to the area, that I did not have the heart to interrupt and let her and others know my history with the place.  Why would I?  That would have burst her bubble.  I had nothing to gain, except self-importance.  I don’t feel the need for that.  Pity a few more Know-it-alls don't feel the same way.

Seriously though, how often are we in situations – on a daily basis – where a conversation is being had and someone is holding forth with a topic, only to have someone else edge into the talk with giving their own experience. 

How often have we heard someone talking then someone else saying, “That reminds me of ….”   And off they go?  Or, “I remember when I was ….”    

Grrrr.  Grrrrrrrrrrr.  Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

For instance only last week someone was telling me they had a certain injury and began to give me a little more detail on the pain they were suffering, when another in the group piped up, “Oh, I’ve had that injury, its……”     Grrrrr

SHUD UP!!

Silence is one of the greatest arts of conversation.

                   

            

ROFLOLWTIME but WTH!

I have had a wasted day today.  Well, almost wasted.  I did do a couple of chores, paid a couple of bills, had a couple of coffees, made a couple of phone calls, drafted a couple of training programmes, researched a couple of projects, did a couple of small good deeds, rubbed a couple of feet, had visits from a couple of sons, placated a couple of cats; but all in all a wasted day today.  Indeed my couple of butt cheeks have become so broadened today by the hours of sitting that it’s going to take a couple of major exercise days to get the squared seated shape out of them.

More than a couple of major exercise days actually, probably a couple of weeks worth of exercise – all due to the fact that a week ago I was finally hit by this nasty winter cough and cold virus that seems to have struck every second person this winter. 

I went away last Thursday for a couple of days with a couple of friends and methinks, guiltily, that I have probably infected the couple of friends with my bugs.  But am going to rationalise that by telling myself better they catch it from me, a good mate, than from some ugly blighter they don’t like!

In fact, I was away with them for three days and could write a whole article about the joys and pleasures of travelling the countryside on a Good-Bye-Pork-Pie-type jaunt with the two friends who were fondly referred to by another friend as Thelma and Louise.  High praise for the friends indeed – but after some of the happenings and stories to be told of the jaunt, I figure they better fitted the titles of Lucy & Ethel, or Lavern & Shirley, or truly more relevant, Betty & Wilma.

It was a pity I had become struck down with the bugs because I spent much of the time curled in a fetal position in the back of the little car, nodding off.  Or slouched on the couch in the motel room, nodding off.  Or in the little movie house, nodding off.  Or leaning on the lamp post during the city walking tour, nodding off.  Betty & Wilma were ever so sympathetic and never once berated me for being the wet rag in the trio.  One wonders if they feel the same way now, as I know Betty, or is it Wilma?... has actually been struck down with the infectious bugs.

Anyway … back to the wasted day.  One of the time wasters on this wasted day was sitting here on the PC and catching up with various emails and communications that I had not spent the time or more truthfully, the mental strength to do over the past few weeks.  In between doing those I thought I would catch up on Facebook happenings over the past period that I had missed.  It was fun scrolling through and reading what various friends had been doing over the previous months and what others have planned to do in the next months.  I can see how reading about where they eat, and play and exercise and sleep can easily become mind numbingly time wasting … because irrespective of how we all sling off at inane postings on Facebook, it’s still fun to read. 

Well some of it is.  That is, the some of it I understand.  I have concluded that Facebook seems to have trended a typed language of its own that is the language of acronyms.  I spent quite a bit of time trying to work out exactly what CNP, TY, TMA, K, IDGI and CSG meant.  I’ve always found LOL has confused me as inevitably I have to think, “Now is that ‘lots of love’?  or ‘laugh out loud’? or ‘lots of luck’?  So to come across these other unknowns…  grrrrr.    Was getting so irritated at misinterpreting some of what I was trying to read that I wasted yet more time Googling the acronyms to try deciphering what I was reading.  Grrr…

To think, I’ve promised myself for years now to go to night school to learn Spanish and/or renew my forgotten language of Maori, or even delve into a little French not only to sharpen my brain but to enjoy the knowledge of constant learning.   Huh!  Forget that, I shall now been searching Google to find where is the local school that runs night classes for the new language of acronyms!

OWTF, AFAICS, ICOCBW but IDI, to get understood nowadays YHBBYBD that we just have to STW to translate any FAQ about what one reads on FB or FCOL any PM or PS one must STFU and realise that TMI ain’t worth knowing. 

Oh well, oops, no, I mean OBYW, NVM it just makes me feel RVD that it took me so long to figure out what DTV meant!

(FYI, if you are as acronym illiterate as me, go to http://www.muller-godschalk.com/acronyms.html it’s got all the acronyms in the world listed.)

Except DTV.   

           

                                        

Hello, my name is Verna Cook-Jackson and I am an addict

Yes, I confess to being an addict.  I am totally addicted.  I cannot help myself.  

These past few months I have been trying to cover it up, trying to hide my addiction from friends and family.  But I have been covertly ingesting my drug of choice when all have left and there is no one around.

It has eased my pain.

My addiction has not been helped by (and I am EVER SO GRATEFUL, SO KEEP IT COMING) everyone's good wishes and goodwill by arriving regularly with cakes, slices, danishes, truffles, chocolates, more cakes, more biscuits, more slices, more fruit buns .... it's turned me into a secret cake-biscuit-gooey-slice-nougat-anything-sweet addict.

And how do I know I am actually an addict?

Someone dropped a slice of something ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFULLY GOOEY, YUMMY, STICKY and TASTY chocolate, caramel slice today.  Put it well away in the pantry knowing I have just come through 5 days of gooey, sticky, yummy total addictive behaviour - AND knowing I have not been able to move that 67 plus.... kg upholstery around my midriff.  Thus the pantry it was placed - away from frothing and foaming mouth and shaky hands.

Then rushed out to take the cat to the vet for an emergency appointment. Only to pull into the vet's car park and realise I had forgotten the cat   ... cause I had left the house eating the caramel slice ....

                                              

It's Tony's birthday today

  

A thank you to those thoughtful ones who have sent me messages in the knowledge that today is the toughest day yet since Tony passed away.

Today is Tony’s birthday.

It has been comforting to learn that many folk realise it was never going to be an easy day for me.

We always celebrated birthdays.  Well, I always did.  Tony tended to rebuff my desire to celebrate his annual day of birth, but the rebuffs were never that convincing.  Everyone likes to be acknowledged, to be celebrated, to feel special sometime in their life. So why not on the day that one was born?

We had some very happy birthday celebrations for his day.  

The first major one was his 60^th when we hired out the local YMCA foyer, installed a juke box and had a catering company come with a constant supply of canapés.  That day/night was particularly memorable for a number of reasons – but the one I hold dear most is late in the night, when everyone had gone home, including us – that Tony hugged me and thanked me for making him feel that he was a special person to me and for loving him so much.   I remember that hug as though he gave it to me this morning.  And the words he used, they were so heartfelt and sincere;  if only I had written them down.

The next major birthday of his which we celebrated was his 65^th.  The birthday he treated as a joke – because he found it so hard to believe he was so old, that he was of pension age, that he would forever get free coffees at McDonalds and each fortnight the government would put some money into his bank account.  At 65 Tony was really only 45.  Mentally, physically and spiritually. 

That was a fun birthday.  We hired part of a local restaurant out and squashed everyone in to enjoy pasta and pasta and lovely red wine.  The photos keep coming up on the PC when it has been resting for a while – everyone is laughing, everyone was happy.

Then the next major one to celebrate was a far more poignant birthday celebration.  

It was his 70^th and only seven months earlier he had been given the life sentence of twelve weeks due to having a brain tumour.

At the time I thought it would probably be Tony’s last birthday celebration.  We never discussed it.  We never talked about an inevitability.  But by the 21^st July he had extended by months his predicted ending.  That in itself was worth celebrating.  But it was his 70^th and as much as he really did not want to acknowledge he had reached that incredible age, I was determined we would celebrate as we had such a lot to be grateful for and to enjoy.  Besides, he was still fit and ‘healthy’;  he had done Ironman only four months earlier, he was still biking, swimming, running and enjoying Yoga and Pilates and anything and everything else that was normal in our lives.

So it was a Sunday at home with Tony.

I think most people who came to enjoy the Sunday with us that day were of the thought it would be the last birthday they would celebrate with Tony.  Irrespective of their thoughts, the photos taken on the day tell me that everyone was happy to be there, and Tony was chuffed they were.  Yet again, he was more chuffed that I had organised the day. 

Today would have been Tony’s 75^th.  Hard to think of him being 75 actually, particularly when you think that only 16 months ago he was doing Ironman.

Today has been really, really difficult.  This whole last three weeks has been difficult.  This past week has been the most difficult.  Buckets of tears have been shed, still are.  In solitude.

So it’s been of much comfort to have had the messages.

We are still celebrating Tony’s birthday though.  At this very moment some of the family are at the theatre, watching Tony’s sister-in-law in a production (my sister), I am babysitting young Anthony and we await the arrival of everyone back home so that we can enjoy an evening repast of birthday celebration of Tony.  

For the occasion I have made his favourite dessert.  Apple and rhubarb crumble.  He was never hard to please!