Once again, my week started, and ended, in a way that could not be foreseen, and quite frankly, the start would not be on my list of 'perfect beginnings'. It very much, also, brought forward the language barrier that exists at times of trauma. I refer not to the political situation on either side of the pond, but my very own house! I was, plain and simply, 'not well'.
There was no clear reason for my condition on Monday evening, but I came home feeling rather nauseous and definitely not hungry. Dana's suggestion of various culinary options were not helping. Without going into details, when I am 'not well', I tend to follow a pattern. My daughter is the perfect nurse, as she understands every grunt and groan, every tap and scrape. However, my daughter was thirty minutes away and had no idea as to my dilemma. I do hope that my meanderings do not offend the fainthearted, as they are meant to be lighthearted, but I apologise in advance for any offence they may cause.
My husband returned home with a bag of fish tacos, which are usually on my list of favourites, but in the circumstances became the enemy. I slept for about half an hour and then retreated into the bathroom. "Bucket!" I demanded, knowing that I could only say one word without disaster! Dana rounded the corner. "What kind of bucket?" He looked at me with concern, but also quizzically as he was not sure he understood. I repeated my demand, and manged to add "under stairs". He disappeared for a while, and I heard a vague rummaging sound from downstairs, before he reappeared holding a choice of two! I pointed to one.
At this point, I would like to make it clear that my husband, whilst very caring and understanding in most cases, and definitely one who defers to my choice unless he deems it dangerous, or perhaps unseemly, (and I do not believe we have crossed that path,) still thinks with military precision and accuracy, and looks at all options before an attack!
Before giving me the bucket, it was lined, with a plastic bag. Now, the military precision with which my husband acts, does not always take into consideration the producer of the equipment, and in this case he lined it with the bag that had housed the fish tacos. Get the picture!
A few minutes later, when I had gained a modicum of composure, I knocked on the wall. No one came. I knocked again. "What is that noise?" I heard Dana say. I knocked on the door, and then stamped on the floor. "Is that you?" he said from the bedroom. I knocked again. A face appeared around the corner. "Wet flannel!" I demanded. Confusion spread across my husband's face. Flannel generally refers to a shirt. I repeated my demand, and then realised that we had hit the infamous language barrier once again. The troops were at a standstill, and a decision was going to have to be made. In his mind, he was wondering why I wanted him to take an item of clothing from the wardrobe and soak it. Fortunately, I had a moment of remission, and changed my demand to "Cold washcloth". This was provided, with a lecture on how we had come across this word before and how I should have known he would not know to what I referred. Two things came to mind. The first was, "When I feel better, mister.......!" The second was that he had never seen me like this before, and was a little bit nervous.
The knocking was understood the second time, and the order of "Water" was given. "Fizzy. One of your cans? With ice?" I was thinking that I could have called Samantha, made a grunting sound she would have understood, and help would have arrived, all before I received the glass of water I wanted.
Again, at this point, I would point out that I am a terrible patient,
After about an hour, I knew the worst was over and I was able to stand. Following a quick dip in the tub, I went to bed, and dozed on and off for a couple of hours, before turning out the lights.
"Why didn't you call me!" said my daughter, to Dana, when we arrived at work on Tuesday. "I could have been your interpreter!" She went on to let him know that 'knocks' mean one thing, grunts mean another, pointing is a different demand, and options are only okay if they are visible so that they can be selected without need for verbal communication. Grant, who had been amused by the nights events, asked Dana how, as a military man, he did not understand Morse code. After all, wasn't it Morse that I was tapping?
I did not go for a walk on Tuesday. The weather was cold and wet, after a balmy day on Monday, and I did not have much energy.
The week continued on and I regained my strength, although I felt as if I had been 'dragged through a hedge backwards'. "What?" said my husband when I told him I was quite exhausted on Wednesday evening. It is an expression I have used before, but not often, so its meaning has been a mystery! Although a couple of hours short of the recommended forty eight hours after sickness, I had made dinner for our Wednesday night visitors, and without having eaten much myself over the last couple of days, my energy levels were slightly sapped. However, as a vote of thanks for Monday, I had decided to create a typical southern dish. Although (obviously) the origin of the dish is unknown, it has been claimed by 'the south' as their own. Chicken and dumplings! Along with the delicacy were home made buttermilk biscuits, and a peach and apricot cobbler for dessert. Obviously, Monday evening had prompted a life changing decision to become more localised in my attitude....Not! It was more of a case that I had no idea what to make and wanted to do something that was fairly simple and did not involve too much work! In fact, I was almost (almost) disappointed with myself at having thought do make such a dinner! However, it was enjoyed tremendously, with the remark of the decade coming from my husband, "In all my life, I have never had chicken and dumplings made at home! It took and Englishwoman to make that happen!"
Towards the end of the week, I was inundated with emails, texts and phone calls, all of which I assumed were phony. (No pun intended!) I won several trips for my whole family, to Lapland. However, nice as it may have been, it appeared that my phone service was being temporarily halted, by a company that does not have my account, and my bank account was also being suspended! How could I possibly go to Lapland without a phone, and with no method of buying presents for those left at home! How would I be able to pay my phone bill if my bank would not allow it! Thankfully, the alternative universe in which these accounts are held did not affect me, and I leave the other me to deal with the consequences!
The week came to an end and the decision of what to do on Saturday was a big one. With two shopping weekends left until December 25th, the roads were busy and shops bursting at the seams with buyers. However, to those who do not have friends, families, or roofs over their heads, one day is pretty much the same as another. One of our friends, Paul, takes some time on his Saturday morning to help feed some of Austin's homeless. Grant had expressed a desire to help. Paul had mentioned that as well as food, socks and hats were always gratefully accepted, so Dana had bought a couple of boxes for him to distribute. I wanted to help, but 'had so much to do'. My daughter helped me take stock, and told me that we took so much for granted, and a couple of hours out of our day would not affect us as much as a banana or a hat would affect a homeless person. We drove downtown.
Parking about a mile away from where we needed to be, as Grant had made a mistake with the names of the roads, (although I knew where the Salvation Army was situated, and it was not where we parked,) we got to where we thought they were. Austin has a great group of people who offer their services. Having worked downtown, and in the middle of the area where the homeless congregate, I saw the desperation every day. However, out of sight, out of mind, had really never hit me so hard. We walked along past the 'Sally Army' building, and crossed over the road to be under the bridge of the Interstate highway. The 'under the bridge church' was just setting up, and food was being prepared for those who needed it. We could not find Paul, or Grant. We called but wondered if they did not have their phones. Eventually, we got a call back and headed back across the road. They were by the Salvation Army building and we had not seen them. We distributed bananas, water, hats and socks to those in need. We left all that we could not carry on the side of the road, and although I expressed concern, Paul assured me that this was Austin, and it would remain untouched! There were some that did not need, or at least appeared not to need, but we did not say no to anyone as looks can be deceiving. I have always admired those who help at 'soup kitchens', and those who cook food and provide for said kitchens, and have given to those at the side of the road, obviously in need, but I have not interacted with them as I did on Saturday. I know there are a lot of people who feign poverty. My step-daughter knew of a man who made more money pan handling than he did at his regular job, (which he claimed he did not have when on the streets) but those we saw were not of this ilk. Also, the Austin 'homeless' are so polite and gracious. We returned to our 'stash' a couple of times, and nothing had been removed.
Coming away from 'downtown', I reflected on my morning. What if they were 'not well'. They could not bang on a wall and hope someone would bring them the 'right' water, buckets, or wet flannels or washclothes, no matter the language! There are no husbands (or wives) to be concerned. However, it also made me realise that I cannot change the world, or even the city. Even among those who have nothing, there are still those who exploit their fellow sufferers. There is no simple, nor complicated fix! I did realise that feeling guilty for what I have is not going to change anything, and by giving everything I have and living as they live would only make me a statistic and not solve anything! I can help, and that is something I will do, but it gave me an odd sense of calm. Interestingly enough, one of the things the people with whom we spoke enjoyed, was our accent. "Speak some more. You sound beautiful", said one woman. Who would have thought that an Englishwoman abroad could have brought joy to someone who has nothing, merely by talking! I was humbled!
We continued on with our day on Saturday, and went shopping. I walked through Sam's wondering if anyone needed anything! We were in Sam's! Everyone there had, or were with someone who had a card! A subscription that was paid for! I just could not help but look at everyone as having a need. I found it a little amusing, and sad. As we walked around, we ate samples, as we have done so many times without before giving it much thought. As I said, by not taking the samples, I was not going to make a difference to world problems. Selfish? I do not think so. Just a fact.
By the time we finished our day, Samantha and I were quite exhausted. The two to three mile walk, up and down hills, in the Austin mildness, had been quite the trek. Getting home at five was not planned! A shower was probably the biggest blessing of the day!
As the weekend comes to a close, I am aware of the very different week I have experienced. This afternoon will probably be spent in the kitchen, making traditional English Fayre, to take to the office and to neighbours. With the lead up to 'the holidays', I am not sure how next week will pan out but I shall definitely walk into it with a different mindset, and my life will continue with ........... another story!
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