I think that was the title of a BBC series set in an old aged home - a residential senior establishment, or whatever the euphemisms are, sorry can't think clearly these days.
Last night I experienced a breakdown of sorts - I was supposed to take a zoom yoga class, but I just couldn't do anything, other than lie on the couch and cry from time to time. The atrocities, the uncertainty, the fear of what next, is hard to bear. I managed to read my book The Missing Sister, and I immersed myself in the troubled history and wars of Ireland, then went to sleep earlier than I normally do. I seemed to have a deep and dreamless sleep. As I normally do in the morning, after meditation, I opened the shutters and made a cup of coffee. I turned the TV on, and listened to it in the background. I had drunk just half a cup of coffee when I heard a siren. I wasn't sure whether it was on TV or not. I turned off the TV, and the siren continued. I put the coffee down, grabbed a packet of kleenex, took my housekey and went to the shelter in a building close by. Each floor has a shelter. Of course I went to the shelter on the ground floor. On the way I saw my Arab cleaning lady run out of the house she was cleaning, and beckoned to her to come. She went to another building, closer to where she was standing.
If it hadn't been so damn scary, it might have been like a hilarious scene from Waiting For God. A couple sat there quietly, then a delightful old South African woman came in on her scooter, pushed by her Phillipino helper. A young Sri Lankan woman looking after a demented lady came in holding her hand. The woman was in her dressing gown and she looked around at everyone and smiled, "Why are we here," she asked. "Did someone die?" The South African woman had left her bottom set of teeth in her shower. Her helper was crying, and we put our arms around her and told her to sit between us. "Come," said the half toothless woman, "sit between us old ladies, it will be alright." We heard explosions, (those who could hear), but determined they were not in our immediate vicinity. After 20 minutes that seemed more like 3 days, we left. I returned to my half cup of coffee and finished drinking it with shaking hands.
THIS IS NOT FUN.
3 comments:
No, alas, not fun at all.
Oh Nesta, I can't bear that you're going through this. And all the people of Israel and Gaza.
My heart breaks every day. I can't listen to the news as I have in the past. I used to be so angry about Trump and now all I can do is cry. The anger is drained out of me. I see how useless and destructive it is. Your blog is at the top of my Google search bar. I check it every day. My heart and prayers are with you, dear friend.
Not fun but you have such a sense of potential humor in life that it is life-saving. Black humor impregnates your snapshot. Wonderful writing at such a terrifying and heartbreaking time send love and resilience. We will have to get though this, again Ilona
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