This is Jock!

I love this picture. Her name is Gillian. Her role is to tell her partner, Jock, who's quite blind that friends are present. She had no interest in having her picture taken. She was indignant. This may seem like a non-sequiter, but I realize how much my grandmother has given me. She gave me the phrase, blithering idiot. I have been using it quite a bit this week. I suspect Gillian would use that phrase with great pleasure. Jock is much nicer.

So - the theme is still the elephant in the room! I love my doctor. He ignores the elephant in the room. He prods a bit, checks my blood pressure...but he does not mention weight. Instead, he says, "How are you?" And I say, "Fine, but my ankle hurts."

And he does not say, "Ah, if you lost weight..." Instead he says, "I have a doctor for you." And he does. He sends me to a delightful young man with a doctorate in biochemical engineering. He's about ten or so. He shows me some magnificent orthodics made in Quebec...I say yes. He says, "Are you wearing underwear?" I want to say, "Young man, a woman of my age never goes out without underwear!" But I don't. I don't want to scare him. I say, "Yes." And he says, "I need you to drop your pants." I swear I behave although I want to laugh...He leaves the room. I drop my pants, literally. He returns and proceeds to take photos of my legs from the knees down. And then he scans my feet. And then he transfers the information to his computer and shows me the schematic picture of my very old limbs. We agree. I have flat feet. I have had flat feet all my life. It has nothing to do with weight. It is genetic. This week I return to pick up a stunning pair of plastic orthodics with my name, the date and the words, "Droit" and "Gauche" engraved on them. They come in their very own blue velvet bag...The elephant retreats!

The greatest problem with communication is the illusion that it has taken place.

Two and a half unconnected thoughts:
I am very fond of the expression: There is an elephant in the room. I'm going to try and stretch it to say, There is a lily in the room...but it doesn't quite work. That is the story of my life at the moment...and so I I will just stretch the elephant. I have a friend whose husband is very allergic to lilies. She and her daughter try to convince people that although the gesture of flowers is a very gracious gesture, their father/husband will stop breathing if they bring lilies into the house.
It doesn't matter...the lilies pour in. Now they have given up. They simply throw the lilies out before they come into the house. My problem is that given that situation, I would probably try to explain, to make my point. Hopefully, I would throw the lilies out, but I might be too busy trying to explain why one shouldn't be giving them!
I have always identified with the expression, the lights are on and there's no one home. Today I was in a discussion about whether or not an essay was a 5 or a 4 plus. I wanted to be silly. I wanted to say is: The high beams are on; the night lights are on; the day lights are on; one light is broken; the lights are on but no one is home; there's something wrong with the electrical system...It all needs fine tuning.

My grandmother obsessed about the Mary/Martha story from the Bible - how one cooked in the kitchen and one sat at the feet of Jesus. She always felt that the kitchen lady with whom she identified wasn't acknowledged. It is amazing how childhood metaphors walk with us.

I have a family story - my father came from England and went into the ministry - very late - and he had to make up time. The University sent him and his friend to Newfoundland...two diminutive Brits in the hold of a ship carrying Lumberjacks home from their summer jobs.

At the first port, my father and his friend were down below ad heard an incredible noise - a large number of very large, very drunken lumber jacks descended upon them. all they had by way of props were the hymn books they were taking with them to their churches and so - as the lumberjacks came down - they handed them a hymn book and began to sing! The lumberjacks were so taken aback that they sang and sang and sang - whilst my father and his friend escaped to the deck and spent the rest of the voyage there.

I regret not having asked my father where in Newfoundland he was. But I am going to Newfoundland this summer to this wonderful spot called Little Bay Island. I won't take hymn books!

When I grow up, I want to buy me a teeny tiny camera so that the next time I meet a Bedlington Terrier named Antoine, I can take a picture of him right away and post it on my blog! I can't believe there have been only 20 days in 2010 and I can't believe that for the moment I can't post a picture...

Fortunately I had my camera with me when Cleo decided to look out the window!