Tag: family

thefingerfuckingfemalefury:

THE AIR SMELLS OF DELICIOUSNESS TINGED WITH SORROW

One of the few conversations I had with my Grandma after her stroke (she was affected psychologically, not physically) was about her time in London. She was a nurse in the East End during the Blitz. She said, “I remember when they hit the sugar factory. It smelt beautiful.” She drew that last word out as if transported, as if it was one of the most amazing things she’d ever experienced, in the midst of the horror she saw daily at one of the most bombarded hospitals in Britain.

And because of the internet, I know the exact date. Grandma said it burnt for at least two days before it was extinguished, sugar being a very flammable substance.

She talked about this a few days after her stroke, when the light still hurt her eyes so much she couldn’t open them, and before the psychosis developed. The sense-memory of that caramel smell was enough for her to talk to me for some minutes, coherently, about something she’d never even mentioned to her own children. (And it came about because I asked her about the Windmill Theatre, somewhere she never would have gone but would have been aware of the existence of, because I’d just seen Mrs Henderson Presents.)

Sometimes the most horrific destruction produces something hauntingly beautiful, a sense-memory you’ll retain forever.

kayliesaurusrex:

gambleorcs:

I was trying to explain to my grandma what being bisexual meant and saying that I looked at ladies butts and she was all
“You’re not GAY everyone checks out ladies rear ends” and my sister was like “I have never wanted to look at a ladies butt”
Later my grandma called me and was like “I THINK I MIGHT BE A LITTLE GAY”

BEST GRANDMA STORY

jabberwockypie:

iamshadow21
replied to your post “Sheetrock Guy is doing things upstairs. It’s not QUITE a PTSD response…”

We just recently had about two months worth of demo/renovation here at mum’s house, and… yeah. The back verandah (I think you’d call that a deck?) and the main bathroom. Really fucking exhausting when your whole body is poised to run for weeks and weeks for no reason.

*NOD*  Previous upstairs tenants set off my PTSD a few times because they were assholes, so it’s been kind of an Adventure in Coping and Not Stabbing Anybody Because Murder is Bad, Even If They Are Assholes.  But the noise of Footsteps Up There is still tricky.

I am TENTATIVELY doing a bit better today, but I’ve only been fully conscious and upright for about 20 minutes.

With me, it really varies day to day how well I do. I suspect today will be sucky because we have yet another skip to fill with yard garbage. Teenage boys from mum’s church were meant to come YESTERDAY to help fill it and nobody showed, so now, somehow me and mum have to wrestle things like posts with concrete footings into a skip by ourselves. (They probably weigh nearly as much as me.) I’m just so done. I mean, when it’s all gone, I’ll actually be able to use the garden again and things, but right now, I’m just over it. I expect at least tonight I’m going to be dissociating like fuck because this kind of work now makes me space the fuck out thanks to clearing my uncle’s hoarder house in two days the other year.

Ruth Faraday

Just over two years ago, we lost Ta, my much-beloved stepfather, to Acute Myeloid Leukaemia. It was incredibly sudden, and there wasn’t anything they could do but make him comfortable. With future research, maybe there will be something more that can be offered to people like Ta than palliative care.

I am taking part in The March Charge with Cancer Council. Please sponsor me today to support my challenge! Your donation will help our local Cancer Council support those affected right now and fund world changing research to help more people survive. Thank you for your support.

Ruth Faraday

Hey, I saw a copy of the Wild Unknown tarot deck in my local bookstore, and I thought of you. How are things?

Things are okay? Tiring, but okay. We just came home from New Zealand, after two and a half weeks overseas, and just this morning my brother and his family moved out of this house and got on the road for their cross-state relocation. So for the first time in about six weeks, our house is free of kids. It’s brilliant. An absolute tip, but brilliant. It’s so quiet. So much cleaning to do, but I have the time and the space to do it now. I plan on attacking each room in turn and having lots of uninterrupted baths.

Aside from that, my computer and phone both just died in quick succession, so I have new devices to set up to my desired specs, all while I catch up on months of overdue tv and movie watching and knit something for myself for once.

I’m exhausted, broke, and have about seven hundred things to do before I can breathe (somewhat) easily, but I know I can do it, given enough time. So my attitude and mood is okay I guess? But I’m not starting on the bulk of it until later. Not today. I have a migraine. So, knitting and Once Upon A Time is is.

How are you?

(I hope you don’t mind me posting publicly, I’ve just been so quiet lately, and this summarises things neatly for anyone else following.)

My white supremacist, islamophobic, conspiracy theorist uncle is here right now and I’m dealing as best I can by chewing the heck out of my Droplet from stimtastic (to save my poor hands) and reading adorable Steve/Bucky gay porn. I figure that combined with being unrepentantly queer and autistic is as close as I can get to punching fascism in the face today seeing as how he’s not my guest and it’s not my house.

My mother is in a legal dispute with a government department, and yesterday, she was pretty cross about the latest interaction. She spent all of the evening crafting a two-page letter, in her words, “telling them what I think” and “in Grandma mode”. (My grandmother was notoriously litigious and known for taking councils, government departments, neighbours, and church leaders on whenever she felt they were in the wrong.)

I just sort of grinned and said, “You tell ‘em, Mum,” because she was obviously enjoying getting it all off her chest.

She printed it out, left it on the dining room table with the address and asked us to post it for her tomorrow, as she’d be working.

“Sure,” I agreed.

This morning, this is the note that accompanied the page on the table.

Given Mum is sixty-four and isn’t interested in and doesn’t watch superhero films (but knows that we DO), she’s scoring major cred right now. And we all found it pretty funny, so that’s something.