lederon

Euston Square, This morning

2011-06-11T08:55:00.000+01:00

San Francisco June 2010

2010-07-08T15:12:00.000+01:00

The Lazy Way of Doing it

2010-04-16T09:43:00.002+01:00

Excerpt from an email to a long lost friend, lightly edited to fit this form, no textual changes.

"...I have recently been reunited with a few ghosts from the past. A guy I worked with in Israel just before I moved to England has been looking for me apparently for years, and finally stumbled upon my picture as his daughter was showing him the wonders of facebook. So he caught up with me after 32 years! I also took a long time getting back together with old school chums, and for a while had loose contact with only one of all my IDF compañeros. He too remains lost in time and space. I might do a search for him by and by. Rekindle or whatever.
Current status: single
How am I different from 25 years ago? Fatter, much fatter, gray (or grey) all over... my head, added opera to my interests and got back into arts generally (in a strictly non-creative capacity). Sexually my boasting skills have improved immensely. Of this I am especially proud.
I hope your domestic situation develops in a positive way. I recall at the time I regarded your new girlfriend as an interloper but had to admit she was probably the best thing to have happened to you.
I am now at the end of a 2 week holiday in Israel. Been looking after my mum almost on a daily basis (guilt tax). She moved a couple of years ago to a retirement community, a really posh one, with my dad. They (well, she) dragged their feet and when they (well, she) finally did move, my dad didn't get a lot more than a year's worth of the good life. So now it's her alone, needy, and as difficult as ever. She doesn't swear like the rude nan from the Catherine Tate Show (if you don't get it in your country youtube it) but a school friend came over and I invited her to stay for lunch I cooked. My mum was nice to her, after all she remembered her well from the old days. But the minute the door closed behind on her departure my mum said: "My God, hasn't she turned ugly!" I was rendered speechless.
I went with her (Rachel, not mum) to the opera last night, and as ever in Israel, there was enough drama besides the show itself to divert. First the security men at one of the entrances couldn't handle the problem of what to do with a blind woman with her guide dog, so they asked her to stand aside, bewildered, while they had a think. Boss just said "do not admit" and walked off. I went in and told the girl at the ticket window I wanted something done about it before I collect my tickets. She said: "Well, you can write a letter..." at which point I kinda lost my rag. A support group was swiftly formed (I hadn't realised the woman was in fact in a group of several culture vultures, because they just stuck by the security men to plead with them for clemency). Before you knew it they saw the error of their way and the woman, close to tears by now, was allowed in with her dog. I was a bit shaken by the spectacle so went for coffee as soon as Rachel turned up. Then, during the opera a cellphone started ringing. I was outraged. But then it dawned upon me it was in fact my own phone! Aarrgh!! A swift scramble and the nefarious instrument was turned off. Rachel couldn't resist muttering audibly and icily "damned uncultured Israelis" just to twist the knife a bit. She's a bit like that is Rache.
In my defence I must explain that the phone, my mum's old, old nokia (which I use when in Israel) was on "silent" but a simple test during the interval proved this mode indeed didn't work.

Blogger Buzz: Blogger integrates with Amazon Associates

2010-03-26T09:35:00.000Z

Blogger Buzz: Blogger integrates with Amazon Associates

Facebook? Bah!

2009-10-27T08:39:00.002Z

Doesn't do much for my Grumpy Old Man mode when a Facebook "friend" who hasn't called in more than a year invites me right out of the blue to join her on Farmville. You know who you are. Apparently it makes no difference whatsoever that in my profile I say quite explicitly that I never join stuff, add applications etc.
I am of course being a total hypocrite because if I hate it so much I could just delete my account, couldn't I...
Oh, and what about the fact that unlike IM platforms you cannot open your Facebook page in the Invisible mode. If you're in you're on. So that odious person you accepted as friend but really wouldn't cross the road to piss on him if he was on fire can immediately hit you up, because he is quicker on his keyboard than you on yours.
Facebook? Bah!!!

What shall We Do With Rude Tube Workers?

2009-10-22T18:41:00.008+01:00

You who know my style, and let's face it, there are only a handful of you out there, will have noticed by now that I simply never, or rarely write about my work, or its politics thereof. Those who know me in the context of work (London Underground) know that I am a bit of a disciplinarian, to put it mildly. I am capable of having a laugh with anybody, but be late for your duty and you'll find that I take no prisoners. So you'll be forgiven if you're taken aback by what I'm about to say.
Lay off the "Rudest Tube Worker".

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/8325406.stm

I watched that short clip time and time again, trying to hear just what is said there. Here is my opinion, for what it's worth.

That guy's conduct is unreasonable, obsessive and slightly deranged. He is a man in a state of high agitation, frustrated and hostile. Why?
I could never accept his conduct as shown in the clip. But before we jump down his throat, like notably the Evening Standard's front page "Sack Him" headlines, I beg you to take some points into consideration.

The clip clearly starts well after the conflict has been triggered. The Customer Service Assistant is surrounded with what seems like a sea of people who have just been delayed (according to other eyewitnesses, the clip recorder included) by the person with whom the CSA had that ugly (and avoidable) argument. We all know what it means when a person's arm is trapped in the door of the train. It can only happen when someone shoves his arm into the closing doors, in the knowledge that comes with experience. The train will not be able to move, and the train operator will have to open the doors again sooner rather than later. It causes more congestion, delays and misery to others, but it increases your chances to get on board the train you couldn't take in the first place, so who cares about the rest of those suckers who chose to wait patiently for the next train?

All the while the CSA whose job is to stand on the platform throughout the peak period, and who is there to stop exactly this type of anti-social behaviour from occurring, has an incredibly stressful time. The CSAs on platform duties are as ordinary and extraordinary as the public they serve. But put anybody on a tinderbox of this kind, and you're never too far away from a flashpoint. Our CSAs get plenty of training, part of which is how to deal with what we coyly call "challenging behaviour". The man at the centre of the now infamous incident clearly didn't apply his training on this occasion. But what exactly preceded the bit we get to see? Has he been provoked, swore at? I must stress that no matter what mitigating circumstances there may be, the CSA could have handled the situation better. Specially if he was to dissect it at his computer in the comfort of his living room, like I am. The man he was shouting at - where is he? What has he got to say for himself? Is he, like the CSA who was rude to him, traumatised by the incident? I can't help wondering whether anybody bothered to put their arm around him and ask him how he were.

So there. You'd probably have thought I'd say: "you're finished mate". If you had, you'd be wrong. We, and London Underground have a duty of care to our colleagues we are so proud of. Now is as good a time as ever to put it to good use.

Family Fault lines

2009-09-17T19:32:00.003+01:00

The Shiva took its toll on us, i.e. me. I never got along with my big brother Benny. From childhood we've been chalk and cheese. So now that tragedy and tradition threw us together for (nearly) seven days, it very rapidly turned into our own reality show type thing, with me finding fault in everything he does, and he getting fed-up with my disdain and disapproval .Just for the record, he's 57, I'm nearly 56 year old. As it happens my sister Lea, who lent her home and garden for the week-long event works for the Ramat Hasharon City Council. Therefore seemingly the entire workforce turned up, a liberal handful of people every day, throughout the day. Nobody stayed away: from the cleaners and tea-ladies right through to the Mayor. Benny begrudged that. "If I still worked for El Al there would be thousands of people here". I confess I kind of chuckled at that bizarre comment. He also tends to hog the conversation and his voice gets louder and more shrill as he whips himself up into a frenzy of extacy. He rants (my mum is really scared of him, and he is capable of smelling fear or vulnerability, particularly in women) endlessly, tends to repeat words for emphasis and he listens and talks with his mouth. Take that for seven days, from 9:30 AM (Lea soon told him not to show up a second before 10:00) till 22:00 at the earliest. We were soon at each other throats, almost to the point of fistycuffs, to my mum's horror. Several callers were old chums of dad's from when he was an officer in the air force. Although he was ground crew, in admin, some old buddies were airmen. One such visitor was for many years our next-door neighbour in Ramat Hasharon. Let's call him Ron. Ron was one of the founding fathers of the Israeli Air Force, the first Israeli to fly faster than the speed of sound, and later, at over mach 2. He was the top test pilot, unmatched by anyone in almost any air force under the sun, with unparalleled experience in all French jet fighters during the 50s and 60s, with American and Israeli aircraft added to his resume thereafter. What that man didn't know about flying wasn't worth knowing. Even now, at about 80 years, he still is a handsome man, as cocky and charismatic as he's ever been. But even he crumbled before my brother onslaught of opinions about the ins and outs of a recent news item regarding the crash of an F-16 that cost the life of a brilliant young airman, an incident that touched a nerve in Israel as the pilot was the son of the first Israeli astronaut who died along with the entire crew of the the space shuttle Discovery upon re-entering the atmosphere few years earlier. Ron wanted to opine on it, having been asked to do so by Benny. I was in the living room, they were on the patio, and all I could hear was Benny prattling on and on while Ron merely managed to sneak a word in here and there, only to be thwarted by Benny agreeing or otherwise, loudly, with him before resuming this monologue of his opinion, how he felt about the whole thing, and who he held responsible for the incident. He then proceeded to deliver the all but defeated Ron the coup de grâce: the sales pitch. Benny works for a place that fits people with special insoles etc., and he identified Ron as a perfect target audience. I thought: yeah, mention what you do. Hand out a card, sure, why not. But to use your father's demise as a business opportunity really grated on me. The torture went on all morning that day, till Ron decided he's had enough and left, having had scant chance to actually talk to my mother. Other irritating things about Benny: his phone would ring (need I tell you he has nothing but the loudest, most annoying "joke" ringtones and message alerts), he would calmly stick the bluetooth earpiece in and carry on talking loudly (the only way he knows) wherever he may be: among people around one of the tables, in the garden, on the recliner. Not once would he get up and walk away a couple of steps. I'd look on with disbelief as people would look at one another, at him, and he would remain blissfully oblivious to all around him. I kept thinking: this is totally wrong, but if we weren't siblings I doubt if we would even be acquaintances socially. I can't fucking stand him, and I'd be stupefied if the feeling weren't mutual. How sad.

Shiva at Lea's

2009-09-15T13:30:00.004+01:00

Dad's funeral took place last Friday. In accordance with Jewish law the closest male relation/s have to come in and identify the deceased before the burial can take place (in our case an exception was made to allow my sister Lea to see dad after she missed seeing him at the hospital, having returned from NYC moments too late before he was taken from the ward to the mortuary). My brother, as is his wont acted as though he was hosting a cocktail party, talking loudly and incessantly, gesticulating wildly, calling out to his common law wife when we were called to identify the deceased: "Mammy (the nickname he bestowed upon her), you wanna come in too?"
The service, first under a shaded area where prayers were made in front of the shrouded body (dad wanted a coffin but the rabbis vetoed it as unbecoming). I then read the eulogy. Then the short procession to the grave site, so short in fact that we had to kind of take a bit of a detour to give it some substance. My mum was supported by my sister Lea, who was crying and (I suspect) guilt ridden for having gone to the US while my dad was still ill in hospital. To give her her due, she was assured by the doctors that dad was stable and there was no urgency in his condition, serious as it was. Plus, she has practically been running both my parents lives for them in the last few years quite unselfishly, seeing to absolutely every aspect from major health issues to bringing home-cooked food to them, you get the picture.
The service was very well-attended, with the Mayor of Ramat Hasharon, my home town, and other dignitaries from my dad's military career, not to mention family and friends spanning several generations. Mum was pleased with that. She did mutter right after I gave the eulogy: "it went on a bit, didn't it?". Lea, in floods of tears, and I, emotional and choked as we were, almost had a fit of giggles! She later told me she loved my speech...
Afterward we repaired to Lea's house in Herzliya and the Shiva, the seven days of mourning commenced. We are a secular family, although both my parents come from a religious background. Their way of life was shattered during World War II, and by the time they emerged from the horror they were a greatly changed persons. We kept some of the traditions, but in a largely modern Israeli society we were brought up in a Jewish-Lite fashion. Therefore, we don't really follow every rule to the letter. I don't shave, and I wear the customary "torn" clothing: some old T-shirt with a small tear in the neck, the same T-shirt I wore for the funeral. Lea washes it every night, and I have it clean and fresh in the morning (against the rules, as I was told!). We decided to do the Shiva at Lea's as hers is the largest and the most accessible place. Also, she works at Ramat Hasharon City Council, and gets by far the largest number of visitors. Throughout the day every day the entire workforce seem to call, from the cleaners to the Mayor. This grates on my brother Benny no end, and gives me the kind of glee I know is so wrong, yet so pleasant.
More on the ins and outs of the Shiva in my next blog.

Bidding Dad Goodbye

2009-09-11T05:07:00.002+01:00

Only few days before his demise my father asked me to read before you the last passage from a short piece by one of his favourite authors titled "Shalom Aleichem's Will"

"My last request of those who come, after me and my plea of my children: to guard and protect well the mother, to honour her dotage, to sweeten her bitter life, to heal the crush of her broken heart, not to cry over me, but the opposite - to recall my name out of joy, and above all - to live in peace one and his brother, not to bear hatred to each other, to help your brother at lean time, to remember sometimes the family members, to pity the poor, and in days of favour, to pay my debts, should there be such after me. My children! Let there be honour among you of my Jewish name, for which I worked so much, and the Lord in Heaven may aid you, Amen." By Shalom Aleichem, 1923.

My father, Eli, looked death in the eye many times during his 83 years of life. Merely 13 year old he, along with all of Europe's Jewry was plunged into the darkest chapter of our history as a people, and that of humanity itself: the second world war, and the holocaust of the Jewish people at the hands of the Third Reich and its collaborators. My father was resourceful, and undoubtedly fortunate to survive the Nazi massacre machine, through Lodz Ghetto, concentration camps, among them Auschwitz-Birkenau, the Death Marches and physical and mental torture. He alone remained alive out of a clan of some 120 souls. Not one other survived. Not yet 20 year old he found himself in a Displaced Persons camp in Italy, where he met, befriended and fell in love with the woman who eventually married him, our mother Bluma. Against all odds they challenged death together by trying to sail to Israel against the will of the the British Mandate, in a rust bucket of a ship, in raging seas. After several months in a detention camp in Cyprus father was permitted to go to Israel legally, and mother followed suit soon after. Father enlisted to the Hagana on the very day his feet touched the soil of this land, and as soon as the IDF was established he became a regular soldier. Again he risked his life in several arenas during the War of Independence, and was proud of the scars that decorated his body from wounds he received in battle.
At the latter part of his life dad again found himself struggling to survive. With two open heart operations and other medical problems that time's relentless forward march makes harder and harder to overcome. Throughout this journey dad bore the struggle bravely. It was not in his nature to complain. He joked in the toughest situations and through pain. Even in the last few weeks of his life, when he already realised clearly what his condition was and what the future held for him, he found the mental strength to joke with us and with the medical team at the Meir Hospital, Kefar Saba.
A little like Shalom Aleichem, but I must stress that I saw the passage I have just read after I already knew basically what I wanted to say today, I will remember father not with sadness but with joy. I wish and hope that we as a family, even as a nation will celebrate his life, his triumph over hate and intolerance, the values he and his contemporaries passed on to us individually and collectively as a people. I will remember an honest, modest man, full of love and loved by all who knew him. A man who has passed seven gates of hell and emerged with a smile on his face. Today I say: Goodbye daddy, my hero.

פרידה מאבא

2009-09-11T00:50:00.001+01:00

ימים ספורים לפני מותו ביקש אבא שאקרא לפניכם בלוויתו את הפסקה האחרונה מסיפור קצר מאת אחד הסופרים האהובים עליו, צוואת שלום עליכם.
"שאלתי האחרונה מהבאים, אחרי ובקשתי מבני (ובתי): לשמור מכל משמר את האם, לפאר את ימי זקנתה, להמתיק את חייה המרים, לרפא את מחץ לבה השבור, לא לבכות אחרי, אך להפך – להזכיר את שמי מתוך שמחה, והעיקר – לחיות בשלום איש עם אחיו, לא לנטור שנאה זה לזה, לעזור איש את אחיו בשעת הדחק, לזכור לפעמים את בני המשפחה, לרחם את העני, ובימי טובה לשלם את חובותי, אם יהיו כאלה אחרי. בני (ובתי)! יכבד ביניכם שמי היהודי, אשר רבות עמלתי בו, ואלהי השמים יהי בעזרכם. אמן."

אבי, אלי, הסתכל למוות בעיניים פעמים רבות במשך 83 שנות חייו. כבר בגיל 13 הוא, יחד עם כל יהדות אירופה הושלך לתוך הפרק האפל ביותר בהיסטוריה שלנו כעם, ושל המין האנושי כולו: מלחמת העולם השניה, ושואת העם היהודי בידי הרייך השלישי ותומכיו. אבי היה בר תושייה, וללא ספק בר מזל לשרוד את מכונת הטבח הנאצית, דרך גטו לודז', מחנות ריכוז ובתוכם אושוויץ בירקנאו, צעדות מוות, עינויים פיזיים ופסיכולוגיים. הוא לבד נותר בחיים מתוך משפחה מורחבת של כ-120 נפשות. אף אחד אחר לא שרד. עוד לא בן 20 הוא מצא עצמו במחנה עקורים באיטליה, שם פגש, הכיר והתאהב באמי בלומה. כנגד כל הסיכויים הם קראו תגר על המות וניסו להעפיל לארץ ללא רשות הממשל הבריטי, בספינה רעועה, בים סוער. אחרי מספר חדשים במחנה הסגר בקפריסין אבא קיבל אישור להגר לישראל, ואמא הצטרפה אליו אחרי זמן קצר. אבא התגייס להגנה ביום בו דרכו רגליו על אדמת ארץ זאת, ומיד עם ייסודו של צה"ל הוא הפך לחייל מן השורה. הוא חירף נפשו במספר זירות במשך מלחמת העצמאות, והתגאה בצלקות שעטרו את גופו מפציעות שסבל.
לקראת שלהי חייו אבא שוב מצא את עצמו נאבק כדי להשאר בחיים. עם שני ניתוחי לב פתוח ועוד בעיות רפואיות שהזמן הצועד קדימה ללא הרף עושה ליותר ויותר קשות לפתרון. לכל אורך הדרך אבא נשא במאבק זה בעוז וגבורה. זה נגד את טבעו להתלונן. הוא התלוצץ במצבים הקשים ביותר. אפילו בשבועות האחרונים לחייו, כשהוא ידע בעליל מה מצבו ומה צופן העתיד הוא עוד מצא את הכוח הרוחני להתחכם איתנו ועם הסגל הרפואי בבית החולים מאיר כפר סבא.
קצת כמו שלום עליכם, אבל אני חייב להדגיש שאת הפסקה שקראתי זה עתה ראיתי רק אחרי שכבר ידעתי פחות או יותר מה אני רוצה לומר היום, אני אזכור את אבא לא בצער, אלא בשמחה. אני רוצה ומקווה שאנחנו כמשפחה ואפילו כעם נחגוג את חייו, את נצחונו כנגד שנאה ורשע, את הערכים שהוא ובני דורו הורישו לנו כאינדיבידואלים וכעם. אזכור איש ישר, צנוע, מלא באהבה ואהוד על כל זולתו. איש שעבר שבעה מדורי גהינום ויצא מהם עם חיוך של הפנים. אני אומר היום: שלום אבא. גיבור שלי.

Wednesday Sep. 9th

2009-09-09T19:55:00.001+01:00

Picked K up at 7:00 and drove her to "Meir". This time drove right back, performed some domestic chores like hanging up the washing to dry and planning shopping list fir mum. I then went shopping, and from the supermarket went over to deliver the groceries as well as keep mum company and cook (actually re-heat everything but the pasta) some lunch. At 14:00 we both set off to Meir, I went to see the doctors while mum went to dad's bedside. K reports that he ate some breakfast, but I never got to hear about lunch (now prescribed "blender meal"). When I ask mum later she mutters: "I don't understand a word she says". Her resentment of K is now nakedly apparent. While we are already contemplating mum's need for a carer once dad's gone, it's clear that it's unlikely to be K. Frankly I doubt K would even jump at the prospect of caring for an impossibly difficult woman. Indeed I don't know the woman cut out for the job even exists.
Dad was given a sponge bath in bed today. So far he's been asleep or too weak to signal anything to us. They really want to discharge him tomorrow after a skin specialist saw him. I basically was given the same explanation Adi related to me last night. It's a "rare type" of skin cancer, diagnosed by a "reputable" oncologist. It's at a very advanced stage and beyond help. I am only waiting for an interim report to fax to the residence for the house doctor's attention. We have already alerted them to the possible arrival tomorrow, pending successful hospital discharge.
Now back at Lea Towers, my niece Adi has ordered some sushi and dim sum (Yeah, I know). I've dropped mum off at the residence, after a silent car trip from the hospital. I can only imagine what goes through her mind at the moment.
Other bit of news: Lea and Nir have brought forward their return from New York to Thursday 17:00. The flip side of it is I am ejected from their en-suite bedroom, as I expect they will selfishly want to sleep there. As it will be a full house, and the formerly available computer basement now has the biggest treadmill that ever graced a home (really useful as an additional clothes hanging device), I am exiled to the living room sofa. It's me and you babe (by which I mean Nala, the ugliest mongrel you ever saw). Sababa, as they say in Israel.

Later, Same Tuesday

2009-09-09T06:04:00.002+01:00

Drove mum to hospital. She's already getting on my nerves with her relentless negativity. Her glass is forever half empty, and she won't stop rabbiting. I try to be patient with her, to consider the fragile state of her mind, let alone the current situation. But it ain't easy...
In the hospital Adi, who's been keeping a watch since about 15:00 tries to shield mum from some more bad news. I don't see the point of this. Dad's cancer has apparently nothing to do with the kidneys, the lymphatic glands, or as they suspected after the first two possibilities were eliminated, the bladder. It's a "rare form of cancer". I am deeply suspicious of this term. To me it spells "we fucked up the lab tests". According to Adi an oncologist who was called to check dad's results told her it's inoperable, and chemotherapy would kill him within 48 hours. Now they are keen to get dad out ASAP regardless of his state. I will have to see the doctors tomorrow, also to talk to the residence people to coordinate the ambulance that will ferry him home.
Mum and I are left by dad's bed and Adi goes home. We struggle to feed him: I hold his head up straight and mum, with her 83 year old tiny frame leans forward and presents spoon after spoon of food supplement drink. He tries to help, I can feel he does. Later we just sit there. He can barely utter something neither of us understand, but I hold his hand and he "talks" to me by squeezing my hand from time to time. Mum is aware of the situation but only after we are asked to leave she tells me she has no wish to go on living after dad's gone. On the way home I am an extra sensitive, but frank with her. At Lea's place Adi is a bit irked with me when I accidentally blurt out the brutal facts (as I talk to Lea on the phone to NY: Lea asks me whether she should bring her flight back from NYC forward. I tell her, not for the first time that I can't really make a decision for her. I don't know whether dad has days or weeks left) and Dor who's 16 and already troop leader in the Scouts, hears the news Adi wanted to shield him from. Before taking mum home to her flat in the residence I hug Dor and tell him: "I seem to shock you every time I open my mouth". A couple of years ago I blurted out "yes" to his demand: "what, you're gay or something?"

Tuesday Lunch

2009-09-08T13:00:00.002+01:00

I thought today would be a good opportunity to give mum some quality time. She has been all but neglected recently, and I thought it would be a treat for her to be fussed around. So I dashed to the supermarket and got all the basics for chicken paprika, a good home made stock and a tub of Cherry Garcia. I decided not to put the kitchen scene on cam as there was a storm of splashes and spillages and I wasn't gonna risk my brand new Macbook Pro. I then dashed out (a lot of dashing was going on today) to my mum's place and drove her back. Adi was my glamorous assistant, and I sweated by the bucket as I spun my magic. Non-vegetarian vegetable soup was a triumph, as was the chicken (which was served with basmati rice. I forgot the dessert but we were quite full anyway.
Now showered, I'm planning a power nap, then to the hospital with my mum.

Tuesday Sep. 8th

2009-09-08T06:59:00.002+01:00

Dropped K off at hospital gate, and by the time I'd parked the car and got to dad's bedside, which took about 5 mins or so she had already secured a mobility chair, a disposable apron and the personal assistance of one of the stronger male assistant (orderly? I'm not sure) to give dad his shower and general spruce up. All that is left for me to do is sit it out, literally, as my services are not required.
Dad's still very weak, his head slumped to the right shoulder as he is wheeled out of the shower. Some hard lifting work ensues, with the skillful assistance of Danny, one of my favourite guys there. Dad is now in the chair (I hope this is wise), and to cut a long story short, it looks like I am only in the way of providing him some good ole' care... I kiss him and leave. I think I'll make some delicious lunch for my mother instead, and visit dad properly later in the day.

Monday Sep. 7th Day Watch

2009-09-07T15:56:00.002+01:00

Got here at 7:00, and realised I forgot to shave. Benny arrived a bit later on his way to work. Dad seems a bit better actually. That's not saying much, still only few words faintly uttered, but eyes open more frequently, and he's more aware of his surroundings, I think. I fetched him his breakfast, added some sugar to his semolina porridge, and spoon-fed him slowly. He managed some 3/4 of the bowl. Mum would have persisted to the last spoonful. I then chopped finely his hard-boiled egg and mixed it with some light cream cheese (the famous 5% fromage frais like Israeli delicacy) to the consistency of egg mayonnaise. He had half of that and couldn't eat any more. I then flirted with nurse (oops, done it again. Head Nurse) Tova and at my request she and two other nurses got dad out of bed, into a treatment chair, and off he rolled to have his shower. His backside now has several skin sores, and those were treated and dressed before a fresh nappy was applied. He is to lie on his side as much as possible for the foreseeable future. As for nu.. Head Nurse Tova, I have now decided that her eyebrows, as I suspected are tattooed on, but there's more. Her lip-liner is also a tattoo, and I will surreptitiously scrutinise her eyeliner next time. Benny made the error of telling her she was "just like our cousin Dahlia" to which she retorted "There's only one of me. I'm unique, like nobody else". That shut him up. At least I compared her to a Hollywood legend Joan Crawford. And Benny is supposed to be the ladies man between us. Puh-leez!
Doctors visit: "House" type is rather short with me. I keep chipping away at the stone. Dad's biopsy (from last Sunday week) still inconclusive, but they believe he has a tumor, not on the lymphatics but the bladder. Still no idea when the urologist (if I got the term right) will grace us with his/her presence. House resolves to give dad some happy pills, modest dosage.
Lunch is not a success. Now he's on his side it's even harder to feed him. I juggle a bowl of soup, a spoon, and apparently a third hand to prop his head up or soup just dribble down the corner of his mouth.
It's a full room again. Next to dad we now have Boris Yeltsin. Or his dead ringer. He demands to only see Russian speaking staff, and is bemused to find that many of the Arab nurses have a fair command of basic bedside Russian!
Mr. Haj gets a visit, at last, from his son, daughter in-law and little grandson. A brief one, I felt.
Adi brought K along, and stays a while. We talk to the doctors again (no news), and finally I leave, blowing a kiss (what's up with that?) to the phenomena that is Tova!

Sunday

2009-09-06T21:20:00.003+01:00

People keep moving on in dad's room. "The Arab" (I'll call him Mr. Haj) tells me he's been told he is to have a procedure to unclog heart vessels, his second time. Soon after he has prayed and carefully folded away his prayer rug, a male nurse brings along a wheelchair to take him away. It occurs to me I haven't yet seen any visitors, yet from our conversations I've learned he has 3 daughters, all married off. The other two roommates well, one has died this morning, the other has been sent home. Dad stays. I spoke to the doctors, and they are pleasant but vague. An urologist will come to see him. When? Oh, in a day or two. Meanwhile dad is wasting away. His arms have shriveled to twigs. His breathing is heavy, like following a physical exertion. From time to time he shudders a little. And he barely opens his eyes. No chat either. I hoped the food he had yesterday would perk him up but he seems weaker still. Adi will be bringing mum over very soon, and my brother Benny (who has had a tempestuous relationship with mum and now won't speak to her at all) will be visiting too. Isn't it just dandy.
We ended up being seven visitors around dad's bed. He is too weak to acknowledge us. He can't even suck his drink through a straw! When visiting hours end the nurses crush his tablets and administer them to him with all of us expelled from the room. Before we leave I go over to Mr. Haj to bid him goodnight. Is it my Jewish guilt at play? Be that as it may, he strikes me as a sweet old guy. Why do I see no visitors to his bedside? Where is everybody he toiled all his working life for?

Sat PM 2

2009-09-05T21:03:00.003+01:00

A nurse came along and I helped her turn dad to his side to check his bottom for bed-sores. The skin is sallow and not too healthy looking but nothing too worrying. She applies the nappy rash lotion K brought earlier. Job done.
When dinner is called I fetch a tray. I mix some mash into his soup, mum spoon feeds him relentlessly. He eats the lot. She then mixes some yoghurt with soft cheese to form a creamy substance, and again manages to get it all down his gullet. Well done.
Dad is barely communicative, he won't (can't) put his dentures in. In the bed next him is an attention seeking old boy. I had my suspicions confirmed by Anthony: last night he managed to fall off his bed. Twice. I tell Anthony (before handing over to him for the night) in no uncertain terms that he is not to treat, help, assist or provide any service to any person other than my dad. If he sees someone in desperate need he is most welcome indeed to alert the nurses on duty, but that is absolutely it. He is not a nurse, not qualified to provide any medical service of any kind, indeed not even to dad: there is a trained staff in the ward 24/7 for that.
A large crowd of visitors around dad's bed this evening. There's mum and I, mum's friend Haya (of previous blogs infamy), my big brother Benny and his GF Noga and nephew Idan. Mum must have learned to whisper in a helicopter (to quote Jimmy Carr) as she mention to me that one of the men in dad's room is "an Arab" like that was the disease that put him in hospital. It's the other one I'm concerned about, and when he starts to chip in as I try to coax an audible response of "yes" or "no" from dad. I politely but very firmly tell him to answer if and when he is asked something. Everybody look away uncomfortably, but I know what they're all thinking.

Saturday PM

2009-09-05T21:02:00.002+01:00

Got to hospital now (16:00) in 2 cars. I in one, to relieve K, Adi in another to ferry K to my parents home, then drive right back with mum. Dad is either asleep or too weak for any form of communication. I'd rather keep him awake by day so he sleeps at night but decided to change tack and let him be. Watching mum yesterday as she poked, prodded, nagged and badgered him to stay up and talk (or even open his eyes and look at her, the TV screen, anything, all to no avail) was as unbearable to watch as it must have been for him to endure, or indeed for her to get virtually no response from her beloved, once a tower of strength, now a helpless shadow of his former self. Watching her breaking up inside, unable to do a thing to turn it all around and kiss it better is hard too.

Friday, Short shift

2009-09-04T21:49:00.002+01:00

it's the end of the day and already I struggle to remember what it was like. I went home once Kavidha arrived, had breakfast, a chat with Adi, then shower and bed. Got up too late to make it to Tel Aviv for lunch with Amit & Raphael at the very gay centre where a shooting took place in July. Instead I cooked (for the first time ever) at Lea's kitchen some simple veggie curry (Idan had the rice but not the sauce: can't handle stir-fried vegetables!
Later I drove mum to the hospital, drove Kavidha back home and returned to the hospital. Dad has acted up, reportedly. He made K call Benny and he asked him to come over. Also he was saying all sorts of delirious stuff like mum was dead etc. With us there with him he clammed up, refused to open his eyes, dropped off, and was not just weak, a fact not lost on any of us, but also downright petulant. When he eventually spoke to mum all he had for her was: when are you going? But when we were about to go he held her real tight and said: Already? At this point I feel sorry for my mum. He may not mean it but he is clearly taking some of his anger out on her. Ain't on no matter what.
Tomorrow I drive K to hospital in the morning, and take her off late afternoon. We're all invited to Nir's parents place for lunch.

Night Watch

2009-09-04T07:26:00.001+01:00

00:45, dad asks for a drink. I get him some water, and present the straw to his lips. Ahh! Isn't it nice?
01:25. Here we go. Dad's wide awake and looking for attention. I am firm with him. He can have the drink he asked for, but when he tries to strike a conversation I put my foot down. No talking in the middle of the night. It disturbs others. Close your eyes and go to sleep. He doesn't like that one bit.
01:40. OMG Just spotted Head Nurse La Crawford, in the very same beehive blond thing towering over her head, same figure-hugging white dress, and those eyebrows: are they tattooed on? I do believe they are.
02:15. Night sanitary nurses doing their rounds. They ask whether they can wake dad. What for? Well, he might need his nappy changed. I ask to leave it till morning. Don't want to disrupt this sleep workshop. It's a limited success so far, and for the first time in years without the dubious aid of a sleeping pill.
02:35. Spoke too soon. Dad wants a drink. The water I offer him is "tasteless". He wants cola. I give him some Coke. He desperately needs fluids so drink is one request I don't turn down. He mistakes it for a social gesture and tries for some chit-chat. Not on my watch buddy boy. Sleep. Could it be that he takes full advantage of the hitherto hired night help? They all reported he hardly sleeps, keeps asking for things, and I have seen how sleepy he has been during the day, often right till early evening. I'm beginning to wonder whether it's that vital that he has someone with him at night, or does it have a negative effect on his well-being. Virtually nobody else has this round-the-clock attendants. The next two nights are already covered by Anthony and I can't just dismiss him. He had to give up day work for this. But from Sunday I feel the night watch should be cancelled altogether. I shall put it to Lea.
03:10. Spoke to Lea just as they were about to have dinner in a seafood restaurant in Times Square. I suggested the night watch is something we're doing for our sake not for dad's. She'll mull it over.
05:40. Been pacing the ward, even nodded off in the dining room. I watch dad every few minutes from some distance as he is a light sleeper and I only need be near him and he starts stirring.
07:30. Kavidha arrives to take over. I'm off home.

Harel & Roey's Wacky Show

2009-09-03T13:37:00.001+01:00

Roey, my brother Benny's youngest, and his friend Harel have devised a comedy show and found a prestigious Tel Aviv club who would give them a break. The first few shows are on probational basis. If audience response and ticket sales (at 50 nis or £8.50/$12) are brisk they can secure a residency. I'm afraid I was so tired I kept falling asleep and had to be elbowed a lot by Dor (Lea's youngest) but I can unbiasedly attest that the audience seems to have laughed a lot (which was rather rude as it woke me up several times). What with Madonna doing her final Sticky and Sweet Tour show at one venue and Faith No More doing a gig at another it's a wonder Harel & Roey managed to pack'em in, albeit at a small venue. Well done boys.

Lea and Nir, Come Back. All is Forgiven.

2009-09-03T13:36:00.001+01:00

Not really. Last night, before setting off to the comedy show (a little bit about that later) Lea, Adi and I had a Cabinet meeting. Lea outlined the way the operation will continue in the following week whilst she and Nir are in New York City for a well-earned break. Separate budgets set aside for housekeeping and logistic support, a basic roster of hospital shifts, mum transport plan, emergency fund, food in the fridge, back-up in the freezer, washing machine and dishwasher instructions, dog walking plan, you name it, she planned it. I have use of the master bedroom (en suite, if you please), and Adi is in charge of the household. If there's time I shall dazzle them with my cooking one of these days. My mum is less than thrilled, having grown accustomed to Lea and Nir doing practically everything for her, even basic shopping.
I am on dadwatch till later this afternoon, then I take the night watch. Adi is in charge of the afternoon/evening shift and transporting mum to and from hospital. Some tasks will be delegates to Idan who is home on army leave.
Dad's stoned again. They give him something at night and it fucks him up for half the next day. He's been asking after Tamara's kids (my thoughts too: who's Tamara?). Now he wants me to show him how to send SMS (through eyes wide shut). At least we've had a nice walk in the warm sunshine earlier.

2009-09-02T15:19:00.001+01:00

Dad's legs are badly swollen. Only around midday he comes off the sleeping tablet (I asked he is NOT given). Ate all his soup, grazed tiny amount of mash and the minutest bite of his chicken meatball. His eye, followed by his hand is drawn to the tub of jelly. At least he had almost half of that.
The doctors decided since his left kidney is still producing nothing he is to have the draining line into it "repositioned". Soon after lunch an orderly and I move him from the chair to bed, he is given a shot to sedate him and we wheel him to a different building connected by an elevated corridor. Now, at 2 pm he is back in his ward, fast asleep, hopefully comfortable.
A glimmer of light: the repositioned draining line is definitely more effective now, so I'm hopeful that will also help reduce the (pretty bad) swelling of the legs and feet.

Wednesday morning shift

2009-09-02T15:18:00.002+01:00

Took Anthony off at 7:40 (another navigational glitch on the way). Dad doesn't seem any better. He refused to eat any breakfast but at least took his pills and tablets. Now awaiting doctors' round. Spoke to head nurse, a startling Joan Crawford clone with an additional beehive of ice blond (or something very like what it might look like). I'm dying to ask her permission to take her picture. Nurse (oops, sorry, Head Nurse!) Tova is on the blunt side, though very helpful. She suggests we prepare for "various possible options" including that of dad remaining totally care-dependent.

Later on Tuesday

2009-09-01T19:34:00.002+01:00

Had lunch with mum at her home, then drove her to hospital (taking wrong turn off to my horror and losing some 10 mins as a result). Lea's not in desperate hurry but having secured tickets to see Madonna, well, you understand. She's driving Kavidha (dad's carer) back first. It's me and mum now till the night guy (Anthony) gets here. Dad is not doing well at all: producing too little urine even through the thing stuck directly into his left kidney. So he's been fitted with a catheter earlier today. He's weak, not happy, and mum, bless her, wants to help by casting doubt on anything suggested, and chirps in with random nay-sayings. Tomorrow they will ultrasound him to see what's going on. Right now I'm not as confident as I would like to be.
So much for my promised shorter, easier posts eh?!
P.S. Now back at Lea's. Only Nir (B in-Law), Dor (little nephew, entombed in his room, chatting) and Nala the Mongrel for company: everybody else have gone to the Madonna show. Beats going to hospital, I suppose.

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Tuesday in Israel

2009-09-01T06:45:00.002+01:00

Apart from my own little world it's a sad day for Israel. Former president Katzav stands trial for rape, two former Cabinet ministers commence jail terms, former PM Olmert formally charged with finance and trading offences, and the new school term starts with an ugly discord of racism deep in the root of Israeli society with "proper" Israeli parents staging mass protests in schools where Ethiopian newcomers are not welcome, on the lazy, ignorant assumption they would hold the proper (oh, let's face it: White) kids back. I am so ashamed for this society.

Later same day...

2009-08-31T16:13:00.000+01:00

Midday report: after asking for it, a few minutes of physio. He can barely stand up, even with a walker. Urinating is another problem, still not enough, and still mixed with blood. Add to that the awkwardness of having strangers (nurses, male and female) assisting him in a deeply private situation. Yesterday I had the honour of doing it. One nurse told me I should get a cut of her wages. Today I managed to get a scrape on my left bicep (with skin broken). As soon as I discovered it I applied the antiseptic hand gel onto the area. No panic...

Monday Morning Note

2009-08-31T16:11:00.001+01:00

Today I'm on morning duty, and later on night. Dad hasn't slept last night so I asked the doctors to change or stop his sleeping med. Depending on progress he could be discharged in a few days. Bad news is they still don't know whether his biopsy is sufficient or they may have to take another one. Weather continues charming.

Post Biopsy

2009-08-30T21:41:00.000+01:00

This morning dad had a biopsy taken from the lymphatic glands. Is already clear there is a tumor there, probably cancerous, probably malignent. It will be some time before we know what's the best treatment is. As for being discharged from hospital "not for the time being". I arrived here at midday, to find dad back in his bed, high as a kite (whatever they gave him, can I have some too?). In fact by 4 pm he is still not quite himself. Lea (who's been here since 7:30) and I care for him, fed him when he was finally allowed to eat, and a young doctor administered a new drip, on the base of his left palm, having failed to find a vein in the more conventional locations. The palm area is more painful and uncomfortable. Not a great day so far.

Looking After Dad, 2009 Chapter

2009-08-29T18:32:00.002+01:00

Been away from this blog for a long time, but now that Guy told me off for microblogging I am back. Unlike previous posts I'll try to trim them down a bit. Minibloggiong if you will.
And in that spirit let me bring you up to speed on recent events. My dad, 83 yo and getting frailer, is in hospital, with a kidney malfunction. The treatment of that part of the anatomy calls for a lot of patience, tolerance and resilience. He is due for a biopsy some time tomorrow, so no food from midnight. He is well looked after: a member of the family is with him from morning till night time, then his carer (or someone else is recruited at times). I brought my own holiday in Israel 2 weeks forward so I'm here for a month.
I was his companion this morning till about 3:30 p.m. Brought along my brand new Macbook Pro and some DVDs to divert dad a bit (that had a partial success only: the Royal Variety Performance was wiped off one, and the only other disc had Little Britain Abroad, a hard nut to crack even for many Brits). After he had a shower (administered by the nurse) we took a wheelchair and went down to take the air and the warm sun for a couple of hours. We chatted on subjects other than how poor and miserable dad was, and this is my plan of action in a nutshell. To help him feel less sorry for himself and regain his mental strength.
More riveting stuff from me later.

Back from the Cold

2009-02-24T05:14:00.002Z

Hello bolggers!
Been a while, hasn't it? After the traumatic events back last September, I returned from a break in Munich to Israel. My mother was out of the clinic by then, both parents installed in their apartment, now with a carer, a young, sweet natured Philipina who proved utterly useless - she had not a clue how to run a household, and although very eager to do right by her charge, she really wasn't up to the task in hand. My mother was now taking her medication, albeit under protest, making life almost unbearable for my dad mainly, and she wouldn't speak to me, to my brother in-law, and very little to anyone else.
Only after I've returned to the UK, and very gradually, things started to improve. Both my sister and I had our reservations (still valid today) but there was no denying she was improving. Taking her medication nightly with no trouble (according to my dad at any rate), they now had a new carer, a Thai woman, Hebrew speaker, seemingly very experienced, and although she is there for my dad's benefit, effectively she runs the household for both of them. But my mom likes her and they seem to get on a lot better than I expected.
I still have the occasional nightmare, always featuring my mom, and my primary fear that she will rebel again and refuse to cooperate and take the medication. My last visit was in January 2009, for just over a week. My mom was completely back to her normal self (I know, that's not saying much...), a little more subdued, possibly because of the medication, but she was sweet and loving to me, and even told me she loved me at some point, quite out of the blue.
Right now I don't yet know when my next visit will be. I now stay at my sister's (so much better than staying with my parents, it has to be said), which still keeps me at a short distance from them - some 15 mins by car (door to door that is).
I'd like to thank my friends who gave me heaps of support at times of crisis: it's very difficult to understand or even fully empathise with mental issues in the family, a subject so taboo people would rather sweep it under the rug. I am as guilty as the next guy. But I found to my astonishment these so-called mental problems are so commonplace, and yet we largely refer to them in archaic terms, or wrong terms and generally write the sufferers off as a lost cause. I also found that once you've experienced it, and after the initial shock (helped by one's ignorance), it gets easier to understand it and to slowly steer life back to normal, or as nearly as possible.
Hopefully my future updates will incorporate some fun and humour!

Before my Bavarian Break

2008-09-24T05:47:00.005+01:00

With mum in Shalvata, I was still determined to keep up my plan to leave on the 15th, and to go on as planned to Munich. The first day of her stay in the psychiatric facility I couldn't bring myself to go, thereby probably losing further stock. Nir and Adi drove here there, and waited for a couple of hours till she was actually admitted, Lea arrived to see her, but no sign of life from me. I went with Lea the following day (Saturday). The place was actually much more pleasant than I expected. Low-rise buildings in a green setting. Mum was in bed. Lying on her side, clearly sedated by the injection she got (we were told by the staff that she hadn't eaten a thing, taken any medication willingly, she "may" have taken some water). She refused the cake Lea brought for her in the hope she could be tempted to break her hunger strike. Nothing. Lea finally gave up and placed the small container on the bedside table. Within minutes mum made a small hand gesture, intentional or not (I tend to think the latter) that upset the container, sending the cake, whipped cream and all onto the floor. There was only one more woman in the room. Mum was talking in murmurs, to Lea. All I got from her was an accusation that this was all my doing, a part of the plot to get rid of her. We tried to reason with her that she had to co-operate with her tormentors. She would be given her food and medicine in an intraveinous drip, the sooner she plays along the sooner she's out of there.
The meal in the Zepra restaurant afterwards felt wrong, given that Zepra is considered one of the best in Israel... Lea picked me up from the house, with Idan, Anat (his girlfriend) and Adi at the back. We were met by Nir (who brought Dor pillion on his Gold Wing, and gave the same treat to Adi on the way back).
The next day we got dad and all his stuff back up to the flat. Lea brought a Phillipina called Winnie from Tel Aviv for an audition. Dad must have a round the clock help in order to be able to live in the flat. One of the reasons for that is, unfortunately, mum, but he does need the help. I wasn't frankly too impressed with her. For one she can't cook beyond the most basic stuff, but she seems caring, and we needed to create an environment where first and foremost dad can be in his own apartment, not in the support clinic, where he can no longer benefit from staying - there was nothing more they could do for him. Winnie would start tomorrow (Monday). If I stayed in Israel it would be at Lea's house. I helped dad to shower in the morning, and I must admit he nedded little help. Winnie would still have to be there: it's an issue of balance, and the shower is probably the most volunrable place for dad to be. She would also be responsible for his exercise, walks etc.
I dropped Winnie of at the bus stop, and she would return with her things tomorrow to start her new position.
In the afternoon Lea and I went to see mum. This time she was moved to a locked-up ward, and looked more out of place among all the much younger people there than anywhere else I have ever seen her. She was sat in her bed. On seeing me she turned away. Lea brought another cake, again home-made, and some grapes. Mum still had not taken any solids, and would be given a drip by the end of the day. As Lea tried to sweet talk mum into eating something, a young woman stirred in the next bed. To my horror I realised she was strapped to the bed by her wrists and ankles. She was whipped up by Lea's pleas and starting to talk, wail and sobbingly add her support. Lea just said to mum: "You should listen to her, she is right. She knows what she's talking about". I thought so too.
We eventually talked mum into getting out of bed, to go sit in the ante room where the nurse, a tough but kindly woman, kept her watch on the two rooms in her charge. Other patients strolled in and out, they smoked there (as did the nurse, but would you pick an argument with either?), and we then progressed out to the eating area. A young man came to me and in a slurred speech, occasionally peppered with clarity, asked me to get him the police for some reason I couldn't figure (and didn't care, frankly), a big fat scary girl, mum's other room-mate in fact, sidled up to mum and fixed her stare in equal measure on mum and on her untouched cake. I knew that would create a dilema for mum: stubborn as she was, she would hate her own daughter's food to be wasted on someone else. We were always told how people fought for any scrap of food in the concentration camps. If you were fortunate enough to have food left-over you held on to it, for you would need it soon enough. To give it to someone who wasn't your kith and kin was as sinful as to throw it away. On a full stomach this always sounded like a twisted, uncharitable philosophy, but we never had the "advantage" of experiencing the holocaust...
The next day, Monday, I went shopping, later Winnie arrived, and I made up a basic program of her daily tasks. I also showed her how to make chicken soup more or less the way mum used to make it till she became disfunctional in the kitchen (long before they moved to the house, I later learned). The study, my room for the last three weeks was cleared of my stuff. I packed a few things to take with me, the rest was to wait for my return at Lea's place. I took the train from Tel Aviv to Ben Gurion airport, and around midnight BST I pushed my front door open to a pile of post on the floor. Tomorrow I plan to see Guy, we're going to visit a couple of galleries.

2008-09-14T10:03:00.004+01:00

Lea driving us to the restaurant

Self in car

Azrieli Centre, Tel Aviv

Zepra restaurant

Nir and Adi on the Gold Wing

Saturday visit to Shalvata, the psychiatric facility where mum is staying wasn't a joyous one, but at least I got to see the place for myself and it was pleasant enough, though clearly under-funded. Still, very green and pleasant, Saturday staff seemed nice and empathetic, I felt reassured mum was in the best place to help her.
Mum was lying on her side in bed, still in all her gaudy jewellery but in hospital pajamas. She was not pleased to see me. She seemed to be in the very same mood as the previous morning. She wouldn't communicate other than to express disdain. "Have you eaten anything mum?" "What difference does it make to you? You've eaten and nothing else matters", and "You've got what you wanted all along. I will never come out of here. You will have me finished here". There was another woman in the room with mum. She got out of her bed from time to time, walked about, poured herself water, asked us if we were siblings, mum said she was probably planted there to spy on her. Lea sat there stifling her tears. She visited again in the evening. I didn't join her this time.

For lunch Lea's family and I went to a restaurant part owned by Nir's sister, a smart "Asiatic" place, very trendy, and highly regarded. That was a nice perk.

Now it's Sunday, Lea spoke to the staff in Shalvata. They told her mum became hostile this morning, aggressive even, but I don't know quite what it means.

The way events unfolded yesterday

2008-09-13T05:29:00.002+01:00

Mum wouldn't get up till almost 9:00am. I wouldn't dare to disturb her, but wanted her awake so she can see dad, maybe go shopping (in Israel you want to get it done early on Friday as shops close early for the Shabbat), and she had that longed for, once deferred hair appointment. After last night's euphoria I felt we could at last resume normal life, or something very similar to that. To that end I placed myself in the kitchen and started making breakfast, not taking care at all to be quiet, on the contrary, I chopped my vegetables gaily (i.e. noisily) and moved dishes about so the kitchen sounds could be heard in her room (door was open), and for background noise I turned the TV on (though not very loud). She finally got up - some rustling, some shuffling, I could hear her going to her bathroom. I waited till she emerged. It felt like a long time, maybe some 20 minutes. She finally stuck her head into the main living space. "Good morning mum". She didn't reply. "Did you sleep well?". She finally spoke. "Well, there you are. You got what you wanted all alone. Aren't you clever. Look at these clothes." My heart sank. She was, or acted groggy, on account of the pill she took the night before, granted, but what happened to the happy girl, all smiles, the positive comments on Adi's new computer when it was shown to her, the playful banter with her youngest grandson Dor over how come the girls aren't throwing themselves at his feet? Have we all been dreaming it last night? "I am going back to bed" she announced. "aren't you going to have some breakfast mum?" "No, I will not have any breakfast" she hissed and vanished. I left it at that, feeling despondent. The phone rang. In this house the reception calls apartment every morning at around 8:30am "to wish you a good day". This morning (yesterday's, remember?) when they called first time I let the phone ring, so the noise might wake her up, and her day might commence. They rang off after 4 rings. A few minutes later it rang again. The internal phone is in the kitchen. I picked up this time and was greeted as is the way here. Now her bedside phone rang. She didn't pick it up. I looked in the bedroom, she was lying down, awake, still. I walked around the bed and picked up the phone. It was her friend Haya calling from downstairs, in dad's room to see if mum would like her to drive her to the hairdresser's home, not far from here. I related this to her. Pause. "Oh, tell her she can come up here if she wants to". This didn't feel right. Haya was her dearest friend. Mum simply adores her. Dad had already called at some point: "Isn't mum going to come down and see me this morning?" I gave him the sorry update. He fell silent.
Haya is at the door. Mum comes out, no smiles, a bit subdued. Fair enough, it must be that pill, and we were told it can take days before the full effect is evident, so let's all be patient. It will all turn out fine, you'll see! One more attempt at coaxing her to eat or drink something before going out. "No". "Mum, you could have a small tub of yoghurt, you can open that yourself" I said. Still no. I bade them a successful trip and closed the door. Seconds later the door buzzed. I opened the door. Mum is back: "Give me your key". I smelt a rat. "Where is your key mum?" "Oh, forget it then" she barked impatiently. "All right, all right mum, let me see if the metal key fits the door and you can have the electronic disc/key". "Give me the whole bunch!" I withdrew my hand. That whole bunch had the car keys too. She is up to something! I know my mum too well and she can often fool me, but not this time. I also knew by now it was not the wisest idea to send her out to the world, even with a minder, but I couldn't stop this. It dawned on me she only had her small "ethnic" purse with her. I knew she always kept her keys in the big black one - and she never takes a step without it. Where was it? At her bid I went to her room and fetched it for her. They were off, again, and as soon as I closed the door I realised she now has both disc/keys and I had none. Not a problem, it's just that the disc acts as a master key for the building while the conventional metal one only fits the apartment's front door. I can manage.
The following is an almost verbatim account told to me by Haya. Mum rushed to the lift at breakneck speed. Then from lobby level through the doors and to the parked car again at such rate Haya, a much younger woman could not keep up with her. "What's the hurry?" she called after mum, who replied: "we're escaping from here, we're getting away". In the car mum was talking breathlessly, and when Haya said something back to her she turned on Haya too: "Don't talk such rot". Haya said something back and mum started threatening she would open the car door and get out. Haya got scared and locked the doors. What followed was described in a previous post. Essentially mum went into aome hapless people's flat and wouldn't leave. By the time Haya searched and found her she had thrown her id card into the garden (later found by chance by Adi). Lea rushed to the scene, but mum wouldn't respond to her or anybody else. Police had to be called to help extract her from the flat, and she was forced into Nir's car. Nir and Adi took her back to Shalvata, where not 24 hours before she was sent home after a "chat". This time, following the wait for a District Psychiatrist's order she was admitted for one week. She was given an injection to tranquilise her, but other than that, as far as I know she refused all food, wouldn't remove her jewellery and wouldn't let them put the hospital id wristband on her. Lea went to see her later in the day, taking a bag I have packed for her. I will visit her on Saturday.

2008-09-12T10:11:00.008+01:00

We are delusional too. Last night's performance, was just that. By 11:00am she still wouldn't come out of her room, the suspicions and distrust are back, and only when her friend called (from dad's room, she went there first hoping mum would be keeping him company) she agreed to go with her to a hair appointment, as arranged last night. She wouldn't touch any food before going out, and I didn't ask her again to eat. The hairdresser works from home, locally but far enough to go by car. The phone call came not half an hour later: Haya couldn't park her car in front of the hairdresser's house. She let mum off and told her to wait there for a moment till she's parked the car and returned. Mum (who apparently said on the way that she wanted to throw herself out of the car) wasn't there when Haya came back from the car. Looking for her in the building she discovered that mum rang the wrong door, some elderly people opened, she wondered in, and before they could clear up the misunderstanding mum sat down and wouldn't budge.

13:30 update:

Lea rushed to the scene, then summoned Nir who came with Adi. Correct at this time Lea remained in Ramat Hasharon (at Nir's parents place), Nir and Adi talked mum into going by car with them to Shalvata (the psychiatric clinic from yesterday). This time, with the trauma of the very thought of having your loved one committed, even if for the briefest of stays, not as intense as it was yesterday, I feel she should be admitted and remain there for a few days, under controlled conditions, where personal emotions can't be manipulated (and thereby compromise treatment, e.g. when giving up on getting the patient to take their medication when they continuously refuse to).
Benny came by, we talked, and I save him lunch (I hadn't eaten a thing today either). Life's always a little bit better on a full stomach! We went down to see dad, I talked him into lying down for a rest. I will now shower and wait for news.

15:00

Nir called. They had to wait at Shalvata for an addmittance order till now. Mum had to be forcibly taken from the car into the clinic to be seen by a doctor. The process has commenced, and there's no fooling them today. It looks unlikely she will be released until fully stabilised.
Dad called from downstairs - I gave him the update, sold him I would just shave and come down, we'll go out of the room, have some tea perhaps, or take a walk. I am as confused today as I have ever been (have I said it before?).

16:00

So that's it. My poor mum, admitted for one week. Still uncommunicative, clutching her big black purse to her bosom, unwilling to let them put a hospital wrist strap on her. Nir and Adi left. Lea will come over later and will prepare a bag, again, for mum, and we will go there together. I understand we won't be able to see her to begin with, but tomorrow, Saturday we can visit at virtually any time.
I walked about with dad, venturing out of the compound of the house, and although slow and not completely confident, his gait is getting better all the time. If only he could be happy too.

18:30

I had gone back up, then down again, walked about with dad, then sat out in the garden, talking about this and that. I enjoy chatting with him so much. Plus it distracts from the real issue at hand. Still waiting to hear from Lea. I shouldn't wonder she'd had enough anguish for one day. But we will have to get some essentials over to mum - she doesn't even have a toothbrush there, let alone her medication, for all the good it'll do.
I may update this post later tonight. Have a look tomorrow.

Lea and Nir came by and collected a holdall I prepared for mum in the flat then took down to dad's room. It was filled with items Lea meticulously listed to me over the phone right down to her favourite scented soap. Dad wanted to go over too but we took it upon ourselves to refuse him. I stayed behind too. Still unable to bring myself to go, and not sure what state she might be in - what if my presence upsets her?

2008-09-12T08:24:00.002+01:00

I suspected last night's euphoria was too good to be true, but needed that boost so much I (we all did) embraced it whole-heartedly. This morning I had to clear the beakfast table as mum is back in a dark place, paranoic (although not as extreme as before) and bad-tempered. I see trouble ahead tonight come medication time.

Bizaare Post Script

2008-09-11T20:42:00.004+01:00

Dad and I, posing at the garden next to the house. He is my hero!

While mum and Lea were away I refrained from calling them on the phone until I couldn't wait any longer to learn what was going on. After dad's siesta I joined him (it turned out the person I saw entering his room was not Benny but a nurse who wanted to know if dad would mind sharing the room with a new guest at the facility). We took our books out to the patio and read them in a strange and new ritual - my choice for dad's book is a hit: he loves it, and I am delighted! Then I thought I'd take his (or thanks to the wonder of the 10 secs delay function, our) picture, depicting dad's new state of fitness, from being at death's door to on his feet, in every sense. But not before we had spoken to Lea and were told that the place they went was indeed very nice, every bit as described to us, even better, and that mum had been of top behaviour, quite herself, inexplicably. She was seen by two doctors, both charming, and she could not totally hide her symptoms from them. Anyway, they both agreed there was no need for her to stay there at all, she was perscribed a different drug from the one Prof A. and the house doctor gave her, she is to take it nightly before bed, cut into half for that is all she would need, subject to review. They were on their way back in a taxi that was kindly ordered for them, and could we secure a place at the table for mum, so she can have dinner with dad at the support clinic. She would later retire to the flat, and Lea would see in person that she takes her half tab, mum has given her word there would be no further trouble on the subject. We were puzzled, but really very happy at the news, and I went to do as Lea asked at once - no, there would be no problem letting mum eat there with dad.
Soon enough, and before 6:00pm even, the two ladies were back. All eyes were on mum - what sort of behaviour were we going to see? We, the clinic staff and other residents were stunned by that woman. Is she a good actress, or is it for real? Not having taken any medication of any type yet she displayed exemplary self restraint, she was sweet to me, nice to the nurses, gave dad a big hug and kisses, didn't even comment, let alone fly into a rage at seeing him out and about without his cane at all. It was as though one woman went off to the psychiatric clinic and another one returned! Lea was soon off to get the perscription and a pill caddy so no mistake may occur, mum sat with dad for dinner (at 6:30) and ate heartily (she was careful to bitch about the food later on, so we'd know they did send the same woman back). We then repaired to dad's room, and before long it was full with Lea's entire family, Benny and I. The room was as lively and noisy as it's ever been, only this time with laughter. Too good to be true? No drugs of any sort were administered to her, not till before her bedtime.
To round off the evening some of us went away, while Lea, Adi, mum and I went up to the flat for some coffee and cake, freshly bought from the house lobby (a Thursday evening tradition here). Lea wanted mum to take a shower as quickly as possible, get generally ready for bed, because she must be tired by now, after such two harrowing days. It seemed to me mum was starting to retreat into the old style again, dragging her feet over taking the pill, assuring Lea she could go home, and I could make sure she took it, jumping from one subject to another - now she wants to find a house coat she thinks may have been taken. Adi and I exchange glances. Lea is getting impatient, but it must not show. Finally, and with hardly any further ado, mum takes her med, and Lea and Adi can take their leave. The drug starts showing effect only after a few days of regular use, but I feel cautiously optimistic tonight. Mum is here in her own home, she was positive and pleasant all evening, dare I raise my hopes?

Later, Same Day

2008-09-11T12:45:00.002+01:00

We feared it, then we were outwardly resigned to it, but now it has come, we can hardly handle it. A little after midday the ambulance came to take mum away. A male nurse (in plain everyday clothes, just a cab driver) accompanied mum and Lea and off they went, no scene, no fuss. She is to be taken to a small facility not very far from here, and we are told it's a peaceful, lush place, non-threatening and very pleasant. "Like a little kibbutz" said one of the staff here.
Throughout the morning mum had been acting like a person who had had a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast. When she ranted it was as forceful as ever. Her fist shook with the vigour of a young woman, not the little, 80 year old (older, she says, although I don't think she is older than 78) grandmother who has spent the last 24 hours with no rest or nourishment. Dad has broken down and cried several times today. He has become emotional in recent years, and as it got too embarrassing for the family (mum, it must be said) he was given an anti-depressant which he has taken ever since. I was against it: why supress an emotion? He was only crying, that's all. What's the harm in that?! But he has been content so I never bugged him on it. Right now it was just the two of us in the morning, on the patio of the clinic (mum was inside, afraid to come out lest "they locked her out", Lea was busy elswhere within the building). I put my hand on his shoulder, not knowing quite what to do - we were never physically demonstrative, so I just patted him a little. Just so he knows I am with him no matter what. When the ambulance arrival was imminent Lea and mum went up to the flat. I had been there for a while, avoiding mum. At present I am the Devil, Lea is back in the good books. Mum has already been flying into a rage each time she saw me, and I was told to either ignore her or to be as nice as possible. Mum walked past me as I was drying some dishes, and she went into her bedroom, where the bed was made since the previous morning. She rummaged for some essentials to pack for an overnight stay, Lea followed into the flat. I volunteered to go back down to dad, and in his room we all met once more before mum left quietly, tearfully, with Lea.
After dad calmed down he sat in one chair, I in another, and we both opened our books - my suggestion as a way to relax, perhaps to help him drift naturally towards some sleep, of which he was deprived last night. It worked, and after a while he was ready to go to bed. I left him alone, and walked along the corridor to the exit door. As I turned and looked back, don't know why I did that, I glimpsed my brother Benny just entering dad's room. Crap! I have kept him informed of what was happening, and he had just called me back not 10 minutes ago. Or did I just imagine I saw him?

2008-09-11T06:17:00.002+01:00

Mum wouldn't cooperate all day yesterday, wouldn't eat, behaved manically, grabbing anybody in her way to warn them of the danger they all faced here, and I get the feeling the staff here are tired of her, and they (well, not all of course) start to be indifferent to the situation. In Israel you can't admit a person to hospital forcibly, unless a strict legal/medical procedure is followed. The person qualified to order this is a District Psychiatrist, and they could not get hold of one yesterday. Mum tricked her way to the support clinic (it was bound to happen), and hasn't left since. She stayed in dad's room all night, and I hear from the staff, confirmed by dad that she kept ranting for the better part of the night. As I write this the internal phone rings. Now it's dad: "I don't know what to do, mum is following me to the dining room and won't shut up. I have gone back to my room". Now Duty Nurse on the phone - she has been volunteered to keep an eye on mum, who has not eaten or rested for 24 hours (well, she may have nodded off in the chair, but she wouldn't lie in the second bed in dad's room). She now believes Lea is dead. Lea can't come to show her wrong till 11:00, the psychiatrist can't come before 12:30pm, we are all on edge, nervously wondering what else can go wrong.
Meanwhile, dad, whom I thought I travelled to Israel to be with on his last moments is getting better, and although his heart will never "fire on all cylinders", is now capable of walking unaided, but for a cane (which the physio says he doesn't need!). His spirits are broken though, witnessing the woman he loves, still as warmly as ever before, despite years of having to cope with her "eccentricity", coming apart before his eyes.

A few days ago (before mum's condition took a tumble) I got a belated email from a friend in reply to an old message I sent to him. He writes: "I see you're in Israel. I took a peek at your blog. Looks like you're having a great time."

2008-09-10T21:00:00.002+01:00

Well, it's been the worst day yet, and it looks set to get worse before it gets better.
I am tired and confused, so I'll try to be brief. Mum had a little breakfast - once I left the table, as she wouldn't eat with me. She refused to take her medication, and her psychotic state only got worse as the day wore on. I tried to talk her into taking that little pill but I got nowhere. In hindsight I wonder: have I made things worse? Her ranting alarmed staff in the house, and they want her hospitalised. She would not go back to the flat, use any door she feels can be locked behind her, she is delusional, and has refused food all day. It is now 11:00 pm in Israel, and she is down in the support clinic, last seen in my dad's room. He told me to let her be, but I am concerned. I am up in the flat, and it looks like she is not coming up. There is nothing I or anybody else can do, and she will probably be taken to hospital in the morning, forcibly if necessary. We have been told there is nothing else for it - she must be "chemically" stabilised. We as family are unable to judge the situation objectively, and lastly, we should seek psychological councelling ourselves.

2008-09-10T07:14:00.002+01:00

The rest of yesterday was "moderate" (I need to devise a scale by which to record the level of mum's state. So far all I can think of is weather forecast terms). Dad and I went to a lecture in the evening (on Bauhaus. Fascinating subject, bumbling, rambling speaker, and lady in charge of "Culture" introduced him to the audience very charmingly, then spoiled it all by having to turn back and read out his name from the OHD image on the screen).
This morning, and I think I detect a pattern here, mum fast asleep around 7:30, while I am in the (open plan) kitchen, preparing breakfast. I work casually, not trying to suppress any noise, so if she wakes up (late by her terms) it feels more natural. She does, goes for her ablutions, and finally makes her kitchen debut for the day. She launches straight into a speech - much like she has done often throughout my life, perhaps not quite so paranoic, but it was there, quietly bubbling under the surface. Looks like she is "not a morning person", the extreme version. I think we should get her to take her medication in the morning, not late afternoon, and perhaps this would take the edge off her temper into the day. Here's hoping.
Later today I plan to drive to the Open University in Raanana, for a free recital organised by an old school friend. Racheli might be there too. Will call her to verify. The program: an Israeli soprano accompanied by a pianist and a saxophonist/flautist, presenting songs by Gershwin, Weil, Gilbert & Sullivan - sounds great already.

2008-09-09T11:51:00.003+01:00

The day started badly, and I was ready for worse, but even that couldn't go to plan, and things are looking up (relatively speaking, of course). After the yo-yo game mum has taken her medication. Again under pressure from Lea, and at several locations, but she took it, and didn't take as long as yesterday. Still moaning as usual, we talked her into eating. I made a nice pumpkin soup, Lea brought her own vegetable rice (saved me making mash) and I defrosted and cooked salmon fillet with dill and chopped onions - very plain but easy on the palate.
It turns out mum's complaint that I and others are taking her pictures everywhere, including the bathroom (gross or what?!) is due to the fact that she doesn't belong in the "modern" age. She pointed at the anti-fire sprinklers placed on the ceiling in the living room (and in every room in the entire building) and said: "there: a camera, there's another one, and that's a camera". She were never told what those unfamiliar objects were.
I have been very emotional today, barely holding off from crying when I told mum something, I forget what it was and she said: "I believe you".
I think she may be getting drowsy, from the pill or due to the fact she was up all night, guarding her purse from me and my pesky habit of stealing money from it, then replacing it.

2008-09-09T06:36:00.002+01:00

Let's see: I get up at around 3 am to use the toilet near my room. Mum is standing in the living room, in the dark, fully clothed. She starts her paranoic patter at once. I mutter something and go back to bed. Now I can't go to sleep. I hear (or do I?) rustling, sounds, what the hell is she up to now? I drift in and out.
In the morning, around 6:30 I go to the bathroom, but not so fast. Mum intercepts me. She wants to know how I sneaked right under her nose and took 2500 NIS from her purse (the one featuring in some if not all of her pictures). I try to reason with her to no avail. A few minutes later she wants to know how I managed to sneak in there again and put the money back.
I go to dad with his newspaper en-route to the supermarket. On my return mum announces ahe doesn't want me to make her breakfast. And she won't eat the sliced bread I took out of the freezer last night (a way of life with her, been like that for years). And it's not even 9:00 am yet!

On the Brink

2008-09-08T20:26:00.002+01:00

Still waiting for a light at the end of the tunnel. We were told today that if mum doesn't start taking the medication she may have to be hospitalised, willingly or otherwise. Mum is raging. She was up in the flat when the social services lady came over to try and sweet talk her into taking the tablet. Her friend Sara was there at the time to take her to a long awaited hair appointment. Social services vetoed it, as mum is too unpredictable at the moment. The rest of the day went like a game of cat and mouse. The house doctor goes looking for her upstairs, but she is down, sitting with dad, ranting. She turns up at the surgery, no result. Lea leaves her work in the middle of the day to help. Nothing. I threw around an idea: let dad leave the support clinic (he is so much better, he doesn't need the walker anymore, we had a lovely walk albeit at a slow pace using a cane, and really than for his shower he doesn't seem to need much help) and go back to the flat. Let them be together. Mum had her life pattern broken by this lengthy separation and this may be the cause for her acute state. Dad could get some help from the house, perhaps someone to come daily to help him shower (after I've gone back to London), Lea will make sure there's always fresh wholesome food in the flat, couldn't it help put the situation in control? Prof. Adonsky, clearly impatient on the phone, still tells me: "I think this is a good idea. I hadn't thought of it. Talk to the house doctor. If he calls me I will support your idea". The house doctor is strongly against it. He tells me: "If Prof. Adonski calls me I will discuss it with him". I am left frustrated.
In the late afternoon, after mum has been to every part of the building, and freaked out all in sight with her paranoic drivel, she is coerced into promising the doc she would take the tab. She doesn't. She then promises to take it, but in her own flat, not in surgery. Lea, mum, doc and I go upstairs. Mum, as expected starts to beat about the bush, avoiding the tab. The doc finally loses his patience and walks out. He then returns. "Let me see the sleeping pills you have". Mum (after a suitabley infuriating procrastination) shows him. He doesn't take them away, indeed he tells her that she can still go on using them at night. He leaves again. Lea tries to explain to mum that she has to take the tablet (left on the table by the doc). She hands the tiny cup containing it to mum. Mum takes it, waves it around as she gesticulates while going on about how everybody is now against her, the usual stuff, then places it back on the table. After an hour she starts to crack. She has managed meanwhile to briefly break down and sob, for the first time since I've been here, as far as I know. She finally pops the tab in her mouth, swigs from the water bottle she's been clutching all along (she won't take a cup of water from the cooler from anybody lest it is spiked). We almost collapse with exhaustion. I call dad in his room. "Dad, just to let you know, mum has taken the tab". He calls back after a minute or so. "Tell your mother I am sending her kisses". Mum says: "I know you are trying to kill me".
I ask Lea to stay for a very late lunch. I have now taken to heating all food while mum is around, so that she eats without fear I am "in it together with the rest of them". Everything is yesterday's leftovers, so it only need reheating, and soon we sit around the table, while the lettuce, apple and carrot soup, the beef stew, the basmati rice and the braised red cabbage are all dished up, and gobbled up, while my mum's conversation does not stop at any point. Later she seems to have fallen into deep sleep. Is it the tab? Or maybe she's tired, having slept badly the night before, and after a riotous day like today? Anyway, at around 7 pm the internal phone rings. It's dad. "Isn't mum up yet? I would like to see her". I call for her, then look in her room. She's gone. I go to the front door. It is just a crack ajar. Mum has sneaked out while I was on the computer, with my door wide open (and facing the front door), and so as not to make a sound she didn't close it behind her! I call dad back. He says: "Yes, I know. She's already here, bothering the clinic staff". I rush downstairs and find her pouring her heart out to one of the cleaners. I gently coax her to sit down at one of the dining room tables. She is full on. Ranting and raving, and I dispair. I talk to her, well, listen to her. The staff give us a wide berth. She says: "You must be pleased. They all think I'm crazy". I say "mum, I don't care what anybody think. I only care about you". No idea if any of this sinks in. I doubt it. Dad appears from around the hallway, with his walker, clearly not to upset her, as she refuses to accept that he is better and walks almost freely now. "We can sit in my room and talk" he pleads. "They've turned you against me too", she says. Dad says he will not sit and chat here. "You know where I am" he says and shuffles back.
She relents after the usual long pause when I try to reason with her we could just as well be sitting with dad in his room. Once there, I let them have their space and go back to the flat. Around 8:30 I return. Strange: mum is rather quiet and almost reasonable. Dad seems better too. Oh, well. Around 9 I help dad into his bed (he hardly needs my help, he is that much better), kiss him goodnight, let my mum take her leave and we silently (yes, silently) make our way back to the flat. I dish up some salads, I make mum a fried egg, we eat our light supper with little or no conversation. I find that she tends to spoil for a fight, so I only speak to her if absolutely necessary. Still, it all feels close to normality as we go over the shopping list for tomorrow. My worry now is: will she be as difficult tomorrow as she has been today. You see, she will have to go on taking that tablet daily, in a controlled environment (i.e. in front of health staff), for a long period, probably indefinitely. The effects would be noticable after several days, so she is likely to remain as disturbed as she is now for a while, and then there is the question of the drug having the desired effect, and minimal side-effects. There is no other way of knowing whether it is actually helpful or not.

Another Escape

2008-09-07T21:00:00.003+01:00

Had to snap this: note the house numbers...

Roey and his pride and joy

Brief mum update: after sending her, in her state, back and forth to the surgery (the general clinic in the main part of the building), because the doctor was called urgently to see a resident who had a fall, mum eventually saw him. For an hour and a half. Long story short, she refused to even touch the medication he tried to give her. I was out in Tel Aviv after lunch, with Roey and Mali, shopping for some wedding stuff, then a nice late lunch in "Nana" in South TLV.
Lea and Nir were here this evening. Mum was relatively calm. I wonder whether the meeting with the doctor has had some effect on her - perhaps she is grasping the gravity of her condition? Vain hope?

Another Day

2008-09-07T08:08:00.002+01:00

Challenge for today: getting mum to see the house doctor. Social Services tell us she no longer trusts him, may refuse to take the medication. This could be disastrous.
Last night, after another unpleasant day I went out at 11:00 pm, Lea, Nir and I went to the Marina compound in Hertzeliya, and we were soon joined by Benny's boys Roey, Eran and Mali. Tried to steer the conversation away from reality, with partial success. I downed a Mas (1 litre) of Paulaner Weissbier, had something they call Bavarian Pretzel - actually grilled with cheese and ham, a welcome surprise, the other boys had smaller beers and the girls had Cosmopolitans. Hope they tasted ok - they looked almost grey to me.

Go? Stay?

2008-09-06T14:31:00.002+01:00

Guy invited me to join some family members on a beach near Hadera. They meet up there around 5:30 pm. I am sorely tempted, but wary of not being within reach for my mum's next trick. So far she has joined dad and I downstairs after breakfast. Dad and I already had been out for a walk, quite a distance for him, and "mum needn't know" as she is openly sceptical of his improvement. "A hero all of a sudden. You must have given him something to make him believe he can take care of himself". She left us and went wondering for quite a while. I later found out she went to reception and started complaining that she was being bugged and photographed in the flat (or some such paranoic story). Upshot was they got a bit anxious and called the house social worker on the Saturday (she is off duty today). When dad and I passed the large patio door on the way to his room to fetch something (and to see if mum went there for some reason, as she was gone for a good half an hour) we noticed her talking to Eran, my nephew and a female who as it turned out was the social worker. She later told me what had happened. "She must receive psychiatric help", she said. I told her that we want her to see the house doctor, in the hope the medication perscribed for her by Adonski can be more acceptable to her if it came from the house doctor.
Other manifestations of paranoia: Mum accusing me of deliberately reorganising utensils in her kitchen cupboards so as to confuse her, and every time I'm on the phone - last one was with Guy - the plotting against her. I only hope that a: she takes the medication (and agrees to see the doctor in the first place) and b: that it has the desired effect. Otherwise I shudder to think what else can be done, and this crisis is not helping dad either.

Dad's First Outing

2008-09-05T21:49:00.003+01:00

The runaway train that is mum's mind is gathering pace. I got a call on the internal phone to the apartment around 6:45 pm. It's dad from his room in the support clinic, to see when I'm coming down to get ready to take him over to Lea's. "In a while dad, I just woke up". "OK. Mum wants to talk to you". She is huffing and puffing. Let's have it then. "You think you can fool me but you can't, fancy writing 249 on the phone. I know you were speaking English with Lea and the doctors, trying to ..." and so on. I have no idea what she is talking about, but the pattern is familiar. The rest of the evening has the same note. She has called me a liar, and I keep breaking the cardinal rule of not rising to the challenge. I keep failing on that front all the time. Lea has prepared a lovely spread for Idan's 20. The family is there, and we keep getting those pitying looks from people. Mum grabs Nir's mum's attention, and that's it - all the rest can make good their escape, Talma is a gonner. Talma is great: she sits with mum, listens and indulges her. Mum babbles on, and it's not difficult to hear what she is whispering... Later my nephews (Benny's boys) and Mali arrive. I would rather they weren't made privy of the latest developments, because I fear benny might get wind of the news, and manipulate the situation, but it looks like it's not in our hands. Mum now has Eran's ear, and no further explanation is necessary.

Left to right: Lea, dad, mum, Talma. Lea is bringing dad up to speed on mum's state, mum is lobbying Talma for sympathy

Idan blowing a candle

Mum and dad, posing (at her insistence).

I am on the thorns of a dilemma. Eran's batchelor's party is due next Saturday, and I already expressed my delight at the offer to be there. But now it has turned into a nightmare: remember the episode of King of Queens where Doug and Carey are invited verbally by some friends to their wedding, they accept effusively even though they are not that close, then the invitation arrives and it turns out the wedding is to be held some out of state, far away place. They now have to hatch all manner of plots to get out of it without looking well, uncool? No? Just me then. Anyway, similar situation if not worse. It is now to be a jaunt of 2 days, everybody have to bring some stuff for the BBQ, sleeping bags and flipping tents for goodness sake, and the only people I am likely to know there are Eran himself, Roey his brother, Benny, their dad, my brother (a major problem there, let's face it), Nir and Dor who are invited, but I believe as excited as I am. So, how do I handle this: do I use my function as carer to my dad (my duty of care to my mum is generally a failure except for the food I make for her) as an excuse? I have nothing else, although I know if I told Roey, who is organising the whole thing that I foresee friction if I am to spend any appreciable time with Benny (and right now my level of tolerance is at an all time low) he would fully understand. I think I'll go with the latter, but ask him not to quote the real reason so as not to offend... No real danger of Benny reading my blog, and if he does, I would consider it such a miracle, he deserves to know all there is to know.
The cooking storm I've reported earlier consisted of a stew I made with shin of beef, tons of vegetables, garlic, herbs and red wine, and an easy braised red cabbage and apple side dish. With the rest of the cabbage I made a quick cole slaw.
Enough. I think I've earned my glass of Goldstar.

A Day in the Kitchen

2008-09-05T14:28:00.002+01:00

Actually, before we go any further, I must tell you, reader mine, why I gave one of my posts the title "That Poor Guy", then went rambling on anything but. Well, I was so furious by the end of that evening (foolishly thinking it could not get any worse), that a phone call from Guy (my friend and former flatmate in South London, who is in Israel, staying partly with his parents, not even 1/4 mile from where my parents live now) was more than welcome. I jumped at the offer to go out for a walk. You see where this is going? Yep! I poured my heart out to him, and he was just great: empathetic, and willing to let me go on. I did get told off however, for turning up in my Crocs. I hadn't realised by "out for a walk" he'd meant a brisk, envigorating exercise. Yeah, like that was gonna happen. We did walk around the quiet streets of Old Ramat Hasharon, officially a town, but in its heart still an old "moshava" - hard to explain, I guess it's a rural community, where nobody actually work the land anymore. We crossed a couple of small parks, dimly lit and almost deserted but for some youths hanging around, chatting (in London they'd be flashing knives, and you'd be lucky to get out alive), the sense of calm clashing with the turmoil raging in my head. We ended up in our regular place (been there twice). This time I would pass over some lovely iced tea or mineral water. I wanted hooch. I took a bottle of strong Belgian beer, and a large glass of gin. Guy was almost as reckless: he had a bottle of fruit flavoured mineral water! It should be noted he eschewed the glass placed in front of him and drank from the bottle. Who ever said the answer is never found at the bottom of a glass? I felt great after this drink. Wouldn't hesitate to recommend it to anyone. Well, not anyone obviously. And the answer is indeed never there. Still, I was cheered up by it, or rather by the company.
That will clear the mystery for my readership regarding the Poor Guy reference. As for today's developments, I shall be brief this time. Prof. Adonski, my parents old GP came at my sister's request to see my mum. We stayed out of sight so as not to appear involved, which could scare her off. He reported back to us after the meeting. Our fears were further confirmed (Adonski is a psycho-geriatric specialist) and he was firmly in favour of medication therapy, as she is largely uncommunicative. The meeting had gone well, she not only cooperated, she actively asked to have a word with him in private (he went to see dad on the pretext of an informal, friendly call, and mum was with him at the time). She repeated to him all her fears: we, especially Lea are plotting against her, we wish her dead so we can inherit her money, we're trying to poison her (her anti-insomnia tablets have been changed to generically identical drug, but one that is swallowed, unlike the usual one that can be dissolved in the mouth. She won't touch it). We now need to get her to see the house doctor, and we hope to find a way to make her consent to try a drug that would treat her mental state or put it under some control. That will have to wait till Sunday, as it's Friday afternoon now, and Israel shuts down till Sunday morning, the first day of the working week here.
This evening, with the doctor's dispensation, and against mum's protests, we are taking dad out to Lea's house for Idan's 20th birthday party. Watch this space.
Oh, and the kitchen reference? Thanks for asking: I have cooked up a storm in the kitchen today, is all...

Looking After Dad

2008-09-04T13:05:00.002+01:00

Lea and I saw the house doctor earlier today. We discussed the situation, and it looks like mum would need some strong stuff - none of your namby-pamby anti-depressants, it will take the kind of drugs that require the signature of a psychiatrist. Their old family GP specialised in so-called psycho-geriatric case. He can't make it over to the house today. Could mum call at his office at 4 pm? "Certainly not! If he wants to see me he is welcome to come over. Making out like I'm a nutcase yet". We call him again. He will be over tomorrow noon. Let's hope she consents to see him, and agrees to take whatever he perscribes. Meanwhile the advice we are given is not to let all the accusations, the insults, even the rumour spreading get to us. "Don't argue, avoid confrontations as a top priority". Oh yeah?! So I serve her lunch ("late"), let her go on babbling, but I notice at the end of the meal she thanks me and says "it was delicious". I wish I could regard this as progress, but I am sceptical.

Post Script

2008-09-04T09:16:00.002+01:00

Mum calm this morning. I was up early, and she had breakfast at 8 am. I had some food and went down with the newspaper to my dad. He too was at the breakfast table, looking as I expected him to look. He was tearful, struggling to say to me without breaking down: "I just want to know whether I still have a family or am I all alone". I reassured him. Mum joined us after a while. Entering, clinic staff seemed alert! She marched to the table, and with no 'good morning" or any pleasantry launched into "what's got into your head last night?" I told her to belt up or I would call the staff to remove her. Dad didn't want her with him, but on she stayed. I asked the nurses to keep an eye on things, and went back to the flat - the weekly visit from the cleaner was imminent, mum had already expressed her intention to remain in the apartment (that would mean a 2 hour session of her following the cleaner around, "helping", and the said cleaner subsequently never returning to the flat again). Lea has been downstairs, we are to see the house doctor prior to mum's appontment. He is already up to speed on the situation.

Wednesday, 03/09/2008

2008-09-03T20:36:00.002+01:00

What fresh hell will tomorrow bring?
My sister Lea and B. in-law Nir have been a tower of strength for my parents. They tirelessly organised everything for them, ever since my dad took ill for the first time. Lea is now the effective administrator of all their financial affairs. Dad appointed her as legal executive of just about everything since I live abroad (and a bit thick to boot) and big brother Benny is a loud, useless bit of oh.. you get my drift, surely.
Our old house, not a mile away from the sheltered housing where they now live (and to reiterate, a five star facility they scrimped and saved for all their frugal lives), has been put up for sale. Too expensive to put right for the purpose of letting (which normally would have been the most prudent thing to do), it has been on the market for over 3 months. The whole affair was in the hands of Lea and Nir, and today, at both my parents consent, they called the estate agent to offer the prospective buyers a lower price in the hope it would move things along. It was below what they hoped to get, but seemed realistic, and now it is up to the buyers to make the next move. Lea, efficient as ever has brought some paperwork from the Land Registry, namely an owner consent to sell, which requires the signature of both owners, i.e. mum and dad. Now mum has been getting progressively worse on the mental health front. She has been using controlled drugs designed to treat depression, perscribed to dad, for years now (to no effect that I could tell). Lately she has started to resent Lea being in control (a position she has never abused, never even wanted) and despite all of Lea's work on their behalf she has started to voice some unpleasant opinions like "you're in control, you could do as you please, how am I to know what's going on with my money?" or "I know what's going on, you're trying to make a fool out of me" and so on. Lea was on the verge of chucking the whole thing in when she found from staff at the support clinic that my mum has started to tell them of her suspicions that Lea was "taking money from me". I calmed her down by telling her she should simply ignore whatever mum says, even hurtful accusations, and deal directly with dad, whether mum is present or not. Easier said than done. The four of them sit at dad's room, I go up to prepare our dinner. I finish everything, the table is set, and I call dad's room to summon mum up as pre-arranged. Lea picks up: "mum says she's not coming up". I sense another storm brewing. I go straight down to dad's room. Everybody is talking at once, what the hell's going on here? "Mum refuses to sign the owner consent to sell". "Why not? You've just agreed you were selling the house". My mum shrugs. "Well?" Nothing. Lea and Nir are exasperated and dad looks ashen! Mum just babbles as usual, the paranoid rap of how we must have brain-washed dad, we must have given him some drugs to make him seem so lively in recent days. Why, the doctors all agreed he was so ill, how come he is suddenly so srtong and confident?" She goes on from one conspiracy to the next, making no sense and worst of all, freely admitting she doesn't know why she is refusing to sign. Just refusing. "I know what's going on", she keeps repeating. "It's all in your hands" she tells Lea, "it's nothing to do with me". Voices rise and fall, but nothing works: she just sits there pouting like a little girl. Lea has had enough. "You've crossed the line mum". She hands her back dad's credit card (mum doesn't know how it works, remember), all the paperwork she has brought along. Nir, surely the most patient and tolerant person I know has also lost his patience. He tears up the estate agents calling card and places the pieces on the little table by my mum. "I wash my hands off the whole affair". I feel sorry and desparately anxious for my dad's well-being. I can look after him for a while, but what then? I can't stay here indefinitely. Even if (or when) he gets a live-in carer, my mum is going to torpedo it. I've seen her chasing away various domestic (and garden) help by just well, being herself. Lea, Nir and I leave the room to have a damage assessment talk, but we're too upset to actually think of anything. They go home, and I say "let's talk tomorrow". I return to the room. My mum starts saying something. I lose my temper with her like never before. "You shut up. I don't want to hear a word from you. You have just ruined the work of a lifetime for you and for dad." She starts to answer. "Not a word" I lunge at her. "You have said all there is to say". Each time she tries to talk I shout her out. I tell her to leave the room. "You can get your ass out of here. Go to the apartment, you've done enough damage here for one day". She is quiet, but won't leave. "Let her be" pleads dad, looking devastated. "I simply don't know what to do anymore", he says. My rage sort of under control for his sake, I do as he says. Later she tries to pipe out some banal stuff like "it's late for you, you should go to bed". I yell at her: "oh, you're really concerned about your husband are you?" After a while I say to him: "I am leaving the room for the two of you to talk. You have exactly 10 minutes. Then I want her out of here and I will put you to bed". I go and sit on the patio, my mind swirling with half-thoughts and confusion. A stray cat that has made the area its home comes sauntering and demands attention. I start teasing him, he walks up and down, rubbing his head against my hand, then gets more confident and jumps onto my lap. I just let him be, and he curls up, the reedy, wild looking animal, and purrs loudly as he stretches his claws and catches my t-shirt like he owns it, and I am his furniture. I savour the odd distraction.
But the 10 minutes are up. I get up and the tabby leaps off me reluctantly. I return to the room. My dad speaks: "Take all the paperwork, the credit card, give it back to Lea tomorrow and enough with all this nonsense. Your mother signed the form". My mum says: "Look, my hands are shaking". I do not even acknowledge her". She tries to tell me to do this or that for my dad. I snap: "I do not take directions from you". My dad begs me to take her up, to see that she has some dinner, and no "scenes". "I promise, dad". I send an SMS to Nir with 2 words: "She signed". Unsurprisingly there is no response. On the way back to the flat my mum makes her small talk: "That door leads to the lobby" and such statements of the obvious, perhaps to placate, or maybe she is really oblivious to what she had done this evening?
Back in the flat dinner is already on the table. Only cold plates so no problem there. There is my salad, a sardine dip, some store-bought humous, cheese, she asks for some smoked salmon and I go to the fridge, open a pack for her and bring her a slice. It's nearly 10 pm, at her age she has dinner very early, never later than 8 pm, so she is quite hungry. She eats well, we both do, but almost silently. She insists on washing up. I drink my beer.

"That Poor Guy"

2008-09-03T06:23:00.002+01:00

There may my some progress ahead re: mum. The other day she sent me on an errand to ask at the clinic (the house one, for the healthy old folk, not the "Harmony" where dad is languishing) to get her two perscriptions for some drugs. Needless to say it didn't go smoothly from the off. I insisted on seeing the original packaging or perscriptions, she dodged it but eventually yielded. Of course, she totally mispronounced the names of the drugs (in fairness they would have known what I wanted but if they were professional they would refuse to perscribe medication freely anyway. I noticed that one of the packages bore a printed perscription on it, made up for my dad. I knew it was an anti-depression drug he was given in recent years, to stop him from getting over-emotional at the very mention of the Jewish Holocaust - and both mum and dad are Holocaust survivors, so the trauma is with them every day, every moment of their lives, and by association with us all. From the comfortable distance of London I have voiced an objection to the treatment. I argued that the drug was not for the benefit of dad, but to eliminate the awkward embarrassment of the family, having to witness an elderly man, once an officer in the IDF, a proud Nation Builder, reduced to sobbing in public. Nevertheless, he started using the drug and it did help, so he had a "brilliant" idea, and he stocked up on it, and made my mum take it too, to help her with her own psychosis. Well, would you believe it? It had no effect whatsoever. Yet she has been taking that drug for years now, obtaining it without ever having been seen by a physician or a psychologist on the subject of her mental state. I was about to start arguing against this escapade (knowing she could not do too much about it, as she still can't bring herself to pick up the phone and call any of the services within the building, all internal and therefore free calls, all services that have been paid for, all by courteous, efficient staff - "dad deals with everything") but decided against it, wrote down the names of the two drugs and went down to the clinic. I was insrtucted to see the receptionist. you tell her what you (or your mother in my case) want, then return to collect the perscription. The drugs can then be collected from the local Health Centre in person, or if required there is a nice fellow who goes there from the house and bring back people's drugs, then delivers them to their own apartment door. "Over my dead body. They charge 10 INS for every delivery!" (about 1.30 quid or $2.50).
The receptionint at the clinic was pleasant. She (and almost all staff in the house) is fully aware of my "special" mother, but they are perfectly nice, indulgent even, whether out of sense of duty or through experience. The next day, however (yesterday, Tuesday) she asked me if I could bring the written request again, and that the house doctor is reluctant to perscribe such medication without seeing the patient first. Would my mum be able to see him Thursday at 12:30 pm? I set-up the appointment and went about giving mum the news.
It took some talking, discussing, debating, arguing, voice-raising, screaming (nah... just kidding! It went well, relatively, and we'll just wait and see tomorrow).
Lots of other things happened too. If only I could remember what they were...

Kayak Yok

2008-09-01T19:55:00.008+01:00

This evening ended on a high note: I walked with my dad from the support clinic to the main building, where they had a lecture in the "C Major Hall" (everything here is music themed. The clinic is "Harmony" Section for example), "The Middle East in the Modern Era". My mum was fiercely against my taking dad there, for no rational reason (clinic staff as well as "normal" staff were fine with it). Just against it, pouting and hissing, lobbying friends and anyone who'd listen to what she has to put up with. But I just told dad to raise himself from his chair, position his walker, release the brakes, and off we went. Mum refused to join him for the lecture, and stayed behind in his room with another resident in the main part of the building, Carmella, who used to live right across the street from us in the old house. The lecture turned out to be fascinating, centering on the rise and fall of the Ottoman Empire ("the Ossman Empire, our youngish lecturer said emphatically - Ottoman is a non-existent term, made up by the Europeans, or rather the British. You are to expunge it from your lexicon"). The lecture lasted (as they always do here) exactly one hour. Dad was beside himself with pleasure. He enjoyed the lecture itself (I must admit I did too), and getting away from f*****g "Harmony" did him a world of good. I said I'd bet mum will be still in the room, waiting up on us. She wasn't. Dad said I'd lost my bet, but in she walks, face like thunder, a woman defied. "He's probably tired beyond belief" she says. "Why don't you ask him, he's right here". "Yeah, yeah, you and your clever answers for everything".
Earlier today I woke up at Racheli's house. I had settled down in the computer room, lower floor, level with the patio where we sat last night. It must have been partly dug out as an afterthought for the original house, because the bottom half of the back wall is raw rock, giving the room a starnge cave-like look. Also, there is no direct passage to the rest of the house, you have to walk around the side along the path to the front porch to enter. The front porch is where we had our breakfast: strong black coffee, prepared the Beduin way in a small pot, allowed to almost boil over several times then poured, already sweetened (before I could protest I never sweeten mine, in any style). Still, delicious! We then went to the beach, Racheli got ready for her kayak rowing, my turn would come at 10 or 10:30 am, and it would take an initial introduction/induction session, then a rowing session with the next group or one on one with one of the instructors, possibly Hadas, a giggly, freckled girl with two sun bleached plaits. She is tougher than you'd think, "she rowed her kayak around Japan last year" Racheli tells me. "Around, sorry, did you say..." "Japan", Racheli removes all doubt, "you know, the country, made up of islands". It took 6 months, legend has it. I snap the club members setting off to sea, due south towards the coal powered power station, a massive complex with 3 stacks, said to be the tallest structures of that type in the Middle East. Not much, indeed any smoke visible. Very efficient filteration system, apparently.

I realised I have forgotten to pack my swimming suit. I decided to wade in in my shorts. The water is like a tepid bath, utterly pleasant. How I love the Med!
I got bored, and started walking north along the beach, till I reached the Roman ruins of Caesaria.

Snap, snap, then back to meet up with the brave sea-farers as they come back to shore. I then got a bit restless, and decided to forgo my introduction to the world of rowing, for today at any rate. An associate of R. turned up to collect some research work she had completed for his company (R. is a marine biologist, Dr. Racheli if you please). We went for a beer in a beach café, no hurry because he is driving to Hertzeliya afterwards, and is happy to give me a lift right to the train station, where I'd left dad's car yesterday evening.

Got Away!

2008-08-31T21:00:00.003+01:00

Through the day I've been in contact with Racheli, a school pal, with whom I studied some of the elementary, and a couple of the intermediary (high) school years. We remained close friends over the years, with various degrees of actually keeping in touch, but in recent years we really got closer. Well, I am now at her charming, and chaotic house in Zikhron Yaakov, on the hills overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, just south of Haifa. We just had a light supper on the porch, by the garden, lush with herb plants, some citrus fruit trees, peaceful, quiet part of the world. Magic. We reminisce about Zehava Germann, our old headmistress, now at the support clinic where my dad is staying, we talk about what ails us, our parents (always), and our plan for tomorrow. We are going to the beach, to introduce me to kayak rowing. Racheli has recently taken it up following a painful foot surgery as this was just about the only type of exercise she could take that doesn't impact her sore foot. I got here by leaving dad's car at Hertzeliya Station, then took a train going north to Binyamina. Racheli picked me up from the station, and we took a scenic route over some dirt roads through vineyards and orchards - too bad it was totally dark so we couldn't see much, but I'm sure it's all beautiful. Till tomorrow then!

Came for the Treatment, Stayed for the Laughs

2008-08-31T11:45:00.003+01:00

The support clinic is its own microcosm. This is not lost on my dad, and he doesn't care for it. Once you're a familiar face, you are a part of this universe, a permanent case. True, most residents (or guests) seem to be worse off than him. He refers to them as sad, tragic cases, "not normal people, with normal life, not like me". His companion at the table in the dining room is a man in a wheelchair, to whom everyone refers as "the professor". He sits at the head of the table, arranging his "things". These are a magnifying glass, a magazine, usually Time or New Scientist, some press cuttings with an article he had published in the past, a thick, large medal which he moves around absently and uses as paperweight, a pair of sunglasses, never worn, never removed from the table, and a wicker basket for miscellaneous items, scrap paper etc. "The professor likes to find his things just the way he left them", tells me one of the staff. You can glimpse The Professor's corner at the table in one of the pictures here, the one showing my dad chatting with another man at the table. The professor has a bit of a temper, and he barks his demands of the staff without resorting to any pleasantries. "I want tea. No, put it here. I am going now. My girlfriend is at the next table. Bring my tea over" and so on. I amuse him by saying he won't get far calling on his lady friend with empty hands. No flowers? By George, he really rolled up and sidled up to a female resident the next table. Gosh!
Mrs. Germann is always there, reading the broadsheets mostly solitarily at her table. She scans the room with a severe, disapproving look (or is it me?). She can be heard occasionally being argumentative with staff, and I thought I heard her snap: "What for?" to a younger female visitor who said to her: "We'll come and see you tomorrow", but I suppose she may have been trying to be considerate and demure. Some residents are severely immobile, and at least a couple of ladies there have an advanced form of dementia. Dad hates being technically in the same condition: "care dependent". "I am most certainly not!" he hotly contests. I don't fully agree, but I am glad he feels that way.
Another gentleman, a soft-spoken, smart fellow, around my dad's age, comes from his flat up in the main building to see his wife, who is confined to a wheelchair, and has no mobility at all. He embraces her gently and kisses her cheek. "Mi amor", he says tenderly. He talks to her, and feeds her. She is unable to response or even show facial expression, yet other people there who are not visited as often look on in some envy.
On the maternal front still no change. In her defence I am very firm with her, and when she starts babbling I cut her short unceremoniously. When she's uncooperative to the point of being disruptive I "correct" her, and there she was, thinking her blue-eyed boy was coming over to be at her beck and call, no questions. Not so. At some point I said to her: I am not here for you or your whims, I am here for dad. So you see, it's not as though I am completely innocent. But hey, this is my blog, right? She can write her own if she likes. Still every meal, with no exception is greeted with no thanks or acknowledgment, but today during lunch (I made sweet potato soup for a starter) she commented it was hot (ok), could have been thicker had I cooked some kinoa in it. Another mantra of hers: "It's healthy" in Hebrew: "Zeh barri". Go on, say it, but roll your "R"s. Personally I'd like to kick hers. Then the chicken (yesterday's fare, reheated. In best tradition I made way too much) and the potatoes were too hot, or too cold, I forget. She got a rude "Just shut up and eat your food". Gawd, it felt good!

Headmistress

2008-08-30T20:40:00.002+01:00

I was taken aback when we got back from the Meir Hospital to the support clinic at the sheltered housing, because my sister pointed out the room opposite our waiting area. The door bore a ceramic plaque with the name Germann, Zehava. That's our elementary school headmistress, isn't it? Between 1961 and 1965 it was my school. The lady in charge was a formidable matron, held in awe by all. She was a tough, strict womwn. My memories of her were not fond ones. I remember being sent out of class once over some misunderstanding. Feeling wronged, I hissed under my breath without actually saying something, and the teacher thought I had used some obscenity. She suspended me from school, summoned my parents, I was grounded for a while, and through it all I wasn't told what I was (presumed to be) guilty of. I forget, or perhaps never found out how it was resolved, but I did have to go to Mrs. Germann's office to plead my innocence soon after my mum finally mustered the courage to repeat to me the offending words I was accused of uttering. It was a scary, unpleasant experience, but not the worst one. That was after I dressed up as a girl for the festival of Purim, at the age of 10 or 11 (my school friend's sister dressed me up, and I was assured it was just great). I thought it all went well at the school party, but a day or two later I was naughty - talking at class, and for some reason the headmistress was asked to come along. She stood me up in front of the class and declared that to dress up as a woman might be all right for him, but that didn't mean he ought to chatter on like a woman at class or generally in life. I could feel my face burning with the humilliation. I hated her for it. I was glad we were to move to another part of the country, so I would go to another school.
Now, old and frail, she resides at the clinic, uses a wheelchair but otherwise seems to have all her faculties. And the years haven't dulled that gimlet-like stare in her eyes. She gazed upon me at some point, and I thought, for a split-second "oh, no, am I in trouble again?". You know, it took me two days to psyche myself up to speak to her, and then in the company of a friend of my mother's, a girl who was a few years above me at the same school, who came to visit. Mrs. Germann couldn't remember who I was. I would have felt relieved if that happened 37 years ago, but now I felt awful for not dwelling a little longer.

Today's Post Script or You Have to Break Eggs to Make an Omelette

2008-08-30T20:24:00.002+01:00

Just now, after saying goodnight to my dad mum and I went up, and I had a nice arab-style salad with tahini sauce, omelette with fried red onion, toasted cheese sandwiches... She first said: I could have enjoyed a hard-boiled egg. I said: well, an omelette is what I'm making. Then, at the table when I served the omelette she said: Couldn't you have made fried eggs? This time I was firm with La Fille mal gardée, and I said: You eat what's on your plate and say thank you or ask me to take it away. And next time you can ask for something if you want it, not wait till it's too late. She shut up, thank God (and again, no thank you, no comment on the food, but no negative criticism, so I guess we can call it a marked improvement).
Now I am too tired to go out!
Dad is to be seen by a doctor tomorrow... Mum isn't. Can I?

Saturday Delight

2008-08-30T11:48:00.002+01:00

The usual scenario: I cut a simple salad, make toasted cheese sandwiches and set some dairy products for breakfast. I also serve Mathias fillets cut in small strips (mum: "salty. Sara gets me better ones from the market"). My "bon appetit" is met with the usual silence (I have resisted commenting on it so far), and the only conversation I get is something negative. "Why cut it this way? I don't like this type of yoghurt, I always take that one". Throughout my life I was taught by that same person I should never fail to thank her for every meal, and woe betide he who failed to praise it over-enthusiastically (a practice she always found vulgar with all others who indulged with it). After breakfast: "I'll wash it up". Sure.
While she is down with dad I prepare and roast some potatoes with whole cloves of garlic, onions and a blend of olive oil, honey, mustard and other spices. Later I fetch her so dad can have his lunch with the professor. I reheat some of yesterday's chicken paprika on a low heat. She adjusts it. I turn the oven on again to give the potatoes a final boost. "What for?" I serve it up. "Bon appetit". Nothing. She gobbles her food. "It's hot (as in spicey). What have you put in it that it's so hot?" I forget there's some English mustard powder in it, although very little and I certainly do not feel too much spice. Again no thanks forthcoming. Now what to do with the left-overs. I say "leave it in the dish, it can cool off in the oven". "Not a good idea, the oven is still hot" she contradicts me. I know she is right but my feathers have already been ruffled. "So leave it out of the oven covered with some foil". "No, transfer it to another dish" (a habit of a lifetime with her, forever moving left-over food from one container to a smaller one as the quantity diminishes over several days of same fare at the table. Now I too rarely cook an amount for just one meal, damn it!). "Tell you what, mum. You do whatever you want with the potatoes. But don't tell me to do it. You want it your way? No problem. Your way it is. But I'm damned if I'm going to do it for you". "You'd rather I didn't speak at all" she starts yet another long, monotonous soliloquy. I close the door behind me and go to see dad. Lea calls. Among other things she mentions she had just spoken to mum, and asked her whether she had eaten lunch yet. Mum's response was as it has been throughout my stay here. Evasive and dismissive. "I had whatever Moshe gave me". "What was it?" "Oh, I don't know".

Kabalat Shabat? No!!!

2008-08-30T05:40:00.004+01:00

Dad meeting a long lost friend at the support clinic. The Professor is on the right (out of shot, but not his knicks knacks)

Kabalat Shabat. Mum and dad in front, dad reading the song-sheet. Behind them - Idan and girlfriend Anat, playing furtively with his iPod Touch (yeah, I know!). Sitting on bar-stool at back: Dor.

Kabalat Shabat in full swing.

Today mum has been calmer than usual. That is to say relatively calmer. One highlight was her objection to walking dad from the support clinic to the main lobby of the building to attend Kabalat Shabat, held at 6:00 pm every Friday. He had already missed out on this personal favourite 3 or 4 times while ill, so I was all for it. In the morning I go down to see him, and after breakfast when the room is being cleaned we step out of the patio door, dad sits and reads his paper, and it's all warm and pleasant. We walk a little bit more and I tell him to start picking up his feet a little. I think he is not trying too hard... Of course the truth is he tires very rapidly, so after a few steps he will stop, pretending something to his left or right has caught his attention and he must study it well before moving on. In the early evening I take mum down to dad, along with her friend Haya. Mum starts to protest against taking dad to Kabalat Shabat: "I was told it's absolutely forbidden to do that, on my life" she gushes breathlessly. I refute this load of nonsense. She leaves the room to ask the nurses just to prove her point, returns triumphantly and declares; "See? They told me the exact same thing. On my life!" (You hear that expression a lot around here). I go to see the head nurse. Mum had spoken to some young nurse (well, staff in a white coat) who helps residents in the more menial tasks. She is unclear about what that lady wanted of her. I speak to Hassan (who is a head nurse but dubbed "doctor" by some of the nurses). No problem. Back to the room. Mum protests, her voice rises: "They did. They told me it is strictly forbidden for him to get out of bed without help", she vainly tries to bamboozle us.
We are joined (mercifully after that last scene) by Lea's two boys - Dor and the older Idan, with his girlfriend Anat. Off we go to Kabalat shabat. One of the boys takes the few stairs half-level down to the ground floor to send the lift up to level 0 - the call button doesn't work on level 0, by design. The lift doors are held open for the entire party to enter. We are such a herd of sheep - why the hell do all of us have to take the lift - even the one who popped down to call it in the first place, just to descend back to the same level? We slowly arrive at the lobby, arrange comfy armchairs for mum and dad and sit around and behind them.
This event is popular in this community, and it is well-attended. The social strata here is of mainly well off people, and it shows. Mum has always felt out of it among them, never knowing what to say, other than on the subject of food and health-scares, never quite up with the others on fashion - they always looked effortlessly stylish, while she always had (still has) clothes with an unclear, sometimes downright suspicious origin or age. Mum forces smiles in all directions, they sit down, some people come by to greet them. They know a few of the residents, and fewer still former neighbours or acquaintances. The Soirée is conducted by the lady in charge of "culture". There is a young female on the keyboard with an older gentleman with her, they both sing some Sabbath related Songs of Praise, some of whom I recall from my childhood. My dad looks at his song sheet earnestly, but Idan whispers to me he thinks he is looking at the wrong page... There are some short speeches: this lady is celebrating her birthday, and she will light the Sabbath candles. Another will read this week's chapter from the Torah and deliver a brief sermon (my mum could never do that). Some new residents are made welcome. Applause. Some other lady reads a poem. The old folk here are lapping it all up. I don't care much for the content but the company and the human interaction as well as the sense of occasion and continuity must be great for them. Certainly dad loves every second of it, and doesn't give a damn about being late for dinner. The residents, temporary or permanent of the support clinic, on the other hand get a misrable little party, and dinner is served at 6:30 pm so not a lot of fun there. I nip up half way through Kabalat Shabat to ask the staff to keep my dad's dinner, as he will be a little late.
Our visitors leave after the Kabalat Shabat. My brother Benny and his partner Noga come to visit later in the evening. Benny keeps finding fault with almost everything he casts his eye on. "The maintainance here is beneath contempt" he cheers dad up. I have to admit there are some problems under the glossy surface, but generally this is a superb facility (I think).
Final part of the day is when we return to the apartment. Benny's boys, nephew Roey and his older brother Eran, with his betrothed Mali are here. They have missed their grandad by a few minutes, but he would have been a bit tired for more company anyway. We all file in, and I excuse myself as I quickly prepare some light supper for mum and I. That over, I get on to the business of refreshments, with Roey's assistance, and we are presented with Mali and Eran's wedding invitation. The envelope reads "Grandpa, Grandma and Moshe", So, it has come to this. I, a (nearly) 55 year old man, living with his parents. Compared to this description, Cliff (remember "Cheers"?) is a personal success story.
Evening over, I reward myself with a stiff drink. I find in the sideboard a small half-bottle of whisky. Must have been there for ages because it takes a few attempts to turn the screwtop and snap it open! Still, the hooch is good.
I forgot to mention that I also managed to do a spot of shopping with my sister before lunch. That gave me the opportunity to be in the flat on my own afterwards, so I could cook undisturbed for a while. I made my chicken paprika. Mum samples it (came back way too soon): "dry". Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Thursday, 28/08/2008

2008-08-29T12:24:00.004+01:00

As arranged yesterday, I am up at around 6 am, and being a good son (such as I am), I start making salad for my mum's breakfast. I will be gone till noon possibly, and God knows she's not going to make any breakfast for herself. Mum appears, shuffling half asleep to the kitchen. "What are you making a salad for, and so early yet?" It's for your breakfast mum, I reply. I leave early enough to reach my sister's place at 7 am, she is already outside, waiting.
We arrive early at the hospital, so Lea goes up, and I go on to fill-up the car and put it through the car wash. Then the hand-finish. My guy is a chatty Russian immigratnt. "I have 5 kids", he boasts. His chat goes on to the mystery that is gripping Israel at the moment (and is relished by the sensation-hungry tabloids): the disappearance of a little tot called Rose. Now, you pay for the hand-finish in advance, and I am not familiar with this particular rite of passage. I later find out that the dirty look I got from the guy was for not leaving a tip. I'll know next time.
The transfer of dad to his own car goes smoothly, and before you know it we are at the home. Not to the 2nd floor apartment, but to the support clinic, where he must stay for a (short?) while. We arrive around 11:00 to find the old folk in the clinic sitting around the dining area, an accordion player, a man of some 50 years, with protruding front teeth, frozen in a permanent smile, sporting a rich auburn rug on top of his head, belting out old Israeli folk songs, while one of the nurses, a solid, broad shouldered lass with long, wavy dark hair skips around the audience constantly banging a little tambour. We sit at a slightly more remote corner, but it seems to adt like a vox box, intensifying the shrill sounds so we cannot hear one another. The jolly nurse comes bounding over: "Hello luvvie, welcome to our little party" she trills, still banging her nefarious instrument in time with each word. Some more small talk follows, each word of which stressed with a jangley bang. I feel the onset of joy rage looming, so I go to find someone who will acknowledge our arrival in some useful way. Head of team comes to the rescue, and dad is finally shown his new room - a large bedroom, two beds but he is to be sole occupant, big, well equipped bathroom, the bed, unlike the hospital one proves comfortable. Dad, tired after his day of activities, nods off, and he is fast asleep till late afternoon. My sister and I return from Belinson Hospital (where I was born, oh so many years ago), where we met with head of Chest, Heart & Lung Ward, who had seen dad a few days ago, to consider treatment options. No radical news there, but he says we needn't "slam the door" on the surgical option, let's look at it in a while, in the light of dad's recovery. We force our mum to go into the home's dining room to have lunch. As with everything else, ever, it is a struggle against monumental resistance. My niece volunteers to sit with her. She melts, even offers to buy Adi lunch. Later of course we find that she couldn't quite go along with this outrageous extravagance fully, so she kept going back to the salad bar, while the main course she only nibbled on, and... you've guessed it - had the rest wrapped-up to go. So now it languishes in the refrigirator, still along the leftovers from the previous day, brought back from the restaurant by the hospital.
Lea, Adi and I go to a "noodle" restaurant in town. It's now 3:00 pm and I realise I haven't eaten all day. Really I ought to be thin. We have a fantastic late lunch, then we split - I go back to the home, Lea and Adi back to theirs.
My mother is having great difficulty learning how to make her way from the apartment to dad's room, and forget about comprehending how to phone him direct - there is a cellular phone with him, and the room's landline. She is too technophobic to even listen to voice messages on any phone, let alone respond, delete or save them. To make matters worse, the home is deliberately designed so that the support clinic is separate from the main section. To reach it from the main building one has to use the goods lift, which is in a slightly different location to the "proper" ones, and go to floor 0. Enough to confuse my mum. To go back it's even worse: that same lift cannot be called to floor 0, one has to operate a fire door by pressing a button on the side to release the lock, then push a cross-bar on the door, go through it, go down some stairs one landing down - this is in fact the ground floor, call the lift there, or go out of one of the two (very similar looking) fire doors into the lobby, then take the lift they are used to, and ride up to the 2nd floor. For my mum (and many others, I hasten to add) this is like taking a walk in a minefield. So far she got lost each time she attempted to make the journey.
In the apartment I find that the salad I made for her this morning was left untouched. It's clear to me she had not eaten today till she was frog-marched to take lunch. When I get back to my dad's room I open the door (it's late afternoon now) to find mum sitting on the bed opposite him, just guarding him loyally. He is still asleep. She launches straight into one of her tirades, like she is continuing an on-going conversation, how he is asleep too much, won't sleep at night, plenty of "oy veys" thrown in, the usual broadcast. Eventually I show her very plainly and carefully how to wind her way home, and all is calm again. Later in the evening my brother arrives, Nir and nephew Idan arrive too, proudly carrying their helmets, having travelled on the legendary Honda Gold Dream.
Dad has had a little accident - he wet his tracksuit bottom, and the bed. I know that the stubborn old goat wouldn't ring the call-button by his bed till it was too late. Orderly comes to take him to the shower. I put the pant in a carrier bag to take upstairs later.
Mum greets me at the flat with a rant about how she cannot just pop down at any given moment: "I have to take this suppository (gee, thanks mum, needed to know that!) and I could be caught short at any given moment". I lose it: "What's all this shouting? what does it have to do with anything?" She doesn't want to use the toilet in dad's room. "Why not?" "What if dad needs it suddenly?" "So, you can't really see him at all, right?" "Aw, aren't you the clever one!".
"Mum, do you have any dark coloured washing to do?" I ask. A flurry of items start to fly out of drawers. "Do these run? Are you sure you know which temperature? What else do you think you can wash with this? You'll mess it all up. I don't want you to wash my stuff".
After I escort her back to dad's room (quicker that way) I go back up, sort out my own washing, and run a half-load. By the time she returns, unassisted this time, it is all done, clothes hanging to dry. She says nothing. I am too edgy to start any conversation with her, when she asks me who that salad in the fridge is for. I go slightly crazy! "I didn't know it was for me, or for breakfast", she pleads. I remind her what my very words were, in answer to her own question that same morning, while I was actually making it. I resolve to vent my spleen on the first unsuspecting victim. Today, dear reader, it is you.

Not Today, Thank You

2008-08-27T14:41:00.003+01:00

It seems dad will have to spend one more night in hospital. The sheltered home has a stay-over clinic where he has to stay for a couple of days, to receive constant care and assistance from dedicated staff including a doctor and nurses, but they are unable to "absorb" him today - no staff.
Our day was thus planned: I was to bring my mum to hospital around 9 am, drop her off and go to Hertzeliya to her dentist. She had a dental hygienist appointment at 10 am, but she's convinced herself the dentist there (who has been my sister's, her family's, and in the last few years mine as well, quite satisfactorily) is a charlatan, and besides, her old friend Marka's son, oh such a nice boy, so talented, now that's a boy who loves his mother, and he is one of the greatest dentists in history, and it has nothing to do with the big discount she says he gives her, well, she wants him and nobody else to treat her. So I would take over her appointment, and would see Dr. Baer (not his real name) for a check-up. "Don't let him con you into unnecessary work" she warns me, branding the poor man a thief (in the event he says I do not need anything done. Anything to spite my mother). We get up at around 7:30, and as I am preparing breakfast, my dad calls from his hospital bed. A similar conversation to yesterday's follows: Why are we not there yet (he knew last night, as he did the night before, what the plan was, and he was quite happy with it on both occasions). He is lonely, nobody has come yet to put his dentures in, to help him off the bed. Has he rung the bell, button of which is in his hand, easier even than dialling home? No. Did he not promise he would use it, and not at the last moment but as soon as he feels he would need anything later as there would inevitably be some pause till someone arrives? I am a bit miffed. I want to help, do absolutely all that is possible. I had a fight at work with some idiot who wouldn't authorise the time off I requested, I am with him every day, most of the day, or sometimes twice daily. I look after my half crazed mum - and nobody knows what that is like better than him (except Lea, obviously). Now for the second morning he has pulled this trick on a mentally less than stable woman, who, for all her imperfections is fiercely loyal to him and his every whim, and always has been. Now, and not for the first time, she is made to feel as though she is failing him as a wife. How does that help? She has just woken up, groggy and confused. She almost jumps in the air. The usual frantic bouncing of the walls commences. She is breathing heavily, hands wringing, she sits down, gets up, picks something in the kitchen, puts it down. "What do I need breakfast for? I'd rather we left immediately" and such. I tell her no way. She is not going anywhere without some breakfast inside of her. He knows exactly what's going on, and with all the empathy in the world, he is out of line here. Knowing what this does to her, and it renders her far less helpful, he is shooting himself in the foot. I make a small vegetable salad cut in tiny dice the Israeli way, and two toasted cheddar cheese sandwiches. "So salty", she moans (it was just right yesterday). "Welcome to mature Cheddar, mum". She insists it's saltier than before. "Yes, I sprinkled salt on it to ruin it for you, you poor woman".
We get to the hospital at 8:45, earlier than planned, and I go on to the dental appointment. After that I stop at my sister's place. She is at work, but my niece Adi is home, and Lea tells me I shouldn't rush to the hospital. "Pace yourself a bit. Stop at ours and have coffee with Adi". But nobody answers the doorbell, only their mongrel bitch Nala (Adi found her as stray, brought her home and gave her to Lea to love) yaps from the other side of the door. I ring again. Dor, 14, on summer break, opens, half asleep (it's 11!). I apologise for not even intending to apologise - what the hell?! But my visit is cut short - mum wants me there so I suggest Dor goes back to bed and I take my leave.
My dad is being progressively difficult today. He has refused to take his medications this morning, and refused a blood test. He now refuses to be discharged from hospital to the special clinic at the home - it sounds too hospice-like. "I don't need any of this. Any help I need, I have your mother for". "I don't think so dad" I object. "You need someone who can support your body weight in case you trip, for example. You know as well as I do that mum can't provide that kind of care". With his new walker he is certainly showing progress, but the fact remains he has a weak heart, slow reactions, moments of haziness. I can help a lot, but I am not a young man either, and while I can hold him and support him, I am not that experienced, and I've had my own history of back pain, so the harsh reality is that he needs a carer. He succumbs. "but in the morning - I can't wait till 9 or later till you come over. They left me here like a dog this morning". I say: "So tell me when you want someone here, and we'll see to it". "7 am". I suggest it would be me - I'll come over early to help with all the morning stuff, and fetch mum later - "you don't want to kill her with exhaustion, right dad?" He agrees. Now mum has to upset the cart. "Hmm, nice! Only yesterday you couldn't do without your wife by your side" Dad: "Yes, that's true, I prefer mum to come over". "Dad, can you please make up your mind? Besides, I have to come anyway, as I am driving her to hospital" (taxi? Give money to strangers? No chance!). I give up on the two of them for the time being, before I lose you, dear reader...
When I got to the hospital they were about to serve lunch to the patients. Mum breaks with her habit of bumming a main course (or even the whole tray - there's always surplus and nobody minds, though I find it unbearable to witness). I keep him company while he slowly eats. Then we slowly walk back to the room. My mother, by now hungry (although when I offered to take her out to the nearest restaurant - a grill/diner at the hospital gate - she dismissed the idea indignantly), is now clutching her tummy to indicate pain. She can't bring herself to utter the words "I'm hungry" (so humilliating, that I should come to be hungry after what I've been through"), or extracting her from the ward on the 4th floor down to the street. We need to cross over to another building, where they have a small mini mart and canteen. She doesn't stop whining for one second. At crossing the road she says "If I'd known it would be like thid I wouldn't have come". At the canteen she discovers they only serve dairy items - it's a non-meat place. She storms off. We go to the restaurant right out of the hospital gate, a standard Israeli grill type place. En route she goes on: "I've been here all day. You know how much I've had to eat all day. You were gone for a few hours. I don't know what you might have been up to". Her paranoia now makes her imply I may have eaten secretly, while abandoning her. "I am not sitting outside, i want to see what goes on in there if you're making me eat there". OK. "It's so hot in here". Right. "I'll bet they haven't got a thing left, it being so late". I ask her if anything on the board appeals. "Skewers? Not for me,and I don't want this. Not that either. I don't know what this is, I'm not risking it. The chicken will probably be dry". Mum, I am losing patience here. "You have changed. I used to think you loved me once upon a time". Aha. And now? What do you think now? "It's all secreted here, in my heart". Would you like soup? The have 2 types. She dithers, so I order one of each. My mum sits in front of me, and as her soup arrives (actually I get it myself from the counter) she almost lunges into it. A flurry of arms, spoon whizzing through the air between the bowl and her mouth, and the complaining only stops to allow more soup in. It's too hot, it's too spicy. "Is everything alright?" ask a waiter who knows no better.
Soup devoured, despite being "awful", she gets her main course - I selected for her chicken breast steak with rice and brown lentils. That too is found wanting. Too hot, too much, the moaning goes on unabated. "Coming here was a mistake. I should have ordered something in pitta pocket and taken it back to dad's room. Perhaps they can do it for me now? The rice is so dry, as is the chicken I knew it. No, I don't want to try some of your schnitzel. Quite crunchy, I must say. But dry. Your mash is made fresh. The hodpital's tastes like instant mash. This is too much, I can't finish it all. I am not leaving anything behind for them. They can wrap the leftovers for me to take away. Oh look, they have chicken livers on skewers, why didn't I ask for that instead of this. No, I only want plain water. Here it is. Do you think it's safe to drink tap water here? How long must we stay here, dad is all alone up there".
We are back at the flat now. "You're telling me I am not going back to see dad this evening?" My sister is planning to stay there till chucking out time. She agreed to let me pick her up tomorrow at 7 am. We are to go to hospital, and start the discharge process. We want to get him out of there as early as possible. For now, all I want is to finish this outpouring, take a shower, and have a cold Goldstar!

Goodbye Shoshy, Tuesday 26/08/2008

2008-08-26T19:53:00.006+01:00

Shoshy: "We walk bent, but we talk straight!"

Yankele and Shoshy

Dad having his first meal at a table in nearly 3 weeks

This one shows dad on his last day of luxury in Cardiac. Single patient room, all mod cons, constant care. Joy!

Tuesday's update. Dad has walked, ever so slowly and with the aid of a walker to the dining area of his ward, thus had his first proper lunch, sat at a table. I caught a snap of him, mum and Lea sitting at a disturbingly similar pose (well, lea will be disturbed, I assure you). Yankele was there, with his dad, and he was relieved from duty by Shoshy, not before I snapped both of them. Shoshy, bossy, boisterous and booming was ready as ever to launch into a lengthy tale of one crisis or other in the history of her family. At some point she turns to her father (who is visibly delighted by her presence, and cheered up by her stories) and says: "Oh, by the way dad, I have some good news for you. Just wait till you hear this. You'll be quite pleased". He is thrilled by this teasing, but Shoshy hasn't got all day, and she declares, in Yiddish (it does sound funnier that way): "Die Kurvah ist toyt" (the whore is dead). That from a religious woman... I ask her if she said what I think I've heard, and she confirms my gravest fears with a chuckle. Some old bird she had some reason to loathe, clearly on morality issues. "I know it's against our religion to rejoice at the fall of our enemy, but I don't care. That bitch deserved to die, and she had it coming. May she rot in hell. It's how we were brought up. Say what you mean, and the rest of the world can go jump. We walk bent, talk straight".
We are told that there is not much more they can do for my dad in hospital. He may be discharged tomorrow. At the sheltered housing they have a convalescence clinic, and he may need to stay there for a few days, but he will ultimately be sent back home, to the flat on the 2nd floor. He will need help - mine is after all temporary, and he will need someone younger and stronger (and let's face it, more professional) and all my mother can think of is how awkward it would be for... her, especially if the carer is a live-in man. I try to reason with her that it would also take a load off her in more than one sense. She cannot support his weight in the shower for example, and should he (or she) slip or trip, they could both go down without being able to summon help. I use the Jewish method of guilt. "I assume you do want what's best for your husband, not just yourself" I torment the poor thing. She is stung into a defensive state. Later on I hear her saying to someone on the phone; "well, of course I want what's best for my husband. As for myself, I don't really care". Can it be that my words actually penetrated her mind? Time will tell. The plan for tomorrow is to drop mum off in hospital, I will go on to a dentist appointment and return afterwards to take her for lunch. We assume dad will be discharged around 3 pm. Nir has brought for him a state of the art walkwe, on 3 wheels, brakes, all shiny chromework. Dad has tried it out now that he can walk a bit, and it's vastly superior to the horrible one the lent him in hospital.

Yankele

2008-08-25T21:38:00.002+01:00

Dad's bed is 2nd from the large window at the end of the room. All other 3 occupants are religious Jews, all of them of the moderate type, not orthodox. They seem to be of different diaspora. Nearest the door is (I think) Yemenite, very old, frail, but mobile (more than can be said for my poor daddy), then another geezer, origin not clear as yet, then dad (from Poland), and finally an eldery man from Hungary. He is receiving blood transfusions, and is recovering from some cancer - I am still too squeamish to let the full detail (eagerly described in glorious technicolor) sink in just yet. Keeping him company is his son, a portly man of around 40, perhaps older. Yankele. They are very gregarious, while I try to stay aloof, without offending anyone. Forget it. This is Israel. If someone decided to be your friend, you might as well play along. Resistance is futile. Yankele wants to know all there is to know about me. Kids? No, bachelor. What do you do? I tell him. You work for London Underground? You're kidding, right? After some more questions I tell him he might devise a questionnaire for me to fill in. Ah, you're making fun of me now, he says cheerfully, without a hint of dismay. My dad and his dad are already pals. They both survived WW2 through different experiences, but they both made their way to Israel soon afterwards, and my dad, usually full of stories but now too weak to be talkative resigns himself to the role of listener. Captive audience. Bad news, I mistakenly thought at first. The vitality of a genuinely sick person in the next bed has some life-affirming effect, and it uplifts, not just irritates... Later on more family members arrive, and before we know it we know all of them. Big sister, a large, boisterous "modern" religious woman called Shoshy (Sue?) is there to keep night vigil at her dad's side. The ward doesn't allow it normally, but they crumble in front of her. Does she love her father more than I do mine? She is, like the rest of the clan friendly, cheerful, and she declares that she is going to look after my dad as well. "Don't you worry about a thing", she roars, "if he needs anything, anything at all, I am going to see to it that the nurses are here like a shot. You go with God, and I will see you in the morning, God willing". But staying overnight in the cramped ward with her dad, with only a chair to sit on? Surely he is well looked after by the staff here? "Me, leaving my father's side? I should kill myself first! That is how I was brought up, and I raised my son the very same way. My one and only son. He is getting married soon, you know. He tells me: mum, you don't seem too excited about my approaching nuptuals. I tell him: You're crazy! I have a sick father, not to mention a sick mother to look after as well, I hardly have time for anything else, including my own son, the one thing I love most in the whole world. What else have I got to love more than him, huh?! Huh?!!"
I am totally melted in the white heat of that woman's emotion. I tell her I think she's a wonderful daughter. She dismisses my words with a splutter. "Good daughter, pah!". I say: "you're too modest to see it yourself". We wish everyone in the room a speedy recovery and leave.

Take a break. Enjoyed it?

2008-08-25T20:27:00.002+01:00

Got home around 2 pm. I started cooking lunch. Yesterday's vegetables were too spicy for madame. It was a melange of stir-fried onions, orange pepper, courgettes, carrots, potatoes, tomatoes and one crunchy apple, seared in a wok, with a made-up seasoning of soy sauce, dash of Worcestershire Sauce (or Wooster Sauce, as it's pronounced in the UK), tomato paste, some paprika, mild curry powder, and a sprinkling of Knorr's chicken stock. I served it with rice I cooked with some (weak) chicken stock. I already had some tomato soup I made the previous night, so that only needed reheating. Majesty gulped it like it was still Poland, 1944 (did I mention both parents are Holocaust survivors?) Sure set them, mother more so than father, psychologically umm, shall we say "challenging"? Wolfing food down is one of the side-effects, as well as the obsession with food, hatred of eating in public (restaurant experience? Don't ask), hoarding of well, anything at all, irrational fear of any type of authority, uniformed or implied, the list doesn't really stop. So, despite having plenty of left-over food from yesterday, I made a fresh batch of vegetables, slightly different from yesterday's, and finished them au-gratin with a mix of fresh breadcrumbs and Parmesan. Not too spicy for you? Too crunchy!
I rewarded myself for my trouble with a can of Goldstar, my favourite Israeli beer (dark lager since you asked), and I thought I would nap it off before driving back to the hospital, but a call from my niece Adi came as a rude awakening: Dad has been moved from Cardiac to Internal. My mum went slightly madder than before (who knew that was still possible). A scene followed, with me trying to get a moment of privacy, in the smallest room in the house, you with me? and she comes banging (ok, knocking, but I mean, c'mon!), "what do you think you're doing, chatting on the phone in there" and so on. Without giving you too much information (oops, too late!) let me tell you, my sphyncter clammed shut so fast, I thought I heard it scream. Or was it me?
So, back to hospital immediately. Not of a lot of use - they were not going to keep him in Cardiac for much longer, we kind of knew that anyway. My mother: "they waited until we were gone and then they moved him". Another conspiracy exposed then.
The new room is vastly different. No more the 5 star luxury of one patient to a huge room, with an electrically adjustable bed. Indeed, there are now 4 patients in the room (designed for 3 incidentally, but they are very busy...) and worse - they just tossed him on the new bed the wrong way round, so he couldn't have his upper back propped up for reclining or sitting, but he could have his legs at any angle he desired. Brilliant. Took me over an hour to get a nurse to help me turn the bed around in a crowded room, with visitors trampling underfoot, chairs to move around, bags everywhere, why, I almost took some poor chap's portable drip out...
And how is dad? Well, he is bewildered form the total change in his treatment, but there are other things to keep his spirits up. Suddenly there is human company there to add a new aspect on his own life. Illness, much like death is a great leveller. More on dad's (and by association, our) new found friends later.

Monday 25/08/2008

2008-08-25T14:00:00.002+01:00

Another day, and the patient is getting ever worse. My dad on the other hand is getting (tentatively) better. I know it's not a crime to be a bit mental, but I just don't have the tools to deal with her, and my gawd does she need help! The meeting of minds to discuss my dad's treatment took place this morning. We only got to talk with the cardiologists at this hospitals. The head of department (from another hospital) was there, but gone before we got there. Trying to get an audience with him, although my dad is going to reject the option of an operation. Seems the risk is way to high, and the recovery process is so lengthy and hard, it alone could kill a man of dad's age and physical state. I told him that we will all accept, honour and respect any decision he makes, and he will have all our support. The one thing we cannot do for him is decide.
Went home to make lunch and to rest before going back to hospital. My sister called to tell us they have moved him out of heart ward, to internal (on the same floor). My mother went straight into hysteria mode, practically bouncing off the walls, whining, moaning, cursing everyone in that hospital: "the minute we were out of the door they moved him!" "What shall we do? What shall we do?" So now she wants me to take her straight back there, like it will make any difference. We were told earlier that he could be moved to Geriatric ward, where he will have "home like" accommodation, and will receive the best treatment to rebuild his physical strength and stamina. Once that happens, we'll see how long he needs before he can be allowed to go home. The core of his problems is 2 faulty heart valves. That will not be fixed with medication - he will remain largely incapacitated, but could lead a fairly independent life, albeit with constant care from someone (not mum) who can be there to look after him, support him, and stop him from falling off his feet, once he is back on them.
It all sounds gloomy, but he did look, sound and feel better and stronger today than yestarday, so I remain cautiously optimistic.

Sunday, 24/08/2008

2008-08-24T21:20:00.003+01:00

An Angel, with a voice to match

My mum took this pic. You'd be amazed how hard pressing a little button can be!

Dad seemed down today - voice very hoarse, and I am sure I've infected him with my disgusting germs!!!
Physically I am sure he is a little stronger than yesterday, but in the evening his blood pressure dropped quite a lot - on the first day they stopped giving him a transfusion.
There was meant to be a doctors/surgeons conference this morning over his case, but it has been put off till tomorrow. Adds to the frustration.
I will try and cheer him up with the Jewish method of... food - he is fed up with hospital food. Who wouldn't be after nearly 3 weekes of that monotony? I may bring him some breakfast with flavour, for a change.
The soundtrack to this "holiday" is an album by Grégory Lemarchal, courtesy of my friend Jean-François who was in London on the weekend prior to my hasty separture. Grégory was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis, and having won the French Star Academy in 2004 he went on to become hugely popular in France, Germany and most of Western Europe (yet unheard of in the UK). In April 2007 he died of complications while waiting for an organ transplant. He was 23.
I totally fell in love with this tragic kid, and his single Je Deviens Moi (written by Rosenstolz, arguably Germany's biggest rock/pop act, also virtual unknowns in the UK). It may have something to do with sublimation of emotions: with dad I am helpful, both in the physical needs department and on the morale front by making conversation, playing him music and so on, but I am efficient, not emotional. But I listen to little G. singing on the way to and back from hospital and my eyes get all misty!!! My mum is developing some fondness to him too. Probably because he died. Otherwise he would be blanked... I am intrigued to hear the original German version of the single. The tune sounded so French to me, it's almost impossible to imagine it under any other flag.

Saturday night

2008-08-23T21:19:00.007+01:00

Dad seems a little better. Still needs help in and out of bed, but a few vital statistics have improved. Pulse, blood pressure are both close to normal. OK, he got a blood transfusion again yesterday but the next few days will show how his body is responding. This evening I was allowed back in the ward, but had to wear a surgical mask so as not to put him at risk of infection. Lea, Nir and 2 of their offspring, Adi, 21, and Dor, the youngest (15 year old) took great pleasure in having me act the clown for them. I let Adi take over my camera and you can see the results on my picasa album (couldn't be bothered to upload them here right now, but here's the link if you want to see them - and you don't).

Expelled!

2008-08-23T09:34:00.006+01:00

My sister and B. in law joined my mum and me at my father's side this morning. Lea was dismayed to find me there with a cold - dad's immune system is next to non-existent, I shouldn't be in the building even. I was given my marching orders. I am to go there later today, only to say a quick hello, pick up mum and go to Lea's for lunch (how am I to lose weight, ever?).
Aaanywayz, before Lea and Nir arrived, mum and I found dad sitting in his chair, his breakfast tray before him, virtually untouched. My dad has stayed in hospitals several times in his life. He never complains about well, anything really. He always eats the hospital food and objects to people bringing him any food from "outside" because he believed in the system. But even he eventually tired of having almost exactly the same food day in, day out. Besides, he was too weak to feed himself. That woman was right all along, I suppose, if spoon feeding him the other day. True to form, she took charge of the situation, while I sat on the bed, and started snapping. Pictures, that is. Here I present a sampler from the many pics I took. I call it "The Best of Breakfast"

Furious!

2008-08-23T05:34:00.002+01:00

After a sumptuous BBQ at my sister's last night, I took mum back home. I've had an annoying tickle in my throat all afternoon, and it has now flared up to a full blown head cold - I am sneezing my head off here! I could barely sleep last night, and rummaged for (and found) some Ibuprofen this morning. I've been wondering what that nasty smell was in the "other" bathroom (my parents new place has 2 of them, the spare one serving as a utility room with the washing machine in it). Having opened the top drawer the mystery was solved: it's a cornucopia of pharmaceuticals. A bewildering array of pills, tablets, ointments and things that look like they could make your eyes water if taken as instructed by your physician. Sweet!
I'm concerned about later this morning. I don't want to put dad at risk: Shall I ask the nurses in hospital for a surgical mask? Might they not bar me from the place? I know I'll be washing my hands constantly at any rate. I don't have to be very close to dad, except for when he wants to move from his bed to the chair, and when nurse needs help when treating him. Something to ponder.

Mistress in Red

2008-08-23T05:06:00.007+01:00

My brother in-law has a thing for extra marital bit of fun. Actually now that he got my sister into it they are both at it on weekends, holidays etc. It's a passion for choppers. Motorbikes, big ones. His latest acquisition is a Honda Gold Wing. Here it is, lovingly kept... in the living room, as there's not enough parking space for both it and the older BMW tourer (for sale now that it's been usurped. Interested?) that used to be his (or their) pride and joy. In the bottom picture you can spot my sister Lea in the background, sitting on the porch, hammock on her left (or right of picture), BBQ in the far background. Live the dream.

Feeding Dad

2008-08-22T21:32:00.004+01:00

I get to hospital with my mother, having gone home in the afternoon for a couple of hours. As we enter dad's room (did I mention he is in a large room, designed to take one patient only?). My nephew Roey (pronounced ro-ee, my brother Benny's younger boy), a handsome 27 year old, tall and dark, thin as a rake, a natural born joker with a theatrical bent (watch this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRTQk7ise3U.
after you've read this post!)... where was I? Oh, yes, it's early evening, dad just got his dinner. I hear Roey saying something like "I want you to eat all this pot of cheese", my dad barely able to answer back, but clearly not too keen to be bossed around (hey, that's my mum's job). I go ballistic: What the hell is this family's obsession with force-feeding the defenceless? I roar (quietly, it's a hospital after all). I swiftly remove the well-intentioned nephew from my dad's vicinity, and declare a buffer zone around him, now that I am here. My mother is by now settled down, one bag on the floor somewhere, handbag firmly clutched to her side, but before I manage to blink, that little old lady is by her man's side, spoon in hand, ready to go back to the good old days of force feeding of all the family's young. I am a control freak, I admit, but in the face of this maternal storm of instinctive, almost animalistic compulsion, well, I know when I am defeated. Her face glows with vitality almost forgotten. She is needed. She is useful. A fully functional Mother, and there are witnesses to vouch for it come judgment day. Is everyone looking? Good! He opened his mouth a little - perhaps to draw a breath. Wham! Spoon laden with that unwanted cheese gets in there. You want air? Well, you'll have to earn it first. We look on, mesmerised, as my mother keeps that spoon poised at lip level, inches away from his face, waiting for that twitch, the slightest movement, and in she goes, another successful ambush! So, from meekly declining one little pot of light cream cheese dad ends up having been fed two of the little things, along with absolutely everything else on the tray. Mission accomplished. Dad leans back in his bed, visibly uncomfortable, pathetically trying to release a burp, unsure it is safe to attempt one, lest he fails to manouver it around all the food that was shoved down his gullet just now. Mum sits back, a look of pure content on her face. She has done right by her man.
We fall silent, conversation muted to a whisper while this bizzare display of the most aggressive yet tender love unfolds before our eyes. We all have been there before, you know. That spoon, used to lie in wait patiently, relentlessly in front of all our little faces at some point in our lives. It was our nemesis, her Raison d'être. Dad never had to undergo this while he was young, healthy, confident and a justly proud man. Now there is nothing he can do, not even protest. I wonder: is what she is doing good for him? Has it been good mothering to us? Do we all thank her now? Resent her? Ridicule her?

One for the Road

2008-08-21T23:12:00.000+01:00

Mum with Dad in hospital

2008-08-21T23:08:00.005+01:00

Dad in Hospital...

2008-08-21T22:46:00.002+01:00

Going Away In A Hurry Thursday, 21/08/2008

2008-08-21T14:17:00.003+01:00

Back from hospital with my mother. We went there in the morning, dad was dozing off after breakfast. The nurse, Israel, a thoroughly decent bloke, told us my dad ate his breakfast well, but since my mother noticed some uneaten grapes and a tub of yoghurt she was not to be made a fool of - "he hardly touches his food. Oy vey, what I have to go through!"
Later on lunch arrived. I warned mum not to nag dad to eat more, what to eat, how to eat it, and she sat in the corner, pouting. He ate whatever he wanted, was perfectly happy with it, but not my mother, oh no: "only soup, he ate only soup". Funnier when you say it in Hebrew: "Rak marak" or in my mother's case "rrak marrak". Go on, say it... Not funny? Well, you had to be there I guess.
The doctors came to have a look at him. Same old story: he needs an op, we'll try to find a non-surgical way for him. He felt better, but one of the doctors came later to take some blood and to leave an infusion stuck in there for later on. Among other things he is to get some blood in order to raise the hemoglobin level from dangerously low to acceptable. The doctor kept jabbing him in some 4 places until he meneged to strike blood!!! It was a dreadful scene. Dad was wincing with pain, and the doctor kept apologising, but he just could not take enough blood for the pre-transfusion tests.
Lea arrived with Adi (my niece) and Idan (nephew). I the afternoon I took my mum back home, we had a microwave reheated food for our lunch - some "other people's food - not like real home cooking" she said. It was from Zozobra, arguably the best Asiatic restaurant in Israel (think uber-chic cross between Wagamama and Benihana at mid-range prices). "While you heat the food, let me just chop this onion". "What?! What the hell for?" "I just need to do it, do you mind?" "Just sit there mother, you're chopping nothing right now, alright?"

Going Away in a Hurry

2008-08-21T06:22:00.002+01:00

Dad is unwell. At 82, his (transplanted) heart valve is failing, some 7 years (if that, I'll have to ask my sister to remind me) after his operation. He is now in Meir Hospital, readmitted after having been discharged - a decision strongly contested by the house doctor in the sheltered residence where they moved exactly 6 months ago. He was taken to "internal" ward, because the immediate problem seemed to be blood cell defficiency, but on the day I arrived he was moved to cardiac ward for (hopefully) better assessment. The prognosis is not good: he needs another operation. At his age, and with 2 open-heart ops behind him, the doctors are reluctant to operate again, as the chances of survival are not high. Without an operation he can go on living out his days but totally dependent on care. He can't walk, stand, even sit upright on his own. His mind his (almost) as lucid as ever, and even through all the discomfort and little indignities a hospital stay affords him, he still manages to crack jokes with the nurses.
I was at work, on the 3 pm to 11 pm shift, when I got a call from Lea, my baby sister (well, she's 8 years younger than me). We agreed that I should make it a priority to come over from London, in a matter of a few days, not immediately, but it couldn't wait until my booked holiday, which would see me there on the 23rd of September. I am needed not only to be with my father but to help my mother (who is in a f*****g state (so what's new?). Lea has been doing evetything for them so far: Driving my mother to and from the hospital, helping her at home, helping my dad, really running their lives for them, tirelessly. My brother Benny does visit, I'll give him that, but that's about the extent of his involvement (more bitching to follw). My mother is totally helpless, and clueless. Years of (voluntary) submission robbed her of independence - she has never entered a bank branch on her own, written a cheque, paid with any method other than cash, dealt with the phone company, used a computer, listened to messages on her landline phone, let alone her cellular phone, and most sadly of all, never sought counselling!
Need to get ready to go to the hospital... Will scribble more later.

Free Burma

2007-10-04T14:13:00.000+01:00

More steam please!

2007-07-17T15:54:00.000+01:00

Surfing on the Eisbach, Munich, August 2006

2007-07-17T15:00:00.001+01:00

Iceland, the magic of nature

2007-07-17T14:14:00.000+01:00

Now With YouTube Link!!!

2007-05-17T23:18:00.000+01:00

http://www.youtube.com/LederonUK

Had to remove one, at the artist's request

2007-05-14T23:53:00.001+01:00

Pajursky at Work

2007-05-14T23:49:00.000+01:00

2007-05-13T13:18:00.000+01:00

Took my folks to the latest venture of Anat, with Avi Conforti - the founding chef of Chimichanga, Zozobra, Moses...

Where to See Them

2007-01-30T08:21:00.000Z

What a bewildering array of web-based possibilities to store and share pictures! My fave right now is Picasa 2. Here is a link to my recent album of picture I took in Kew Gardens last Sunday. I used my cellphone, 3 MP but a teeny weeny lens. Still...

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/lederon/KewInWinter

Turkey Dinner 2006

2006-12-24T12:41:00.000Z

עץ אחרון בירושלים

2006-10-29T01:38:00.000Z

Serpentine Sunrise

2006-09-11T09:18:00.000+01:00

Morning in the Park

2006-09-11T09:16:00.000+01:00

Marble Arch, London

2006-09-11T09:14:00.000+01:00

Before The Show

2006-09-11T09:08:00.000+01:00

Thursday, or Good Night Vienna

2006-09-01T08:18:00.000+01:00

I realise that I am too tired to enjoy well, anything, until I got some proper rest. I go to the Sued station to collect my suitcase from the locker, and get my ticket to Munich for Saturday morning. Back at the apartment I take a shower and a siesta. In the evening I go out almost reluctantly: the weather is shit, and I don't really fancy the idea of cruising the streets soaked with rain. However, I would never forgive myself had I squandered an entire evening in Vienna just sitting in my room. I drag myself out, and go to the Vienna Eagle. The bar is very quiet, I chat a little with the barman, a big bear of a man, kind and friendly, and he introduces me in turn to a young man who joined us at the bar, a local or at least regular as he seems to know the barman well. Michael and I engage in a conversation, and we become best of friends. He even gives me his phone number as I am about to leave. As the bar (a major port of call on the leather scene in Vienna, I am told) doesn't seem to be waking up I decide to do the sensible thing and go home while the U- Bahn is still running. I catch one of the last trains and give myself the first good night's sleep since I've had since Tuesday. Bliss.

Thursday, or Lunch with Atmosphere

2006-09-01T08:04:00.000+01:00

After all my trials and tribulations I decide to reward myself with a sumptuous lunch at the recommended Augustine Keller. It's full of old world charm with low ceilings, vaulted chambers, large refectory tables, serving mainly Austrian fare. The food is presented simply but attractively by efficient, curt waiters. I ask if they have a non-smoking area. Hurrah! They have. I sit down, take a beer and peruse my guidebook and notes while I wait for my food. I start with a hearty goulaschsuppe (probably misspelt), then some dish with some meat and things. It's all delicious but... The waiter comes back to me some two minutes into my meal. "Excuse me sir, but would you mind if we let a group of six women take the (empty) table nearest to you - you see, some of them are smokers". So, I am on the spot here. In a moment of weakness which I shall regret to the end of this blog (or a little longer than that) I say OK. The bad news: out of six, four smoke, so there is a lit ciggy at that table at all times. The good news: the smoke doesn't seem to drift in my direction that much, but I rapidly lose interest in my food, and my meal is virtually ruined. Still, as I think of what had just happened here I become resentful. The waiter did put me on the spot. Here is a table with only one guest, who is asked to veto a gaggle of six paying customers (had I said no, they would either stand quite near me while waiting for a table to become free at the smoking section or they'd have left, taking their credit cards elsewhere). I leave a derisory tip and decide to take my coffee elsewhere. Since that was my plan anyway, I set off and reach Hotel Sacher (which is some three minutes away, situated as it is just around the corner. Got to try the original Sachertorte! Now it's early afternoon, I am resplendent in my rain-soaked clothes: Blundstone hat (from my nephew Roey, a gift from happier times, when my head must have been a little smaller. What's that about?), a wet T-shirt, faded green cargo shorts, and my beloved butter coloured Crocs, not even trainers. Just the type they really like to welcome into the velvet and oak salons of this classy joint. In for a penny, in for a pound, say I and line up quietly and patiently out, in the drizzle, still smarting from the smoked lunch I had just had. The maitre-d' looks me up and down, barely able to conceal his contempt. With resignation he leads me to the table for (this one he utters loudly, almost venomously) "one person". They are very popular, and the turnover here is faster than they can cope with, so I overlook the fact that my table is still dirty from the previous guests, and the carpet around it is covered with crumbs and other tea-room debris. I order the cake and the house coffee. They arrive very quickly, but my expectations and hopes are shattered: Both items are disappointing, big time. I am despondent. I look around me. The crowd is far from glamorous. Why, they all look like me for heaven's sake. Only not in shorts. Or Crocs. So that's why I keep getting funny looks from people... I must be the person who makes the place look untidy!

Thursday, or Room and Errands

2006-09-01T07:57:00.000+01:00

My host shows me my room, and very nice it is too. There is a small trolley (or a cart) with a kettle, a coffee maker and such, but the breakfast part of the deal is contained in a mini fridge on top of the washing machine in the... bathroom. Every morning he will leave some bread on top of the fridge, and I can help myself to whatever I want. I pass. On the positive side he is charming (and very good-looking, a delicious blend of Austrian and Italian), and he plies me with local info to the gay scene, and to the best beaches around Vienna. Unfortunately there would be no beach fun for me here as the weather has turned rather autumnal, and it looks like it would rain for much of my stay here.
My first priority, oddly, is to get to the local Apple store - I had looked it up at the Misery Cafe. I make my way there with my sick i-Pod, and soon run into navigational problems - the street is so small its name is not printed on the map. I know I am in the vicinity, but can't find it. A pleasant, friendly, polite and helpful man, busy arranging the window display of his store (did I mention what it was? a gun shop) willingly shows me exactly where it is. Am I the only one who find it ironic? It puts a wry smile on my face, but his directions are perfect, and I find the place easily. It really is a small side street, and the "store" is barely visible but for the black apple sign outside. Something tells me we are not in London anymore. The place is just a little workshop of a sort, with a jumble of various parts and bits on display, really a service centre, a small service centre. The girl I talk to tries to charge, reset, look at the other side of the patient, but can only utter "no warranty, warranty expired, you vill haff to buy a new one". WHAT?!! That's another £300 one year and 3 months after I bought my first one. I don't think so! And what about the 11 GB already on it? Lose it all - yet again? (OK, some of it is not strictly mine, but from Limewire, but still, I love it so) I see that no joy will come from this place. Frustrated, I leave, resolving to take it to the Apple Store in London, where I bought it, and give them a piece of my mind.

Thursday Morning or @cafe of Misery

2006-09-01T07:51:00.000+01:00

While in the neighbourhood, I pop into the Stefandom, the huge gothic cathedral, then find a nearby large internet cafe, where the girl at the desk seems to be as cheerless as the light rain that is now falling. Oh, well, she speaks English when she speaks at all. The hardware here is less than impressive, only two computers have a webcam and a headset, but when I try to open a messenger it turns out to be MSN, not Live Windows, and I can't get to hear, let alone see my dad who is online in Israel. I call little miss misery chops, and she tries to "do something", but soon gives up, saying: "I can't understand a computer that gives me problems I can't solve". Oh, that was deep, wasn't it?! My fairly up to-date guide book (Marco Polo, one of my favourites) mentions this cafe but under a different name so I assume it has changed hands recently, and I speculate it must have been a friendlier place before. Or even worse? Still, I check my emails, catch up on the news from the Israel-Hizbollah conflict, fire off a few emails, and make my way to the EBAB apartment. When I spoke to my host I told him I would be a little late, maybe 10:30 or later, would that be OK? He replied that he would wait for me. I feel a little guilty for making him wait at home. In my rush to keep our appointment I forget to return to the train station to collect my suitcase. Damn! At the flat I find him in no hurry as he is spending a relaxed day at home. I have fussed and rushed for nothing.

Wednesday Night, Thursday Morning or Krakow to Vienna

2006-09-01T06:59:00.000+01:00

Groom walking his horse across the street (lane, really)

Trainer takes a horse out for morning exercise at the Spanish Riding School, Vienna
מאמן מוציא לאימון בוקר את אחד הסוסים של בי"ס הרכיבה הספרדי, וינה

A courtyard in the Museum Quarter. These were the Imperial Apartments of the Habsburgs.
חצר ברובע המוזיאונים בוינה. אילה היו הדירות של בית הבסבורג

Thursday Morning

Around 6:30am and I wriggle free of my cramped cubby hole AKA sleeping bunk. Actually I have been up almost since we crossed the Austrian border. At the station I first buy a Vienna Card - a three day travelcard. It will serve me today, Friday and Saturday morning. I then leave my case in a locker, take my back pack and go in search of that internet cafe I read about in the guide book. You see, when I called my host in Vienna he told me he had a guest who was checking out this morning, and could I arrive around 10am, so I have a few hours to kill. I take the U-Bahn to where that internet cafe is, and find that in my haste I failed to notice that the time of 6:30, when the highly recommended place opens its doors, was joined by "PM". I have wasted precious walking time on a wild goose chase! Annoyed, I decide to take a trail suggested by another book (Frommer's Guide). It's a stroll around Imperial Vienna. Naturally I start where I should finish, and get lost a few times, but no matter. Vienna is just spectacular. I am stunned by the grandeur of the buildings, and enjoy the almost eerie calm of a city waking up. I happen to pass the Spanish Riding School when out emerge the grooms (or whatever they are called), thin and elegant in riding gear, walking their horses out of the stables, hidden courtyards, across a narrow street into a dark passage, until they all disappear again. To them, a daily routine, to me a sudden flash of a secret world, intensely interesting. I try to capture the moment but my crappy old camera with its relaxed attitude to a fast moving world takes forever to respond to my finger pressing the shutter. All I want to do is take some snapshots, but not with this one. "Eventual shots" would better describe them. I've dragged my feet for some time now on the painful (i.e. costly) subject of a new camera but really, there is a limit!

Wednesday Night

The platform is buzzing with anticipation. Passengers awaiting the arrival of our train, some waiting for the train from the other side of the same platform - a short (only four carriages) old looking Russian train, destination Kiev. The crew, quite a few of them, in smart uniform, milling on the platform, I try to crane my neck to get a good view if the sleeping compartments but fail. They are already late but don't seem bothered. I see my train has arrived, and there is a certain sense of excitement in the air. Everybody start shifting and picking their luggage, and we start boarding. The handsome, bookish conductor collects my ticket as I climb aboard. "you get it back in the morning" he replies to my query. Oh well. Now, where is my couchette? Ah! Found it. It's the top bunk - that is, the top one out of three! My fellow room-mates are a middle-aged Polish man under me, and finally an Italian man in one bottom bunk, his teenager daughter in the other. They trundle an enormous suitcase in, and it completely fills up the gap between the bunks, rendering use of the ladder impossible. That means I have to tread, ever so gingerly on everybody's beds whenever I want to leave or return to my own bunk. The middle bunk above the Italian girl remains empty but I'm fine where I am. It is cramped - impossible to even sit upright, it is hot, but not unbearable, and something just around the head area is squeaking incessantly, but only when the train is in motion. I perform amazing feats of organisation by placing my luggage in the most unobtrusive way possible, and keep my back pack on the shelf near my head for easy access to drink.
The compartment next to mine is full with more Italian girls, I assume they are all school chums with the one in my compartment. She seems resentful for having drawn the shortest straw here. No gabbing with the girls for her. And what if it isn't her father at all but say, her school's headmaster or a teacher?! Nah, that would be illegal, wouldn't it?
To add to my chagrin, my i-Pod froze on me in Krakow, and although I have a few tracks on my new Nokia N80, they are mostly The Dixie Chicks, and Dynamite by Jamiroquai. This is my second i-Pod - the first one started freezing me out while on holiday in Gran Canaria with my friends Jan and Jean-Francois. For 12 agonising hours we were deprived of our breakfast recital, and I had a very quiet day on the beach. It was hell I tell you. That i-Pod kept playing up till it went into a coma, and not even the Apple Store "genius" could unleash any of the 13 GB of music, drama, comedy and pictures I had stored on it, not all of which was backed-up. I had to start afresh with a "new" (reconditioned, actually) unit. This one has been in my possession some 3 months, just over the limited 3 month guarantee it came with. It already had on it 12 GB, and again it slammed the door in my face, just when I needed it most.
The night seems long - I manage to sleep a little, and if not for the constant noise of some mysterious part squeaking I would sleep much better! We are woken up a few times along the journey, by border control upon leaving Poland and entering the Czech Republic, then before entering Austria, and unless I've dreamt it up, somebody must have established another temporary country because there is another passport reading session by severe looking uniformed people, somewhere along the line.
It is morning, I find the Polish man gone - must have left at one of the stops along the way. Seems I slept longer and better than I had imagined. The conductor, who throughout the night stayed in his uniform but kicked off his shoes in favour of homely slippers, emerges from his office at one end of the carriage, and true to his word hands me back my ticket. about half an hour later the train lazily rolls into Vienna South station. I have arrived at my second port of call.

Wednesday 2nd August 2006

2006-08-24T09:42:00.000+01:00

The Salt Mines
מכרות המלח בוויליצ'קה

My lovely guide
המדריכה החמודה שלי

This morning I am picked up from the apartment to go on the other guided tour I have booked on my arrival at Krakow, to the salt mines of Wieliczka, a small town just outside the city. Today's minivan is a slightly larger Chrysler Grand Voyager (yesterday's was a Seat Alhambra), the driver doesn't crave my company next to him, but politely opens a middle door and I sit behind, quite content to do so after yesterday's experience. Turns out I am in fact the entire group. At the mines I arrange to meet my driver at around midday, and he attaches me to an existing group and takes his leave. The visit proves to be fascinating. Our guide, a young, enthusiastic local girl who lived here all her life - she even studies locally - is simply charming. Her English is limited: most of the commentary she provides is read out of memory, I reckon, and her way of mispronouncing almost every other word, yet never losing track of her speech, never faltering, is at once illuminating and hilarious. Never mind - any imperfections are completely made up for by her natural charm and sincerity. The mines are very impressive. First the climb down a seemingly bottomless staircase, flight after flight of wooden stairs. Then the walkways, various chambers carved out in rock salt, including chapels - one enormous one: at that stage you are told you can no longer take photos unless you buy a special permit. As my crappy camera doesn't perform well in the dark I simply put it away (having already taken some pictures before it became "restricted"). the statues carved in salt are eerily beautiful - look and feel like granite or marble, but a little translucent when you shine a light through them. At the end of the tour I find myself the only person lining up for the additional tour of the mine's museum. I then am treated to a personal tour through the archaeological finds from the mines and the area. That is also where my doubts about my guide's command of English are confirmed, but that doesn't stop us from having a good communication and she skips effortlessly between the official mode (declaiming fluently and clearly her knowledge of the subject matter) and the informal (struggling to express herself on general subjects such as her studies and work). We end our stroll by ascending back to the surface in an old looking (but modern and fast) workmen's cage-lift. I am squashed into a corner by three big fully uniformed guides, my tiny little guide is in there somewhere too - I can hear her - but totally obscured by her large mates. Out side, it still rains, lightly but I am wet before I reach the car. I now look forward to my simple Polish lunch at the local greasy spoon!
After lunch the weather brightens up. I go back to the apartment, check out and take my suitcase to the station. My night train to Vienna is not till 10:25pm. I want to be so tired by then, that I should sleep the whole journey!

Tuesday Night in Krakow

2006-08-24T09:26:00.000+01:00

Back in town, and I need lunch! The crazy driver sets me down by my apartment, I bid my new friends goodbye. I will miss the Swedish (half Turkish on his father's side - how cool is that?!) guy especially. But now I must forage for food. I go into a modest, local little restaurant, much like a school canteen only here you can get a beer and smoke. The lady behind the counter confounds my prejudice by speaking English and being helpful! I want the pierogi (let's not go too deep: we'll call them Polish ravioli). They are fresh out. I settle for the Polish version of schnitzel, the local beer and enjoy a simple, tasty fare in an unadorned, basic local diner. Perfect. In the evening I walk around town, again all the way to Kazimierz, and I stop for dinner at an Italian restaurant, on a small, desolate square, flanked from the south side by the Great Synagogue. I sit out on the terrace, and order Polish dishes. I keep it as light as possible - still carrying inside of me that late lunch... It had been drizzling down all evening, and now it is raining so I stretch my stay at the restaurant till the rain thins out to a drizzle again, and I set off to the club I wanted to go to the night before. I get there, this time quite easily, I go in. The club is called Ciemna - it means "The Dark". It's a well, dark (or dimly lit) space, with darker corners, partitions made to look like prison bars, few people but definitely not empty. The area, and some of the patrons may look sinister but the barman is nice and friendly enough. I stay for a couple of beers, then head home. I even manage to catch the night bus this time, and before long I am home and (almost) dry.

Tuesday, 1st August 2006

2006-08-23T11:08:00.000+01:00

Memorial site in Birkenau
יד זיכרון בבירקנאו

the Birkenau monument
אנדרטה בבירקנאו

one of the tracks into Birkenau
מסילה לתוך בירקנאו

The gallows in Auschwitz. Its final client was Rudolf Hess in 1946 (not the one who died at Spandau prison in the 1980s, of old age...) The commander of Auschwitz shared that name and was caught, tried and executed after the war.
הגרדום באושויץ. הלקוח האחרון פה היה רודולף הס בשנת 1946. כמובן לא רודולף הס שמת בגיל מופלג בכלא שפנדאו בברלין בשנות ה-80 אלא מפקד אושוויץ שנשא את אותו השם

Thanks to my enforced early night, I am up very early. The minivan should pick me up at 9:00am, then few more people from the city centre and take us to Auschwitz. I test my visa card at a nearby ATM - it works! The burly driver is punctual, and I get the honour of sitting next to him all the way. This proves to be an error: I never asked for, or expected a rollercoaster ride but that is what I get. The man feels around for his lighter, not easy when your other free hand is holding a cellphone and you're trying to run over some frightened pedestrians on a (green light) crossing. He criss-crosses his way on every road with more than one lane, and is determined to race to the bitter end every other vehicle on the road. How I manage to fall asleep for the better part of the journey is a mystery to all but the keenest of psychiatrists. What little view I do get is lovely - all very rural and aching for an artist to paint it.
The visitor centre in Auschwitz is packed with people, and seems to be chaotic. My small group - a U.K. residing Irish couple, and a cute thirtysomething Swede and his youthful mother are my only mates. Our driver runs us like a demented shepherd this way and that, sits us down, walks us in circles (I may be embellishing a little...) eventually we are shown into the auditorium where the official visit starts with a screening of a short film taken during the very first days after the liberation of Auschwitz. It is a disturbing, even harrowing film, yet I can't help feeling the whole presentation is designed to avoid upsetting the visitors too much, or, even worse, boring them with a lot of historical facts and figures. We are then attached to a larger group, one of very many, and our walk through what remains of Auschwitz begins. It is a tough experience, and I still feel disappointed that our guide, a nice enough bloke, is just churning out the same text he speaks almost with no need to think about it as he must have memorised it over time. I don't mind the dull delivery, but I feel cheated out of some of the experience because the commentary often drifts to the anecdotal, almost trivial, with a clear emphasis on fascinating, at times heroic events involving mainly non-Jewish Polish people. As a Jew and the son of two Auschwitz survivors I feel like the very core of my experience here is missing. What did I want to happen? what did I expect? The infamous blocs, home to unbelievable inhumanity, are now surrounded by lush green grass, with tall, beautiful trees along them, making the place look like some suburban avenues. My dear friend Rafi had half jokingly said before my trip that you should only visit there when it rains. Well, today the sun is out and the weather is lovely. Rafi wouldn't stand for this kind of nonsense for a minute!
With the chaos I have by now come to expect we all pile up onto the bus that will ferry us over to Birkenau - Auschwitz 2. It's some 3 kms away, built by the Nazis when the original camp proved too small for the scale of killing they planned. It is said to be 20 times bigger than the first one, and it is indeed shocking to see the enormity of that place. Most of the blocs there have been demolished, partly by local folk desperate for firewood and building materials. The ones remaining intact are grim and dark, and it is almost impossible to imagine the living hell endured by the inmates of that place - had it not been so fully documented by the SS themselves, for as long as they felt they would never be called to account for their crimes.
Our guided visit is at an end. All five of us are met by our scary driver. This time I sit at the very back of the car. Let some other sap sit up front with psycho driver. Our maniacal journey back to town is easier to stomach now that I have my own seat. I look at the countryside rolling back through the window. It looks so serene, so picturesque. How different could it have looked when my mom and dad were incarcerated only a few kilometres away, condemned to death through slave labour and starvation for no other reason than being Jewish. Did the church bells still ring on Sundays, Could my parents hear them in the distance? Could they listen out for them?