Tom Hussey: Reflections

Lately my wonderful mother has started reflecting on her age.  At 46 and with 4 children she obviously doesn't look how she did when she was 18 but she has always been an inspiration to me.  At 18 she was a size 8, now she's a size 18 and she is still confident about her body.  In fact, she affectionately refers to her stomach as jelly belly, giving it a little wobble and laughing.  After all, it's from their that her wonderful children came.  (Yep, that includes me.)

Recently her aunt died and she admitted she was glad her mother had died in her early 70's.  My nan's sisters have suffered from dementia and the thought of seeing her own mother like that worried her.  Well of course now it's worrying me, genetic factors only cause the disease in a very small number of families but what if mine is one of them?

Tom Hussey's award 'Reflections' is an advertising campaign for Novartis' Exelon Patch, a prescription medicine for the treatment of mild to moderate Alzheimer’s dementia.  The images depict an older person looking at the reflection of their younger self in a mirror.  The campaign is innovative, eye-catching and really reminds you that we all go through the same thing and deserve just as much care and consideration, no matter our age and condition.  See all the images from the campaign here.

Cannabis Over Breakfast

I don't know why I've started appreciating the amusement in little things that happen at home...maybe it's because I might be leaving...but over breakfast lately I seem to laugh a lot.  I don't know why as there are very few things that can make me smile in the morning.

As I was making coffee I noticed that there was a bag of green stuff in a plastic food bag.  Surely not...no it must be...nah not cannabis.  Not in my house.  Then I notice it's sat on top of a tub of flour.  Oh God, someone is going to make cannabis cakes.  My dad.  My dad cannot be doing weed in our house.

Turns out I wasn't the only one to consider it.  My friend arrived for breakfast (she was early for work and decided to pop in) and my dad joined us.  Only for them both to stare at the "cannabis" oddly and us to have to work out what it actually is.  It was basil.  My sister had decided to make a pizza at school using dried basil from a tub.  (I said no and gave her fresh basil leaves.)

What I found most amusing about this though was that not only did three grown adults decide that cannabis was a more likely thing than herbs to find in my kitchen but that my dad then went into a detailed description of his cannabis consumption.  Then my friend joined in, not thinking that it was odd breakfast conversation to be having with your friends father over Weetabix and a rather strong cup of Carte Noir instant. 

Yes he'd tried it, no it wasn't always successful, skunk in fact sent him paranoid and gave him hallucinations.  One of which involved hitting his ex-girlfriend over the head repeatedly with a spade.  "One of those big flat ones like they have in America for the snow and stuff."  I pictured the old guy brandishing his shovel in Home Alone automatically.  This kind of violence must have stuck in my mind because in a recent dream I started banging a girls head repeatedly off hard surfaces (floors, walls etc).  This is not healthy.  Clearly people should be talking to me about happy, fluffy kittens and things.  And not ones that have been shoved in a bin.

On an additional note my sister made the pizza.  The dough base was actually made from a scone recipe because according to her teacher "pizza dough takes too long".  The resulting cake pizza provided only added amusement to the entire situation.

Nostalgia

No need to tell me I'm not old, after all I'm only 22, but I'm beginning to feel old.  Not because of the reasons I listed in 22, 22 years ago, though these reasons are all still valid, but because things that have happened recently seem like lightyears ago.

Tomorrow Caleb, my little brother, is coming round to collect his birthday present before he goes on holiday.  He'll turn four in a few weeks whilst he's at the seaside.  Four years ago I was betting with the boy's mother and her friends, whilst at the seaside, how many hours my mother would be in labour and how heavy he would be.  That feels like another lifetime.  Understandable as it was four years ago and I was a different person then.  I was wondering if I would stay with the boy through university (we broke up days later), how well I'd do (I'd get a first) and would I make friends (yes...and I lost some of them rather quickly after leaving too).

What I don't understand is that as I listened to Stereophonics on the way to work this morning their gig in Cardiff, which was a mere few months ago, also seems like years ago.  Personally I think I'm going crazy.  I'm hearing things, I'm seeing things and these things aren't there.  It's quite possible I am becoming an old person...in mind terms.  This is bad.  How do you stop premature nostalgia?

Here's the opener from the gig: Trouble.  Please let me marry a man like Kelly Jones.  Only taller please.

Family: who'd 'av 'em?

I love my family.  Very much.  I just thought I'd clarify that before telling you that right now I want to kill them.  I don't know whether it's my fault really.  I'm 22, I like my own space, I've moved home after three years of living with friends 90 miles away and my tolerance is low when it comes to annoyance.

After spending a spectaular long weekend in Barmouth, Wales, I returned today literally five minutes before my dad and sister walked in the door.  My sister, who at 11 has turned into a character from Kevin and Perry Go Large (a film she doesn't even know exists because it was before her time) stropped in without a smile, without asking about my weekend, and then proceeded to be everywhere I wanted to be.  My father proceeded to tell me what a crap day he had in no certain terms willing me to ask why it was this way.  I didn't.

Retiring to my room I tried to pretend they weren't there.  They were ruining my post-holiday buzz.  I was followed...my dad in a strop because now the boy is back he won't have a babysitter.  (The boy is back literally just for four nights and then he's off to Europe for a month before returning to Leeds...I mean Christ, cut me some slack.)  Then he shouts at me because I don't want to know what's been happening in my very short absense and strops out telling me to ring my aunty.

I swear, I live with mental people.  This or I'm mental.  According to my doctor I'm too stressed and need to reduce the stress, "is that possible?"  My response: "I live with my dad, what do you think?"...turns out she'd seen my dad just that morning so no wonder she kept her mouth shut and just gave me a knowing look.  According to my cheerful father depression has some genetic elements and so in 20 years I'll be rather like he is now.  Lord help me.  One thing's for sure...I've came back to reality with a right bump when I walked through that door.

The Family Curse

Since I was a little girl I've heard people in my family say we're cursed.  It's just one of those things that's become a family joke.  In the last week I've begun to agree with them more than ever.

I've cried, prayed, lay awake thinking horrible things, bored people to death with what's happened and then snapped at people at work when they've decided to throw in their own opinions on areas they know nothing about.

I don't wish to share with you yet what's happened, merely to apologise for my absence.  The praying failed but we're all alive.  For that I am grateful.