make more jewelry

There is much I can accomplish. The rote work and deadlines are always there. I arrange my hands, and there is energy enough in them to get things done. Some things don’t flow that well.

I fashioned a sturdy rink of ice to skate over and through the holidays. I knew that the oceanic hole where Lois used to be, even in her impaired condition, would grow larger and deeper and that the pace and temperament of the holidays could intensify that.
The ice that covered that ocean turned out to have thin patches. As I walked, the anticipation of cracking, of the sickening flood of undercurrents was palpable. I did not like it. I had prepared the rink myself, and thought it sturdier than it was.

I turn around in the new year, and to my surprise, the ocean is behind me. It’s still shimmering, but it is whatever it’s meant to be. If it shall be a rink, it shall be sturdy. If water, it can flow around me without needing to buoy me.

Still, there are tasks I cannot face. It has already been a month, and the paperwork I need to do I find I cannot do. I have no courage or wherewithall to do a simple task like get to the bank, present a death certificate and a will, ask for the completion of the estate. It should be simple. It is not. Time is passing. In this regard, I feel the lip of the ocean again, and the fragility of the ice that I figured would be strong enough.

Perhaps this week I will find a bit of backbone and use it.

though bits and pieces of her ephemera remain. There’s a funny and decrepit trinket box that has a lot of costume and junk jewelry from the 60s: old bangles and hoops earrings, wonky pins and political buttons, dangly pendants.

This is a great thing to sift through. It makes me smile and sometimes laugh out loud.

These are the last days.
I have brought out all the big guns, things of Rat pleasure: Tiffany, charms, Silvie’s i-ching bracelet.
I have good wine.
I have purple contacts in, and another wonderful Coetzee for tonight’s reading. I have organic cheesies and a brand new sleek and tight cashmere.

It is good to be prepared.

Lois is tough. She has been hydrated, hospitalised, and is now (though very very impaired) taking swings at errant medical staff. We can’t help but be impressed.
We are re-energised by this. It doesn’t change the inevitable fading, but it does offer a gentle decline rather than the originally feared and brutish thunderclap of finality.
We don’t want to inherit, we want a perfect circle.

I have been a few times this week and I will not go back again. The staff is understanding. This is what it’s like, the end, they said. Appetite goes first, then awareness, then breathing. Semi-consciousness. It could be soon, or it could go on for awhile.
You are strong, and whatever you choose to do is OK.

OK, I said, OK. I chose to leave. One of the nurses nudged me. I’m with you, he said, I wouldn’t want to watch my mother die.

She isn’t in that place any more. I will be good with whatever, whenever.
I am going to go put on some jewelry – the great calming ritual.

Want to do more of this. Without spending alot of money. I already have lots of beads, so Im going to concentrate on just picking up findings and wire when I specifically need it. I would also at some point like to start up a small website where I can sell my stuff. Right now I make stuff and it just hangs around. Or maybe have a jewelry party at my house to make a few extra bucks. =)

Rat rose early to answer the phone.
‘It’s the Home. Your mother’s being taken to the hospital.’
‘Huh? Why? What happened?’
‘We don’t exactly know. She was pushed…there was an altercation with another resident.’ (Altercation? She’s 84 and barely on her feet.)
‘Is she hurt?’ (Rat begins to get panic in her voice.)
‘Well…we think so.’
‘How bad?’ (strangled voice)
‘It’s our policy just to send her to the hospital for assessment. She’s complaining of pain.’
‘Did someone try to get into her room again?’ (There have been frightening incidents with agitated residents.)
‘Well…we don’t exactly know. We’ll call you when we know more.’

Rat quickly took down notes and numbers. Mr. was alerted, dispatched to hospital. Friends were called.

The story unfolds painfully. She has a badly broken hip, multiple fractures in the wrist. It seems that she tried to keep an agitated wanderer out of her bedroom, was shoved, fell to the floor. The ensuing surgeries, though necessary, will surely accelerate the confusion – if she survives them.

Sad Rat is trying to bear up and accept whatever comes, wearing the diamond ring for good luck.

I went to see her in the new residence. I couldn’t bear to be the one to move her, so I went this afternoon, after all her familiar furniture had been placed ‘just so’ to resemble the old place. It’s still a nursing home, though, and the differences are obvious.
The view is pretty. We shared a sweet milky tea. I thought of the things Epic (absent from 43 T to his dismay) had written: lovely, comforting; I stretched out on her bed to watch the sun setting over lush treetops. L texted to promise a pitcher of lime daiquiris and hugs. Leonardo left messages of encouragement and love.
Mr. moved her in this morning, and gave me two fine gold chains he’d found jammed between her bookcase and armoire. She refused to take them; she doesn’t recognise them as hers. So I am the keeper again.

Tonight, the knots in stomach and heart untangle slightly. She was a bit confused and agitated when I left. It will be so, but it will be better, too, and I will get used to anything.

I would like to be able to say this summer
“I’m into leather.”
I’m going to lace together a thin black leather necklet and design a piece of silver that will be threaded through it. What shall it be? A personal crest, complete with motto? An Arts and Crafts insignia like the Roycroft Rose?
Something edgy and beautiful, to salute the secret and solitary alter-ego of the Rat?

I love jewelry.
I am the keeper of the ring, the one with a life and death of its significance, its history, attached to it.
As a child I would grab her hand, beg to touch it, wear it. As an adult, it amused me knowing that she enjoyed it as much as she did, despite its history.
One day it disappeared. She shrugged. I was surprised to be calm, perhaps rational: the ring had met its logical end when it ceased to have significance for its rightful owner. But it had value, I was reminded. I should be alarmed.
What does value mean now?

The ring turned up. It was found in the lavatory, almost flushed away. She’d meant to clean it there, I was told, but it was forgotten for good.
I seized the chance, and took the ring. I cleaned it, and accepted my duty to begin its new history.