The difference between old and ancient

And a very beautiful book

Welcome to my head - a round up of what I have been thinking about, reading and eating.

Thinking

There is something about returning home that can really fuck you up. Especially when you are not sure what home means and when you are flying thousands of kilometres to get there. And while it is home in that it is the place that you were born and raised, it looks nothing like the home you knew, and it’s not just the environment that’s different, it’s who you are and how you fit in.

When you return home as the youngest child to see your father who now lives in (the very best) residential aged care home and the roles have reversed and he needs you in that way that you once needed him, it can really mess with your emotional state. And so this week’s missive comes to you from South Africa where I am rethinking everything I have been thinking about growing old.

Recently I wrote about ageing in a positive light, how it’s a privilege to be proud of, how it means you have wisdom and experience, the ability to say what you want and the experience to back you up. But now surrounded, as I am, by people in their 80’s and beyond I think that maybe it’s easy to talk about the beauty of ageing when you are 56.

My father is lucky to be in South Africa because of the South African people who care for him. Ubuntu is a Zulu word which means “I am because you are” and it is the idea that community is one of the most important building blocks of society - it is something that filters through every part of the place where he lives, where the care is deeply kind, the compassion intense and the humanity palpable. 

But as beautiful as the surrounds and the caregivers are, he and the people around him, are visibly reaching the end of their lives. Their skin is paper thin and crumply like used tissue paper, walkers and wheelchairs dot the communal areas as stark reminders of the lack of mobility. Glimpses of adult diapers, drooling mouths, and heads dropped in sleep remind you of the cycle of life and the cruelty of ageing past your prime. All of this has convinced me that getting very old is maybe not such a privilege.

Needing care when you have been an independent and active person is difficult to adapt to. Losing your physical strength and your cognitive ability seems like a cruel blow as you approach the end of your life. It is so very hard to witness, I can only imagine how hard it must be to experience.

Reading

Here is something about me that you probably shouldn’t know: sometimes I judge a book by its cover. And sometimes when there is a picture of an animal on the cover I don’t want to read the book in case something bad happens to the animal. Suffice to say I picked up this book with trepidation.

But once I picked it up I couldn’t put it down. It is described as an unforgettable book about grief and hope and it is that, but it’s also so much more than that.  The Burrow tells the story of a  family trying to live with themselves and with each other during Covid after the tragic loss of their daughter/sister/granddaughter. Cheng tells the story with so much wisdom, insight and humanity it’s hard not to feel like you are right there with this family.

It’s sad and real and heartbreaking and hopeful and it’s told brilliantly from the perspective of all the characters in turn. It is the kind of book that makes wanna-be novel writers like me almost want to give up because it is so exquisitely written with such depth and emotion it’s like the book is happening to you rather than you are reading the book.

Do not be put off by the bunny on the cover or the subject of grief (although the novel does deal with the tragic loss of a small baby) but rather read this profoundly moving story and get lost in the beauty of Melanie Cheng’s writing.

Eating

I am in the country where I grew up and I am eating the foods that I wanted to eat as a child. There is a lot of sugar involved, lots of chocolate, biscuits and treats we were only allowed to eat in moderation because they aren’t particularly good for you and you were a child. But that’s the positive about being an adult without anyone to answer to, you can go to the supermarket, fill your trolley with nostalgia and then escape to your hotel room and overdose on sugar.

It is also a good reminder that there is a reason we weren’t allowed to eat only preservatives and sugar as kids - my physical state matches my mental state.  I need sleep and salad and to accept that I may be the youngest of my father’s daughters but I am no longer his little girl.

But before I get back to the salad and proteins I think I might make this snappy little cheesecake.

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Thanks for reading till the end. See you next week, where hopefully, I will be more upbeat rested.

Lana