Trying to fix the unfix-able. Make broken things less broken.
Its a hard race, less a sprint, more of an endurance event. Full of false starts, breakdowns and yes, triumphs of awe inspiring joy.
The entrance fee is exorbitant. Intensive therapy is 3 weeks of 3-4 hours of one-on-one
professional time. You can do the math. Thousands of dollars. All up front. Even with government assistance, there is still the expense of time. Time off from work. Management of siblings. And the emotional impact.
I'm always taken by the noise. The cries of frustration, pain, the orders barked by the physios, all merge and combine in a background wall sound. Like engines at idle. 5 to 6 children, each roam their own territory on a mat, surrounded by aids and toys, with their handlers in attendance. Generally a parent/grandparent, on their knees with the child, all with that same expression on their face; love, mixed with sadness, mixed with hope. Its a unique look, one that only those of us who have a child with special needs can really pull off. The physios, exclusively young and female, wrangle the kids with enthusiasm. Cajoling them to stretch, step, throw; all the activities we so called normal people do without thinking and take for granted.
You walk in, sign in, and compare your kid to everyone else's. Hoping, macabrely, that they are worse than yours. And hating yourself for it.
And the variance is huge. The Kidd, thankfully, is in the higher end of capability. Needs assistance to walk and has some speech impediments. But is verbal and has good control over his limbs. He, for all his impairments, is one of the lucky ones. There are children who are Grade 4's and Grade 5's who have greater challenges. Kids with no hope of getting out of wheelchairs. Kids born with syndromes that are unidentifiable but mow down their hosts without pity or respite. Kids born with no eyes.
But we are all here for the same thing. We all bought a ticket to ride the bus of hope. And hope we do. Hope that the physiotherapy will improve...something.
At the end of the 3 weeks, we get a T-shirt. Lets hope its more than that.
Thursday, October 17, 2019
Monday, October 14, 2019
The Suit
I look in the mirror at the pale, naked form in front of me. The permanent frown, the unkempt hair. The acne pock-marked skin cratering my face and chest. I notice a few new spider veins appearing on my nose, the red spaghetti signposts of beer and scotch marking my features with their detritus. 44 years of abuse from the sun and alcohol have left their toll. Who could find this attractive?
I bend over to pick up the underwear from the floor and put them on one leg at a time. Boxers today. I remember when the toughest decision i had to make was whether to go boxers and briefs. Also a time when there was always the chance that a new lover would see the result of those decisions. My penis twitches slightly as my thoughts move back to tales of lovers past, both real and imagined.
I let out a sigh as those dreams fragment with the laser of reality. Now days, its just the wife who sees me in my underwear state, and she doesn't seem to care, I think sadly. The penis, interest gone, returns to its original state.
I pick up my freshly warmed shirt that I had spent the last 10 minutes trying to iron into some semblance of respectability. Today it was the purple, pattered number, though I did notice for the first time, that the collar was starting to show some signs of wear and tear. Much like its owner, I muse sadly. Still, might be time for a new shirt. Or a new life.
The shirt goes on, arm by arm, and I slowly do up the buttons, thinking about the plans for the day ahead. Head down, bum up. The usual. The Monday morning shuffle. They say you are supposed to be at your most motivated at the beginning of the week. That certainly isn't me today.
But my eyes light up when I gaze at my last piece of clothing. My suit, standing at attention. I love my suit. Dark grey, 100% cotton, single breasted. The wizards cloak, but not invisible. Invincible.
I pull on the pants. The reflection improves. Already my beer gut has gone. The hair combed, the nose becomes smaller, less prominent. Those spider veins disappear, the lunar landscape of my face looks more like a plain than the mountains. Constant and warm. Black boots, freshly polished, appear as if by magic on my charcoal coloured, silk clad feet.
The Jacket goes on last. Crisp, clean. Shoulders back, guns out. I check out my profile. Already I feel better about the day. Plans and projects flow into my brain, awakened from the sleep. Meetings to be had, checkpoints to meet. Hot co-workers to inappropriately flirt with.
A smile warms my face, and the spark of fire appears in the eyes. A smile slowly forms as i gaze lovingly at the man in front of me. The world awaits.
"Thanks Tom Ford", I whisper.
"You are welcome" I hear in my ears as the Suit takes its passenger into the day ahead.
I bend over to pick up the underwear from the floor and put them on one leg at a time. Boxers today. I remember when the toughest decision i had to make was whether to go boxers and briefs. Also a time when there was always the chance that a new lover would see the result of those decisions. My penis twitches slightly as my thoughts move back to tales of lovers past, both real and imagined.
I let out a sigh as those dreams fragment with the laser of reality. Now days, its just the wife who sees me in my underwear state, and she doesn't seem to care, I think sadly. The penis, interest gone, returns to its original state.
I pick up my freshly warmed shirt that I had spent the last 10 minutes trying to iron into some semblance of respectability. Today it was the purple, pattered number, though I did notice for the first time, that the collar was starting to show some signs of wear and tear. Much like its owner, I muse sadly. Still, might be time for a new shirt. Or a new life.
The shirt goes on, arm by arm, and I slowly do up the buttons, thinking about the plans for the day ahead. Head down, bum up. The usual. The Monday morning shuffle. They say you are supposed to be at your most motivated at the beginning of the week. That certainly isn't me today.
But my eyes light up when I gaze at my last piece of clothing. My suit, standing at attention. I love my suit. Dark grey, 100% cotton, single breasted. The wizards cloak, but not invisible. Invincible.
I pull on the pants. The reflection improves. Already my beer gut has gone. The hair combed, the nose becomes smaller, less prominent. Those spider veins disappear, the lunar landscape of my face looks more like a plain than the mountains. Constant and warm. Black boots, freshly polished, appear as if by magic on my charcoal coloured, silk clad feet.
The Jacket goes on last. Crisp, clean. Shoulders back, guns out. I check out my profile. Already I feel better about the day. Plans and projects flow into my brain, awakened from the sleep. Meetings to be had, checkpoints to meet. Hot co-workers to inappropriately flirt with.
A smile warms my face, and the spark of fire appears in the eyes. A smile slowly forms as i gaze lovingly at the man in front of me. The world awaits.
"Thanks Tom Ford", I whisper.
"You are welcome" I hear in my ears as the Suit takes its passenger into the day ahead.
Californication - An insight into Hollywood values
Been binge watching Californication, the TV series on STAN recently. Great show. But morally troubling.
For those who have not been alive during the late 2000's, the show follows the adventures of a writer, Hank Moody who is living in LA. Seven seasons of 12 episodes (though I am only on Season 2 at this stage)
Reminded me a little of Entourage (though Entourage premiered a few years earlier in 2004), though I would say it is a little more thoughtful that that show. Themes are a little more detailed and varied, rather than just friendship in LA which was the main provoker in that show.
Hank is basically a pleasure seeker. Pretty hedonistic, and seems to have an endless supply of women at his beck and call, all captivated by his writing. Not married, even though he appears 35+ and has a daughter who is at least 13/14. And seems to be independently wealthy via the proceeds of his book sales and movie.
Hank exists on a diet of booze and drugs, and spends most of his time either in a car, with his daughter, in other women's bedrooms. Yet he is still trying to recapture his previous life as the partner of his long term girlfriend. And a good father to their daughter, born out of wedlock.
It is a very well written show..the dialogue especially is captivating.
That said, the show treats traditional religion and marriage as things to avoid. Hank's daughter is a hard rocker who seems to worship Satan. There are various dream sequences in the first few seasons that have Hank disrespecting the catholic church (i.e cigarette thrown in the Holy Water. Sex with nuns etc.) Also has a go at Scientology. And marriage is seen as something to run from (when his ex-partner leaves the wedding reception for Hank in his car at the end of the first season), or something that women are determined to get out of (the various cheating and divorced women on display that Hank bonks on with are legion)
His daughter and wife consistently feel let down by Hank's choices, which seem to involve him de-prioritizing them for other people (his ex-lovers, his best friend). Which is true. While his heart is in the right place, he constantly makes the incorrect choice and has no self control over his passions. He blames everyone else but himself for his failures, claims he loves women, yet treats them like disposable pleasures, rather than relationships.
Watching it, I wonder if this is a cautionary tale, or an insight into what Hollywood believes in. A world where the creative rules...that everything is forgiven as long as you keep producing what the public demands. That marriages are actually constraints, rather than an aspirational state to raise children in.
Generally a cautionary tale involves some punishment. Hank has had some fallout from his decision making...Has been beaten up by husbands/partners, had his book stolen by his underage one night stand, is living apart from his partner and daughter, been car-jacked. Yet he is still bonking on, still getting cash. And his daughter forgives him of it all.
Maybe the fallout continues in the next few seasons. I will watch on..waiting to see if Hank is held up as a prophet of the modern age, or a fallen angel.
For those who have not been alive during the late 2000's, the show follows the adventures of a writer, Hank Moody who is living in LA. Seven seasons of 12 episodes (though I am only on Season 2 at this stage)
Reminded me a little of Entourage (though Entourage premiered a few years earlier in 2004), though I would say it is a little more thoughtful that that show. Themes are a little more detailed and varied, rather than just friendship in LA which was the main provoker in that show.
Hank is basically a pleasure seeker. Pretty hedonistic, and seems to have an endless supply of women at his beck and call, all captivated by his writing. Not married, even though he appears 35+ and has a daughter who is at least 13/14. And seems to be independently wealthy via the proceeds of his book sales and movie.
Hank exists on a diet of booze and drugs, and spends most of his time either in a car, with his daughter, in other women's bedrooms. Yet he is still trying to recapture his previous life as the partner of his long term girlfriend. And a good father to their daughter, born out of wedlock.
It is a very well written show..the dialogue especially is captivating.
That said, the show treats traditional religion and marriage as things to avoid. Hank's daughter is a hard rocker who seems to worship Satan. There are various dream sequences in the first few seasons that have Hank disrespecting the catholic church (i.e cigarette thrown in the Holy Water. Sex with nuns etc.) Also has a go at Scientology. And marriage is seen as something to run from (when his ex-partner leaves the wedding reception for Hank in his car at the end of the first season), or something that women are determined to get out of (the various cheating and divorced women on display that Hank bonks on with are legion)
His daughter and wife consistently feel let down by Hank's choices, which seem to involve him de-prioritizing them for other people (his ex-lovers, his best friend). Which is true. While his heart is in the right place, he constantly makes the incorrect choice and has no self control over his passions. He blames everyone else but himself for his failures, claims he loves women, yet treats them like disposable pleasures, rather than relationships.
Watching it, I wonder if this is a cautionary tale, or an insight into what Hollywood believes in. A world where the creative rules...that everything is forgiven as long as you keep producing what the public demands. That marriages are actually constraints, rather than an aspirational state to raise children in.
Generally a cautionary tale involves some punishment. Hank has had some fallout from his decision making...Has been beaten up by husbands/partners, had his book stolen by his underage one night stand, is living apart from his partner and daughter, been car-jacked. Yet he is still bonking on, still getting cash. And his daughter forgives him of it all.
Maybe the fallout continues in the next few seasons. I will watch on..waiting to see if Hank is held up as a prophet of the modern age, or a fallen angel.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)