Once again, not long back from visiting my mother at the intermediary rehabilitation centre in Wakefield. It's upsetting to see her so demoralised and depressed by her ongoing situation, although we do our best to keep her spirits up. Sadly, she's not making sufficient progress in terms of her mobility and is feeling low because of it.
Mum's due to be allowed to go home soon, but I'm very worried by the fact that she hasn't really advanced enough to be able to exist safely at home on her own, even with the care support that will need to be put in place to support her.
Her mental faculties have certainly improved and she exhibits less of the confusion and delirium that was evident whilst she was in hospital these last two and a half months.
But at 91 years old, I expect it's too much to hope that she might regain the quality of life she enjoyed before her recent illness set in. Nevertheless, I live in hope that things might improve a little bit more before she has to face life without wall-to-wall 24/7 care. This stuff is hard to deal with and a real challenge, especially for a 71 year old such as myself with serious health issues of my own. All we can do is try...
Here at home, it's been hard to sort out all our usual Christmas duties, though we've done our best. My son Elliot travelled with Emi and I to visit my mum at the rehab centre in Wakefield on Boxing Day.
Whilst there, I took Elliot to see the house at 28 Conistone Crescent on Eastmoor Estate where I grew up from the age of three years old in the 1950s.. The house still exists although the Estate is somewhat worse for wear after all these years. Still, my memories of my 1950s childhood on Conistone Crescent are full of warmth and happiness, especially at Christmas time when my parents made the day magical.
After we got back to York, Elliot stayed for dinner, which gave us an opportunity to chin-wag and reflect on life's peculiarities and madness.
My daughter Elle has moved to Rye and so couldn't make it to York for Christmas and, of course, my eldest daughter Julia and Grandson Luke live in London, so, Elliot was my only direct contact with my much loved offspring.
Elliot is a very talented musician and his work always surprises and makes me think. He could enjoy a career as a composer of film music if only he wasn't so 'purist.' (Composing for film requires the ability to compromise and take other people's ideas on board.) I guess, though, that some people could level the exact same criticism at me. I'm a 'take it or leave it' kind of musician.
All my children are incredibly creative: My daughter Elle is both a songwriter and an imaginative artist and my eldest daughter Julia works as a caster of sculptures. My Grandson is studying Architecture at University and shows great promise. I'm incredibly proud of them all and so pleased to see that they have found a niche in the arts, no matter how precarious an artist's life can be in today's climate. I'll always be glad that some of my passion for creativity has found its way into their DNA. Art is its own reward, regardless of financial concerns.
As for my own work, it's been difficult to achieve much due to the time spent travelling to Wakefield and back each day. But there has been some slow progress, hampered at times by the Cubase software recording system being unfamiliar and often head-scratchingly uncooperative. I'm experiencing one of these mysterious tech breakdowns at the moment, but finding ways around it, (though they're tremendously frustrating, limiting and time consuming when all's said and done.)
But, we're almost at the end of the year now, just a couple of short days away from the seismic shift to 2020...
Unfortunately I have an important hospital appointment on New Year's Eve, for one of my regular eye injection sessions, an attempt to slow what may well be an ultimate decent into blindness.
As I've mentioned previously in this journal. I dislike these injections with a vengeance, but the alternative is not good. They have to be endured. Just a drag that this month's eyeball piercing ritual will be carried out on New Year's Eve. My eyes take a full 24 hours to recover and regain clarity afterwards. No fun...
Yes, here we are on the verge of 2020, a year that seemed, when I was a child, like science-fiction, so far, far away in a distant utopian future, but how far, as a human race, have we really advanced? Is this the future, or a far uglier past?
Right now, I don't know how to address that question...
One more thing: The problem with the broken Isana Black Pearl guitar that I'd received from Thomann on the 18th December has still not been resolved. After sending several photo's to Thomann they are now claiming that the damage was done during transit and are supposedly arranging for UPS, (who shipped the guitar,) to come and inspect the packaging. A long drawn out procedure it seems.
Sadly, Christmas and New Year have delayed this inspection and it looks as if it may be several weeks before the situation is resolved and a replacement guitar sent to me. So frustrated and disappointed by this...
Oh, another thing worth mentioning: The New Year's Honours List has been announced...And, unsurprisingly but equally distastefully, Boris Johnson's Tory government seems to have given a knighthood to his despicable, hard-right wing pal Ian Duncan Smith, a less deserving individual is hard to imagine. Heaven help us, I fear we're living in dark and corrupt times...
