"I'm thinking if you just give it a straight stroke, rather than twisting at the end..." said d.
I blinked at her. I looked at the gloves I was wearing - huge blue rubber gloves with what looked essentially like pebble-dashed cat-litter embedded in them.
"You're suggesting I give the carrots a hand-job dear?"
She rolled her eyes at me.
"If you like, dear," she said. The gloves were a gift - Tater Mitts - essentially, gloves of death for potato skins, and, as I was set on proving, for carrot skins too - that were supposed to make dinner prep much easier, and as a bonus, would scrape the face off any domestic intruder with a non-lethal use of force.
Getting instructions from your wife on the best up-and-down motion to remove a layer of skin from something carrot-shaped is an experience that a) I hope you never have, and b) has a tendency to make you rather nervous by bedtime, but I have to report that the Tater Mitts worked as advertised, and a gorgeous Christmas lunch ensued.
I had jussst about tipped myself back to neurosis this morning, by checking out my weight on my mother's analogue scales, and then scowling more than somewhat at the probably-accurate reading they gave me.
Then, when it came to unwrap presents, one of my big gifts was something that I'd actually asked for - a shit-hot, brand new, Weight-Watchers approved set of uber Nazi scales.
These are scales that can measure you in any damn increments you like - Kg, pounds, stones and pounds...Fairly sure there's a setting on them that will measure you in Drachma, and another that measures you in farts.
"You weigh...169 farts..." - If that's not a setting that currently exists, I reckon I might patent it, cos it's good, semi-solid information that would be of use to any Disappearer...
Anyhow, the essential point is that these are scales that take themselves waaay too freakin' seriously, and therefore, they're likely to be hard taskmasters when I step on them in just two days time. I haven't dared take them out of their box yet, because even though I asked for them, I'm happy to admit I find them a little intimidating. It's gonna be like stepping on a Dalek, probably. "You-Will-Lose-Weight-Or-Your-Lardy-Arse-Will-Be-EXTERMINATED!"
But the point, I guess, is that normal service will be resumed for the final Tuesday of 2011, and I'll probably have slipped back over the 16 stone border. This will be what it will be, and we'll move on and shake the shit out of my now-complacent system in the first week of January.
The real shock of today was my dad.
I've seen him have highs, and I've seen him have lows. I've seen him have diabetic hypos, and had to half-carry him through London streets, and then force feed him sweets to come around. But I don't think I've ever seen him quite as utterly disengaged as he was today.
He sat there, staring into space, for most of the day, until after dinner, when he fell asleep entirely. Nothing could jolly him along, nothing could spark his interest or enthusiasm. He wouldn't come open presents, he wouldn't come join us at the table for starters, when dinner was served he ate in silence, and then went to sleep...
Don't in any way get me wrong - this is not a bitchfest. It's a concernfest. Among all the personal, seflish reasons for wanting to come home this year was always embedded the kernel of concern for my dad, and the desire to help him, and help my mum to make his life a little easier. Today was an eye-openener, inasmuch as it drove home the fact that when pain or some condition makes someone drift away, for even a day, there is little or nothing that can be done to help, to break the stainless-steel soap bubble and make a connection.
Still - don't get me wrong in this either - my dad's not drifting endlessly away, I'm not sounding some sort of hideous knell. He just had a bad day as far as I know. The rest of our day was a thing of warmth and wonder - being home, and not having to leave home and go back to the chaos of a London tube ride, was amazing, and a source of great contentment to us both. This feels so much like a new beginning, it's difficult to focus on greyness and grimness. and most of our time was bright and beautiful. Just bright and beautiful tinged with conern - like a microcosm of the reasons we made this move in the first place.
Seems like the way to go forward.
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