alice in wonderland

Sometimes I have a wooziness. A lightheaded wobble. An oversensitivity to noise and light. A general ‘not quite right’ ness. It’s nothing remarkable, just part of the world of ME and low blood pressure.

Of course, once somebody called it ‘Alice in Wonderland Syndrome’, I decided that it/ I was really very remarkable, and worthy of further investigation.

Dr Search Engine reassures me that I have nothing quite so poetic, but AIWS is a real live actual neurological issue, possibly well known by those of you with nasty migranes.

The world appears distorted- body image, space, time and perspective are all wrong and it can be very debilitating.

from: http://pinterest.com/pin/147492956516988681/

Seeing the world through a fisheye lens made day-to-day life very difficult. Unable to judge distances accurately, I would often move clumsily or overcompensate. Soon I found it a struggle to leave the house; I had difficulty correctly perceiving the ground, so walking was tricky. If I didn’t think about it I was OK, but as soon as I did, I found myself slumping and struggling to walk in a straight line. Crossing the road began to feel dangerous; when I saw a car coming, I had no idea what size it was, or how far away.

AIWS can last for years, or be a feature of neurological conditions, but is most commonly experienced by children and young people who grow out of it eventually.

A world of weirdness and wonder indeed.

written in response to Sidey’s weekend theme, through the rabbit hole

all around us

Today was Cemetry Sunday. The Blessing of the graves. Time for the annual clean up. Show up with fresh flowers, say many and various prayers and catch up with all rabbit’s friends and relations. Remember why we don’t normally park in the carpark for this event- 45 mins to leave.

The priest reminded us that God is everywhere; the dead are with God; therefore they’re all about us too. Our loved ones haven’t really gone away, they’re all around.

Well, sometimes I wonder about God, but I know my loved ones are around. They’re in my head and my heart, in my stories, my laughter and my tears.

As we looked at the spot where our parents and grandparents lie, Cousin wondered aloud about how things would change in the incoming year. Bad move, Cousin. I’d rather not think about imponderables. When I’ve something to worry about, then I’ll worry with the best of them, but I haven’t the energy to spend thought on vague nothings.

Then I came home to discover that the horror Helen was talking about affected a family I knew. Folk I haven’t seen in years, but always think of fondly. People I spent a long summer with in New Jersey. The people who helped me discover that whiskey isn’t good for me. The young woman who showed me that it was possible to be feminine without fear of losing brain cells. A young woman I was a little in awe of- she had a career and a relationship and poise and skills, while I was still a daft mess. The young man who refused to wear his glasses, and who made me laugh. The young man I knew to be a great teacher, an inspiration and a friend when I needed one.

Today, that couple buried their son. He was 18. Not that much younger than they were when we shared an apartment on the Jersey shore. His parents are fine people; I hope they relearn the ability to laugh and to love the world. I hope they find their son with them, wherever they are.

a discovery

no reason in particular

There’s nothing special about today.

It’s a wet Friday.

I have a list of things to be doing.

Busy things.

Oh, very important things.

Boring things.

All the things.

Then I read Isobel’s beautiful post. As I reread it, I heard the song playing on the radio.

I had a little wallow, a wee drip and a sniffle. It happens when I least expect it. When I have other plans.

I thought about Herself, and the woman I spoke to last night whose husband was recently diagnosed with PSP. I thought about those more recently bereaved than I, and those dealing with the ongoing chaos and firefighting that accompanies a parent’s decline.

In my middle age, I want to still be able to do something with my late parents. I’d love to hold them, tease them, walk on the beach with them.

Instead, I miss them. I blog about them. I volunteer because of our experiences.

I’m a 47 year old woman, still holding hands with the grown ups.