Mobile phones are killers

and I am not talking about mysterious radiation from phone towers or anything like that. 
I am talking about phones which apparently must be  answered or  used while driving a car, riding a bike and walking along the street.
It is there in this morning's paper - along with the news that, despite the lock down, our road toll is now the same as it was this time last year. 
What in the heck is going on? Why is it so important to talk to people right at that moment?
Several weeks ago I saw a near tragedy. A man pressing those little buttons on his phone walked out into the road without looking. A car swerved to avoid him and bumped into another. Fortunately the damage to the two cars was very slight.Nobody was hurt. The user of the mobile phone was not in the least bit concerned. He just shouted at the driver to "be more careful" and went on his way - still pressing buttons. He left both drivers undoubtedly shaken and those around him shaken too.
It was totally irresponsible behaviour. I wish the police had been around to stop him in his tracks and fine him. 
I have seen bike riders with a phone clamped to an ear while swerving around pedestrians. And how many more pedestrians am I going to have to pedal slowly behind because they are strolling along in the middle of the footpath while sending or reading a text message? Of course if I try to pass someone actually having a conversation then I am in even greater trouble.
I have seen dogs walking along and using more intelligence than some humans.
Yes, I know I have said it elsewhere but what is so important about that phone call?  Is it really a life or death emergency? Is it beyond  the ability of the technical genii who make these things to produce one which automatically shuts down when you enter that metal container on wheels or sit on the seat of anything else with wheels and start to move?
I went out for a little exercise yesterday. I needed to deliver something. There is a roundabout on the route. There was a man of about thirty on one of those electric skateboards - talking on his phone. The roundabout is one of those "black spots". There has been many an accident there. The rider of the skateboard seemed unconcerned at the sight of the bus bearing down on him. I would have waited well back on the footpath. He came far too close to the bus for my liking - and for the liking of the bus driver. The bus driver tooted him but the rider went on apparently blissfully unaware. I was waiting on the footpath and the driver shook his head as he went past me. It is the sort of behaviour that makes that job a nightmare. No wonder stress related illness is so high in that job.
All these phone calls are so urgent though. The  humans who make them must be really important people. 
The only people who have ever rung me are my immediate family. That has almost never happened. Other people call me on the house phone. I am obviously not in the least bit important.
And I still have to learn how to send a text message.

Visiting the elderly

has been off the agenda for weeks now. 
I have no elderly relatives in nursing homes. In our family, even extended family, they tend to stay at home unless it is absolutely impossible for them to do otherwise.  The Senior Cat had a cousin who had lost a leg due to severe diabetes. It eventually became impossible for his wife to care for him at home even with outside help.  He lived the remaining months of his life in a nursing home and, while they were kind enough,  his treatment there made us all the more determined to keep the elderly in our clan at home if we can. Nursing homes simply do not have the staff they need.
I had a call from one  yesterday.
   "Cat, I am sorry to bother you but E... needs some shopping done. She says you did it once before and..."
I hate clothes shopping. I put it off as long as possible. Middle Cat claims it looks like that. A good many of my clothes have, over the years, been bought in the local charity shop. You can find perfectly good things there - some of them new.
Part of the problem of course is that I don't go to work. I work from home. I don't need to dress up. Once in a very long while I might need to go to a meeting or appear in court or something like that. I have suitable clothes for such occasions but I do not have many of them.
Now I had already been clothes shopping for the elderly on one occasion this last week. I had bought the Senior Cat two new flannelette shirts. It took me about five minutes to do that and I was out of the shop again.
This was a little more difficult. E... likes to look "nice" - and so she should. I was aware when I saw her just prior to the lock down that she would probably need a couple of things for winter. They need to be washable too. 
I remembered the shop I had last visited for her. It only sells that brand. I could not remember the size. I asked the nursing assistant who had phoned me to check because E...'s eyesight is not good enough to see the labels. I talked to E.... on the phone too and said I would see what I could do in the afternoon as I wanted to go to the "untidy shop".  Ah, if I was going there could I get her some more wool? She is knitting blanket squares. I told her I had a bag of yarn I had been given that she could use. Oh yes, that would be a good thing.  
When I had finished talking to her I started to revise my plans for the afternoon. It was then I had a thought. I sat down at the computer again and looked up the relevant brand on line. I could search by size. I took down some style numbers and the likely colours.  I phoned the shop. I explained the situation. Did they have? I waited while the very helpful woman at the other end had a look. They had one thing but not the other - and she had something else that was similar and might do. She would put them to one side.
I pedalled down to the untidy shop and bought what I needed. I added a couple of balls of yarn for E... that were "on special" and I went to the other shop.  There was nobody else in there. It had been very quiet. The assistant seemed pleased to have anyone at all come in. She showed me what she had put to one side. Yes, that was the right one and that should also do nicely. "And if they don't fit for some reason you can bring them back. Just keep the docket."
Even in the Age of Covid19 this was possible? 
How had I known what to ask for? She laughed when I told her I had looked it up online. 
I took E...'s shopping in on my way home.
    "Go down and see her. She's in the sun room. Just keep your distance."
I took the things in. E... was dozing. She looks much older. So did the other two residents. It has only been weeks.  I wonder how much use she will get out of what I bought for her. Does it matter?
    "Absolutely perfect. I'll look like the Queen," she told me.
Perhaps that is all that matters.

Abusing the vulnerable

is apparently seen as the price we need to pay in order to have some people living in their own homes or "in the community". 
It is now policy to keep the elderly in their own homes if at all possible. It is certainly where we want to keep the Senior Cat if at all possible even though it is becoming increasingly more demanding. 
The Senior Cat is intellectually alert. He can still make a phone call. He has an "alert" button.  I try not to leave the house for too long these days. If I do need to be out for any length of time I let Middle Cat know and she will check on him. If she is not available then I will tell neighbours that I will be away for several hours and one of them will usually "wander  in" to check.
I went and bought two new flannelette shirts for  him yesterday - because he needs them. (He said he didn't but he has no idea about clothes.) We want him to be as warm as possible in winter.
This morning I know what will happen. He will read a story in the paper and say how "lucky" he is.
It is the story of a severely disabled woman who died in horrific circumstances. She was supposed to be living in her own home in the community. According to the article she was confined to one chair in the living room. She ate there. She slept there. It was also a commode. She died with bed sores and multiple other problems.
At the same time she was supposed to be receiving six hours of care a day from people coming in to the house.
The case is now being "investigated".  One person is likely to be prosecuted. Perhaps someone else will also be prosecuted as a result. More likely it will be put down to a "failure of the system" and people will be reprimanded. There will be "changes" put in place. They may work in the favour of those being cared for - at least for a short while. What is more likely is that there will be more paper work in an attempt to cover up the shortcomings of a system which simply does not work.
You cannot really care for people cheaply. I know what the likely situation was with that woman. Someone would have been supposed to come in and get her out of bed in the morning. They would have been responsible for bathing her, dressing her and giving her breakfast.  Then they would leave her -  probably with the television set on. At lunchtime  the same person or someone else would have been expected  to return and  help her toilet and have something to eat before disappearing  again until the late afternoon.  They would then have been supposed to help her  toilet again, provide her with more to eat, change her  into her night wear and put her to bed. She would remain there, almost certainly alone, until someone came in next morning.  That is the reality of "care in the community". 
Several years back a friend phoned me and asked, "Cat,  can I come and see you? I need to talk to you about a problem. I can meet you in the shopping centre for a coffee."
P.... uses a wheelchair so I asked if his wife was bringing him.
No. R... was doing something for someone else. He'd get an access cab. 
I suggested it might be easier for me to come to him but he told me he had it "sorted" and he and R... both thought I needed to know something. Whatever it was he was anxious about it. I was not worried about his relationship with R...  It is strong and stable and they do a lot to help others. I knew it would not be a general issue. He would talk to me on the phone about anything like that.
We met and he told me that M...., a mutual friend, was being abused by his carers. I was shocked, certain he had to be wrong but he had the evidence. 
M..., who is now deceased, was a very intelligent and articulate man. He was one of those people I believed could take care of himself. He lived alone "in the community" with the help of his "carers".  He was not being physically abused but, unable to get to the bank alone and before the advent of internet banking, he had to rely on carers to do it. They were stealing from him. It would have been all too easy to do, especially with the way the system worked. M... was suspicious but it was not until R... saw one of his carers doing the shopping that she became aware of what was going on. The carer in question was being very clever indeed and buying what M... wanted or needed. Then there would be a second visit and another docket for "just a couple of things". It worked well until R... caught the carer buying something M... could not have used.
P... asked me how they could deal with the situation. 
It was not a simple matter of going to the police. M.... would still need physical help. 
The situation was sorted out in the end but M...'s confidence and trust in others he had thought were caring was shattered. He phoned me.
    "Cat, how could they? What did I ever do to them?"
They did it simply because they could. He did not need to "do" anything. It was simply enough for him to be himself - a very vulnerable person. "Living in the community" makes such abuse all too easy.
People said he was "unlucky" but that is not the case. He was abused because it was all too easy to abuse him. It is still happening. It will go on happening because people like M... are merely being "cared for", not "cared about".  
Middle Cat and I will tell the Senior Cat he is not "lucky". He is simply "loved".  

"What is 'normal' going to be like?"

someone queried  yesterday. For this man it was no idle question. He has had surgery for a brain tumour and the cancer has spread to other places. At  present he is still up and about. He goes out. (I saw him in the shopping centre.) He takes sensible precautions. His doctors have told him, "It could be six days, six weeks, six months or six years." He is aiming on six years. There are things he wants to do.
I thought of all this when I chatted briefly to him yesterday. It made me wonder what "normal" will be like. Things are not "normal" right now - whatever that word might mean.
I know some people think that, in a few months, people will be back at work and it "will all be over". The  forecast economic downturn will not have happened. People will be able to meet for coffee and go to the footy.
The footy is apparently so important that the two teams which play in the national competition are to move interstate for a while. The chief health officer here advised the government not to let these precious darlings play on a "FIFO"  (fly-in, fly-out) basis. No, they would have to self-quarantine like the rest of us if they wanted to travel across the border.  There are complaints of course. I agree with the good doctor. We are, at present, having a quiet period with no new cases being reported. That is not to say there are none. There will be some in winter -but perhaps we can contain the problem to a less stressful level.
I have done less than I hoped I would. Self-isolation, lock-down, quarantine - whatever you want to call it - has been as busy as
usual. I have  not cleared out the room I planned to clear out and another room is just as badly in need of it. There are still far too many weeds in the garden. I have not finished the book I was writing. I thought those things might happen when I could not take responsibility for the other activities I am involved in.
There are other things I am concerned about. I  phoned a friend yesterday  - just to check. She needs support. I hope other people are doing the same.  When we can have visitors again I will invite her over for a cuppa and she can look at what I have been slowly making. 
I don't know what "normal" will look like but I hope it might include seeing friends... some of them in far away places.

Climbing trees

is something all able children should be able to do - at least once in their lifetime.
Someone left a comment for me yesterday. In it she said one of the reasons she did not want to grow up was so that she could go on climbing trees.
I thought about this. Adults don't climb trees do they? At least, they don't climb trees for the sheer pleasure and challenge of doing so. They don't jump in puddles or avoid the cracks in the footpath either. If they see adults on the play equipment in the playground they think "how immature" and "they shouldn't be doing that". 
There are a lot of things you are not supposed to do simply because you are now a "grown up".
I often wonder whether the verger who performed the cartwheels down the main aisle of Westminster Abbey after the wedding of Prince William and Catherine was disciplined. I hope not. I think God would have thoroughly approved the verger's joy of the occasion and the successful conclusion of the ceremony.
I remember once reading a short piece by a man who went out into the night because he wanted to swing on the big swing in the park.  From his account he enjoyed doing it - but he felt he could not do it in the daylight because of what others might think.
As a kitten even I climbed trees. I never went too far up - my brother went higher than I did although never too high. As a four year old Middle Cat  once climbed up the back trellis and on to the roof of the house. Our Serbian neighbour at the time was hysterical.  Our mother simply stood there and told Middle Cat to get down "immediately". She came down - and was given the hairbrush treatment. (It didn't stop her climbing the trees at the far end of the garden.)
There was the boy at camp one summer who was born without arms -  they were simply short stumps. He climbed one of the trees on the campsite - having prudently arranged for his friends to "catch"  him if he fell. None of them could have caught  him as they were all more disabled than he was. He managed to get on to a branch and sat there grinning at me.
     "Well done," I told him, "It's lunch time."
He got himself down hanging like a monkey on one leg. 
I told Ivan Southall that story when he was talking to me about the book he wanted to write, "Let the Balloon Go". He asked a great many questions at that time and, apart from "Josh", it was the book he found the most difficult to write. Put simply it is a book about a boy climbing a tree and growing up and breaking away in the process. We agreed that there is something very important about climbing trees. Even "normal" people need to climb trees sometimes.
I wonder if,  in the current state of affairs, any adults have rediscovered the joy of climbing trees? Have they allowed their children to climb trees? 
We need trees to climb - and we need to plant them so we can climb.

Making bread

is an art and a science I suppose.
It is under discussion on two blogs written by knitters right now. Both of them mention "sourdough" and,  once again, I am contemplating whether I should try it again.  
I did try it once. The result was edible but not a great success.
The Senior Cat would like some "real sourdough". He has never forgotten the breakfast he had in California one morning.
I don't know where my parents were staying exactly but breakfast was not included. They went searching for breakfast and, being obviously "lost" tourists, someone asked them if they needed some help. The Senior Cat asked if their inquirer could point them in  the direction of breakfast which was not "that" fast food chain.
Their inquirer did better than that. He took them to a small cafe nearby, introduced them to the owner and also introduced them to the sourdough bread for which the cafe was well known. Then, in the way of such things, this man disappeared from their lives again. The Senior Cat has always wanted to repay the kindness but has tried to pay it forward instead.
But, sourdough? You need a good starter for sourdough. It does not work with dried yeast. A company here tried that. I tried the yeast and it was hopeless. The local company which claims to make sourdough bread has not got it right either. The taste is barely there - and the bread is far too expensive for more than a once in a very long while treat. 
I make other bread of course. As there are just two of us we don't eat a lot of bread and that is one problem with the idea of sourdough. How often would I use the "mother plant"?  Reading the other blogs though I am tempted to try again.
There is something about home baked bread though. You know what you have put into it and you can add things to the recipe. When Middle Cat and I went to the warehouse I bought pepitas and sunflower seeds, sesame seeds and poppy seeds. There was rye flour, oat flour and barley flour too - to be mixed with strong wheat flour. 
Bread is not "boring" it is fascinating. I like to observe it change from a sticky mess to something smooth as it gets kneaded. I like to watch it rise. I like to add ingredients to make a different flavour and texture. 
And, best of all, is the wonderful aroma that fills the house as it is baking.
I wonder how all those people who bought bread flour and bread mix at the beginning of the lockdown are getting on? Have they discovered the real pleasure of making bread for themselves?

I know some people enjoy their alcohol

but I am growing thoroughly alarmed at how it seems to be a central concern for so many.
There are suggestions in this morning's paper that some organisations will not survive without alcohol. I  find that extraordinary. Apparently buying a pie and a pint at the footy match is almost mandatory. It is how the club survives - or so they would have us believe.
Now it may be true. I have never been to a football match. I never want to go to one. It is of no interest to me whatsoever. I am not interested in sports at all - beyond a very mild interest in the psychological machinations behind the game of cricket. It would be good to think that clubs were not dependent on alcohol and poker machines. Perhaps if football was treated as a game rather than a business where the players command such high salaries it would be different?
Restaurants here have also been told that, subject to certain rules of "social distancing" they can reopen for no more than ten people - and no alcohol can be served. Apparently that is not good enough. You are not there to enjoy the food. It is the alcohol that matters. 
I see this right around me. I hear it right around me.
It is the word "alcohol" which seems to be so important. There are thousands of people whose very jobs depend on the consumption of alcohol. It worries me that there seems to be no alternative employment available for many of them.
Yes, I can see some of you jumping up and down and waiting to get your word in. Before you do let me say I do understand that some of you enjoy having a drink. For you, it's a pleasure. You don't overdo it. It's a way of relaxing at the end of the day - and also with family and friends.  If that is the way you feel then that's up to you. I might have joined you if alcohol didn't make me feel as if I was itching all over - a bit like being stung with nettles.
That is not what bothers me. It's the idea that you can't have a good time without alcohol and that alcohol is somehow essential to the survival of so much. I am all too aware of the way alcohol leads to many social, health and other problems.
It says something about our culture and the society in which we live - and I am not sure I like it.