Report of 21 March 2014
Good morning from our room with a beautiful view -
Clouds are gathering and we are hopeful of rain. The city faces a water shortage.
How the chest can hurt, eh. It happens when I am driving, or seeing patients, or now. We know little about the flight MH 370 and my thoughts turn there often. Our friend's husband and daughter are holding up; the situation must be as wrenching for them. If not more.
My only cousin on my Dad's side passed away on Sunday. He was 59, no age to die. I went to Coimbatore after the funeral and saw his wife. She is a lovely person; grieving with her and talking of our common relative was therapeutic.
Work has been good. There is a patient, one of our residential clients at Kovalam, who gives massages, apparently. It's an Indian-style massage, with pressing of the limbs and back. She had pressed my arms one day and then asked for money. While I do not really need a massage at work, I had let her massage and then given her Rs. 10. She bounded in again on Monday and - viscerally feeling the need for human contact - I took a break and got a massage. It was nice; press, press, press; feel the grief ooze out; revel in work, life. I gave her the usual Rs. 10 and she left after tying it in one corner of her dupatta (shawl). Several minutes later, she came back in; we were flooded with patients by this time and I thought to decline her repeat massage, but she opened her hands - full of sweets - and gave me one. I nearly wept: this lady had no money other than the Rs. 10 I'd given her and what did she think to do with it - buy sweets that she would then share.
Life is mysterious, but overall nice.
The boys are well and busy with their respective activities. I spend much more conscious time with Scott now: we used to hang out and I'd be zoned out, or reading, or looking at others. Now I talk more to him, listen, share time. All very precious.
Unw -
R
Clouds are gathering and we are hopeful of rain. The city faces a water shortage.
How the chest can hurt, eh. It happens when I am driving, or seeing patients, or now. We know little about the flight MH 370 and my thoughts turn there often. Our friend's husband and daughter are holding up; the situation must be as wrenching for them. If not more.
My only cousin on my Dad's side passed away on Sunday. He was 59, no age to die. I went to Coimbatore after the funeral and saw his wife. She is a lovely person; grieving with her and talking of our common relative was therapeutic.
Work has been good. There is a patient, one of our residential clients at Kovalam, who gives massages, apparently. It's an Indian-style massage, with pressing of the limbs and back. She had pressed my arms one day and then asked for money. While I do not really need a massage at work, I had let her massage and then given her Rs. 10. She bounded in again on Monday and - viscerally feeling the need for human contact - I took a break and got a massage. It was nice; press, press, press; feel the grief ooze out; revel in work, life. I gave her the usual Rs. 10 and she left after tying it in one corner of her dupatta (shawl). Several minutes later, she came back in; we were flooded with patients by this time and I thought to decline her repeat massage, but she opened her hands - full of sweets - and gave me one. I nearly wept: this lady had no money other than the Rs. 10 I'd given her and what did she think to do with it - buy sweets that she would then share.
Life is mysterious, but overall nice.
The boys are well and busy with their respective activities. I spend much more conscious time with Scott now: we used to hang out and I'd be zoned out, or reading, or looking at others. Now I talk more to him, listen, share time. All very precious.
Unw -
R
posted by Renu Weiss at
8:17 PM
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