Random thoughts for the day and things to remember
I was listening to a podcast today; Lionel Shriver was talking about her book 'We Need to Talk About Kevin'. She mentioned the Tinkerbell effect which essentially means if enough people believe in something it becomes true. I really like that idea.
Damn, our server just went down and I lost several paragraphs of deep and meaning full thoughts and observations. Well maybe not, but it means I have to remember what I just wrote which is never easy.
I was thinking that as I had written recently about Tressy and Saturn that maybe I should try to write an essay incorporating each of the planets, incorporating poor old Pluto.
I am now paranoid and have decided to save after each paragraph.
What else had I written? It was something about my ongoing disappointment when I ask my mum a question about the past and she has no memory of it whatsoever. She did remember Shane chewing up my doll but that was about it. Nothing about her making the dress and trimming it with the fur. This has happened several times now. For example, when I was young an elderly man stood each day by the railway station and talked to me on my way home from junior school. He was really nice although definitely a bit shabby. I mentioned it to my mum and dad and the next thing I knew there were two men in our front room wanting to ask me all sorts of questions about him. I felt very guilty for having mentioned him but I was too young to know why. Yet when I mentioned this to my mum a few months back she remembered nothing of the event. Yet I can still remember being scared of the policemen and feeling bad that I may have got the shabby man into trouble. I never saw him again. My mum not remembering such an important event makes me wonder if I inveted him, although I am sure I didn't.
Its a shame I don't get on with my sister. There are so many questions I would like to ask her about her memories/remembrance of the past but I know what will happen and, on some level, quite rightly/understandably. Events remembered by us both will be viewed from very different perspectives. The fact that she was a seriously ill child who could not do the things I did will skew her perspective. From my last trip to see her I know she really dislikes me and still carries a lot of hate and blame. Baggage I suppose it is called, which she cannot let go of. Yes, I know I was a horrid sister, but then siblings often are horrid to one another. She remembers all the times my friends and I ran away from her and she could not keep up but she forgets that these really were my friends because they did not know her as she so rately was allowed out to play, and I wanted them for myself (I had little self-confidence and the thought that something was mine was important to me) although I still had that guilt. Whether it was of being mean to my sister or just of the thought that I may get into big trouble if she told my mum and dad I am not sure. I will ahve to think of that some more. Anyway, she conventiently forgets that, because of her illness, she got comics, grapes and other treats that were denied me. Children can be barbarians, I was a jealous barbarian. The awful wheezing that accompanied her asthma attacks and the horrid itch flaking, red, dry scaly skin that was produced by her severe excma, did make me feel sorry for her at times but I think I was more prone to think myself lucky that it wasn't me. I thought she was lucky going on a bus to a special school and 'Open Air' school where all she seemed to do all day was play with sand and talk about gerbils. I never realised that she hated being lumped in with chldren with terrible deformities, frequent fitting, brittle boned and wheelchair bound.
As an adult I do have periods of hating myself for my intense dislike of my sister, but even if she had been perfectly happy I do not think we would have had a good relationship. I hardly remember us playing and enjoying our time together. Perhaps it never happened, perhaps I have just forgotton as my mum has forgotten so many bits and pieces of our lives. I wonder if she remember's more about my sister's childhood than my own, purely because she had to spend so much more time and worry so much more about her that she ever did with me. I was allowed to roam free whereas my sister was constantly wrapped in cotton wool in those first years. She always looked like death. All her school photos are awful, and I feel bad thinking of them. At the time Ijust wondered why mum spent hard earned money on them. I didn't think things through. I didn't realise that mum wanted to hold on to anything she could.
Apparently the doctors told mum and dad that my sister's illness was so bad that she was unlikely to reach the age of 7. then, once 7 was attained, 14 was the magic number. How wonderful therefore when a new asthma drug was trialled and my sister was one of the luck guinnea pigs. Amost overnight her life was transformed.
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