Darnell strikes a low blow

‘Millions of women have bladder leaks let’s talk about it’, proclaimed a leaflet dropped through my mum’s letterbox this week. Strangely, despite being 89 my mum’s bladder control is phenomenal.  Better in fact, much better than mine.  Mine has a strange mind of its own.

I can walk 3 to 4 hours everywhere around this town and its surroundings with no problem. But as I near the street where we live, my bladder seems to get overexcited. “Steady on”, I tell it. I have noticed that in one’s 60s you begin to address organs and limbs and even other parts of your anatomy as if they are separate entities. I reckon it’s because they tend to play up in unexpected ways on the quality of life. This gives them a sort of character of their own. My knee for example will suddenly dislike steep or downwards slopes.  The pain generated feels as if the knee doesn’t like such slopes and this capricious nature gives it a particular identity of its own.  

My bladder also has a sense of humour. I used to think of it as being darn right malicious but I’ve grown to realise it just has an incredible sense of humour. This means at certain critical points when it is not possible or inappropriate to use a bathroom, at a wedding or funeral service or when being examined in a doctor’s surgery etc my bladder will signal a sudden need.  I call my bladder Darnell because in part I used to say to myself at such times “Darn it!”  The darn grew into a Darnell because something that could be both overexcited and yet so playfully humorous deserved a name.   

This process of addressing body parts continues apace with age until even inanimate objects seem to acquire a personality of their own. A dear aunt of mine comes down into her own kitchen every morning and asks “Where are you, kettle?” She has my sympathy I already have a strange ability to make inanimate objects disappear, such as keys phones etc but as yet I refuse to address them.  Give it another decade and I can imagine quite nasty conversations with these perverse objects which hide so effectively. 

Where was I? Oh yes, my bladder. When I am a good 10 minutes from my destination my bladder begins to sense relief is coming soon and gets over-excited. I usually sit on a small wall and pretend to tie my shoelaces telling my bladder firmly we are not home yet only close! On bad days I feel all my neighbours are noticing my predicament and on good days I don’t care. Given my mum’s camel-like ability to store water for long periods I was perplexed when she produced free coupons for discrete bladder leak pants and pads for me to get while doing the weekly shop. When I asked why she wanted them she shrugged and pointed out that they were free as if we would be fools not to use these freebies popped through our letterbox. The fact they were unneeded did not matter. Reluctantly I found myself in Tesco’s looking at shelf after shelf of bladder protection products trying to identify the brand that corresponded to the coupon in my hand. It was all too confusing so I asked a staff member who was stacking shelves nearby. She suggested ones that seemed to correspond to my coupon and I threw them into my shopping basket with all the other purchases. 

It was only when I reach the checkout and handed through all the groceries that I came upon the bladder protection stuff and remembered my voucher and held it up. The cashier said she wasn’t sure the voucher corresponded to that particular pack. She told me to wait a minute and shouted over to a colleague a few rows away, "Deidre, are these the bladder protection pads that match the coupons?” Deidre couldn’t make out the details of the coupon from that distance and told her many customers to wait while she came over to inspect first the coupon and then the pads. At least two queues of shoppers were now paying close attention to our goings-on. Deirdre frowned confused, “I’m not sure, I made a mistake earlier on and handed out the wrong pads to a customer. Let me call Dave the manager!” 

This whole affair was rapidly turning into a circus. Red-haired Dave arrived but seemed reluctant to tackle this incontinence problem. He explained to the cashiers, “Actually I’m due my break now, let me get Richard”. His voice boomed out “Richard, Richard!” towards a dark-haired man with greasy hair at the back of the store near the freezers. “Richard, can you come and sort out incontinence pads for this lady?” This particular lady wanted to hide under her trolley at this stage but there was no escape. I suggested to the cashier closest to me, “Never mind, leave it.” But she explained she’d already scanned in the pads.  Richard arrived looking worried and announced to both tellers in a concerned voice “I don’t know much about incontinence stuff”. I said “Look, it’s okay I don’t want it anymore.” The teller explained sulkily to the manager, “I’ve already entered the coupon and pads in the system we just need to find the right bladder protection thing it refers to". Fearing Richard would head off looking for more brands and wanting this whole affair over I repeated more firmly, “I don’t want it anymore, I just want to pay for the groceries.” Richard looked relieved and said “Sure, but we just need to remove the voucher and pads from the receipt.” He told a teller to give me the receipt and then said “You just need to go to customer services and they will remove the item and settle the balance.” He smiled relieved the whole thing was no longer a problem needing to be solved.  He accompanied me part of the way to the customer service desk near the door and then stopped and said in a loud voice, “Daphne, could you help this lady!”  

To be honest I wanted to hug this greasy Richard. By this stage, I felt sure he would mention bladder control to this part of the supermarket too.  After all, at this end, there was a whole other audience that didn’t know I was trying to get a product for a leaky bladder. Daphne was suitably helpful and quickly removed the item from my receipt and prepared to give me the money in exchange.  She whispered across the counter to me that many women had found it impossible to find the right product matching the coupon sent out.  That made me feel much better and I began to relax, I smiled and explained my mother was particularly keen on using all coupons that provided free goods.  Daphne, responded, “I know, if there is a coupon available my mum is exactly the same and gets it even if it is something she never eats!”  We both laughed and to be honest I was feeling much better as I awaited the change she was taking out of the till.  

But Darnell would have the last laugh, at that precise moment she struck and I had to take my change and rush into the nearby toilet beside the customer service.  When I emerged from the facility Daphne said nothing but there was a rueful expression on her face that had a small smirk to it.  I could be wrong, I know I am super sensitive, my mother points this out on a daily basis, but I have taken to avoiding Tesco’s for a while.   Even free coupons can cause humiliation to this soul!  

Last Word on Wood

Tree saves 150 People from death

Trees sometimes save lives. Take for example a large 300-year-old tamarind tree in the grounds of the Osmania General Hospital in Hyderabad, India.  In 1908 there was a devastating flood in the town when the Musi river rose 16 feet in 3 hours.  The resulting flood eventually caused around 15,000 deaths, destroyed more than 19,000 homes and made one-quarter of the entire city’s population homeless.  A famous Urdu poet, Amjad Hyderabadi, saved his life by hanging on to the branches of the large tamarind tree in the hospital grounds. Amjad lost his mother, wife and daughter who were drowned in the deluge. He was one of 150 people who managed to survive by clinging to this particular tree for two days.  It still stands to this day and its role in saving so many lives is still celebrated annually.

Some trees are just so historic and productive. 

The oldest known olive tree in the world is found in Crete, Greece. This ancient Olive Tree of Vouves (Elia Vouvon) still produces olives. There are only seven olive trees in the Mediterranean which are thought to be over 2,000 years old. Although the exact age of the Olive Tree of Vouves cannot be verified, scientists from the University of Crete have estimated it to be 4,000 years old! Branches from this tree were used to weave victors' wreaths for the winners of the 2004 Athens Olympics and the 2008 Beijing Olympics.  The use of an olive branch to symbolize peace is even earlier than ancient Greek mythology as it had already appeared centuries earlier in Ancient Egypt as a symbol of peace. It also has its place in the Old Testament of the Bible.  It was an olive branch (or leaf, depending on the translation) which was brought back to Noah by a dove to demonstrate that the flood was over (Book of Genesis, 8:11).  So, it has been a positive symbol of peace in many cultures for many millennia.

The oldest Individual Trees of All

Two of the oldest trees in the world are the Great Basin bristlecone pine (5,062 years old) and Methuselah (4,845 years old), both of which are from the same species and live in California’s White Mountains.  Sad note: there was an even older specimen however in 1964, a certain Donal Rusk Currey killed it. To this day, there has still never been an older tree discovered. Basically, Currey got his tree corer so stuck in the tree that it wouldn’t come out.  An unwitting park ranger helped him by cutting the tree down, to free the instrument, and later Currey began to count the tree rings. Eventually, he realised to his horror that the tree he had just felled was greater than 5,000 years old – the oldest living tree ever recorded.  It is no wonder that the location of these old trees in California is kept secret to protect them!  There is something horrific about killing a majestic living organism that existed before the pyramids were even built.

Trees also warn their neighbours

When a giraffe eats an acacia tree the leaves of the tree being eaten emit ethylene gas to warn other trees. This gas triggers them to pump tannins into their own leaves.  This toxin can kill large herbivores and serves to protect the nearby acacia trees. 

Trees keep injured neighbour alive!

In New Zealand, there is a kauri tree stump (Agathis australis) that should be dead. However, it is very much alive due to the root systems of surrounding trees.  These have kept the stump on life support by sharing water and nutrients.

Scientists have long suspected such sharing networks exist but proving such resource transfers take place has been difficult.   Researchers found the stump in a rainforest in the Waitakere Ranges on New Zealand’s North Island. Even though the stump was missing branches and leaves it was very much alive. They found that the surrounding kauri trees were supplying the stump with a lifeline of sap and water through their roots connecting with the stump roots.  Many trees – nearly 150 species-form roots with other trees of the same species to exchange water and nutrients. Foresters have reported living stumps as far back as the 1800s, but this is one of the first studies of how they survive.

The finding adds to a growing understanding that trees and other organisms can work together for the benefit of a forest.  Given that trees do it, surely, we humans need to learn from them!
Read more: https://www.newscientist.com/article/2211209-tree-stumps-that-should-be-dead-can-be-kept-alive-by-nearby-trees/#ixzz6Q2T2LQB5

Making clones to live longer!

When we talk about age and allow clones to be included, then all the above-mentioned trees are mere youngsters. Pando is a clonal colony of an individual male quaking aspen determined to be a single living organism by identical genetic markers and assumed to have one massive underground root system. It is found in Fishlake National Forest in south-central Utah, United States. The root system of Pando, at an estimated 80,000 years old, is among the oldest known living organisms we know.

Sadly, Pando is currently thought to be dying. Though the exact reasons are not known, it is thought to be a combination of factors.  It has stopped growing for the last 30-40 years and a study in October 2018 concluded that human interference was named as the primary cause of its demise.  I don’t know why this seems so horrific but it does.  The world's most massive and oldest organism is being killed and we seem to be responsible.

Conclusion 

I suspect like me you have a growing respect for trees and a growing suspicion we should learn from them and certainly stop destroying these precious lungs of our planet.  Their contribution to neighbourhoods around them and their very presence on this planet over the millennium has always served to enrich and beautify.  Would that we could aspire to follow their example.  Our connection to this natural world is a reality that we must respect and preserve not abuse.

"..ye walk on My earth complacent and self-satisfied, heedless that My earth is weary of you.."

The Hidden Words, Bahá’u’lláh

Hug the important stuff to you and cut out the rest

I am just back home in Malta from a three week visit to Northern Ireland. Apart from the luxury of soaking up my mum's company and seeing friends and family including my two grandchildren there was much to appreciate. Usually, I would dwell on the disasters of the trip, of which there were a few, but I will close the veil over those and speak only of positives.

I visited an elderly friend of my mother's, Jean. She has just been given the diagnosis of terminal cancer so it was with some trepidation we approached the neat bungalow in Portrush. When we were ushered into the bedroom we were startled to find a smiling radiant Jean sitting up in her bed on oxygen and weak but full of joy. She greeted us both with outstretched arms and hugged us  close. After asking about our family she explained how she come to terms with death. She had done everything, lived a full life and was happy to end the show. Talking about her funeral she explained she didn't want some clergyman wittering on about how she was a good wife, mother or grandmother. So she was getting the music ready and picking poetry she liked and was hoping her grandchildren would be willing to read on the day. Laughter was quick to bubble to the surface and Jean beamed her goodwill around the room. At one point, she pulled down the bed covers and showed us her swollen pregnant looking stomach. “I'm calling him Elijah”,  she laughed pointing at the growing belly. We left her bedside blown away by her courage, radiance and her ability to shower love even at this time. Such people raise the bar of what it is to be human and I wish all of us knew more about these gems rather than the doubtful specimens that stride down corridors of power in this country. Nobility is so far from what we have grown to expect.

My mother, in her eighties, was full of gusto and energy as usual despite two broken toes. Keeping her home and garden immaculate. Weeding out with unforgiving remorselessness dirt, untidiness creases, dust and disorder. When she turns that glance upon me she notices the haircut I administered to myself with a large pair of kitchen scissors. Also, the fact that I had resown my size 16 pair of trousers to accommodate a recent loss of weight. Not being a dressmaker I had simply taken the same kitchen scissors (aforementioned) and sliced off a corridor of material from the inside legs all the way around. Then, on resewing by hand (in large and irregular stitches) I somehow created an unsightly bunch of material at the crotch. It was not a good look, for any woman, as it appeared as if I'd suddenly grown testicles but no penis in my mid 50s.   My mother notices too much and set about bullying me into improvement. Later, with a proper haircut, her size 12 trousers and a comfortable pair of shoes from her wardrobe I am transformed like her house and the garden. Then, each night we played sudoko with an intensity of competition seasoned athletes could not match. The winner gloats with satisfaction and the loser complains about distractions like visitors /TV or a phone call. 

My Mum and Northern Ireland people in general are always concerned what others think of them. They're convinced the populace is taking notes on all their misdemeanours. Neighbours may well have a telescopic lens trained on your front windows. This phenomenon of course is not limited to Northern Ireland. In the north of Greece my friend lived in a remote village where the neighbours took note of how often you washed your bed sheets. The lack of crisp clean sheets regularly blowing in the wind would be discussed with forensic intensity by the women of the village. I take after my father not my mother in such things and have fond memories of my dad, who cared little for the public’s opinion, opening the front door of the bungalow completely nude (just out of the shower) apart from a small hand towel strategically placed. 

I returned to Malta after midnight a couple of days ago and fell eventually into a fitful sleep. The flat is very noisy and creaks and I require darkness to sleep properly. However, I'm unused to the emptiness and so kept my bedside light on. As my grandson Charlie so eloquently declared when put to bed,  “Charlie doesn't like the dark.”  I love the way he always talks of himself in the third person.  Not having slept well I rose to a flat devoid of food. Accustomed to breakfast in bed, a dreadful habit, I decided to go shopping in my pyjamas in the neighbouring supermarket. I just put extra layers on top and bought all the food I needed. Then, got back into bed and resumed my normal breakfast routine. Now, I'm sure there were people who noticed my state of dress, bed hair disarray and panda eyes but fortunately I did not notice them! 

Something however I did notice this visit to NI was how old I have become. I cannot tell you how shocked I was by my mother’s magnifying mirror on her bathroom window ledge in Northern Ireland. There, for the first time in four years, in blistering sunlight I could see my wrinkles and hair growing everywhere it shouldn't particularly in places were really there seems no actual need for it. I mean nose hair serves a useful purpose but why should it proceed to grow excessively outside the nostrils like an overgrown hedge? In addition, because I've lost weight my face looks like a half deflated balloon and as if to take pride in its sprouting set of nostrils my nose has taken up immense proportions dominating my face in a fashion I neither recognise nor appreciate. But I'm being too negative. I’m mobile, I have loved ones and I am loved. There are times in your life you just hug the important stuff to your chest and take the kitchen scissors to the rest.

PS I have just realised that my interpretation of concentrating on the positive seems to consist of death, dying and the disintegration of old age with hair and wrinkles thrown in…sigh...

"Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while a great wind carries me across the sky."  Native American Saying