Loneliness – Dear Dollie

It Doesn’t Make any Census to ME!

Posted on 9th Aug 2021 by Dollie Dogood

Will their be a Test on it Later?

***I first rattled off this post after the last Census in 2016; our first time doing it via the Interweb (don’t mention The War?) Thought I’d pop it up again just because… fingers crossed for tomorrow night, folks! xxx

**Couldn’t resist**.
(and you’re welcome, for the ear worm!)

This Tuesday 9^th August is Census night here in Australia.

The official ‘Counting of the People’ to find out what jobs we do, how many babies we’ve made since the last tot-up, the religion with which we devote ourselves to and in what language we prefer to speak it in.

But this year, thanks to timely advancements in technology – we get to do it ONLINE!

So, with the dinner mess and the children cleared away we make ourselves comfy. Plop onto our sofas, whip out our laptops to dutifully log on (as per instruction) only to learn… shock… horror… and disbelief as the entire Census website comes crashing down into a million pieces, shattering its techno-self all over our lounge room floors.

(Which is actually where we feel like chucking our computers right about now).

What?! Nooooo!

Oh, there’s rumours abound of dodgy ‘hackers’ infiltrating from overseas bandied about, or (depending on who you asked)… that the systems been shut down on purpose by the Statistics people – for security reasons and to ‘protect the data’ don’t you know.

Not helped by the PM who then appears on our TV screens saying how smoothly it was all going and how he filled in his Census in a matter of minutes, it was that darn easy-peasy, Census-squeezy.

Whatever the truth behind the debacle of Tuesday night (and do we really care?), I found it interesting to note (gotta love hindsight) that the majority of my elderly clients had no inkling of all the technological fuss and bother we’d just experienced.

BECAUSE THEY DID THEIRS ON PAPER!

Oblivious to all the IT angst we nifty younger folk were suckered into, the mature-ager instead if he or she so desired, got to ring up and order a nice smart printed version be mailed out to them in the post. Meaning they could settle in and complete their Census paperwork at the kitchen table with only a working ball-point pen (blue or black only, please) and hot cuppa to worry about.

Maybe a nice bit of ginger slice, for the real Census-ly committed?

**Have you tried turning it off and then back on again?**

In fact I’ve been visiting my client’s homes all week to find many of them still in Census-ing mode. Slapping down a tick here, a tick there – in between a trip to the shops or a scheduled medical appointment or getting their hair done. Then back to it they go over lunch, biro in hand…tickety, tick, TICK.

Because for some of my elderly beloveds, it’s a thrill just to have a small bit of purpose thrust into their fairly low-key lives. And by limiting themselves to just the one page of tantalising ticking per day, the truly Census-savvy can stretch out the excitement for at least a fortnight!

Amusing too, is the accompanying commentary they share with me. Reminds me how witty these playful pensioners with their wry senses of humour can be when they try:

“Gee, I had to think hard about some of these questions, Dollie. Makes you wonder how all the stupid people get on?”

“If not enough of us tick ‘Christian’, do you think they will end up cancelling Christmas?”

“Fictional nonsense, this Census business. I’ve bought my mother back alive twice over the last 20 years of doing this rubbish – and they haven’t picked me up on it yet!”

“Better get on with my ‘homework’ then, Dollie. I feel like I’m back at school! Do you think there will be a test on it later?”

“Charlie always loved a good Census… said it made him feel ‘Australian’! I toyed with including him in the numbers, I mean… they aren’t to know he’s sitting in an urn on the mantelpiece, are they?”

“Census? More like ‘Senseless’ if you ask me!”

Needless to say, we here at my house are still poised waiting to launch Operation Census online. Fortunately, they have informed us on the telly that we have until mid-September before they start dishing out fines for non-completion.

Perhaps, just to be safe, they should consider extending that ’til Christmas? Assuming we still have one that is…

Happy Caring!

Cheers, Dollie

Cranky Old Man – a poem

Posted on 20th Jul 201917th Feb 2020 by Dollie Dogood

What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?
What are you thinking .. . when you’re looking at me?
A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food .. . … . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . .’I do wish you’d try!’

Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . … lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking?. .Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .you’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he’ll meet.

A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me . . to see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more, .. …Babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future … . . . . I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.
It’s jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see.
Not a cranky old man .
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. …. . ME

– Originally ‘Crabbit Old Woman’ by Phyllis McCormack (1966); adapted by Dave Griffith

HAPPY CARING!

Cheers,
Dollie

Aged Care, Working with Elderly

When Old People Help Young People

Posted on 6th Jul 201917th Feb 2020 by Dollie Dogood

Can I Return Your Trolley For you, Dear?

As a rule, there’s not much in the way of kindness on offer in busy shopping centre carparks – especially from strangers performing the same tiresome routine as you.

Well today turned out to be my lucky-ducky-day!

Having pushed a way too over-loaded trolley out to my car (I detest the weekly supermarket battle but it’s just got to be done), I was puffing a bit and probably looked as hot and bothered as I felt.

Whilst then transferring the weighty grocery bags into my car boot, I remembered a couple of essentials I’d forgotten to buy (why didn’t I make a goddam list?) so my head was miles away when an older man with lush white beard and dainty gold spectacles appeared beside me asking if he could perhaps give me a hand?

Gesturing towards my now empty cart he smiled and said in a most gentlemanly voice, “Can I return that for you, dear?”

My initial reaction was to decline politely this neatly-dressed chap’s offer. For heaven’s sake, I was the carer who looked after elderly people – it should be ME offering to help HIM!

And he was clearly no spring chicken. Although still quite sprightly, his light-weight frame and obvious hip issue made him look far too frail to be flinging other people’s grocery carts about.

Not only that, but I had to go back into the shopping centre anyway, which meant walking directly past the Trolley Return bay. How easy-peasy it would be for me to whip my own cart (with it’s annoying dicky wheel) into the loading bay as I dashed by.

However, something in this earnest senior’s eyes made me zip my lip and realise that this was in fact, not about me.

Turns out that Ray (yes, we got chatting) was having his 90th birthday next week and he was really looking forward to the afternoon High Tea his family and friends (“the ones that haven’t dropped off, yet!”) were holding in his honour. He told me how he had never felt so good – perhaps he might even have a gin or two on the BIG DAY!

“Gee whiz, I’m excited to be alive, Dollie!”

Ray then went on to explain how having something to look forward to and feel special about, had made such a difference to his life. Especially after losing his wife Anne last year ‘to the Cancer’ had left him feeling lonely, depressed and quite lost.

Indeed, I recognised there was far more significance in allowing lovely, high-spirited Ray assist with my ridiculous supermarket trolley than there was in me trying to save time and supposed unnecessary fuss.

And it wasn’t because Ray just happened to be passing that he’d felt obliged to make the offer; nor because he thought I actually really needed any real help.

It was just because he could.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RAY!!!

Cheers,
Dollie