Seems that the official winter solstice is tomorrow.
Elder son, educated by TV chefs has promised to cook dinner for us and wait around for the Able and Cole delivery, whilst we do the Stonehenge winter solstice social.
Meanwhile...I can confirm- surprise surprise- that shopping in real space is far more expensive than virtual! But excess is a part of Christmas and it makes up for the fact that we don't have a tree.
We would have a tree if we had more space, rather than drum kits, and a forest to get a tree from.
Getting a tree from Wilco's is not particularly in keeping with bringing home the everlasting zoe, life-force; it certainly isn't Green-man.
Too deciduous, a trail of tree-needles all the way back home
There is a vase of Christmas lights in the kitchen though.
Husband went to visit his parents this afternoon. Came back with the photo albums of his childhood: holiday and Christmas snaps.
Apparently the back bedroom is finally empty.
Whoopy doo.
At the house, the council had a hole cut in the floor- tis the new thing now...from the bedroom above the living room. Still absurdly ridiculous, even if mother-in-law could use the platform thing (and she can't for what ever reason!) she isn't allowed to because downstairs is a bit of a mess and has been for three weeks or more.
Let's forget about the steps up to the house that make escape impossible.
The real problem is the power dynamic.
So when I say 'not allowed' to decide when she uses the life, I mean she wont argue her case.
I have absolutely no idea why she doesn't just take to screaming.
I remember getting so angry at what I knew was going to happen (that she would become confined to her room) and in-laws not able to understand at all why I was so upset (their words not mine). I still shudder at the thought of being looked after by someone who cares so much that he has to do all the work, has to be on call 24/7 and therefore has to decide all the rules.
If it were me I'd be trying to find a way to drop help-me messages out of the window, practise attaching sticks or cutlery to my fingers to make them rigid enough to operate buttons- other than the tv remote...and then start screaming until I was sectioned!
Sectioned would mean conversation with other people, insane is better than apparently sane, and somewhere else is a change of scenery!
So what is the moral or at least ethical way to deal with this?
The fact that I was angry and told them what was going to happen makes me feel a little less guilty. But of course I feel guilty...can't see any way around this at all.
