Getting old

I plan on growing old disgracefully.


I plan on growing old disgracefully.


I plan on growing old disgracefully.


I plan on growing old disgracefully.


I plan on growing old disgracefully.


Madeleine Hicks
Sunday, 11 September 2005

This is fun. You write some silly stuff and the next thing you know your friends are being just as silly.

Here's Ken's comments:






Thanks Ken.
Thursday 15 September 2005

WINTER IN CANADA

 

I was looking through my photos to remind myself of what it was like to grow up in Canada and the winters. Funnily enough, there are very few photos taken outside in winter.

 
Memories:

 I wear glasses and have since the age of 9. Glasses are much more sophisticated now than they were when I first started wearing them. Metal glasses. Blizzard. Not a good combination. I remember one blizzard, walking home from school (high school) and having to take my glasses off because they were burning my face. Problem is, what with poor vision and a blizzard, I couldn’t see where I was going, so my girlfriend had to lead me.

 Digging out paths. Must have happened, but I don’t remember this. I do remember the snow blowers. They would drive along the road and blow the snow into big mounds on the side of the road. Great places to play for kids. Problem was when the snow started to melt, kids would be playing in their snow cubbies and get buried.

 High school. Walking back and forth to school. Frost bite. Ouch!! So cold. One day, about grade 7, it was so cold my mother made me wear slacks to school. I got teased all day about wearing my pyjama bottoms to school. Total humiliation.

 Sometimes the snow drifts were bigger than me.

 Christmas day. My sister’s mini. Driving, I don’t know where. About age 19 (she would have been about 22). Another blizzard. The mini was so close to the ground it worked like a snow plough and just pushed the snow in front of it. We had to get out every few minutes to dig the car out of the snow. Would have been quicker to walk. But, hey. We were young. It was kind of fun.

 The boys throwing snowballs from the roof of a building near school. It wasn’t ladylike to throw snowballs. Girls were supposed to just scream and throw their hands up in the air.

 But also the incredible beauty of unsullied snow. Not that we saw much of it in the city, but drive out of the city, the sun shining. Skiing with my friends. Skating around the rink across the road from my school. On my 40^th birthday, I was living in Goulburn in NSW, and friends got together and gave me a snow holiday as a present. I could still ski. Even at 40, not having been on skis for 20 years, I was kicked out of the beginners class cause I was too good. Now how’s that for a pat on the back.

 

Madeleine Hicks

Monday, 17 October 2005

It’s funny how voices from the past come up and talk to you in the here and now. I was in the shop yesterday and when the cashier asked me if I wanted any cash out I said “Nope”. I could hear my mother’s voice saying: Now, that’s not very polite, Madeleine. Say “thank you”. Today when I was starting the washing, I was, shock, horror, putting the whites in with the darks. Now that is almost criminal!! I could hear my ex-sister-in-laws voice saying: “Now, Madeleine. You KNOW you DON’T put the dark washing in with the white!!”

I know in psychological terms this is called “transference”. The voice from my mother and my ex-sister-in-law (and others in my life) and their rules and regulations are still there in the background of my life. What I like is my response: the little Child inside me responded to the mother’s voice and said: “I’m gonna do it my way. Things are different now. Colours don’t run like they used to. The rule about putting darks in with coloureds no longer has any validity. I’m gonna put them all in together”.

It’s funny how words from the past become, over time, rules and regulations today. It reminds me of the story of the woman who always cut off the end of her roast before she put it in the oven. Someone asked her one day, "why do you cut off the end of your roasts". She replied: "My mother always did. I don't know why." This woman asked her mother, “why do you cut the end off your roasts before you put them in the oven?”. Her mother replied: “Because my mother did”. So the two women went to the grandmother and asked: “Why do you cut the end off your roast before you put it in the oven?”. The grandmother replied: “Because when I was first married, my roasting pan was too small, so I cut off the end off to make it fit. I’ve just kept doing it.”

Usually there is a practical reason for old rules and regulations. Like the one about not putting your dark coloured clothes in with your whites. Because at the time I am talking about we did not have colour fast colours and many colours would run. Hence the white shirt that came out pink. Nowadays, this does not happen as much so that rule becomes less valid.

The rule of politeness I believe is still valid. However, my comment to the cashier was said politely, in a bit of a joking manner, and appeared to be taken in the way it was given. Simply a statement with no emotive undertones. I find that people say thank you and sorry for all sorts of things which I don’t think need them. When you turn a corner and you and someone else almost bump shopping trolleys. One or other will say “Sorry”. Why?? What have you done wrong. Nothing. You weren’t whizzing around the shop. You and the other person were simply in the same space at the same time. So why apologise?

I remember one from my ex-mother-in-law. When I first came to Australia, I had never seen a hoist. She taught me that your undergarments should go on the inside lines so the neighbours didn’t see them. So I followed that rule for years. It also makes a bit of sense cause the lines inside are smaller for smaller clothes. Suddenly I realised that what we see, on a daily basis, on television and in magazines is a lot more out in the open than my bloody knickers on my clothes hoist in my back garden. And if someone has a problem with my knickers on my line – then don’t bloody look !!!!!

As a young mother and wife, I used to have a lot of trouble with my style (or lack of) of housekeeping. Now we are talking over 30 years ago and things have really changed since then. I just don’t seem to be able to get up the energy to keep a tidy house. I am a slob as far as housework is concerned. I hate it!! I can’t see the point in it. I can hear my ex-mother-in-laws voice: “If you just kept it up on a day to day basis, you wouldn’t have this rush around when anyone came to visit. Just do it daily and it won’t get out of control”.

Somehow that never seems to work for me. I always seem to find something more interesting to do. Like write, visit friends, read a book, play with my miniatures, take the dawg for a walk, important stuff like that. I’m also very good at rationalising. For instance: you only do the dishes when you run out because you are saving water, using less soaps and cleansers and therefore looking after the environment. Not a bad rationalisation if I do say so myself. I am doing washing right now, should I leave the red top and the purple track suit top alone in the washing basket simply because the rest of the wash is light coloured. Certainly not. I’m not going to do another load with just 2 bits in it and I want it out of the way. So the two coloured tops go in with the knickers and bras.

So the dishes get done when I’ve got nothing eat off. The clothes get washed when I run out. The house gets tidied when I can’t stand it any longer and get sick of tripping over things. The animal fur sits in the corner waiting for the wind to blow it away. And guess what?

People still talk to me. They still like me. They don’t care what my house looks like. They don’t care that my knickers are on the outside of the line. Funny that!!

Madeleine Hicks

Sunday, 16 October 2005

22 October 1987

Susan is sleeping quietly. Too quietly. I stand in her darkened room and wait until she moves. Some nights, I will quietly touch her or kiss her to make her move.

I used to do this with both the kids when they were babies. I think most mothers do. But normally it doesn't last until the child is almost 9 years old. By then you know your child is o.k. I don't. You see Susan has Down's Syndrome. So what you say. Agreed. But with Susan, she also has a serious heart defect, which is affecting her lungs. Susan may live 5 years, she may live 10 years, she could die tomorrow, or tonight in her sleep. This is why I like to see her move.

I don't mind that she has Down's Syndrome. If she didn't, she wouldn't be our Susan. She is a lovely little person. She is cheerful, mischievous, naughty, loving and my daughter.

One day we went to MacDonald's for tea. It was a Saturday late afternoon, and the playground was filled with children. She ran from the car, inside, through the building, and out to the playground to play with all these lovely pink kids. By the time she got there, the joy had gone from her little face. She was blue and breathless, and couldn't really understand why. All she wanted was a cuddle and reassurance.

Why??

She is starting to understand that she is not like other children. Not that she learns slower, but that she can't play as they do. Sometimes she looks at me as if to say

Why??

We went to the beach one weekend. All that lovely sand and waves. She ran to the waves. One of them hit her little fat tummy. OOOh, that was cold, big deep breath. Oblivion. Only momentary. But imagine not even being able to take a deep breath when cold water hits your little fat tummy without passing out.

Why??

My older boy plays hockey. At a match, Susan was playing with some other little girls much the same age. Playing ball. Susan sitting down and catching. Expecting the other girls to fetch the ball when she misses it. She knows she will get tired if she goes to get it all the time. Tears. The girls don't want to play any longer. They don't like to have to go and get the ball when Susan misses it. They won't play any longer, Mommy

Why??

Going places, we borrow a big stroller from her school. People look at this big child being pushed around in the stroller. Specially when she gets out every so often to do something, to touch something, to be a little girl. She doesn't notice the funny looks - yet. Soon she will.

Why??

She has so much love to offer, so much friendliness. She may not be very clever. She may not learn as quickly as you or I. But she is incapable of being nasty, or scheming. She has, to use an old fashioned term "purity". Why can't she have life too?

Why??

Madeleine Schaschke (Hicks)

I have only just started to realise just how much writing I have done over the years. Much of it has been like this next one - written to get things off my chest. This one was, must to my delight and surprise was published (twice!!). It was written in 1982.

I called it:


On the surface, we look like a typical Australian family - one mother, one father, one son, one daughter, one high-set Queensland house, two cars, one dishwasher, one automatic washing machine, one Hills hoist.

So let’s look a little closer. Father doesn’t go to work regularly in the morning and come home same time very evening. Sometimes, he is home for days working in and around the house and garden; sometimes he is out for days on end coming home only to eat and sleep. He has his own business and works when the work is there to be done. The children love having daddy home at odd times. Most children only see dad weekends (if they’re lucky).

Let’s look at son Mark. He is a fairly average 8 ½ year old. He runs and shouts; he laughs and cries. He is a beautiful person. He brings flowering weeds in pots cause mom likes flowers. He grows peas and carrots and forgets to water them. He collects frogs, toads, spiders and all sorts of lovely creatures who are not invited into the house. But he wonders why his sister has to be different.
“She’ll go to my school, won’t she, mom?” “No, son, probably not”.
“She’ll get married and have babies, won’t she, mom?” “No, son, probably not”.

How do you explain to a child his sister will probably never grow up, will never go to his school, never hold a job, never do the things the average 8 years old expects from his sister. Things that are very important to an 8 year old boy.

What abut the mother? She feels sometimes she could work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and still never get caught up with all that needs doing. All the extra training required to help teach a “special” child the basics of life - walking, talking, counting, colours, numbers, letters. The depression when she fails, the happiness when she succeeds. The boredom of repeating, repeating, over and over again. And repeating it again until the lesson is finally learned. The heartbreak of watching a sick child come home from hospital and having to relearn things cause each illness puts the child back, both physically and mentally. But then there is the joy when the task if finally learned - truly learned.

And last, but not least, the daughter, Susan, aged 3 1/2. . Why is she so different, so special? She was born with Down’s Syndrome. Sometime, shortly after conception she acquired on extra chromosome, so she has 47 instead of 46 like most of us. She looks different, she learns slowly, she has physical problems - a major heart defect which slows her down physically, a lazy eye which may or may not affect her sight, and possible hearing problems.

But, we are one of the lucky families. Susan is bright and happy and will eventually learn all she needs to know to get along in this big world - it will just take time, patience and lots of love. And everything she learns is exciting. When she finally crawled, every person we met, every visitor to the house had to see what Susie could do. It was the same when she walked, and now every new word is repeated to anyone who will listen.

But for the first twelve months we did not consider ourselves lucky. We had a very sick baby on our hands, and at five weeks old, she was admitted to hospital in “heart failure”. This was when we discovered that Susan, besides being intellectually handicapped, had a major heart defect !

This was just the start. At 7 weeks, after being home for three days, she was back in hospital with gastroenteritis. Recovering from that took a while. At three months old, she was still doing nothing - she could not even hold her head up. Then started the busy life, physiotherapy for as long each day as she could handle it. And gradually she started to do things. She lifted up her head, and then she rolled over. It took me a week to teach her to sit herself up. But one day, she did it, all by herself. At 1 ½ she finally started to crawl. At 2 ½ she walked. It was late, but she finally proved to us that Susan would eventually learn to do everything she needed to. It will take her longer than most children, but she will learn.

The end of the world has not arrived as we thought when she was born.. She is an outgoing, beautiful little person. Everyone sho meets her loves our little Susan. She has been (and will continue to be) a lot of work, a lot of worry, but so much more laughter and love and kisses.

Madeleine Schaschke (Hicks)
1982