Italian Shows fascinate me. The older average looking male presenter is always accessorized with at least one “Velina” (Starlet). It seems the ambition of many an Italian girl to be the show’s eye candy poorly disguised as assistants. Ironically, it’s the foreign girl that has most success (for lack of a better word). And so Scandinavian Victoria Silvstedt’s perfect apple shaped bum regularly teases the audience in “Wheel of Fortune”as the camera shoots her, from a most compromising angle, twirling around in her undersized dress. She has big blond hair, big blue eyes, big pink lips, big bosom. In short, she’s big in all the “right” places squeezed into an XXXS dress. For one whole hour, this Beautiful Bodacious Blond Blue eyed Blow up Barbie, struts provocatively, on her very high heals, up and down the stage. As a kid, following Oma’s example, I would religiously watch “Wheel of Fortune” in the Netherlands. Massive cubes would light up each time a contestant guessed the right letter. An average to cute girl named Leontine or Wendy would walk towards these heavy blocs and flip them over thus revealing the letters. It always seemed that a fair degree of effort was needed in this operation and sometimes, if she didn’t push hard enough, she’d have to return as graciously as her eighties sparkling electric blue dress with huge shoulder pads would allow while the presenter made thinly veiled condescending remarks. Today Victoria ever so lightly touches the electronic screen to uncover the letters. She smiles and is completely impervious to the presenter’s lame chauvinistic jokes for the simple reason that she doesn’t understand a word he says.
The personal lives of these Velinas is a national pastime. One, my father unashamedly shares with millions of other Italians. His level of detail is impressive right down to whose boobs are real and whose aren’t. Victoria’s are, not surprisingly, fake.
Mara and Mom strongly disapprove while Dad and I enjoy the show in exaggeration. Dad guesses the sentences instantly and I get carried away cheering every time the contestants spin the wheel…
Our days go by tranquilly and Mar takes her job of eating and sleeping very seriously. At snail speed, she recovers from the chemo. She still suffers from nausea and lack of energy. She still hangs over her plate, forcing herself to eat and apologizing while her elbow rests on the table. She takes a few bites, nauseous, gets up and heads straight to bed for a “power nap”. In the beginning, unsure of how to behave, we watched her, puzzled, as she unexpectedly and wordlessly got up and hit the pillow. After literally 2-3 minutes, she dragged herself out of bed again and resumed eating. It’s almost funny. Now we reassure her: “Take all the time you need Mar. No hurry. Whenever you’re ready come back for a few more bites.” We also coax her to take walks. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. We all know not to push her. Mara does an excellent job and will not be pressured. She marches to her beat and to her beat alone. We learned since November to respect this and march right by her side.
Monday 22 June 2009
Friday 12 June 2009
Thu the 11th of Jun - The Good, the Great and the Fun
On Wednesday, very good friends of Mara’s (and now of mine) are in town. Pierre and Emilie come all the way from Martinique. They first travel to France and from there over the Alps to Italy. Pierre’s father, Mr Robin, pilots his own little plane and so, very much in style, they land with “Air Robin” in Perugia’s airport. They’re here for 2 days.
Pierre and Mara’s friendship takes them back to Venezuela where, as teenagers, they went to school together. He’s a little younger than Mara who to this day still calls him “mon petit Pierre”. He’s very bright and an extremely gifted story teller. He crafts his stories so wittily, acts out the different characters, builds up the suspense, engages his audience and inevitably has us bent double with laughter at the end of all his hilarious adventures. This is exactly what the Doctor prescribes and conveniently, Pierre just happens to be one. His wife, Emilie, compliments him perfectly. She’s absolutely lovely, caring and just as fun to be around.
They both have medical backgrounds and have closely followed Mar’s health Pericles. She’s been looking forward to their visit for weeks but as excited as she is, she may not feel fit enough to see them, let alone spend time with them. Pierre and Emilie understand and are very willing to take the risk. They expect to see a tired, weak, emaciated Mara. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, a perky, upbeat, lively Mara welcomes them. For a minute, I worry she is over-exerting herself but then I realize 3 key events took place in the last 2 days.
Firstly, the results of the chemo treatment are positive. With fewer than 5% of leukemic blasts, Mara is in remission! RELIEF!
Secondly, she received over a liter in blood transfusion. Her body desperately needed this pick-me-upper and practically drank it in one gulp. Enough to give anyone an energy booster.
Finally, seeing very good friends always gives the extra and final adrenaline rush.
Pierre, like Mara, is a great fountain of useless information. When spotting a squirrel he asks: “Did you know they have very short memories? They always forget where they hide their nuts. It works out because they end up finding other squirrels’ hidden nuts.” Mara points out the communist principle behind this. We conclude that we are surrounded by forgetful communist squirrels.
On Friday, Mara will even be released from the hospital for two whole weeks. There is one worry casting a shadow over our celebration. Her liver shows very high levels of toxicity. The doctors decide to push out the transplant from the 20th of June to a week to 10 days later thus allowing these levels to naturally drop. I give a positive spin to this situation. I thank her liver for giving us more time to fatten her up and to strengthen her spirit before Round 5 of WrestleChemoMania starts: "Mighty Mara" vs "Nukem Leukem". Ding. Ding. Ding.
After Emilie, Pierre and his parents leave, I accompany Mara to the hospital for her last evening before her 2 week luxury “holiday”. Every evening, a nurse, either Paolo, Mauro or Michele hooks her back up to her drip. Every evening, Mar’s standard greeting is “Take all your time, I’m in no hurry to be hooked up”. Tonight is no exception.
Pierre and Mara’s friendship takes them back to Venezuela where, as teenagers, they went to school together. He’s a little younger than Mara who to this day still calls him “mon petit Pierre”. He’s very bright and an extremely gifted story teller. He crafts his stories so wittily, acts out the different characters, builds up the suspense, engages his audience and inevitably has us bent double with laughter at the end of all his hilarious adventures. This is exactly what the Doctor prescribes and conveniently, Pierre just happens to be one. His wife, Emilie, compliments him perfectly. She’s absolutely lovely, caring and just as fun to be around.
They both have medical backgrounds and have closely followed Mar’s health Pericles. She’s been looking forward to their visit for weeks but as excited as she is, she may not feel fit enough to see them, let alone spend time with them. Pierre and Emilie understand and are very willing to take the risk. They expect to see a tired, weak, emaciated Mara. Instead, to everyone’s surprise, a perky, upbeat, lively Mara welcomes them. For a minute, I worry she is over-exerting herself but then I realize 3 key events took place in the last 2 days.
Firstly, the results of the chemo treatment are positive. With fewer than 5% of leukemic blasts, Mara is in remission! RELIEF!
Secondly, she received over a liter in blood transfusion. Her body desperately needed this pick-me-upper and practically drank it in one gulp. Enough to give anyone an energy booster.
Finally, seeing very good friends always gives the extra and final adrenaline rush.
Pierre, like Mara, is a great fountain of useless information. When spotting a squirrel he asks: “Did you know they have very short memories? They always forget where they hide their nuts. It works out because they end up finding other squirrels’ hidden nuts.” Mara points out the communist principle behind this. We conclude that we are surrounded by forgetful communist squirrels.
On Friday, Mara will even be released from the hospital for two whole weeks. There is one worry casting a shadow over our celebration. Her liver shows very high levels of toxicity. The doctors decide to push out the transplant from the 20th of June to a week to 10 days later thus allowing these levels to naturally drop. I give a positive spin to this situation. I thank her liver for giving us more time to fatten her up and to strengthen her spirit before Round 5 of WrestleChemoMania starts: "Mighty Mara" vs "Nukem Leukem". Ding. Ding. Ding.
After Emilie, Pierre and his parents leave, I accompany Mara to the hospital for her last evening before her 2 week luxury “holiday”. Every evening, a nurse, either Paolo, Mauro or Michele hooks her back up to her drip. Every evening, Mar’s standard greeting is “Take all your time, I’m in no hurry to be hooked up”. Tonight is no exception.
Tuesday 9 June 2009
Tue the 9th of Jun – John McCain
On Monday morning, Mara had another biopsy. Another chunk of bone extracted, another bone marrow puncture. Never pleasant. The first time back in Amsterdam, before the deed, Mara found a way to summon her courage: “Paul, did you know that John McCain was a prisoner of war in Vietnam and tortured for years before being released. If he bore the suffering for so long then surely a little puncture can’t be that bad”. Ever since, before a biopsy or a puncture, I say: “Mar, think of John McCain.”The results will be shared with us in the coming days. I’m nervous and keep telling myself to think of the bigger picture. Let go of the fear. Mara will get her transplant. She will overcome this. She will live a full and happy and healthy life. For this reason alone, the results will be positive.
Every evening, back in the hospital, Mara finds little gifts hidden under her sheets. Somehow, they always come in pairs. Letters. We both get so very excited. Mara always shares and hands me one envelope while she rips open the other. We read out loud, exchange the cards and thoroughly examine both content and design. This mail brightens the dreaded moment of returning to the hospital. We forgot how much fun it is to receive real mail!
Dearest Friends. THANK YOU FOR YOUR LETTERS, CARDS, PHOTOS, STATUES. They are amazing. Please continue to send them. Mar (and I) get so much pleasure in receiving them. She’s out of touch with her “other world” and misses listening/reading what goes on in her friends’ lives. If you’re willing to be old fashioned and willing to cramp the muscles in your hand, then grab a pen, and write her a letter or a card or add pictures. She loves it!
As a reminder, the address:
D. Rossini C/o Osp. S.M. Della Misericordia Reparto Ematologia / Degenza (Cam. 9) 06132 S. Sisto - Perugia - Italia
Mon the 8th of Jun – A day in the life of…
Mom is always the first to wake up. Every morning, she opens the door that gives onto the outdoor hallway/balcony onto the trees and the hills. She reminds me of a more exotic, slightly older, Julie Andrews almost singing “the hills are alive…” Almost. Thankfully she doesn’t burst into song. Rather, our Early Bird enjoys the musical symphony of all the other birds. Even in their feathered community, there are always a few Lead Singers trying to outdo each other with the most original tunes. Competition is fierce! They could not have found, in my Mother, a more appreciative audience. A pregnant cat very quickly understands this is the place to be for a good meal. To be clear, it’s not the birds she preys on…At least not the ones in the trees. It’s our very own Early Big Bird that caught her hungry eye. The expectant (in more ways than one) mother sits in front of our netted open door looking like a gigantic tea cozy. Mom already anticipated and sent Dad to buy cat food days ago. While Dad indulges, he thinks the animal just found the biggest sucker on the premises. So what. It makes both Moms happy and him, the loving sucker by association.
Dad gets out of bed a little later. After a very healthy breakfast (he’s Mar’s Champagne) he’s on the move. There always seems to be something that urgently needs to be bought. Sometimes I even wonder if he “conveniently” forgets things just to go out again. Trust me, his forgetfulness has nothing to do with age. As long as I can remember this has been his way. Our kitchen cupboards are always extremely well stocked. In the unlikely event of a natural disaster imprisoning us in our apartment, a week could easily go by and whoever freed us would find a crazed, cabin fevered but otherwise very well fed family.
I’m the last of the Rossini Bunch to wake up. I make my way to the Chianelli Residence by 8.30 - 9am each morning. They have a wireless network and I get some work done before Mara texts me to pick her up between 10 and 12pm. In her eagerness to leave, she sometimes sends for me too early and I end up waiting while the medical staff busies itself with its daily Mara routine. An entire delegation of doctors visits Mara each day. There are at least 3 of them, sometimes up to 5 squeezed into her tiny room (standing next to Minnie Mouse). Professor Martelli usually leads the party. Just as the doctors may not understand Mar’s humour, at times, she is uncomprehending of theirs. The Professor explains that the transplant process should commence on the 20th of Jun. They will start her off with a little radiation first. He won’t be here that week and hopes not to find her burnt when he returns. The rest of the team chuckles. Mar’s big eyes grow even bigger. Another doctor adds: “Yes Professor, you’ll find her very well seasoned”. This triggers another collective giggle. Mar’s huge eyes are about to pop out of their sockets…One of the doctors touches her cheek. The other pats her head. Another gives her a hug. “Signorina Domenica, aren’t we just a lame bunch?” She smiles unconvincingly.
We slowly walk back to the apartment. She’s still very tired. We usually stop at the bar for a slice of pizza and a cappuccino (for me). Her appetite, like Britney Spears, is working hard on making a come back. Mara really does her best to eat. Every day she weighs herself twice, in the morning and the evening. Every kilo counts. She still yoyos between 48 and 50 kg and understands that her condition must be good to take on the next round of chemo/radio. A couple of times, she also measures her height. As if, by eating, she could actually also grow a centimeter or so. “Paul, did you know that certain Yoga stretching exercises can actually extend your height by at least 1 centimeter?” I did. There. Another bit of useless information.
Lunch is carefully and lovingly prepared by Mom. It’s a warm meal designed to fatten Mar up in the healthiest way. She is so tired she heavily leans with her arm and elbow on the table. Every time, she apologizes in advance. My sister is so well behaved!
Afterwards, almost squinting with exhaustion, she stumbles into bed, finally reunited with Herald, her fluffy mate. I clear the table and Mom washes up. I sit on the bed next to Mara and draft a few work emails to be sent later. Once Mara’s asleep, the three of us tip toe around and make ourselves scarce. Mom and Dad are off to run errands and I go back to work at the Chianelli Residence.
By now, the Chianelly staff knows me well. I look so very busy and important with my super smart headset and my ability to laboriously and blindly type away. Somehow there is an air of seriousness about me and I think they may be treating me with a respect that isn’t entirely deserved. I make little effort to dispel any misconception they may have of my incredibly high powered job…
Occasionally I am lured into the kitchen for some fresh fruit and pastries. Giliola generously calls everyone “Amore” (love). The accent is on the very long “oooooo”. Otherwise it’s “Tesoro” (treasure). I start calling people “Caro” or “Cara” (Dear). I also catch myself sprinkling my conversation with “Con la grazia di Dio” (God Willing) or “Mama Mia” (no translation needed) to some of my new Italian friends. It’s catchy. It rolls so very easily on the tong and is always spoken in a singsongy way. I then also bring my palms together and shake my clasped hands in a back and forward motion…
Around 5 or 6pm, I return home and accompany Mar back to the hospital. I stay with her until around 9pm. Dad insists for me to leave the hospital while it’s still light outside. The first nights I make it home 5 minutes before dark. Dad is happy but would be even happier if I returned earlier. In his cryptic way, he makes his point: “Paul, in the North Pole it’s light 6 months a year, does that mean you’d be home in 6 months?”
After dinner, Mom goes for a walk. Sometimes I tag along. From morning concert to evening spectacle, Mom makes it just in time for the light show starring hundreds of dragonflies flickering away in the night.
Dad gets out of bed a little later. After a very healthy breakfast (he’s Mar’s Champagne) he’s on the move. There always seems to be something that urgently needs to be bought. Sometimes I even wonder if he “conveniently” forgets things just to go out again. Trust me, his forgetfulness has nothing to do with age. As long as I can remember this has been his way. Our kitchen cupboards are always extremely well stocked. In the unlikely event of a natural disaster imprisoning us in our apartment, a week could easily go by and whoever freed us would find a crazed, cabin fevered but otherwise very well fed family.
I’m the last of the Rossini Bunch to wake up. I make my way to the Chianelli Residence by 8.30 - 9am each morning. They have a wireless network and I get some work done before Mara texts me to pick her up between 10 and 12pm. In her eagerness to leave, she sometimes sends for me too early and I end up waiting while the medical staff busies itself with its daily Mara routine. An entire delegation of doctors visits Mara each day. There are at least 3 of them, sometimes up to 5 squeezed into her tiny room (standing next to Minnie Mouse). Professor Martelli usually leads the party. Just as the doctors may not understand Mar’s humour, at times, she is uncomprehending of theirs. The Professor explains that the transplant process should commence on the 20th of Jun. They will start her off with a little radiation first. He won’t be here that week and hopes not to find her burnt when he returns. The rest of the team chuckles. Mar’s big eyes grow even bigger. Another doctor adds: “Yes Professor, you’ll find her very well seasoned”. This triggers another collective giggle. Mar’s huge eyes are about to pop out of their sockets…One of the doctors touches her cheek. The other pats her head. Another gives her a hug. “Signorina Domenica, aren’t we just a lame bunch?” She smiles unconvincingly.
We slowly walk back to the apartment. She’s still very tired. We usually stop at the bar for a slice of pizza and a cappuccino (for me). Her appetite, like Britney Spears, is working hard on making a come back. Mara really does her best to eat. Every day she weighs herself twice, in the morning and the evening. Every kilo counts. She still yoyos between 48 and 50 kg and understands that her condition must be good to take on the next round of chemo/radio. A couple of times, she also measures her height. As if, by eating, she could actually also grow a centimeter or so. “Paul, did you know that certain Yoga stretching exercises can actually extend your height by at least 1 centimeter?” I did. There. Another bit of useless information.
Lunch is carefully and lovingly prepared by Mom. It’s a warm meal designed to fatten Mar up in the healthiest way. She is so tired she heavily leans with her arm and elbow on the table. Every time, she apologizes in advance. My sister is so well behaved!
Afterwards, almost squinting with exhaustion, she stumbles into bed, finally reunited with Herald, her fluffy mate. I clear the table and Mom washes up. I sit on the bed next to Mara and draft a few work emails to be sent later. Once Mara’s asleep, the three of us tip toe around and make ourselves scarce. Mom and Dad are off to run errands and I go back to work at the Chianelli Residence.
By now, the Chianelly staff knows me well. I look so very busy and important with my super smart headset and my ability to laboriously and blindly type away. Somehow there is an air of seriousness about me and I think they may be treating me with a respect that isn’t entirely deserved. I make little effort to dispel any misconception they may have of my incredibly high powered job…
Occasionally I am lured into the kitchen for some fresh fruit and pastries. Giliola generously calls everyone “Amore” (love). The accent is on the very long “oooooo”. Otherwise it’s “Tesoro” (treasure). I start calling people “Caro” or “Cara” (Dear). I also catch myself sprinkling my conversation with “Con la grazia di Dio” (God Willing) or “Mama Mia” (no translation needed) to some of my new Italian friends. It’s catchy. It rolls so very easily on the tong and is always spoken in a singsongy way. I then also bring my palms together and shake my clasped hands in a back and forward motion…
Around 5 or 6pm, I return home and accompany Mar back to the hospital. I stay with her until around 9pm. Dad insists for me to leave the hospital while it’s still light outside. The first nights I make it home 5 minutes before dark. Dad is happy but would be even happier if I returned earlier. In his cryptic way, he makes his point: “Paul, in the North Pole it’s light 6 months a year, does that mean you’d be home in 6 months?”
After dinner, Mom goes for a walk. Sometimes I tag along. From morning concert to evening spectacle, Mom makes it just in time for the light show starring hundreds of dragonflies flickering away in the night.
Wednesday 3 June 2009
Tue the 2nd of Jun – Hello Trees
On Saturday, Mara ventures out of the hospital for the day. No, she did not escape through the window dangling from her drip. And no, she didn’t bribe any of the nurses to help her break out. She is legitimately released and expected back at 7pm sharp. Her cough and nausea have subsided and her appetite peaks out of its hiding ever so timidly. Her first steps are very unstable and shaky. She can hardly stand, heavily leaning against anyone or anything and needs to rest every 2 minutes. By the time she reaches the apartment, she is out of breath and shocked at how drained she is of energy. She eats a few bites of spaghetti and crashes in bed for a long nap before returning to the hospital.
This exercise repeats itself in the coming days. Very slowly Mar starts to feel less dazed. This morning I pick her up. At turtle speed, arm in arm, we walk from the hospital to the apartment. It’s a sunny Tuesday morning with a mild wind sweeping through the trees. Mara marvels at the beauty of every little detail. She basks in the sun and feels the cool breeze gently kissing her face. She savors the moment. We pass through a path bordered by very fragrant herbs made of thyme, rosemary and lavender. Dad, walking behind us, helps himself to some sprigs of rosemary for tonight’s stew. They grow in abundance on these hills. Even through her mask, Mara greedily draws in the aromatic perfumes of these surroundings. It all seems so new to her or maybe having been denied for so long, she just experiences every moment with renewed intensity and complete happiness.
She eats a little and sleeps a lot. At this steady pace, she will soon be discharged all together from the hospital for a couple of weeks. After that she will undergo another bone marrow puncture. We will then find out if this chemo treatment had the desired effect. It will. It will. It will.
One of the Doctors said “piano piano ci arriviamo”( slowly slowly we’ll get there). I like the simplicity of this mantra.. May it be so.
This exercise repeats itself in the coming days. Very slowly Mar starts to feel less dazed. This morning I pick her up. At turtle speed, arm in arm, we walk from the hospital to the apartment. It’s a sunny Tuesday morning with a mild wind sweeping through the trees. Mara marvels at the beauty of every little detail. She basks in the sun and feels the cool breeze gently kissing her face. She savors the moment. We pass through a path bordered by very fragrant herbs made of thyme, rosemary and lavender. Dad, walking behind us, helps himself to some sprigs of rosemary for tonight’s stew. They grow in abundance on these hills. Even through her mask, Mara greedily draws in the aromatic perfumes of these surroundings. It all seems so new to her or maybe having been denied for so long, she just experiences every moment with renewed intensity and complete happiness.
She eats a little and sleeps a lot. At this steady pace, she will soon be discharged all together from the hospital for a couple of weeks. After that she will undergo another bone marrow puncture. We will then find out if this chemo treatment had the desired effect. It will. It will. It will.
One of the Doctors said “piano piano ci arriviamo”( slowly slowly we’ll get there). I like the simplicity of this mantra.. May it be so.
Sat the 30th of May – Oma Part II
After painful negotiations, Oma and I agree on the terms of our already precarious “truce”. She has her own cleaning lady that comes every Wednesday. It’s the same one that has been coming for the last 30 years (she is close to 70 years old!). The idea is to give Oma extra help with groceries, cleaning the bird cages, the kitty litter, and other similar chores. Thanks to my friend Demmy, I am introduced to her young cleaning ladies. They are aware of my situation, seem competent and welcome the extra work. One of them, Zeny, will supplement for no more than 2 hours each Saturday upon Oma’s specific request. This is the compromise she reluctantly accepts and now we are left with the final “detail” of introducing Zeny to her…
Little do I know that this old lady has a few more tricks up her sleeve and has not yet even started to flex her muscles. My cunning adversary has the advantage of a lifetime of experience in being a royal pain in the a**. She is very well seasoned in the art of arguing and mystifying her opponents. When Zeny and I arrive, Oma hardly if icily acknowledges her. We follow her into the living room where she majestically sits on her throne and suspiciously eyes this “new comer”. She doesn’t even offer her a seat and I awkwardly take on the role of hostess. We may have different opinions but, at the very least, I expect Oma or anyone for that matter, regardless of race, culture and age to be courteous to any guest in his/her home. Zeny takes all this in calmly and quietly. She doesn’t seem phased and I am grateful.
Oma re-negotiates the conditions. Not once, not twice, but several times! Her strategy is simple and effective: like a jellyfish stinging and paralysing its prey, she numbs me into total confusion. First, she changes her mind about having Zeny come on Saturdays. “No, I don’t want her then (she addresses me and ignores Zeny). I only want her over when Mrs Oetelmans (after 30 years she is not on first name basis with her regular cleaning lady) goes on holiday at the end of the month. Also, I want her for 2 hours but may need her for 3. Ask her if she can be available” This entirely defeats the purpose. “Oma, once isn’t enough. You need extra help. Do you understand that you will be on your own?” After I sound like a broken record, Oma proposes Wednesdays and Fridays. Last time we spoke, she didn’t want these days because she found the period in between too short. I point this out to her. All this while, we don’t even consult Zeny. Finally Oma settles on Tuesdays and Fridays. This is her final decision. Unfortunately, this conflicts with Zeny’s own schedule and she will need to check. In Oma’s busy social calendar, there is no flexibility for any other days. Oma refuses to ask her own cleaning lady to come any other day and so we’re back to Wednesdays.
Oma skillfully makes me run around in a circle at the end of which I find myself exactly where I started…Check Mate!
Gradually, Oma’s coldness melts away and she starts talking normally to Zeny. Of course, the whole honesty, fairness, hardworking code of conduct speech is given. Zeny patiently listens and short of a bible being shoved under her hand, she solemnly swears to do her best in upholding Oma’s high standards.
Little do I know that this old lady has a few more tricks up her sleeve and has not yet even started to flex her muscles. My cunning adversary has the advantage of a lifetime of experience in being a royal pain in the a**. She is very well seasoned in the art of arguing and mystifying her opponents. When Zeny and I arrive, Oma hardly if icily acknowledges her. We follow her into the living room where she majestically sits on her throne and suspiciously eyes this “new comer”. She doesn’t even offer her a seat and I awkwardly take on the role of hostess. We may have different opinions but, at the very least, I expect Oma or anyone for that matter, regardless of race, culture and age to be courteous to any guest in his/her home. Zeny takes all this in calmly and quietly. She doesn’t seem phased and I am grateful.
Oma re-negotiates the conditions. Not once, not twice, but several times! Her strategy is simple and effective: like a jellyfish stinging and paralysing its prey, she numbs me into total confusion. First, she changes her mind about having Zeny come on Saturdays. “No, I don’t want her then (she addresses me and ignores Zeny). I only want her over when Mrs Oetelmans (after 30 years she is not on first name basis with her regular cleaning lady) goes on holiday at the end of the month. Also, I want her for 2 hours but may need her for 3. Ask her if she can be available” This entirely defeats the purpose. “Oma, once isn’t enough. You need extra help. Do you understand that you will be on your own?” After I sound like a broken record, Oma proposes Wednesdays and Fridays. Last time we spoke, she didn’t want these days because she found the period in between too short. I point this out to her. All this while, we don’t even consult Zeny. Finally Oma settles on Tuesdays and Fridays. This is her final decision. Unfortunately, this conflicts with Zeny’s own schedule and she will need to check. In Oma’s busy social calendar, there is no flexibility for any other days. Oma refuses to ask her own cleaning lady to come any other day and so we’re back to Wednesdays.
Oma skillfully makes me run around in a circle at the end of which I find myself exactly where I started…Check Mate!
Gradually, Oma’s coldness melts away and she starts talking normally to Zeny. Of course, the whole honesty, fairness, hardworking code of conduct speech is given. Zeny patiently listens and short of a bible being shoved under her hand, she solemnly swears to do her best in upholding Oma’s high standards.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
