COOKIN' 'N' LOVIN' - OR THE OTHER WAY AROUND

Once again I find that some people regard my husband's and my intelligence as proportionally worse as his condition deteriorates. It's as if our IQ and the illness are connected - the more energetic he is the better his (and my) brain work apparently, and the sicker he gets, so do his (and my) mind. Apparently.

Well - it doesn't work like that. But it makes me wonder how Stephen Hawking must feel sometimes.

This is all about giving us practical advice that we by now have checked out a hundred times over. It's about telling us what to do to get our house sold. It's coming up with bright new ideas of how to handle our daily routines. Oh bingo! Why didn't I think of that?! (Irony). Believe me. I have thought of EVERYTHING. Called EVERYONE. Checked out EVERY single medicine, city council aid, carers, stairlift, wheelchair, handicap parking, subsidised taxis, levered beds, innovative ways of selling our house - you name it.

It's not that I don't appreciate good advice, far from it. It's the way it's presented to us, patronising, pathologising, making us seem childlike and incompetent. Having always been in control and on top of most things it also takes me by surprise. I'm just not used to being talked to this way!

 

The other day my brother Harald spotted a jumping trout in the stream that runs past our house. It pleased me immensely. Never saw one myself during the 31 years I've been living here.

When I went to my psychology sessions this spring I spent about one session ventilating this. The therapist said: "It's well meant and it's just a way of showing concern. It's difficult to find topics of conversation." Yes. I know. I realise this. But why isn't everyone like that then? By contrast my husband had a visitor this afternoon - a childhood friend he hadn't seen in a long time, who came by with beautiful roses and time to sit down for hours. They talked about old times, reminiscing about boyish pranks, exchanging stories of children and grandchildren. I cooked dinner while they talked. The atmosphere was languid and pleasant in this dark and rainy autumn day that went from afternoon to evening with warmly lit candles. Not once did he challenge my husband or me on practical topics - and he's a plumber and probably knows practical solutions better than anyone.

I'm tired and exhausted and oversensitive, I know. On Monday this week I went with best friend Grete to a talk on next-of-kin to cancer patients. The occasion was the 20th anniversary of Hospice Lovisenberg here in Oslo, and Grete has photographed for the brochures. Oh, the photos touch me! The colour of cobalt blue that runs through the photo series like a vibrant nerve. Incredibly beautiful and poignant.

The talk - two bereaved husbands who spoke about losing their loved ones to cancer - the panel of experts - the very experience of putting a name to sorrow and grief. Even the laughs in between. Everything just hooked me up because of the recognition. Well, it would have done at any rate. Afterwards we went up the road to visit a new flat! Grete's handsome youngest son William and his absolutely gorgeous and intelligent Italian fiancée Lisa, whom I loved from the first time I met her, have bought an amazing place just around the corner from where I had my own flat after having moved back to Oslo in 1980. Nostalgia too! And contrast again - moving quickly from talk of death to wonderful life. I love the spirit of my own children and the children of my friends. It makes me appreciate eternal continuity, and then there is that huge recognition again.

Home made tomato soup - the easiest there is

Slow cooked pork neck!

Slow cooked lamb shoulder   

I've had a week of terrific cooking. I love to cook according to season, and now is the time for lamb. Sorry, vegetarians! I have two of them in my own family! I made a fantastic discovery on Thursday. I've noticed that all my favourite chefs cook pork neck filet these days, and when I found this in my local supermarket there was no going back! Oh wow…. the best meal ever. I checked the internet for guidance, then made my own version. Recipe will follow. This is comfort food no end, I think I discovered the trendy dish of "pulled pork." 

We even managed a dinner party a week ago, with our closest friends. I cooked lamb of course. My husband was host - looking after everyone, in his usual cordial gentlemanly way.

Strange this. At the same time as mastering good cooking I've been down and despondent. Perhaps I'm becoming an expert on contrasts.

Or perhaps it's called survival.

New York 1958

 

This suddenly reminded me of a small chopping board  - bought in New York in 1958 - that my expert cook mother always hung up on the wall in any kitchen she had (and she had many):

"Kissin' don't last - cookin' do."

It challenged my understanding (and grammar) of English from the time I could read. Hah! And kissing. And cooking.