I sent my father a Father´s Day message yesterday. It was pretty generic, as I am not particularly close to him. He is 85 now, and over the past few years, I have seen him soften as a person, or as soft as he can be for his generation, his Australians, and as the son of German immigrants. He is in good health. He is an avid gardener, skier, fisherman, and hunter. He has his sight, and he is agile in body and mind. I hope to age like him, but it takes a healthy lifestyle and good genes.
At the beginning of the month, he went to his home country to visit my aunt, his sister, because she has cervical cancer that has spread to her liver and is no longer treatable; she had a stroke that made her go blind. It is probably his last trip to Australia and the last time he will see his sister alive and in person.
He replied to my message telling me thank you but sent an unusually long message about my stepsister, who is in intensive care due to COPD, on a ventilator, and his wife, who is in the throes of dementia. He said he had always imagined his old age would be better and different than it was. I guess he means that he is the caretaker now rather than being cared for, and I imagine it must be a significant change for a man of his demographic. And yet, he is still planning to go to some farout place in Manitoba for ten days on a fishing trip.
My dad and I mostly keep up with each other through gardening. Food gardens have always been a part of my life. My mum and dad were both raised on farms in Bundaberg, and their families grew their own food, and they imported that to our suburban home when they moved to the United States. At one point, we even had geese when I was pretty young, at about five or six. But I remember them. I remember being told not to treat them as pets, but I did. I love animals. I would collect snails in the garden and give them to the geese. One day, my dad made my mother lock us inside and close all the blinds, and the geese were no longer there just before Christmas. I cried and cried, but I don´t think I made the connection of what was on the table to those geese until I was much older. I wonder if our neighbors thought we were white trash hillbilles? Luckily, there was no HOA at that time or in that neighborhood.
It´s interesting and sad to think about last times. We celebrate first crawl, first steps, graduation, entering adulthood, first job, etc, but do we really think about the last time we will do something or see someone? One day, I will make my last trip to San Diego to care for my mum.
My dogs and cats are the lights of my life. Benny Boo Boo´s tumor grows rapidly, and I know that very soon, I will have my last morning with him, he´ll eat his last hot dog. Benny Boo Boo and Chardonnay have shifted to staying at home; there are no more long walks for them. And I can´t remember when they joined me on a late afternoon walk through the vineyards. I didn´t note the last time because I did not think it would be the last time.
My life is in a sort of limbo because of my mum and my elderly dogs, especially Benny. I have told my sister that I won´t be visiting California while he is in palliative care. I know to some, he might be just a dog, but for me, he is my companion and friend. I once staged myself giving birth to him, so I always say he is my first true-born son, while the others are adopted. Is it excessive? Sure. I don´t really care. I found him and his brothers discarded in a dumpster, and he was slashed up and sick. I promised to give him the best life, and I think I have. Including holidays. And now, it is my great honor to care for him before he transitions, to give back a tiny percentage of the love and joy he has given me in his 16 years.
I can´t say it hasn´t been stressful. I feel torn between two places. Every time the phone rings, my heart skips a beat because I fear the worst, that my mother has taken a turn for the worse or has passed away; my dad calls me to tell me my stepsister did not make it, or to let me know my aunt is gone. I even worry about my mum´s 18-year-old cat. I feel obligated to her, and I hope I can be the one to accompany her when it is time to say goodbye because my mother cannot. Her dementia has made her sort of a joyous child. She doesn´t remember anything short-term, and I have noticed that his ability to express empathy has waned as it has worsened. She is still here, though; she knows us and can speak for hours about the past, but she cannot understand what just passed two minutes ago.
It feels like little deaths with her. Even five years ago, I could call her and have a conversation about life, and she was someone I could rely on and ask things from as a mother. Not anymore. My sister and I only have each other, and that is a blessing. But I don´t really have a mother anymore. I have my mum, but she is not capable of being a mother anymore. We have to be the proactive ones for her; we have to be her advocates.
All of this has taken a toll on my health. Over the past three months, I have had one of the worst Crohn´s disease flare-ups I have had in about fifteen years. There have been decent days and terrible days that have made me question my purpose in life, thinking if I have to live in this much pain, is it worth it? Is death a liberation? After all, I´d be dead, but those who care about me would have to deal with the aftermath. One day, either I will die, and Ettore will be the one left behind, or he will die, and I will be the one left behind. I always wish for the former because I don´t want to deal with Italian bureaucracy. One day, I will have my last visit to San Diego, and therefore, the last time I will see my sister, niece, nephew, and whatever close friends I am still in contact with.
I have had to stop working, so I am home. I haven´t left the house except to go to the farmer´s market since May 5th, when I organized a winery visit for Women Who Wine. There are days I haven´t been able to get out of bed because I can´t even turn in bed. Pain management options in Italy are lacking, and they leave me feeling exhausted. Three months of constant diarrhea and blood loss have made me depleted, arthritic, and too thin.
It´s a lot of time to think. Sometimes, I veg out and watch reality TV, and I read quite a bit. I deactivated social media for my mental health. Seeing people living their curated IG lives makes me feel like a worthless piece of shit because I can´t do much. But also, being homebound, seeing endless wars and genocide, and not being able to demonstrate or join an organization has been difficult. I want to participate in the world and make a difference somehow, but maybe it is narcissistic of me to think I can, and in any case, it isn´t possible for me at the moment.
So, this past week, I have focused on breathing and gratitude. It seems corny, but if I focus on abundance, it really helps me relieve stress. For example, I realized I was fortunate in my convalescence. I am home and can care for Benny and Tullio (our 17-year-old Yorkie who is always on the verge). Like people, elderly animals need extra care. I can provide that. I´m not in the thick of hordes of tourists in Rome. That´s a blessing. We expect the first heatwave this week with temperatures into the 40s C/100sF. It´s June. Not July. It is one of the earliest on record. When I am not bedridden, I can care for the garden, which requires work despite my Fuokuoka do-nothing style. Right now, it is thriving. We have about fifty tomato plants, some from seeds I saved and some from nurseries. Loads of eggplant, green beans, potatoes, pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins, Different kinds of chili peppers, friggitelli (I don´t know the translation for these), zucchini, onions, okra, wildflowers, sunflowers, corn, and my solstice garlic is ready to be harvested on my birthday, June 21st.
Slowing down and letting my body heal has given me time for things I care about and time to journal and think about what I want to do in the future. I will continue leading food and wine tours because I enjoy sharing what Rome and Lazio offer. I don´t know if I will continue working in Georgia. Whenever we seem to be getting ahead, some world or local event causes mass cancellations. First, it was COVID-19, then the war in Ukraine and the vicinity of Russia, then the recent political demonstration and upcoming elections, but in a nutshell, the vicinity to Russia is the main objection to travel to Georgia. Italy is safe in the minds of most anglophone travelers.
I also think about the future of travel and whether working in this industry is sustainable. I haven´t really done anything else in the past twenty years. Being home has given me time to read, and I love nothing more than a good old dystopic or apocalyptic novel. The climate crisis is real, and so is the evil intent of our corporate and political overlords who insist on endless war for profit, which will inevitably change the global food chain. Having time to focus on growing food has made me more determined. I want the time to convert our land into a food forest. We have to adapt to survive. Last year I had the worst garden experience of my life. Due to extreme heat and drought, nothing grew compared to years before, so we now grow in shadier areas and mulch, and mulch some more.
There is abundance everywhere. Our loquat tree was highly productive this year. I made enough jam to last a year. The avocado tree has fruit for the first time. The failures from previous years are lessons, and I am fortunate to have them. I find myself meditating on feeling connected to this lifecycle and ecosystem. To not feel apart from nature but to feel a part of it. Feeling this message of seasonality in birth, growth, death, ferment, repeat, rebirth. The soil speaks to me when I listen. I want to plant a vineyard and have my wine express this cycle of life, death, and rebirth.
Having time to think and reflect on what I want from this life and how I want to be in this world is a blessing. Don´t get me wrong, I would not wish this illness on anyone. I cried a lot, and I uttered unspeakable words, wishing for an end to my life in those dark moments. It hasn´t been pretty at all. But it has made me realize and know that I am healthier when focusing on being rather than having. What I have can, at any time, be lost. The US-Israel genocide in Palestine could happen to anyone, anywhere on this planet. To be is a phenomenal feeling; it is the essence of who I am and who my loved ones are, and that is infinite, real, and intangible. My body is expressing years of ill feelings, of stress, trying to chase after what is not mine to have, the sickness of wanting and desire; I am fortunate because I have been taking the time to listen. Growing food, fermenting food to preserve it, canning, making natural wine this year, and keeping bees aren´t just activities that make me happy. They are the only way I know how to exit from a toxic system. It is how I anti-capitalist, how I BDS, smash the patriarchy, and keep money from lining the pockets of corporate overlords; it is how I don´t contribute to the exploitation of people, the earth, animals, and myself.
Looking forward to regeneration.
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Take care.