tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22557467.post114062999836460597..comments2023-02-17T04:04:06.177-08:00Comments on Live! from the Sandpit: Comment On Se ComprendBenny the Wophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13180590233140740447noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22557467.post-57543956019923136432010-01-10T11:23:03.864-08:002010-01-10T11:23:03.864-08:00Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your ol...Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your older articles are not as good as newer ones you have a lot more creativity and originality now keep it up!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22557467.post-1141216843378254492006-03-01T04:40:00.000-08:002006-03-01T04:40:00.000-08:00Parents abroad.My Irish friend has lived in Norway...Parents abroad.<BR/>My Irish friend has lived in Norway for nearly 20 years. Her father has visited her once. He said, 'I've seen Norway now. Tanks - lovely place. Don't need to go ter again' She was mad for 15 years - and then she just increased her own visits to Ireland.<BR/><BR/>This started a debate. My father came far fewer times to visit me than my mother. My mother didn't exactly overstay her time when she came to visit, nor did she visit often. And I was not alone, actually my parents were globetrotters in comparison to some other parents who were discussed! Perspective is good.<BR/><BR/>What this is, I do not know. When Melisa went to Aus.- I let her go. I sms'd her and phoned now and again. But I didn’t know that she needed me just to sit back and listen to her frustrations and trepidations on the other side of the earth. This of course...she told me after the effect.<BR/><BR/>Families often don't tell each other of their needs. You get to know stuff that makes you feel like a little shit only many moons after the event.<BR/><BR/>My dad.<BR/>Dad lay in hospital with tubes coming in and out - looking most likely like someone had just dug him up! But did anyone tell me? Nope. I phoned him and he sounded cheekily chirpy and I was conned. I sent him a large bouquet of flowers. Or so I thought - interflora gave him one single rose. That bugged me - almost as much as when I had Melisa and mum and dad sent me NO flowers. None of it matters. <BR/><BR/>Mum didn't phone me when dad had a massive heart attack so I did not get there in time. In time for what? He knew I loved him. I knew he loved me. He still died.<BR/><BR/>My brother<BR/>My exceedingly strained relationship with my brother has made me more determined to help my kids to ‘be’ with other. Of course the best way would be by trying to be at ease with my brother. <BR/><BR/>Your mother<BR/>I chose the friendship with you mother to cover the ‘loss’ of a brother – by adopting her as a ‘sister’.<BR/><BR/>Which brings me back to the reason I wrote this. You wrote:<BR/><BR/>-not enough time in the day to get around to doing the emotionally important things that weigh so heavily.<BR/><BR/>That hit me on the head. I spend far too much time doing ‘important shite at work’. Time spent with friends and family is what I ‘say’ I want. Swift said something appropriate about conversation being the essence of living. We do our best and we do our worst to those who are nearest us. <BR/><BR/>Hope old woman writing drivel is ok for otherwise hip-blogg!<BR/><BR/>Yours bloggingly, SheenaAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com