The War Zone

Strange and existential. Today I had a family meeting about dear departed dad's headstone, then a viewing of the film 'The Baader-Meinhof Complex', then emergency voicemails concerning the Ballox, and gradually I lost the ability to distinguish fact and fiction, war and peace.

1. Headstone: Tasked with organising headstone, I researched the format, made contact with the EHC who can help with Hebrew, found their expert to supply and oversee Hebrew translation/transcription, and sourced a stonemason experienced in Hebrew. It's up to those with opinions and a purse to see the project through now.

2. Baader-Meinhof Complex film: Harrowing and duplicitous. It upset me that three members of R.'s group asked me afterwards "Did you enjoy it?". No, I did not enjoy it, for it was not a feel-good movie. I discerned no insight from any of the other viewers that the B-M/RAF protaganists were anything other than psychopaths. No insight from any viewer that events such as the 'suicides' could be open to other interpretations. I was a saint by not reacting when one viewer explained to me that her definition of terrorism is any acts of violence conducted outside a state-declared war. Thus soldiers are exempt, and once a conflict is stepped-down by state-declared communique (e.g. Iraq), any non-military action is terrorism. I am very proud that I kept me mouth shut.

3. Ballox: nightmare. I arranged a home visit by his wonderful GPs on Weds. Ballox was sleeping and wouldn't open door, coming close to a police door-forcing situation. Despite promising to accept daily nursing care from the district nurses last weekend, Ballox refused nursing help that day and the GP explained that since 'compis mentis', his wishes to die alone uncared for must prevail. That day he took a taxi into Kelso and bought new boots and a rifle with which to shoot rabbits. How he imagines he'll use these since he canny walk is anyone's guess. Good.

Hell mend 'em, all.