communication mixture

yes, i guess that is what i have to say right now.
the communication seems to have gone a bit pear shaped and we feel it.

Along with the communication or lack of it comes the contrast of those who have and those who do not.
this my friends is evident in extreme.

communicating care and consideration isn't so much an art i would have thought.
Most humans have this facility, or so i believed.
But when it comes to our nearest and dearest even if you hoped this came naturally by virtue of being part of family you do get the shock when it doesn't.
it isn't even there.
no where in sight.
and it is so so obvious.

that fleeting visit to 'see what is up' in the land of the relative.
the yearly snoop in and the swoop out.
for that is what it feels like and that is what i call a communication mixture, or should that be 'mix up?'
You are left with the tear in the side of the eye.
The effort of brushing up the floors, wiping down counters and buying in the biscuits.
In hopeful anticipation and excitement of communication - with the family.
but you get the mixed messages.
the watching the clock by glance, the taking of a mobile call.
the statements of 'i cannot stay long' and you knew they wouldn't anyway.

You hurt inside that you are not worth it at all.
to hear the lack of. in the tone, the gesture and the hasty good byes and the 'blast it, why did they bother.'
you walk away or back through the hall door and close it behind the retreating army.
 The tears well up in the eyes.
You take out a painting to try and fix the warped frame.
you slam the nail in, miss and hit the bloody thumb knuckle.
you are angry at the rejection.
you get so angry you talk about Wills and the past and 'why do i expect any different.'

on the other occasion there was effort made, the taste of the starter was sweet and glorious.
effort shown in the presentation and perfection.
the spode on the table and the waterford crystal and silver.
the neat little table with wall adornments catching the eye in awe.
none of my paintings are there, not even a tiny one in the corner, or under the level of the chair.
no image of mine does my closest kin own or put on wall.
but we are now older, and peace must come.
and spode and good food is better than the plastic tubberware and the spoon scooping food as you watch the telly.
we are used to eating the stews and mess that never changes from week to week, so this real food is a delight and pleasure, twinged with the feelings and hurt of decades but what can we say when the decades leave us as the elders in the state.
the problematic families are i guess part of being a dysfunctional island.
where the protestant and catholic mix and the bringing up as both royalists and republicans of the last fifty years.
this being in my family tradition.
the feeling of displacement and upset and loss.
the loss of servants and family emigrating.
the feeling of being left behind in less affluent times, the struggle with six kiddies knowing full well in wimbledon there in lies the wealth of the kin.
not so much bitterness within the family but the feeling of estrangement.
the loss of togetherness then left the next generation as more or less the same.
the competition within the siblings echoed the family 'Lord of the flies'
and i am doing the same.
the hurt of it all.
no kinship and contempt there seemed to be reeking from the pores of the well off.
the lack of consideration, communication of kindness but the message is fully clear and understood.
those on the fringe of this family was the single twins.
the least able and the most intelligent.
we were fodder for decades of built up resentment, bitterness and disenchantment.
the bitterness born of the competitive, angry growling members of a middle class mix of once wealthy and now not so, yet some gained back wealth and suddenly we had the selfishness that goes with 'attitude of grandour'
we cannot regain a past time ever.
but some did try and brought with it such spoilt brats its unbelievable.
the lack of christianity is full seen with all this screaming.
the fleeting visit,
the holes in the roof, the spode on the table and eating then from tubberwares.
we are a family divided and with that brings such pain it beggars belief.
the need for togetherness and kinship i yearn for, but with the closing of the hall door, the whack on the knuckle on the now bruised knuckle and the pain of feeling no love from them and toward them, cuts deep to the broken soul of a sick individual who is waiting to die.
and shall do so alone, very.
The Will.
finally i shall end with the Will.
nothing is Willed on to anyone, nothing at all.
it goes to one which is united in the same grief.
not one single member gets anything.
not that i had much to give in the first place.
but the Will is made.
if you do not care in Living then you do not reap in dying.
amen to that.  what a sad life its been.  it doesnt look as if its going to end with a swan song either.