COMPASSION FATIGUE

ah this is so hard
fireseed been such a good boy for almost two days
and then he has to go and blow it...
jester-day
just as i'm sitting down to some long-overdue busyness planning
mrs fireseed abruptly goes into freefall
the weather's rotten
she's feeling cold
she can't keep her food down
there's nothing in the house that she fancies eating anyway
she's all bunged up at t'other end
she's feeling homesick
and she wants her mum's cooking
she climbs under the duvet
and huddles there shivering
all of a sudden her eyes fill up with tears
she starts talking about flying back to korea with the woodle
during the school easter holy days
she's anxious about our lack of income over the last few months
i feel impotent
i can't seem to get down to work
and i sure as hell can't recreate omma's authentic korean cuisine
already resigning myself to another day written off
i ask her if i can get anything from the korean shop
she starts scribbling down a list
and before i know it there are thirteen items
that need to be sourced from different places
to top it off i've already run out of my own non-essential necessities
so i get to work
the waterproof pants and jacket
the rucksack
the helmet and lights
and i'm off
pedalling furiously into the driving wind and rain
i head through the sodden park
past a flock of miserable-looking canada geese
my knuckles already stinging in the cold
and out onto a windswept bristol road
where a car window opens and a youth leers out screaming abuse
i park the bike outside the salubrious northfield shopping centre
and reach for my keys
except i ain't got my keys
cos they're sitting at home in the pocket of my winter parka
my frustration appears like a sketch on the pond of my mind
then melts into the water
back through the park
into the house
get the keys
get a pair of gloves
back into the driving rain
and up to luvly northfield again
in the health food shop
i purchase dates, prunes and dried apricots for mrs f
and a veg pasty and carton of soya milk for moi
then take a look at the snooze headlines in smiths
while i munch my pasty and dry off a little
when i re-emerge into the daylight
the rain has dried up
through the back streets to bournville
and birmingham's self-proclaimed first organic butcher's
i ask the neat little shaven-headed shopkeeper
what the meaning of organic is in the context of chickens
this fella knows his stuff
he taks about the feed
the density of the chickens
the method of slaughtering
and how they are transported
the soil association have the highest standards in the world
so he reckons
while he serves me
i can't stop looking at a poster on the wall behind him
where he's sitting beaming in a field
surrounded by a big flock of turkeys
the caption reads:
guess who the surprise visitor is today!
mrs f has ordered an organic chicken
and a generous slab of belly pork
i get some ham for the woodle's sandwiches
and a few sausages for uncle j
i pick up some whole walnuts at the deli over the road
the rucky is already starting to feel heavy
and i haven't even got to the korean shop yet
at h-mart i stumble through my survival korean
and stock up on ginger
moo - korean radish
(in korea, over-sized calves are called moodari - 'radish legs')
glutinous rice
salted shrimps
and other delicacies
now i have a moo-backpack
i briefly entertain the devil at stainsbury's
but baulk at buying spring onions from egypt
or peppers from israel
and queue up just to buy a packet of fair trade coffee
no i haven't got a nectar card!
by the time i get home via the local greengrocers
the rucky is practically bursting
and i've been gone about three and a half hours
it's now time to wash, cook and carve the carcass
it's last indignity, organic or not organic
mrs f gives me an encouraging smile of approval
which keeps my spirits up
afterwards i wash up the greasy tin and dishes
get the woodle pointed bedwards
and keep thinking compassionate thoughts...
this morning
i take the woodle to school
and start planning the trip to the storage unit
the driving rain seems even more driving today
as usual finding what i'm looking for
entails unstacking half of the boxes
and despite the labels i've stuck on over a sequence of visits
it still takes a fair bit of hunting
to the strains of radio 2
which echo eerily
through the cavernous interior of the converted old tram shed
i unearth goodies requested by mrs f
the woo's album of baby fotos
her plastic desk and chairs
i also rescue a pair of footy boots and a few books:
alternatives to economic globalization
the corporation
the pregnancy question & answer book
which i ferry to the car in two lots
back at el rancho
i help put away the stainsbury's shopping
which reeks of foody miles
while i lecture my sceptical mother
on why she shouldn't bear grudges
on the destructiveness of such emotions
telling her that the best course of action
is always the compassionate response
she ain't at all convinced
the fellow in question is a 'right arrogant bastard'
meanwhile mrs f is freezing cold again
and retires to bed
i pile on extra duvets
fix a hot water bottle
then carve the remaining chicken
and boil up the bones to make a warming broth
(call myself a vegan!)
to my relief it gets a thumbs-up from a more cheerful mrs f
i grab beans on toast then fetch the woodle
we agree to a 90-minute tv-watching limit
since mrs f has taken ill
the woodle's been watching far too much goggle box
but as so often
the flawed bed-time routine goes awry
the woodle will never go to bed without mummy
and at the crucial 8 o'clock juncture
after teeth have been brushed
and a pre-bed jigsaw done
mrs f abruptly decides to head down to kitchen to make kimchi
derailing my military operation
when she finally reappears with woo
mrs f wrinkles up her hyper-sensitive nose
at the sudden stench of urine in the loo
i maintain my composure
and reach for a cloth and the toilet cleaner
but hannah is still mucking about on the landing
and i finally lose my composure
'get to bed - now!' i bellow
reducing my four-year-old sweetpea to tears
even as i start shouting
i know it's the wrong thing to do
in a sane world
there would be no such thing as compassion fatigue
fortunately things end in reconciliation
before she climbs into bed
the unbegrudging woodle gives me a big sweet hug
and reassures me that she isn't gonna buy another daddy...
i sit down at last at the computer desk in the studio
and look down at my left wrist
which is encircled by a newly-acquired bracelet
decorated in biblical images
choirs of angels
jesus with his parents
jesus on the cross
my dad got it sent to him unsolicited in the post
from a catholic charity
he gets piles and piles of appeals for donations
almost all of which he throws away
the bracelet i retrieve is accompanied by a photograph
a naked child in sudan
approximately the woodle's age
being held up by a tall skinny man
the child is a pathetic little bag of bones with his eyes shut
on the back of the photo there is a short message:
this picture shows little isaja
when he was brought to our camp by his father
he now has one chance to survive: us
please help us with your most generous donation
we need to bring food and medicine into sudan as fast as we can
your donation save's children's lives
the buddha tells us that one cannot feel too much compassion
for compassion is the fountain of all happiness and well-being
tonight i will meditate on that