Music and Sunshine

Dear Diary,

First of all, before I get going I ask you to listen/watch my YouTube videos. (below). I saw Gerry Marsden on the Richard and Judy show and got so nostalgic as I was in love with him when I was about eleven years old! I later moved my affections to the Beatles but that’s another story and another video one day maybe.…. Gerry looks like a little boy on the video, now that IS a sign of getting old! ‘You’ll never Walk Alone’ is an 'affecting' song and it is even more moving today as Liverpool is suffering so badly because of the terrible murder of a mere child. What is happening to our cities?

Labi Siffre’s song also moves me so I dug 'Something Inside' out too.

And Annie Lennox’s latest single is good and has great lyrics:


DARK ROAD

IT'S A DARK ROAD
AND A DARK WAY THAT LEADS TO MY HOUSE
AND THE WORD SAYS
THAT YOU'RE NEVER GONNA FIND ME THERE, OH NO
I'VE GOT AN OPEN DOOR
IT DIDN'T GET THERE BY ITSELF
IT DIDN'T GET THERE BY ITSELF...

THERE'S A FEELIN'
BUT YOU'RE NOT FEELIN' IT AT ALL
THERE'S A MEANING
BUT YOU'RE NOT LISTENING ANY MORE
I LOOK AT THAT OPEN ROAD
I'M GONNA WALK THERE BY MYSELF...

AND IF YOU CATCH ME I MIGHT TRY TO RUN AWAY
YOU KNOW I CAN'T BE THERE TOO LONG
AND IF YOU LET ME I MIGHT TRY TO MAKE YOU STAY
SEEMS YOU NEVER REALISE A GOOD THING TILL IT'S GONE...

MAYBE I'M STILL SEARCHIN' BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS
ALL THE FIRES OF DESTRUCTION ARE STILL BURNIN' IN MY DREAMS
THERE'S NO WATER THAT CAN WASH AWAY THIS LONGIN' TO COME CLEAN...
HEY YEA YEA...

I CAN'T FIND THE JOY WITHIN IN MY SOUL
IT'S JUST SADNESS TAKIN' HOLD
I WANNA COME IN FROM THE COLD
AND MAKE MYSELF RENEWED AGAIN
IT TAKES STRENGTH TO LIVE THIS WAY
THE SAME OLD MADNESS EVERYDAY
I WANNA KICK THESE BLUES AWAY
I WANNA LEARN TO LIVE AGAIN

HEY HEY HEY

IT'S A DARK ROAD
AND A DARK WAY THAT LEADS TO MY HOUSE
AND THE WORD SAYS
THAT YOU'RE NEVER GONNA FIND ME THERE OH NO
I'VE GOT AN OPEN DOOR
IT DIDN'T GET THERE BY ITSELF ..OOH
IT DIDN'T GET THERE BY ITSELF


*
I am awakened by the so stimulating golden light that is sunshine (!) and at the same time M is bringing my honeyed tea. I almost jump out of bed in delight, but not quite, I don’t think I have ever jumped out of a bed of a morning in my life.

Instead I gather up books, a pen and a pad and prepare to make a list of things I need, nay want, to do today as it is a day off.

This was my first week back after two weeks off; it hasn’t been too hectic, probably because of the aforementioned golden light some of us are having in the UK. It actually feels like summer! One of the borrowers commented on the effect that sunshine has on mood and indeed it does; it lifts everyone’s spirits and more than that we agreed that It shapes the character of a nation: people from sunny climes seem happier, more upbeat and positive (but can be hot-blooded too!). However the heat slows them down and their lifestyle is perhaps made more leisurely and laid back. I often wonder if some of those people who suffer from depression do so because genetically they are ‘Mediterranean’ Individuals living in a cold and grey country.

Talking of genetic types I read at the weekend that blue- eyed folk are supposed to be more ‘academic’ than any other group. This was interesting, not least because I have blue eyes as does my daughter and her three daughters. My blue-eyed gene is a strong one as both my daughter and I married brown eyed men. I was taught at school that brown eyes were always predominant over blue in any reproduction process. Perhaps someone brighter than me can enlighten me?

The gremlins had taken up residence in the library though and I spent the best part of a morning grappling with the sick colour printer and the wobbly Internet connection on the computers. We librarians spend a lot of our time on such things, it is not all about stamping books these days as we are also busy helping the public with use of computers and also now with guidance in their genealogy research. (how I hate spelling that word!).

We were the Mulvaneys by Joyce Carol Oates has arrived at last in the library and I have started reading it and must finish by the end of the month for the Purplecoo book group. I see it was an Oprah Winfrey book choice and the Los Angeles Times says ‘It is a book that will break your heart, heal it, then break it again’. Another source quotes her as the greatest American novelist. We shall see. I am a great fan of the late Carol Shields myself. If I like 'Mulvaneys’ I may recommend it to the library book group. We are discussing Mr Cassini on September 10th but luckily I read that long ago for the BBC radio slot. And you may remember I tipped it for Welsh (English language) Book of the Year and it won!

My own family tree searching is coming on well. I may have had some success on the paternal grandmother’s line which comes from Northumberland, a truly beautiful part of England. So I have more work on that on my list today, it is another addiction I am afraid but there are much worse, more life-threatening ones I guess.

At 4pm I will be weed-pulling, along, in spirit, with lots of Purplecoo cyber friends and we shall be thinking of two children who had reason to be very sad a few days ago, one is one of my granddaughters who lost some chicken to the fox.

And Blessings you may ask?

The first has to be Sunshine. So rare this summer, so all the more precious, like a jewel.

Breeze……. that is so so gently coming in the study window as I write………………

Not to forget the Night Sky and all the treats it has been bringing us this month, Shooting Stars and the like. And the dear Moon, She affects us more than we know. I must get a moon phase thingy up on the blog page so we shall know where we are in that respect.

Our little local railway line, the Heart of Wales. M is planning little trips on it now as he can go for FREE as he is a pensioner. We live two miles from the nearest station, well it’s just a ‘halt’ really and there are no buses so he will have to drive to the station but then he can (freely) travel as he pleases.

Finally it is Another New Day when it’s good to be alive. Every day I realise how lucky I am both to be alive and to live here especially on days like this. Earlier in the week I went out at about eight o clock in the evening and there was a feeling and a scent of being ‘on the edge of autumn’ or as ‘Irish Eyes’ put it so well ‘on the doorstep of autumn’. I know just what she means.

I will post a poem I wrote a while ago now.



Autumnal


Dead of night.
Beauteous wild garden,
in the shade of the mountain;
its looks, fading now,
whispers secrets to
the full-on moon,
bright yellow
The gentlest of breezes
turn to gales,
their tempers rising
with the Earth’s.
The constant river,
lulled as if by faith,
persists.
Screeching owl,
screaming fox
disturb,
till, drop dead quiet.
I stand alone. I gaze.
I am a prayer.
My senses over-filled
by the longing and the keening of the wind.
As I stand beside its stream
As I try to read the mountain’s mind
I close my eyes and strain to hear.
How does the stillness speak
while through the starry silence
of the night
its grey rock sleeps so softly?


Bye for now,
Cait

As the saying goes……….
We are not here for very long, we may as well dance.

You'll Never Walk Alone - Gerry and the Pacemakers

Something Inside So Strong - Labi Siffre

Hawks, squirrels, harebells and moths....

Dear Diary,

A rare treat today: we saw something we have never seen so close up before, let alone in the back garden. It was a young sparrow hawk perched on the fence. Just sitting there looking around occasionally. I did a bit of a quick look-up in our wonderful Readers Digest book and found out that they often perch on a post and make quick surprise ‘pounces’ on unsuspecting little birds. Finches, sparrows and the like. The funny thing is that all morning the bird table outside the kitchen window has been alive with birds, the usual tits, sparrows, robins, woodpeckers etc but also finches who aren’t regular visitors there. They have all seemed frantic too in their mode of feeding which is usually a sign of bad weather to come. I haven’t heard any weather forecasts so don’t know if they could be right or not. They all disappeared though while the hawk was nearby, clever aren’t they?

Sammy Squirrel also came to the table early this morning and M took some photos of him through the glass of the window so they haven’t come out very well. We spent ages photographing the young hawk as well but again they did not come out too well with the window in between and also the bird was some distance away. And it was bucketing down with rain.

(Pity that it’s still raining because I was hoping to tackle some overgrown flower beds).

So it will be a ‘stay-indoors’ day today I think; I can catch up with some blog-reading, I am so behind on that. Also I am enjoying Piers Morgan’s book (see above). (I got it from the library), it’s in diary form , well written and makes for light holiday reading. Full of political/celebrity/journalistic gossipy stuff. I don’t feel like anything too demanding. Piers M is one of those ' love him or hate him' kind of guys I guess but he doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not and he hates ‘celebrity’.

And for something completely different I’m also reading Little Women yet again. One of my childhood all-time favourites.

If you want a really funny light read I can highly recommend the Irish novel Diary of a Demented Housewife by Niamh Greene

Later on I also want to get my family history stuff in some kind of order and try and work out the direction of my next searches. I am ‘chasing dead people’ as a fellow blogger calls it. I love that..

Yesterday we visited one of our immediate neighbours who lives ‘upstream’ from us, on the site of a former mill actually, that was probably demolished in the early 1800’s. The driveway to their house is lined with harebells, one of my favourite flowers. I have a weakness for all blue flowers actually. These bells always seem to appear after harvest, in late summer, but are better late than never. I so love their shy delicacy. G and E open their garden for ‘retreats’ and I can see why, it is so beautiful and such peace is all around; I could sit in their garden all day. G, a retired GP, is an octogenarian but doesn’t look it and is something of an expert on moths. Apparently he has kept a record of the moths around his house and garden since 1973! He sets special ‘traps’ that lure the moths overnight and every morning he goes to see what’s there and records them before letting them go of course. He has killed them in the past and gave a collection to Cardiff museum as they were without a Breconshire collection.

He told me some interesting facts. The bats love moths and can ‘smell’ them and hover around the traps. If a moth ‘sees’ a bat it will drop rapidly to the ground. Also a robin waits every morning outside the kitchen door to follow G out to inspect the traps; he too has a taste for them! Other birds join them at the trap too. Knowing creatures, birds and far more intelligent than we give them credit for. I’m sure they watch us just as much as we watch them. (Perhaps they’d list ‘human watching’ as one of their hobbies?) More likely they see us as a food source. I know I only have to go out with some food to one of the two tables and almost before my back is turned they are there feeding. And I swear they come and ask for food at the kitchen window. They hang around looking in the window at me while wearing a really ‘pathetic bird’ expression.

I keep a record of the wildlife around our cottage but not moths or butterflies, perhaps I should do so. I was pleased to hear that G has plenty of bats as ours have all but disappeared.

V and two of the girls and I went to Llandovery yesterday for a spot of shopping. It’s a lovely little town, very Welsh and you can hear the native language spoken quite a lot. There were a couple of market stalls and one was a gardening one which specialised in, guess what, David Austen roses! So I could have bought mine there and not travelled quite so far to a garden centre to buy them. The stallholder had a great selection and very healthy they were too. Once a month they have a farmers’ market in the town but it is always on a Saturday when I have to be at work. By the time I can get there everything is closed up. The town does have a good greengrocer’s though (and delicatessen), a wonderful butcher’s and health shop and lots of other ‘little shops’. V and I are hoping to reduce our supermarket shopping as much as we can but when you live miles from anywhere it is hard as you have to go and buy a lot in one go.

I haven’t done any blessings for what seems like ages. Here goes.

Angel Cards,.

Mine today is saying Reward Yourself. I haven’t consulted them for ages but I like this one! I asked it what should I do today? So self-indulgence is the order of the day, quite appropriate as I usually work at the weekend but am still on holiday.

Knowledge, Isn’t it a wonderful thing? I love learning something new every day.

Roses and their heavenly scent. Harebells too of course.

Purple Power. I say no more, some of you will understand.

Last but not least….

Laziness and self-indulgence, long may it last,

And before I go, a poem that mentions harebells only very briefly, but is a lovely read.
It‘s a long one by John Clare, save it and enjoy at your leisure…. I can only imagine a nightingale's song now as we have none in this part of the world.


The Nightingale's Nest


Up this green woodland-ride let's softly rove,
And list the nightingale— she dwells just here.
Hush ! let the wood-gate softly clap, for fear
The noise might drive her from her home of love ;
For here I've heard her many a merry year—
At morn, at eve, nay, all the live-long day,
As though she lived on song. This very spot,
Just where that old-man's-beard all wildly trails
Rude arbours o'er the road, and stops the way—
And where that child its blue-bell flowers hath got,
Laughing and creeping through the mossy rails—
There have I hunted like a very boy,
Creeping on hands and knees through matted thorn
To find her nest, and see her feed her young.
And vainly did I many hours employ :
All seemed as hidden as a thought unborn.
And where those crimping fern-leaves ramp among
The hazel's under boughs, I've nestled down,
And watched her while she sung ; and her renown
Hath made me marvel that so famed a bird
Should have no better dress than russet brown.
Her wings would tremble in her ecstasy,
And feathers stand on end, as 'twere with joy,
And mouth wide open to release her heart
Of its out-sobbing songs. The happiest part
Of summer's fame she shared, for so to me
Did happy fancies shapen her employ ;
But if I touched a bush, or scarcely stirred,
All in a moment stopt. I watched in vain :
The timid bird had left the hazel bush,
And at a distance hid to sing again.
Lost in a wilderness of listening leaves,
Rich Ecstasy would pour its luscious strain,
Till envy spurred the emulating thrush
To start less wild and scarce inferior songs ;
For while of half the year Care him bereaves,
To damp the ardour of his speckled breast ;
The nightingale to summer's life belongs,
And naked trees, and winter's nipping wrongs,
Are strangers to her music and her rest.
Her joys are evergreen, her world is wide—
Hark! there she is as usual— let's be hush—
For in this black-thorn clump, if rightly guest,
Her curious house is hidden. Part aside
These hazel branches in a gentle way,
And stoop right cautious 'neath the rustling boughs,
For we will have another search to day,
And hunt this fern-strewn thorn-clump round and round ;
And where this reeded wood-grass idly bows,
We'll wade right through, it is a likely nook :
In such like spots, and often on the ground,
They'll build, where rude boys never think to look—
Aye, as I live ! her secret nest is here,
Upon this white-thorn stump ! I've searched about
For hours in vain. There! put that bramble by—
Nay, trample on its branches and get near.
How subtle is the bird ! she started out,
And raised a plaintive note of danger nigh,
Ere we were past the brambles ; and now, near
Her nest, she sudden stops— as choking fear,
That might betray her home. So even now
We'll leave it as we found it : safety's guard
Of pathless solitudes shall keep it still.
See there! she's sitting on the old oak bough,
Mute in her fears ; our presence doth retard
Her joys, and doubt turns every rapture chill.
Sing on, sweet bird! may no worse hap befall
Thy visions, than the fear that now deceives.
We will not plunder music of its dower,
Nor turn this spot of happiness to thrall ;
For melody seems hid in every flower,
That blossoms near thy home. These harebells all
Seem bowing with the beautiful in song ;
And gaping cuckoo-flower, with spotted leaves,
Seems blushing of the singing it has heard.
How curious is the nest ; no other bird
Uses such loose materials, or weaves
Its dwelling in such spots : dead oaken leaves
Are placed without, and velvet moss within,
And little scraps of grass, and, scant and spare,
What scarcely seem materials, down and hair ;
For from men's haunts she nothing seems to win.
Yet Nature is the builder, and contrives
Homes for her children's comfort, even here ;
Where Solitude's disciples spend their lives
Unseen, save when a wanderer passes near
That loves such pleasant places. Deep adown,
The nest is made a hermit's mossy cell.
Snug lie her curious eggs in number five,
Of deadened green, or rather olive brown ;
And the old prickly thorn-bush guards them well.
So here we'll leave them, still unknown to wrong,
As the old woodland's legacy of song.

Bye for now,
Caitx

Dear Diary,

A hurried little entry for the blog today. That's all.


The most painful thing on earth is a pleasant memory. This nostalgia that sometimes comes over us isn't an accident. It's a message. It has something to tell us. We're programmed to indulge in life, but this haunting nostalgia is a subliminal message from another plane. It's the homing instinct of the mundane mind. At its best, it's what draws us back to the Father. Nostalgia is a window to the soul, and the soul is lost to man as he lives. Nostalgia is the soul's memory of prior experience. Touching it, you touch the Eternal.


Richard Rose

Reunion.

I have to write a piece for the writing group on the subject of reunion.

How can I write of reunion? For to me the word means meeting up again with someone from whom you have been parted? Personally it’s far too emotive a subject, too close to the bone for comfort, unless I think laterally. I am advised to do so. But still I struggle. I struggle some more and in the end this is the best I can come up with.

Have you ever had the feeling that you have known someone in a past life?
This has happened to me on many occasions.

Do you believe in reincarnation?

There is a theory that ‘soul groups’ reincarnate together. (If I submit this it will probably be considered too ‘whacky’ for the other members of the group but hey ho, I care not).

I ponder on these themes and also on the meeting up of soul mates as I dig out an old draft of a poem written many, many moons ago. The poem jars on me as sometimes only stuff written long ago can do, but the words still make sense, though perhaps only to me? I decide to rewrite them, but this time as prose.

I write of how soul mates can meet as in a reverie of a pastimes’ love that was borne of another era, a distant place in time and space. So meeting again can be both a reunion and also something of a celebration.

As if kneeling and gazing deeply into each other, soul mates can see through the other person’s ‘unpeeled layers’ and in those synchronistic moments that always seem to occur, soon speak of things about which they are like-minded and in tune.

Two souls can be so affected that even though they are sober, they feel intoxicated and are transported, almost as if by wine’s inebriation or by the carriage of great music. They are moved to a place where every time their eyes meet, their souls meet and there is a dual recognition, with no need for charm or small talk, as a telepathic feeling gives a freedom to their hearts.

Sometimes.

Sometimes there is 'love at first sight'. Do you agree that it truly does exist?
Can you think of a better explanation for this phenomenon?

Late in life I have met up with family members who I have never ever met before and there has been an instant recognition, a feeling of love and kinship, something I had never experienced before. What causes this to happen, is it a blood thing?

Why do we cry at times like this? When we are 'moved''

Sometimes moving to melodies of a much deeper tone is sad. How can their tunes be so deep, yet their reach so high? Like a touch that heals your pain with love yet brings forth tears. Sometimes.

Bye for now,
Caitx

Country Mouse?

Dear Diary,

Awake. Be the witness of your thoughts. You are what observes, not what you observe.
Buddha

It is a long time since my last blog. We have been away for a few days visiting family, old and new, in Surrey and Sussex and have had a very enjoyable time. We left the cottage and the animals in the care of a friend.

Dr Edward Bach's Cottage,

Travelling down I decided to go ‘the pretty way’ and avoid the motorways. I absolutely love driving and I don’t mind motorway driving at all, in fact I used to enjoy it, but since the invention of speed cameras I find it so hard to keep down to 70 mph and I do get bored with the landscape. So this time I planned for a leisurely journey and we stopped in Oxfordshire at Mount Vernon, Dr Edward Bach’s famous cottage in Brightwell-cum-Sotwell. I’ve had a book about the Bach remedies for years and have always longed to visit their birthplace.

The sun was shining full on and I had to dig out my pink straw hat bought from M & S last year. The village was off the main road, very picturesque, (well worth a visit) and we enjoyed a nice lunch at the Red Lion pub. Then we set off to try and find the Bach centre and eventually found it hidden away down one of the many twisty lanes. We rung the bell and the current owner appeared, welcomed us and showed us round the tiny cottage, There were two rooms downstairs and a kitchen on an extension at the back. (Offices only upstairs now). I loved all the rustic and very beautiful wooden furniture that had been handmade by Dr Bach as he was apparently poor when he first rented the cottage all those years ago. (He died in 1936).

Although it is obviously very much a commercial enterprise now, the place still retains its special aura of peace and tranquillity. They run practitioner courses which sound very interesting though one can teach oneself with the correct literature if prepared to study.

The remedies are still produced there from the wild flowers in the garden. A gardener is employed but her main job is weeding as everything is left to grow wild and free (just like mine at home!). Numerous cottage plants were to be seen and there was a little pond adorned with water lilies. Apparently visitors come from all over the world and many love to just sit in the garden and enjoy its peace. M and I sat on a bench by the pond and watched the bees buzzing from flower to flower. The energies were so good; I could have happily stayed there for the rest of the afternoon but we had to continue our journey. Before we left I stocked up with the old faithful, Rescue Remedy, I bought some for my sister who also uses it for those little ‘emergencies’.

There is a coincidental footnote to this little section - when I logged on to my previous blog that was written over a week ago I saw a comment from a fellow Welsh blogger, Preseli Mags, who was saying that she always uses the Bach remedy 'White Chestnut' for nightime insomnia and its accompanying black moods. So my last blog about sleeplessness and this one have sort of combined with her comment.






I am back home now and safely tucked up in our little valley by the river. Though I love to see my family in England I am always glad to return to the hills of Wales. I feel the real country bumpkin now when I go back to the Otherworld; I am out of place somehow. Also we are used to near-empty roads in Powys and can’t cope with the volume of traffic up there and also the number of people. We find it all quite stressful and I’m always reminded of the story of the Town Mouse and the Country Mouse.

But there is more joy now back at home. I have the week off work and can do just as I please. I am planning a trip to a local garden centre today as I am making a rose and lavender bed from an old herb bed that I had to clear as it had been completely taken over by mint. I’ve decided to confine all my herbs to pots from now on, except for the lavenders of course.

And even more joy! The telly digibox has died so we are without TV. The silence is deafening as they say. I love the radio anyway so we put that on occasionally and we can listen to music of course. But I am enjoying the lack of any noise at all, so relaxing after a busy weekend and not seeing the news is a real treat.


The paintings above are by an American artist called Jim Daly. Camilla asked me who painted the ‘Bedtime Story’ which can be seen on a previous blog. It is a picture I came across one night when I was unable to sleep and I was surfing around on the net. I loved its ‘cosiness’ and lots of people agreed with me so I have dug out some more of his work, just a few that hold particular appeal to me. I don’t like all his pics as I feel that some of them are a bit too ‘twee’ (there’s that damned 'T' word again!).

Well the day is beckoning and rainy or not I must get this show on the road. I hope you like the poem that I picked for you in the Small Hours.


Bedtime Story


The moon lies on the river
like a drop of oil.
The children come to the banks to be healed
of their wounds and bruises.
The fathers who gave them their wounds and bruises
come to be healed of their rage.
The mothers grow lovely; their faces soften,
the birds in their throats awake.
They all stand hand in hand
and the trees around them,
forever on the verge
of becoming one of them,
stop shuddering and speak their first word.

But that is not the beginning.
It is the end of the story,
and before we come to the end,
the mothers and fathers and children
must find their way to the river,
separately, with no one to guide them.
That is the long, pitiless part,
and it will scare you.

Lisel Mueller



Bye for now,
Caitx

Night Thoughts

Dear Diary,


Nil aon tintean, mar do tintean fein


An Irish saying.


(There’s no fireside like your own fireside).


Quite appropriate considering the summer we are having.


This is a little blog that was blogged in the early hours of Sunday morning. I am a little late in posting, please forgive me.






Last night I was overcome by sleepfullness. Yes I know there is no such word but sometimes I love making up words and if you can have sleeplessness why not the opposite? My eyes kept closing and I had to go to bed at an unearthly hour (what exactly is an unearthly hour? Is it another planet’s time?), eight o’clock to be precise!

Sleeplessness struck at 2 am. And They all came early. Those 4 am moments when doom n’ gloom, blackness and worry seep into one’s thoughts and dreams. Dread comes calling at these unholy hours along with crazy imaginings and needless worry over things that might happen. Also regret over things that have happened and can’t be changed. Some things that I may have had control over but didn’t exert it. Some things that should never have happened, my mind runs riot here in its meanderings. Foot and mouth is on my mind and I think of all those thousands of cattle and sheep culled in 2001. I then go on to think sad thoughts: missing children, the shooting of an innocent man (seven times), the invasion of Iraq. Serious worries. Then I go on to the ‘lighter’ ones things like journalists who upset folk with their easy-speak and their labelling. Some of you will know what I mean. God I hate the labelling of people, the all-too-neat compartmentalisation of folk into other folk’s previously selected ‘classes’ and ‘creeds‘.

I get up and pour myself a drink of the red stuff, no not wine just ultra health-giving cranberry juice, but even that causes worry to surface as I see on the label that it contains that cyanide stuff that is supposed to cause cancer. Talking of which, I read recently that to prevent breast cancer recurring I must get sunlight on my skin. Some hopes in this summer we are having. Even the sky was crying yesterday. It was a sunless day and for locals here in Wales, as well as Foot and Mouth to worry about there was a shocking defeat at rugby and to England…….. of all the teams they had to lose to….. I didn’t see the match, probably just as well.

Why is it that the wee small hours bring along with them the Great Big Worries? Something is telling me to Log On so I do what any self-respecting Purplecooer would do. I give in easily to temptation. I wrap myself in my warmest dressing gown, take my drink and go upstairs and sit by the computer. There is one joyous thing, a bright moon is illuminating my little study and it lightens the space through the window by the desk. It is so bright that I wonder if it did in fact awaken me in the first place.

Joy. I have two more comments to read on my latest blog. One from ‘Irish Eyes’ a fellow blogger from my spiritual home across the water. She has sent me an Irish quotation (see above). One comment also from dear Woozle. Both are lovely comments that cheer me and so my mood is already being transformed. How blessed I am to have comforting contact with two friends in the middle of the night, just when I need it.

That will have to be my first blessing. The second is the sunshine that does come after the rain as it always does. The third is enjoying time with the family again after what seems such a long time. The fourth is a funny book I am reading (see list). The fifth is the fact that I have two weeks off now.
Please let the sun shine.

So I’ll love you and leave you and will soon be making my way back to bed. First I’ll find you a poem to hopefully cheer you and me.


Sweet Dreams And Happy Memories



Sweet dreams and happy memories,
A love that's good and true;
A home to care for tenderly;
A song to sing that's new
Sweet dreams and happy memories
And friends to join in mirth
Some tears to give to those who die,
And smiles to greet each birth.
Sweet dreams and happy memories,
To win a game or two.
The faith to know that Spring will come,
The strength to wait it through.
Sweet dreams and happy memories,
To do what there's to do
For joy is living day to day,
To make sweet dreams come true.

Doris Reed Tietz



Bye for now,
Caitx

Burning Candles

Dear Diary,


You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing and dance, and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life.


Jiddu Khrishnamurti



Sunday. A Sun Day, indeed it is.

A Lie-In!

I have opened the bedroom window wide. Pure Welsh air, warmth and sunshine stream in. Can this be true, or am I still dreaming?

I stayed up far too late last night as usual, this time I was catching up on reading others’ blogs. Now I feel tired, will I ever learn? I really must stop trying to burn the candle at both ends but the trouble is I have always been a night owl. Why are people owls or larks? Is it a genetic thing? Or something to do with our time of birth? Sleep is so necessary for a healthy immune system, it is number one on the list (see Matthew Manning book below).

As I enjoy my morning cuppa I dip into various books that are piled up beside my bed. Our book group has evenings where we discuss ‘Books on my Bedside Table’, they are always popular and I usually take in a huge pile to pass round. At the moment I have at hand the following:

1001 ways to Save the Planet by Esme Floyd. This is a really good-easy-to-read book, crammed full of green ideas that everyone can and should think about taking up.

Writing in the Age of Silence by Sara Paretsky, the crime writer. This is a non-fiction book about her life and how she got into writing. Very interesting so far.

Your Mind Can Heal Your Body by Matthew Manning. Matthew is one of my favourite healers so I had to borrow this new one by him.

Stonelight by Sheena Pugh. This is an oldish volume of poetry by a great poet who was born in Birmingham but has made her home in Wales.

I am still waiting for ‘We were the Mulvaneys’ by Joyce Carol Oates. I thought the library service had a copy but I can’t find it on the catalogue. I have suggested they buy a copy but I have ordered one from Amazon as it is the Purple Coo book group’s current choice. I am in need of a good novel, something I can get lost in.

I am tempted by another idea I got from Matthew Manning’s book which is to paint the walls in my little parlour in a honeygoldy colour. The room is currently all-white because I wanted to make it appear more spacious. Our little snug is already a honeygold colour and it always feels sunny in there, whatever the weather. Warm and happy somehow. I am so fed up with the lack of sunshine this year that I think I will just have to bring it indoors in my own way. Matthew apparently has gold stars as well on the walls in his house in Suffolk! I may leave those out although I do have lots of dangly things hanging from the beams, mostly angels and fairy lights, but I do have a gold star and a gold moon amongst them.

I’m very interested in colour therapy and I am a great believer in its powers.

Last night, or rather in the early hours when I was on the computer the dogs became very excited, whelping and whining excited, not their ‘there’s a stranger about barking/growling excited‘. But I bravely went down and double checked that there was no burglar about! I guessed it was the otters in the river, they always bring this reaction out in the dogs. So I did NOT let them out to frighten them away. I dared not open the back door as it may have scared them off.

It’s a pity there was no moonlight to see the otters by (see one of my earliest blogs for my true story of otters in the moonlight). I really must get the hang of this linking business, so much to learn with computers isn’t there? One never stops learning, it’s a bit like life really.

Before I go my daughter has been updating me on the TB in cattle story. She and her husband farm both sheep and cattle so she is writing from experience. I thought it was all black and white but apparently, like most present day media/political scenarios, what we are fed is a murky shade of grey.

The easiest thing is to copy her comment on my blog.

‘The human strain of TB is a different one from that which affects cattle.

Our vet said that she had never actually seen an animal showing signs of TB, nor have any of the farmers I know. Animals are routinely tested now every time they move or go to market not just the two yearly tests which were the norm before. By 'before', I think I mean before the government became anti-farming and anti- sustainability.

Our present government is happy to rely upon cheap imports, taking advantage of the strong pound. Meanwhile many farmers believe in a compelling conspiracy theory which suggests that cattle are being culled simply to cut numbers or daunt British producers.

TB cannot even be passed to humans in the meat and more often than not is dormant in the beasts, often previously undetected perhaps but also unnoticed.

All the vets I have spoken to admit that the whole issue of TB testing is extremely dubious, way too stringent (costing farmers money every time they move cattle) and absolutely pointless to boot. These vets are working for the 'Ministry of Ag' and are on a whacking great wage.

I'm with the monks, not because they should have special treatment but because we should ALL stand up to this government and its sly propagandist tactics’


And now to completely change the subject from the controversial to the romantic, let’s get back into the past and to a poem - the old and well known classic Irish poem, that is a big favourite of mine.




When You Are Old



When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.




William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

I will sign off now, I have a date with the Archers - a lot more farming issues to catch up with on there - and then Desert Island Discs. Chores, indoors and out, a roast dinner maybe and then later we are meeting up with D and family who are arriving from Norfolk.

So much to do and so little time…

Wish I’d gone to bed earlier,

Bye for now,
Caitx

Better Late Than Never

A couple of Arthur Rackham pics, just because I love them.


Dear Diary,

(I am late posting this blog. Written yesterday morning).

I haven’t blogged for a while. Life gets in the way sometimes doesn’t it?



You move totally away from reality when you believe that there is a legitimate reason to suffer.
Katie Byron


Poor old Shambo.

I am with the monks on this one.

As long as the animal remains in isolation it would have seemed the best solution to me. And I do know about TB, I am old enough to have personal experience in my family of the effects the disease.

As I write this, my dear cat Molly is all over me, wanting my attention. She, like Shambo (was) is bursting with health and the thought of her being killed is horrific to say the least. She looks so comfy and contented as only a cat can, like the cat that got the cream. Don’t get me wrong, I do have sympathy for the farmers in the same situation, my daughter is married to a farmer. But to these monks all life is sacred.

One of my borrowers came up with an interesting angle. He said that if a human had TB would we kill him rather than let him mix with cattle? Don’t you sometimes think that we humans are both a domineering and arrogant species sometimes? Poor old Shambo, rest in Peace.

On a brighter note my Angel Card today is Joy, that’s a good one to have. I will seek out joy in my day. I have a friend called Joyful, what a lovely name to own. And another good thing. It is not raining! The river is quite low.

Outside the squirrels are busy, as are the birds. Does anyone know a cheap online source of peanuts and seed for the birds and the squirrels? They are eating us out of house and home.

I am hoping next week is more like summer as my stepson and family are coming from Norfolk to stay for a short holiday with us here in Wales . They are staying with my daughter, D’s half-sister, on the farm.

The poor farmers in these parts haven’t been able to cut any grass for weeks and if, as predicted, next week is dry they will be very busy. Luckily D likes getting stuck in and helping out on the farm so I guess/hope he might be busy. It will be silage this year, not much chance of hay. It’s a shame as our field usually has a good yield of hay. Usually it has been cut and cleared by now and the field free to walk in. It is such a shame that it is still out of bounds for me and the dogs. I can’t get near the long grass as I suffer from hay fever.

I am actually longing for sunshine, yes even me, a self-confessed lover of rain. You can definitely have too much of a good thing can’t you? Our vitamin D levels will be so low if we don’t get any sun on our skin. And I think we need a good summer to set us up for the winter, both physically and mentally. Let’s hope and pray that we get a lovely and long Indian summer.

Un Peu Loufouque has given us good advice about keeping our flower beds unkempt and the grass long in order to save the bumblebee. They like to shelter amongst the 'wildness'. I am queen of the unkempt border and as you know I call my garden a ‘wild garden’ in order to cover a multitude of sins. Now I can also say I am saving the bees…

I watched Miss Potter last night, it was quite a pleasant film but I felt it lacked something. Does anyone know what I mean?

M is off to see a man about a gun (an airgun I hasten to add!), well two men actually and he may be some time. I am going to get out of bed and get cracking. Even K my border collie is nagging me to get up. First I have to listen to Thomas Keneally on Desert Island Discs.


Later….

M has had a comment on his blog from Anna K and I must say it has made his day. Thank you Anna!

He has looked at Anna’s blog and said, like me, what a lovely person she is, not just her photo (!) and what lovely children.

As Faith said……It’s funny how reading people’s blogs gives one a feeling of the ‘spirit’ of a person. So if you ever meet face to face you must feel that you know them intimately yet have never spoken and have no idea of how they look, how they behave, their mannerisms etc.


Well before I leave you here are my blessings:

Some days it is hard to think of new ones and I am so tempted to repeat some of the old ones that keep resurfacing in my mind. At least that proves that blessings persist. Here are a few new and old ones.

Surprises.

I had a comment on my blog, on one of my music videos, from a stranger. That was a nice surprise. I wonder how he found me. He too is a Johnny Walker fan (not the whisky, though come to think of it….). I love Johnny’s taste in music. There’s something wonderful about a nice surprise - like a shock it hits you in the solar plexus but in such a pleasant way.

Visits from dear family members who live far away.

Forthcoming time off and visits to other family far away.

Enchanting images found on the Internet and shared on the blog.

Gifts from friends.

We had a convivial evening this week with some newish friends (I am related to one in a way but that is another (long) story). They gave us some of their frozen home-made chestnut mushroom soup to take home and try. We had it for supper last night after my ‘long day’ in the library. It was absolutely delicious. I’m a great soup maker myself but funnily enough I haven’t ever made mushroom soup. Mushrooms are often for sale quite cheaply so I think I will be making some soup with them myself soon. I’ve mentioned my home-grown artichoke soup in an earlier blog; that was out of this world and this mushroom soup was on a par with that. J also gave me some of her blackcurrant jam. I had some for breakfast and it was the best I have ever tasted. And to top it all M returned from their house just now with two warm home made rolls from them and they too were heavenly. So gifts and surprises together in this blessing.

Before I fly here is a poem by Simon Armitage. Nothing to do with the blog, I just love it.


You're Beautiful


Because you're classically trained
I’m ugly because I associate piano wire with strangulation

You’re beautiful because you stop to read cards in newsagent windows
About lost cats and missing dogs.
I’m ugly because of what I did to that jelly fish with a lolly-stick and a big stone

You’re beautiful because for you politeness is instinctive and not a marketing
campaign.
I’m ugly because desperation is impossibly to hide


Ugly like he is
Beautiful like hers
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his
Beautiful like she is
Ugly like Mars

You’re beautiful because you believe in coincidence and the power of thought
I’m ugly because I proved god to be a mathematical impossibility

You’re beautiful because you prefer homemade soup to the packet stuff
I’m ugly because once at a dinner party
I defended the aristocracy and I wasn’t even drunk

You’re beautiful because you can’t work the remote control
I’m ugly because of satellite television and 24 hr rolling news

Ugly like he is
Beautiful like hers
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his
Beautiful like she is
Ugly like Mars

You’re beautiful because you cry at funerals as well as weddings
I’m ugly because I think of children as a species from a different world

You’re beautiful because you look great in any colour including red
I’m ugly because I think shopping is strictly for the acquisition of material goods

You’re beautiful because when you were born, undiscovered planets
Lined up to peep over your cradle and lay gifts of gravity and light
At your miniature feet

I’m ugly for saying ?love at first sight? is another form of mistaken identity,
And the most human of responses is to gloat


Ugly like he is
Beautiful like hers
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his
Beautiful like she is
Ugly like Mars

You’re beautiful because you’ve never seen the inside of a car-wash
I’m ugly because I always ask for a receipt

You’re beautiful for sending a box of shoes to the third world
I’m ugly because i remember the phone numbers of ex-girlfriends
And the year Schubert was born

You’re beautiful because you sponsored a parrot in a zoo
I’m ugly because I when I sigh it’s like the slow collapse of a circus tent

Ugly like he is
Beautiful like hers
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his
Beautiful like she is
Ugly like Mars

You’re beautiful because you can point to at a man in uniform and laugh
I’m ugly because I was a police informer in a pervious life

You’re beautiful because you drink three litres of water and eat three pieces
Of fruit a day.
I’m ugly for taking the line that a meal without meat is a beautiful woman
With one eye

You’re beautiful because you don’t see love as a competition and you know
how to lose
I’m beautiful because I kissed the FA cup and held it up to the crowd

You’re beautiful because of a single buttercup in the top button hole of your
cardigan
I’m ugly because I said the world strongest woman was a muscle man in a
dress

You’re beautiful because you couldn’t live in a lighthouse.
I’m ugly for making hand-shadows in front of the giant bulb, So when they
look up,
The captains of vessels in distress see the ears of a rabbit, or a eye of a fox,
Or the legs of a galloping horse.

Ugly like he is
Beautiful like hers
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his
Beautiful like she is
Ugly like Mars


Ugly like he is
Beautiful like hers
Beautiful like Venus,
Ugly like his
Beautiful like she is
Ugly like Mars

Simon Armitage



Bye for now,
Caitx

I Like Trucks - Kendal Carson

Moving, onwards and upwards

Dear Diary,

A bit of a newsy ramble.

I am a late riser this morning but the weather is not exactly inviting. Dark skies and heavy rain, not like July at all, more like early Winter. But I feel better; I’ve had a shower a good yoga session and my bowl of porridge. All’s right with the world now.

It is my youngest granddaughter’s sixth birthday today. Funny how the youngest in a family always seems like ‘the baby’ and the eldest seems more mature and quick to grow up. I am going to give E a few little things and some money for her birthday so she can spend it as she likes. I’ve also bought her Mandy’s Fairies, a lovely hardback book of poems about fairies, all written by a woman who sadly lost a daughter at a young age. She died from leukaemia and the book is sold in age of research into the disease. So if like me you still believe in fairies and love poems this book will suit you; do buy it as it is supporting such a good cause. (Contact details at the end of the blog).

Emmie believes in fairies, she has to! I have signposts in my garden:

Ssshhhh Garden Fairies Are Sleeping

This is in one of the flower beds as you come in the cottage through the back garden and at the front gate I have one a little more hard to see (except to fairies of course). It stands at the base of a pink scented climbing rose and an evergreen honeysuckle and says:

Fairies Welcome.

Being Irish I have to believe in the Little People (and I do).

If you approach the cottage through the field and cross the river bridge that M constructed from tree trunks and planks, there is a little sign that says:

Welcome to My Garden.

It hangs on one of the two willow trees M planted, one on each side of the river.

Near the cottage I have a pot of wildflowers with a sign:

Wild Flowers Grown by A Wild Woman

I was planning to take photos of these little fairy ’locations’ and post for you but the weather is atrocious. If the day ever brightens I will have a go.

E is having a party at a local adventure place, one of those indoor play places where children run wild. going on all sorts of things and then have a birthday tea. On a day like today it actually seems like a great idea.

Our neighbours are having a party tomorrow night, an outdoor one (!). Their oldest daughter is sixteen today. We are all watching the weather forecast rather nervously and with everything crossed. They have a small marquee type tent, a covered awning and plenty of trees to shelter under. There will no doubt be fireworks and a fire balloon set off into the sky. J has fireworks for any celebration and is a master of the fire balloon, I adore these especially, as they are truly magical. So I hope it’s a dry night. There will be home made and live music as well a light show. Guitars, flutes, a bodhran, a new set of drums too. M will take his harmonica. It is a shame that S, my son, will not be here as he would have enjoyed playing . He is off to the Isle of Wight today to stay with a girl he met last weekend at Guilfest (the music festival in Guildford). He must be keen on her to travel all that way! He has moved into a flat in a nearby town this week, the cottage seems quiet without him, I miss him and his music. He has lived away before so it is not the first time he has ‘left home’ but we mums never stop feeling sad when they go do we?

I will be coming back late to the party as I have to go to a works dinner at a nearby town. One of the librarians, the Children’s Services and Schools Library Service manager for Powys, is retiring after a lifetime’s career here. She has been a really dedicated library manager with her heart in the job. Although she was married she never had children of her own but really cared about the close-to-my-heart cause of encouraging children to read and planting the seed of enthusiasm for books. I will miss her.

My eldest granddaughter K finished at their village primary school yesterday and is off to High School in the nearby town in September, an exciting time for her. I can’t believe it, an oft-said cliché, but it is true. I really cannot believe she has reached that age so quickly. I can remember being eleven, lots of my main memories kick in at around that time.

There are fourteen children going up to the same High School from the primary school attached to the community library where I work. Lovely children all of them and I will miss them greatly, although hopefully most of them will continue to borrow books. Young people get a lot of flack but all the children and teenagers that I come across in the library are so polite and well mannered. They are a credit to the school staff, the town and of course their parents. It is a wonderful community.

Blessings.

Shopping Online. The net is a boon to we country folk, especially here in mid-Wales. There is a dearth of shops in this part of the world, a blessing in disguise really as I am not exactly tempted to spend money. But the Internet has been a saviour when we do need something as it saves hours of driving, petrol costs and parking fees and I can browse to my heart’s content on whatever takes my fancy. They offer fast, efficient deliveries in most cases. Which takes me on to another blessing that is.

The Post Office

A big cheer of support for this service which is wonderful and cheap. I am behind them in their fight for more money, their fight for survival really. It affects those of us here in Wales especially as we are not wanted by the private companies because we are ’uneconomic’; there are not enough of us, we are too isolated and live in inaccessible locations. I think the Post Office should raise their charges (you won’t hear me write that phrase very often!). The service you get from a first class stamp is amazing. I can post a letter at about 4 pm just near my cottage and it arrives in Essex (for example) the next morning.

Blossom
It has been a good year for the roses, for all blossoms really but such a shame that the rain now is ruining them. I always pick a little posy of flowers for the library counter and they definitely cheer people, the children too always comment on them which is nice. The blooms always last for ages in the library as they do at home, always a good sign spiritually.

Antiques.
I went with V, my daughter, to an antique showroom in Trecastle near Brecon at the weekend. I bought a framed sampler of a cockerel and the rhyme ‘Early to Bed and Early to Rise…… I am going to put it on the bedroom wall (to encourage me to follow its advice?). I have actually been going to bed early for a few days and I do feel better for it I must say.

I went looking for book shelves but they didn’t have any. My study shelves had collapsed due to the weight of books and the weakness of the stone and hair walls. I also bought an antique wooden log box. It will be useful to store the dry kindling wood (or morning wood as they call it here in Wales) that I collect from the river bank in the summer. Did I really write that? Quite by chance the log box, being made of the same wood, oak, matches the antique commode that my TV stands on.

V and I and two of the girls had tea and cakes across the road from the antique showroom. K, the eldest, had gone off to Carmarthen on farming business with Dad. We sat and sunned ourselves, yes we did, it felt like summer then…. I enjoyed my own big pot of Earl Grey and the nicest carrot cake I have ever tasted.

The talk of Sun and the Rain today brings me on to rainbows. A lovely photo of one was posted in the Common Room. It reminds us that there is always sunshine after the rain and somewhere over a rainbow…… who knows what awaits? A pot of gold maybe?

This blog contains a lot about growing up, moving out, moving upward and moving onwards. Perhaps it is a sign that I must move on myself? Not upwards, I am not quite ready for heaven just yet. Who was it said we must try and make a heaven on this earth?


Barter

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.

~Sara Teasdale


Bye for now,
Cait.


www.mandysfairies.co.uk .
Mrs M Bell
10, The Furrows Luton Beds Lu3 2LF
The price of each book is £5.99 +P&P
£1.65=£7.64 in total
Cheques payable to M Bell.

Reading, Writing and Unseen Helpers

Dear Diary,

Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.

Dalai Lama

This will be a shortish blog today.

It is a no-work day and just for a change the forecast is heavy showers. I’ve been wanting to do some outside painting, only touching up jobs really, but it’s just been impossible. That’s apart from the weeding needed in garden which looks more like a jungle every day.

But never mind; I’ve more than enough reading matter and lots of writing to get on with. I have just started reading How to see yourself as you really are (crap title, but serious book) by the Dalai Lama, translated by Jeffrey Hopkins. A friend reminded me of the Dalai Lama the other day, she had just read his autobiography and was completely taken over by him. She admits she is a cynical person and definitely not the sort to have heroes but he has become one for her. She wanted me to request lots of his other writings for her so I searched the library catalogue and found loads including the above mentioned (new) book. I can highly recommend it.

I’m a great believer that we never find books by chance rather that we are led to them. They find us in fact, do you not agree?

I’ve had my last OCA writing assignment back from my tutor and as usual her comments and suggestions are really inspiring. I’m back into it now (writing my life story as an adoption memoir) and have started working on it early in the mornings before I get up. This time of day seems the best time for me writing-wise; perhaps it is my age but it gets harder to write as the day wears on. I love writing in bed and as it is Summer (it is Summer isn’t it? Please remind/promise me it really is) I can lie in comfort, snug and warm and have one eye on the treetops, the river and the field beyond.



I wonder where you write? I love reading about writers and their lives, how they get their inspiration, where they write etc. How they spend their days. Every week the Guardian on Saturday has a photo of a different well known author’s writing room and a little piece written by the author about their ‘writing space’. I find it fascinating and it’s one of the first pages I turn to. I only read a paper on Saturdays and that usually lasts me the whole week.

How I write is by scribbling barely eligible notes on a pad and then I type them up on the computer later, in the little 'study' upstairs in the cottage. I have the wonderful view there too, I am so lucky. It is soothing to say the least.

Blessings?

Ideas and Attitude.

My head is buzzing today and I am feeling more positive about things, perhaps it is because the sun is shining, (at the moment!). Lately things have been getting me down and upsetting me somewhat but I am looking at them in a more positive light and I am being helped by my ‘unseen friends’.

Talking of which the next blessing...

Purplecoo folk.
(My Unseen Friends of an Earthbound Kind).

The online community is expanding and turning into something evermore wonderful. What we have far exceeds anything we would get from some glossy magazine. Special thanks to the site management angels.

Which brings me nicely on to my next blessing which is:

Gratitude.

Remember dear Sarah Ban Breathnach and her Gratitude Journal? She was the one who got me going on my Blessings. Do read her books if you haven’t already, they are a joy.


Jokes and the sharing of same.

I have sent a lot of funnies round in an email today to my friends and relatives who I think need cheering up, but then again in this weather don’t we all?

Last but not least

A good night’s sleep.

I’ve had two in a row now. Probably thanks to Dr Stuarts Tranquillity Teabags; they certainly seem to be working.

Before I go, a poem:



As Once The Winged Energy


As once the winged energy of delight
carried you over childhood's dark abysses,
now beyond your own life build the great
arch of unimagined bridges.

Wonders happen if we can succeed
in passing through the harshest danger;
but only in a bright and purely granted
achievement can we realize the wonder.

To work with Things in the indescribable
relationship is not too hard for us;
the pattern grows more intricate and subtle,
and being swept along is not enough.

Take your practiced powers and stretch them out
until they span the chasm between two
contradictions...For the god
wants to know himself in you.


Rainer Maria Rilke


Bye for now,
Caitx

PS The painting is of Mary Shelley, (Frankenstein and all that!) at her writing desk

Lounge Lizards

Be Prepared
Girl Guide Motto

Dear Diary,

Thursday was an unusual day in the library.

There is a display stand just inside the door where I put books that borrowers have recommended as being good reads. Early on Thursday I was doing some shelving and was just about to place a book on the top section of this stand when I nearly jumped out of my skin as I saw a lizard laying across the top of a Victor Pemberton paperback just to the right of my hand as I was placing my book down beside it. Well I wasn’t alone in the library, there was a man on a computer so I didn’t yell!

I wondered in fact if the lizard was real as it resembled one of those plastic dinosaurs that children collect. My first thought was that a child had placed it there as a prank to frighten people. I weighed up the pros and cons of asking my borrower to remove it for me or to see if it was real anyway. I wasn’t 100% sure it was plastic but I’d gone into helpless female role far too easily. Me of all people, I’m not scared of spiders or snakes. I was terrified of spiders when I was a child but will happily pick them up now. Though a snake in the library might be a different matter.

So as M, the borrower who had been on the computer, was leaving I showed him the little visitor. (Luckily he is a member of the book group and a trusted friend). However even he was as startled as me to be honest and also wasn’t sure if it was real as it was so very still. He got my ruler and very, very gently touched it. It moved! So did we. We both jumped! But the lizard only moved a little, luckily it didn’t run and hide but just stayed happily glued to the book, obviously a Victor Pemberton fan,

I decided to pop into the school and tell the Headmistress in case any of the children wanted to come and have a look at it. So group by group they all came into the library, the little ones and the older children, the Welsh unit children too (and they didn’t know the Welsh word for lizard) to have a peek. All were surprised and most of them had never seen one before. One boy said they had a lot in their garden. (Oh God I thought I hope there’s not a plague of the things in the gardens here). But none of the little children were frightened and many wanted to hold it but Mrs L the head had banned that.

‘Germs’ pronounced one of the girls, wisely.

We all wondered how it had got into the library. I do have the door open in hot days so we guessed it must have come in and got trapped one day.

The lizard stayed dead still for ages, not dead but very still. But eventually it must have tired of being stared at by so many huge young faces and it turned its face to the wall but still didn’t move away. One of the teachers thought I should put it in a container but I said that when the sun came out (ever the optimist that’s me) I would ask a brave soul to put the lizard out in the flowerbeds outside the library.

I hate creatures in the home, wild birds for example, or bats or mice. I just freak out, but if they are outside I am OK. I had seen lizards on one or two occasions basking in the sunshine in the garden and had seen plenty in the south of France on the walls of the houses but inside a building this one just made me squirm. Anyone else like me?

As the library got busy with borrowers the lizard was the centre of attention and still it didn’t move. The children had looked lizards up on the net and were now quite knowledgeable about them. They informed me it was a Common Lizard.

Meanwhile I had been looking up the symbolism of this reptile, convinced as I was it must be a sign, a representation of something just for me.

The lizard is a sacred symbol in both the Native American and Aborigine cultures. Interestingly, in both cultures the lizard is seen as an icon of the dream world. Some tribes believed that to have the vision of the lizard meant that you were about to receive a profound dream teaching. To others it represented the power to control dreams. Because of its ability to detach and regrow its tail it also represents detachment. Meditation on the lizard symbol can help us to achieve detachment from the ego and the fulfilment of our dreams.

Well not all bad then. I felt happier about its meaning.

Just on lunchtime some teenage boys offered to put him outside for me and as they put him down, on cue, the sun came out!

On Saturday morning when I arrived at work I went round the library rather apprehensively, wary in case any lizards jumped out at me, but I didn’t see any. At the end of the morning I was telling some friends about him and as I accompanied them out of the library one of my friends did spot the lizard on a low wall. It quickly ran and hid though. So he is still around and no doubt will be seen again, I just hope he gives up his love of books though and stays away from the library!

Moral of this wee tale?

Always be prepared for the unexpected…………wherever you look.

And Blessings?

Brave souls who act as knights in shining armour. Yes I could have done anything if I had to but sometimes it’s just nice to let others do for you.

Wonder. A quality we often overlook, always found in children and so soon discarded in adulthood. ‘May you never lose your sense of wonder‘………..

Hand in hand with wonder goes

Imagination. More important than knowledge according to Einstein, don’t forget. Everything on Earth started off as imagination, think about it. That is why physicists believe that matter is made up of (energy) particles, including our thoughts. Interesting stuff eh? I am told that in the scientific world it is only the physicists who believe in a ‘God’ but what ‘form’ it takes who can say?


On another subject altogether.

THINGS I would find it hard to live without.
I was meditating on this subject, as you do. Would love to hear your ideas. So far I have my washing machine and my shower/bath. I did think about hair dye and hair straighteners but realised that they are not ABSOLUTELY essential.

Well I’ll sign off now but not without a poem. It seems ages since I read, yet alone posted one. I found this one by chance on the net and the words are quite appropriate. It made me feel more fondly about our lizard visitor in the library.


The Old Lizard

Translated by Lysander Kemp



In the parched path

I have seen the good lizard

(one drop of crocodile)

meditating.

With his green frock-coat

of an abbot of the devil,

his correct bearing

and his stiff collar,

he has the sad air

of an old professor.

Those faded eyes

of a broken artist,

how they watch the afternoon

in dismay!


Is this, my friend,

your twilight constitutional?

Please use your cane,

you are very old, Mr. Lizard,

and the children of the village

may startle you.

What are you seeking in the path,

my near-sighted philosopher,

if the wavering phantasm

of the parched afternoon

has broken the horizon?


Are you seeking the blue alms

of the moribund heaven?

A penny of a star?

Or perhaps

you've been reading a volume

of Lamartine, and you relish

the plateresque trills

of the birds?


(You watch the setting sun,

and your eyes shine,

oh, dragon of the frogs,

with a human radiance.

Ideas, gondolas without oars,

cross the shadowy

waters of your

burnt-out eyes.)


Have you come looking

for that lovely lady lizard,

green as the wheatfields

of May,

as the long locks

of sleeping pools,

who scorned you, and then

left you in your field?

Oh, sweet idyll, broken

among the sweet sedges!

But, live! What the devil!

I like you.

The motto "I oppose

the serpent" triumphs

in that grand double chin

of a Christian archbishop.


Now the sun has dissolved

in the cup of the mountains,

and the flocks

cloud the roadway.

It is the hour to depart:

leave the dry path

and your meditations.

You will have time

to look at the stars

when the worms are eating you

at their leisure.



Go home to your house

by the village, of the crickets!

Good night, my friend

Mr. Lizard!


Now the field is empty,

the mountains dim,

the roadway deserted.

Only, now and again,

a cuckoo sings in the darkness

of the poplar trees.



Copyright © 2005 by Federico García Lorca and Lysander Kemp


Federico García Lorca

Federico García Lorca is possibly the most important Spanish poet and dramatist of the twentieth century. García Lorca was born June 5, 1899, in Fuente Vaqueros.

Get the Party Started

People Help the People, Cherry Ghost

The Woodland Experience

Dear Diary,








Before I go on to all things ‘woodlike’ I must tell you that Mr Cassini by Lloyd Jones HAS won the Welsh Book of the Year award. You may remember that it was one of the books our reading group was asked to review and we were invited to speak about it on BBC Radio Wales, as well as on Growth Rings, the poetry book by Christine Evans. I am so thrilled at the result because it was my favourite to win. Surreal, original, intelligent, so well written, humorous, full of myth and magic and so very Welsh. What more could you ask for in a novel? The subject matter struck home with me too.

And now the Woodland Experience

I am killing two birds with one stone. Oh how could I write that? I could definitely not kill a bird! But I am blogging and doing my work for my writers’ group as one and the same piece. What‘s that? Lazy? Me?

At the last meeting of our writers’ group, H, our lovely new member, a talented young poet, chose the subject for us to write about for ‘homework’. She chose ‘forests’. So I really should be writing about forests but to be honest they scare me ever so slightly. They loom too large, with trees too tall and too thickly planted, they seem so dark and eerily silent. They feel ’wilder’ than woods, perhaps that is why they have the ’scary’ element and I also have vague memories of forests being the background of frightening parts of fairy stories. Woods can be wild too though, that I do know. In fact I had a friend who lived near me once in Sussex whose home was called Wildwood Cottage.

I asked H if I could write about ‘woodland’ instead. As if there were ever strict rules in our group. As if I would ever obey them? Ha Ha… Rules are made to be broken, that is one of my mottoes.

After all every forest probably started off life as a copse of trees.

I’d like to be buried in a wood.

When I am dead you understand.

I could even live quite happily in a little house in a wood.

Why do I love woods so?

Well let’s start with the Peace and the Quiet. The Trees of course, they are the stars of the show, the different types, broad-leafed and ancient, they are the best, the most magical. There is much wildlife too within their environs, right from the very small (what they annoyingly call ‘minibeasts’ nowadays in school National Curriculum-speak - don‘t get me started) up to the larger beats, Reynard and Brock. Rabbits, squirrels, owls, and all the birds I Iove them all. The faeries and their rings and the little red and spotted toadstools. I mustn’t forget the Little People, the leprechauns. I’ll be in trouble if I don’t mention them.

And extra special of course is the fact that the woods are home to my much-loved flowers, those heavenly bluebells. Also snowdrops, primroses (more on primroses to come later),celandines, violets, honeysuckle; I had better stop though I could go on and on.



The atmosphere in a wood is like no other. I once had a mystical experience in a wood when we lived in Sussex. It happened about twenty years ago. There were woods and fields all around us, living where we did in the Surrey/Sussex Weald. (The 1987 hurricane sadly destroyed a lot of trees). Our home was a small cottage on the borders of Surrey and West Sussex and opposite us was a small and ancient wood. One sunny, spring Saturday, M, the two children and I went over there for a walk. I remember sitting resting against an oak tree with primroses at my feet, enjoying a bit of time to myself while M and the children, who were aged about seven and four, took off for a little wander. When they were out of sight I remember becoming very dreamy and easily going into quite a meditative state while I was studying the primroses below me. I was just starting out in learning yoga at the time, was well into relaxation and have always found that meditation comes naturally. It is staying focussed in the here and now that I find difficult!

It is difficult to put the experience into words; all I can say is that I became ‘at one’ with the primroses and it was a really fantastic feeling. I was no longer ’me’, everything was just ‘One’. And no I wasn’t ’on’ anything, not even a drop of alcohol had passed my lips! I couldn’t tell you how long the experience lasted as time was suspended and timeless as it is on those very spiritual or significantl moments in life. The spell was only broken by ‘hearing’ the family approaching from the right, returning from their walk. S aged four, dressed in a track suit and a sailor’s hat and V with her flowing blonde locks and wearing a long white dress. Both in their wellies. Quaint and old fashioned they look as I look at them now. For I took a photo of the three of them and keep it by my desk now. Apart from it being a lovely happy family photo it held another (until now) secret memory for me of a very special day. For I didn’t tell anyone of my experience for fear that they would think me mad.

I don’t care a fig what anyone thinks of me now, that is one of the joys of getting older! People can believe me or not, it is entirely up to them.

I hope you fellow writers out there believe me and I hope you will share any similar experiences?

But I will sign off now and put this little piece in for homework. I hope I get decent marks, I’ve told the truth and I’ve done my best…..

Bye for now,

Caitx

TO HEAR THE VIDEOS PAUSE THE AUDIO PLAYER

To hear the VIDEOS please PAUSE the AUDIO music player (below on the right).

Hey You - Madonna

Seems Like Summer

Dear Diary,

Be the change you want to see in the world

Mahatma Ghandi

After an early night I wake with a headache so I get up and make myself a cup of honeyed tea, gather up two of my super strong painkillers, feed Molly her breakfast and return to bed. Before I do I open the front and back doors of the cottage as it is seems like summer; warm, fresh and dry air blows in, how strange it seems, but pleasantly so.

Back in bed I practice some self-Reiki and open the bedroom window wide to let in some more of that pure, unpolluted, head-clearing Welsh air, it’s the first morning I’ve been able to do that for ages and is a real treat. The wildlife are busy too, many, many birds flitting about and the house martins’ second brood who live an arm lengths from the bed, under the eaves of the cottage, are chattering away merrily while their parents fly to and fro bringing tasty, juicy insects, caught on the wing. M and I marvel at these birds, and also our swallows who nest in the forge across the road, how they travel all the way from Africa every summer, return to the same place and make nests out of mud, then the females lay four or five eggs, hatch them out and then feed the young ones and teaches them to fly. And all the while they are forever in flight, only landing in the nest. They swoop down in the river to drink and we see the babies only sitting on the fence when they are learning to fly.

M tells me of his schooldays when they had a swift’s nest under the eaves of their school’s clock tower. Swifts never land either but sometimes the children would find one that had inadvertently landed on the ground and they always took it to the headmaster who would throw it up in the air and it flew away, of course. I wonder why the children never threw the birds up to the air themselves, perhaps there is a moral in there somewhere. I am reminded of that poem ‘Come to the Edge’ which I love.


Come to the Edge


Come to the edge.
We might fall.
Come to the edge.
It's too high!
Come to the edge.
And they came,
and we pushed,
And they flew.


Christopher Logue


Sammy Squirrel is on a fir tree branch and this is a first, he is sitting there gazing in at me as I am staring out at him. Our eyes are locked and I am loth to break the fix for I know when I do he will move. The owls do this sometimes from about the same spot which I have mentioned in earlier blogs. Very Harry Potteresque. I always wonder what animals and birds think as they look on at we human beings.

I have to finish ‘The Expected One’ by Kathleen McGowan (bet she is knows as Cathy McGowan, remember her? I had a fringe just like her). Our book group meets tomorrow night and I am looking forward to a deeply ‘theological’ and controversial discussion. If I read the books too far ahead I forget the main points I want to talk about.

I didn’t get to blog a second blog yesterday as after work I had to look after the two youngest granddaughters, S and E. Always a joy, we had a lovely time together. We got the deckchairs out, they were new this year but haven’t had much use so far. We enjoyed ice lollies, smoothies and Soleros. It actually felt like summer. The garden may be a jungle but I tried to avert my eyes from all the work that needs doing.

We spent some of the time in the garden in between watching our favourite artists who were playing at the Earth Concert (see previous blog for my thoughts about this). The concert was fantastic. My favourites? Genesis, (nice to see dear old Phil again), David Gray, Damien Rice, James Blunt, Keane, Snow Patrol and Madonna, (well she was just amazing). I loved the song she sang at the beginning of her set, not sure of the title - Hey You? I will post the video as soon as I can, she wrote it especially for yesterday’s concert and she sang it with a group of children

I hope the message gets across to those people who have not yet got started on being ‘green’. I remember when eating healthy foods and wholemeal bread was considered weird and cranky. And now the government, health services are pushing it like mad. Remember the chain of health food shops ‘Cranks? Trouble is time is short in this case and we have to act now if we want to save the planet for our grandchildren. Humans always believe want they want to believe. Some folk are like sheep and will follow a leader. The best way to lead is by example and I admire all those who have hopefully started the ball rolling; after all climate change is as much as a threat, if not more really, than terrorist acts of violence, legalised or otherwise.








Instead of Blessings.

I have been tagged and have to give five mood-lifters so here goes.

Well music of course, you won’t be surprised that I have put that first.

Distraction. Many things you can do here. Work is one and if you are lucky like me it is easy as I love my job and all the borrowers at the library. Other things you can do are housework, a good clean and tidy-up or a good de-clutter. Phone or email a friend or loved one.

Laughter/humour. Watch a funny DVD or TV programme. Try and see the funny side of life, don’t take yourself or anything else too seriously. Try and be around happy, positive people and try and cultivate optimism yourself. Laughter is ‘internal jogging’ for the soul.

Talking of jogging: daily exercise is essential as it releases those mood-enhancing endorphins.

Time alone is essential to me but I know not every one needs that.

Read uplifting, inspiring books and funny ones too.

Always have something, however ‘small’ to look forward to: in the next hour, day, week, month. I have mentioned this before.

There are Thoughts, Beliefs and Actions. Change any one of those and you will change another.

Remember ‘a hug a day keeps depression away‘.

And be like me and count those blessings every day.

Live in the Moment and Seize the Day.

Carpe Diem and all that.

Bye for now,
Caitx

LIVE EARTH CONCERT 2007

Dear Diary,

Just a quickie this morning.

Never underestimate the power of music, the only universal language.

I hate the negativity in the air about the LIve Earth Concerts going on around the world today. My son is working at the Wembley one. There are always people who will throw cold water on things, people who love to stand by and do nothing but will always criticise those who do something. I don’t include Bob Geldof of course, he did do something with Live Aid and I would have thought he would have been there with more support for those following in his wake. So what if people are travelling to concerts? People are travelling somewhere every day of the week using all manners of transportation. We don’t hear these voices criticising people using planes and helicopters on other days? (what about warfare?)

Hopefully the concerts will make people think about the Earth today even if they don’t give a **** any other day. If only a small percentage of the world’s population are moved to change then their actions it will be worth it. I have noticed that children seem quite switched on about the environmental problems probably because they are learning about it at school. We grandparents should especially care as it is our grandchildren who will inherit the Earth, well we indeed hope there will be an Earth fit to live on for them. As I have said before the planet will survive, it is we humans who have to look out.

Music should always be a source of joy. It is a force that gets energies moving, it can make you happy, it can move you to tears, its effects can be so strong. I hate it when the arts are knocked.

I have just listened to Thought for the Day on Radio 4’s Today prog. and it is quite strange as the speaker has echoed all I have just written. Something in the ether perhaps? Fifty-six percent of the population still believe there is no cause for concern regarding climate change. People do not care about long-term problems, a lot of politicians and business people don’t either, I feel that is the stumbling block. Others like to bury their heads in the sand.

Al Gore calls it ‘a challenge to the moral imagination’. He also said that ’We can all learn how we can become the solution to the problem in the context of our lives’. I feel any world event like this helps to bring people of many nations together and hopefully will make us become united against the ‘enemy’ which can only be a force for change.

I could go on but I have to get ready for work. I will try and blog again later with blessings, positives, pictures, poems and more, maybe even some MUSIC!

I wish you a sunny Saturday.

God Bless,

Bye for now,
Caitx

Jack Savoretti

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