Birds

Dear Diary,

God loved the birds and invented trees, Man loved the birds and invented cages
Jacques Deval

A few words on birds, our much-loved feathered friends.








I’ll start with a few poems.


A Celtic poem


Little bird! O little bird!
I wonder at what thou doest,
Thou singing merry far from me,
I in sadness all alone!

Little bird! O little bird!
I wonder at how thou art
Thou high on the tips of branching boughs,
I on the ground a-creeping!

Little bird! O little bird!
Thou art music far away,
Like the tender croon of the mother loved
In the kindly sleep of death.


***


A Caged Bird


A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Maya Angelou



I Looked Up

I looked up and there it was
among the green branches of the pitchpines—
thick bird,
a ruffle of fire trailing over the shoulders and down the back—
colour of copper, iron, bronze—
lighting up the dark branches of the pine.
What misery to be afraid of death.
What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven.
When I made a little sound
it looked at me, then it looked past me.
Then it rose, the wings enormous and opulent,
and, as I said, wreathed in fire.

Mary Oliver



We’ve just had the RSPB birdwatch weekend and we were asked to do a bird-count for an hour. I didn’t actually get time to do this but I do know the visitors that I have at the moment. The regular ones that always visit just as long as there is food out will come every day, all day long, back and forth to the tables. I have a table in my back garden, by the kitchen window, handy to look at while I am washing up or cooking and one by the river bank in the front garden. I can see the latter from my desk at the moment. My dear neighbour J also feeds them so they have a choice of fast food outlets to choose from in this locality, lucky birds. Our feeding stations provide peanuts, mixed corn, porridge oats, hunks of M’s home made bread which they just gobble as fast as they can, they adore it so and I also put out other odds and ends, whatever is to hand really. Sammy Squirrel helps them clear their tables of course,

One of my borrowers at the library said that he has a sparrowhawk visitor to his garden who actually sits on his bird table waiting/hoping to catch some smaller avine visitors. Our sparrowhawk hides at a safe distance, still and quiet, just like a cat, he just watches. Spooky really but I have to tell myself it is just Nature and I mustn’t interfere. Though haven’t I interfered already by providing (unnatural) food to lure the wild birds to my garden?

I don’t call it a garden though, it’s more a wildlife garden/nature-reserve-in-the-making and it sits beside a river, a field and some woodland and we are surrounded by farmland. I am trying to make a haven for wildlife here and there is a lot of life around.

I do feel that I share my little home with all these creatures but only on a small scale for surely we humans are sharing the planet with all the other forms of life aren’t we? We are such an arrogant species that we behave as if we are THE only life-force that matters on the planet. But we are relative newcomers, are we not? And if we carry on as we are we may not be here for very much longer. But the Earth will survive.

But I digress again. I just asked M if he had anything to contribute to this wee blog about birds and he said ‘If they wear mini-skirts they are more attractive’. So I think we’ll gloss over his contribution shall we?

Back to the weekend bird count. I know we had the following visitors though not all at once.

Blackbirds, thrushes, wood pigeons, nuthatch, great tits, blue tits, wren, sparrows, magpies, crows, greater spotted woodpecker, greenfinches, goldfinches, yellowhammer, chaffinches, robins, siskins. Buzzards and kites flew overhead as usual. At work I have the ravens. And last but not least on the riverbank at home are my darling dippers. At night we had owls. I saw a dead pheasant on the road near here and that was very sad as he may have been a visitor, an escapee from some cruel hunting ground.





There are some who say that birds are symbolic, divine messengers of the Spirit, kinds of angels in feathered form. I have a special tree in our field, it’s a crab-apple and a very old and wise tree he is too. I feel very calm and comforted when I am near him, I take him all my troubles. And the funny thing is when I go and visit him for a spot of tree-human communion, a robin or two always comes and perches on a branch near me. I talk to them too and they answer. Robins are especially communicative aren’t they? OK some of you will dismiss me as a little deranged, so if you do, stop reading now and go and find a sensible, down to earth blogger - but if you want to stick with me and don’t think me mad, thanks. I call all birds angels and can’t imagine life without their company and especially their song. I’ve mentioned Belsen before, the place where there are plenty of trees but not one bird.

We have bird boxes in the garden, it will soon be Spring and they will soon be snapped up by excited and passionate young homemakers taking up residence and preparing their nests. I especially look forward to the pied flycatchers who nest over the road in a box on a ‘special’ pine tree near the forge. They have lots of bird boxes next door too, including owl boxes and also a smaller bird box with a built in camera, I hope to buy one of those for the granddaughters this year. I shall have to find out if you need a separate TV to be able to fix one up.

I’d better sign off now, but before I go here is one last poem.
They are favourite poets of mine, Mary Oliver and Maya Angelou, I hope you like these poems too.


Mockingbirds

This morning
two mockingbirds
in the green field
were spinning and tossing
the white ribbons
of their songs
into the air.
I had nothing
better to do
than listen.
I mean this
seriously.
In Greece,
a long time ago,
an old couple
opened their door
to two strangers
who were,
it soon appeared,
not men at all,
but gods.
It is my favourite story--
how the old couple
had almost nothing to give
but their willingness
to be attentive--
but for this alone
the gods loved them
and blessed them--
when they rose
out of their mortal bodies,
like a million particles of water
from a fountain,
the light
swept into all the corners
of the cottage,
and the old couple,
shaken with understanding,
bowed down--
but still they asked for nothing
but the difficult life
which they had already.
And the gods smiled, as they vanished,
clapping their great wings.
Wherever it was
I was supposed to be
this morning--
whatever it was I said
I would be doing--
I was standing
at the edge of the field--
I was hurrying
through my own soul,
opening its dark doors--
I was leaning out;
I was listening


Mary Oliver



Of course the one thing I really admire and envy about birds is their ability to fly, for that would be a gift I would love to own.

I have flown in my dreams before now but that’s another story, another blog, one on dreams perhaps? I feel one coming on……

Just a song before I go, one I absolutely love, another oldie.

Songbird by
Fleetwood Mac, written and sung by Christine McVie.





A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song.
Chinese Proverb


Bye for now,
Cait

PS The last two bird pics are by an artist friend of mine, Sean Milne.

Why Worry Now?

Dear Diary,


If I ever lose my faith by Sting.

I hope you will enjoy this Sting song as much as I do.

Be the change you want to see in the world

Mahatma Ghandi

Lost faith seems to be in abundance at the moment; lost faith in all politicians, whatever their colour (or have they all merged into the one colour these days?), lost faith in big businesses, banks, the media, justice for all, conventional medicine, service providers, standards, I could go on. Corruption prevails. So much so that doom and gloom seem to be the order of the day. Mistrust and cynicism are our daily companions while Big Brother watches over us. Fear and ignorance grow hand in hand (the two go together). But if we live in this fearful, depressed state we are also being dumbed-down and made easier to control and there fascism can easily take over us and rule. That is the battle we should be fighting. We never learn from our history, that is the trouble with the human race.

So blessings may well have to be personal when outwardly all seems bleak, but we have been here before.

Cliches? Yes of course there are probably always far too many cliches in this blog. I make no apologies.


Blessings? Harder to find some days.

The Chat Room I visit. We share opinions, ideas, problems, jokes. The company is mostly female but not always. It’s a lovely place to be. I will share a joke I heard last night.

Q. Why are Irish jokes so simple?

A. So that the English can understand them.

I think I will post more jokes, we all need as many laughs as possible these days.

A Day Without Rain. We are promised one today if dear Uncle Derek Brockway is right and much as I love him I have to admit that he has been wrong a bit recently. And also, much as I love rain, you can have too much of a good thing (Oh yes you can, even Guinness).

A clutch of novels by my bed. I am savouring them, deciding which to start first. What is the right word for a group of novels? Any suggestions? Don’t say library.

Good health. I thank God every day for this one.


Spring which is beckoning.
My snowdrops are just flowering and the daffodils are slowly rising. Last autumn I planted a cyclamen beneath the pine trees by the river and yesterday I discovered it was flowering, that was a welcome sight.






My daughter’s 30th birthday, that was a wonderful thing to celebrate, being the anniversary of one of the two happiest days of my life. The other being when my son was born, that will come in the summer. I had one winter baby and one summer one. I wonder if characters are influenced by the season they arrive in the world


A Good Night’s Sleep in clean sheets.


Completion of Projects and looking forward to New Ones.

My sister-in-law once said that we should always have something to look forward to, to keep us going. How right she was. What are you looking forward to? Every day try and focus on that and all the blessings in your life.

When I was laid up for three months in the Midlands Spinal Unit with a broken neck I had a lot of time to think. Lying on your back unable to move leaves a lot of time for thinking. I used to watch visitors pass by my bed and see their legs walking. I remember thinking how amazing it was, their ability to walk and their taking it so for granted.

I’ve had several opportunities in my life to appreciate being alive but in that respect I am lucky for it’s when you have been close to death, more than once, you appreciate every moment in life. Life is so short, none of us are here for very long and love is really all that matters. So I never worry about the Small Stuff and let’s face it most of what we get het up about is small. I still get angry, rebellious, frustrated, pessimistic even but I never worry.

Before I go some more words by John O’Donohue, God rest him.

Our longing for the eternal kindles our imagination to bless. Regardless of how we configure the eternal, the human heart continues to dream of a state of wholeness, that place where everything comes together, where loss will be made good, where blindness will transform into vision, where damage will be made whole, where the clenched question will open in the house of surprise, where the travails of life's journey will enjoy a homecoming. To invoke a blessing is to call some of that wholeness upon a person now.

Death was nothing to John O'Donohue --- a silent friend who walks beside us all our days. And on the other side? "I believe that our friends among the dead really mind us and look out for us," he wrote. "Often there might be a big boulder of misery over your path about to fall on you, but your friends among the dead hold it back until you have passed by."

Let it Be.

Bye for now.
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Caitx

I love this song

Why Worry Now? The old Dire Straits song sung here by Mark Knopfler and Emmylou Harris. I hope you like it too.

John O'Donohue 1954-2008 RIP, Anam Cara

I posted this quotation not many moons ago. I post it here again.

I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding."

-- John O'Donohue

There is a book I keep close to me, by my bedside, it was given to me by C, my newfound Irish sister. It is called Anam Cara which means soul friend. It is a book of Celtic wisdom and is probably my favourite and most comforting spiritual book. I know some of you know and love Anam Cara as I do and will be very sad to hear of John's passing last week. John O'Donohue was a mystic, a poetic and highly inspirational Irish writer who will be sorely missed.





Below is a link to his website with details about John and his other writings.

http://www.jodonohue.com/calendar/




This is one of my favourite poems written by John:

Beannacht

("Blessing")

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

~ John O'Donohue ~

(Echoes of Memory)

May he rest in peace,
Cait

Just a Day in My Life

A Day in the Life of A Boy

U2 A Beautiful Day
Live8

Days


What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.

Philip Larkin




Purplecoo is a group of writers (and cyber- friends) that meet here in cyber-space. We have set each other the task of writing about a day in our lives.

As my name is near the beginning of the alphabet it befalls upon me to write mine now, in January, in the bleak midwinter, as the dear poet Christina Rossetti would say.

I would prefer to do this task in my favourite month of May because my Spring Self is a different person to the one I am now. She would be full of energy and optimism, her sap would be rising. She would not be huddling, she would be out and about in Nature. With much of interest to report. Her day would be more interesting I am sure.

So please bear with me. Much of what I write will be intensely boring.

My January Winter Self’s longing for hibernation is to the fore. Living without central heating makes keeping warm a preoccupation. She is happiest by the woodburner, watching the flames. Stoking the fire. Reading, writing, eating, that sort of thing. Hot baths, hot chocolate, hot toddies. Sleeping and napping. She forces herself outside as daylight hours are short. The pineal gland needs this light or the dreaded Black Dog comes calling.

*

Radio 4 is one of my delightful daily companions and I am woken every morning at 7pm by the Today programme. I endure an hour of the latest news, (some kind of masochist this woman you must be thinking?). I especially enjoy it when John Humphries is on, he speaks up for me don’t you know? Because I get riled at lots of things and go into Grumpy Old Woman mode. This gets my blood pressure up anyway and helps get me out of bed .

Today is such a day as the discussion is about those poor twins who got married without knowing they were brother and sister. I am at the moment finishing writing my own memoir of my experience of being an adopted person. I have found four dear half- brothers quite recently (I have six in all) and could quite easily have met up with one of them as we all grew up in the London area. We could have fallen in love and who knows what could have happened?

This denial of one’s identity is a subject that is so close to my heart and I have been banging on about it for years. And those poor souls created artificially by sperm/egg donation have been treated even worse than adopted children

But these poor twins sufferings were twofold, they were separated (that is the wickedest crime in itself) and taken (stolen) for adoption. Then they were denied knowledge of their identity. It breaks my heart, what it has done to theirs beggars belief.

I had better stop now, I could go on.

M brings me a mug of honeyed tea without which I would find it well nigh impossible to get out of bed. The Today hour is intermingled with a little reading, maybe writing/blogging a bit, or more often than not just looking out of the window at the river and the birds etc. I have blogged a lot about this morning routine in the past so many apologies for repeating myself.

I can see the dipper is busy dipping as the river is mighty high. We have had so much rain and much as I love it I do long for snow, Its pure blue-whiteness might brighten my January, I love the beauty of snow and the unique quietness she carries with her, there’s nothing like it is there? The photographs one can take (well M can take) are just pure poetry. Being snowed in is heaven even though I do have to take the time as annual leave from work.

Talking of work, today is Saturday, for most people it’s a day off but for me I have to work the morning. I love my job because I am in my element which is books and I also love my borrowers, all of them. It’s always more relaxed on a weekend, anyone who works in a library will tell you that. I leave a little early this morning as I have to go to the post office (for work) in town. The drive there is amazing as there is blue sky and shafts of sunlight are shining on the mountains in the distance. I can’t believe it, what a treat.

I arrive at the post office and luckily there is not a queue. This establishment is yet another of our rural amenities under constant threat of closure. Now our local arts centre has come under the shadow of the axe. So now it is art centres, schools, libraries, post offices, public toilets (!)tourist information centres….. I wonder what facilities will be left sometimes. The little local bank has been saved in the past as has the Heart of Wales railway line.

Ho-hum.

When I arrive at work I am greeted by a big delivery box full of books, some new ones and lots of requested titles so I am soon on the phone to the borrowers to tell them their books or books are ready for collection.

We have a lot of book requests from this branch library, issue numbers are still rising as are membership numbers. The writing group has two new members and the book group is still flourishing. We are meeting next Monay evening to compare H E Bates’ Fair Winds for France with Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five which should make for another lively discussion, this time about the realities of war.

An elderly borrower I haven’t seen since the summer comes in she had been poorly and a friend has been collecting her books. I had missed her and seeing her has made my morning.

We have server problems and there is no internet connection, which is a pity as I have to turn people away, especially embarrassing as some are visitors to the town. It is the Saturnalia Beer Festival this weekend, one of the popular green events.

Half of the town was without internet and phone for three weeks recently, we are not top priority for BT in rural mid Wales.

I have the usual mix of visitors, young and old alike.
People interact, share a smile, a joke, a book recommendation. It’s a real meeting place, the library.

It’s a steady Saturday, sometimes it’s so busy that I hardly get a chance to make a cuppa or get to the loo (I work alone). But today it flies by, as always and I lock up well after closing time because there are a few late arrivals, but I don’t mind. There are four children amongst them and one has just completed the Book Crawl and is keen to choose his free book. I always think that even if I get just one child reading and loving books then my job as a librarian will have been worthwhile. Being able to share my passion with others and getting paid for it too - I am very lucky to be in that situation

I’m starving when I get home and I have my usual Saturday lunch, beans and grated cheese on marmite toast topped with chilli sauce…… accompanied by dear old Radio 4 again (Any Questions and Any Answers). M is watching a film but shares some beans with me. I am still hungry so I have two toasted hot cross buns (topped with marmite, you should try it) and two mugs of tea. After that I am really tired (I had another sleepless night last night, a really serious attack of insomnia) so it’s time for a treat, time for a nap…..

It is National Year of the Nap after all…….
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I wake exactly two hours later and it’s dark! And raining hard and another day gone. I feel a little groggy as you do after a sleep in the daytime. M makes me a mug of tea. He’s been on the computer, he’s found a site on old Godalming, Surrey, his old hometown and is happily recording a few historical memories of the place. I lived and worked there once and it is where we met, but that was many, many moons ago.

I feed my dear white cat Molly. I feel guilty because I haven’t taken the dogs for a run in the field and it’s too dark and wet now (OK I am too lazy, let me be honest for once!). I will make up for it tomorrow. Aren’t dogs such forgiving animals?

I don’t feel like cooking a meal. Are you like me? I don’t cook with much gusto unless I am hungry. I delay the deed as neither of us is hungry. M opens a bottle of wine, it is Saturday after all. I check the paper to see what’s on TV tonight. Nothing. Do they think everyone goes out on a Saturday? I really must look into Sky Plus so I can record what I want to see and when I want to see it.

I have plenty to read though. I’ve borrowed:

The Memory Keeper’s Daughter by Kim Edwards (library book group’s choice).

Angels Watching Over Me by Jacky Newcomb

Sage-ing while you’re age-ing by Shirley Maclaine

Your Soul’s Compass by Joan Borysenko

I also have at home:

The Almost Moon (great title) by Alice Sebold (love her writing)

And

The Sad Truth about Happiness by Anne Giardini.

So who needs TV anyway?

I also have a wonderful book called Tracing your Irish Family History by Ryan Tubridy & Anthony Adolph. According to this man my O’Connor line goes back to Noah! Might explain my love of animals and my affinity with rain and boats!

The rest of the evening will be spent catching up on my writing assignment for my OCA course. Wish me luck, I hope to finish my adoption tale this month. From then on I am looking forward to writing from my imagination rather than recording the truth about myself. Perhaps it is too painful, this resurrection of past memories. Much easier to record this day just passing now,

So what will I remember about this glory day?

Its blessings I suppose.

Sunlight and sky, an ever-changing work of art.

The fact that M seems to be feeling a lot better. I have had so many broken nights disturbed by his coughing that I am exhausted! As he is of course.

My lovely borrowers.

Books, books and more books.

A quote I read in the Guardian.

The Dalai Llama says that religion is ‘only kindness’.

How wise is he?

Bye for now,
God Bless,
Caitx



Before I go here is one more poem.
Shows just one example how our days are blessed indeed compared to others.

Day In The Life Of The Parkbench Man



Long til night...mewling,
Sun newborn. Dawned in
Swaddling clouds
Keeping it warm.

A man shuffles the sidewalk,
Picking a penny, eyeing
The date.
Pockets Abe. Snags a
Can some woman dropped...

Bag over-full...heels tic-tacking
Cement. Yesterday...dreams.
Today...peaches. One penny.
Clouds. Raindrops. No sun.

Long til dawn...mumbles
Ancient lips...
Swaddled in newspapers,
Keeping him warm.

Elysabeth Faslund

Last but not least:

The Boss, Bruce Springsteen
Glory Days

It Must Have Been Love

Resolutions 2008

I wish you all a Happy New Year

Dear Diary,

Firstly just a few words on Christmas, I am resisting a full-blown rant.

Most words that spring to mind begin with the letter ‘E’.

Excessive being linked to them all… not to mention the waste of food, paper, plastic, energy, time…..

Expense (leading to debt).

Eating (compulsion towards, leading to indigestion).

Enforcement (of jollity, a death to spontaneity, leading to depression).

Finally comes Exhaustion, especially for the females of our species.


But hey-ho it’s 2008, Christmas over at last. Only three hundred and fifty something days to go. Rejoice!



New Year Resolutions, 2008.



Concerning Time.

Does anyone else feel like me? Permanently rushed? Or rather pressured to be rushed? This seems sometimes to be a general state of being, not just a Christmas thing. From now on I want to live in praise of slow. There’s even a book with this title that I bought for my daughter for Christmas. V alerted me to the website and I have ordered the book through the library for myself.



The aforementioned book reminded me of one I bought for both my children last year which was How to be Free by Tom Hodgkinson, it’s a must-read for everyone. (I have mentioned it before in a blog).





Concerning Sleep

I am going to Get More Sleep by indulging in far more Early Nights curled up with a Good Book and I am going to take more occasional Afternoon Naps when the fancy takes me. This is a very important resolution for me as I am in the habit of burning far too much of the midnight oil. It’s hard being a night owl and coming awake at night-time but I am going to try to change my ways for my health’s sake.


Concerning Diet

Also for my health’s sake I am going to eat more vegetarian meals. One of my favourite cookbooks is Rose Elliot’s Cheap and Easy, also mentioned before, I apologise.




I am also intending to drink less alcohol, restricting it to weekends only and sticking to Guinness and wine (but not together).

They all seem to be health-related, here’s one more.


Concerning my Sanity

I am going to watch less TV news. Need I say more?


Concerning the Spirit.

I am going to try and find the time for more regular meditation and relaxation, self-Reiki and the like.

Last but not least I’m going to dance to my own tune, nobody else’s. I most sincerely hope you do too, indeed please take it as my New Year’s wish for you all.

Before I go, a poem..


Will you remember these words, when you grow old?”


“I believe in your lips
but not in your tongue.
Your lips are salubrious
but venomous is your tongue.
It intoxicates those lips,
my guide of an eternal road
through the dark unknown –
a core languid with the burden
of the soul, and a soul languid
with the burden of the core,”
says an infant to the world.

The world whispered,
“My child, in your mother’s womb
you dream that you can make
the world dance, to your own tune;
Suddenly yours eyes open;
and you see the world as it really is,
the dead leaves floating in the wind,
in the human valley, plagued by the
ripening diversity, and decaying unity.”

No, my world!
“I shall never be hopeless,
whatever you may say.
I shall rhyme my life with the
rhythm of the God’s chime, and
row my boat of love over the human’s core
until their stream of abhorrence runs dry,”
sang the infant to the world.

But, my child, said the world,
“Will you remember these words, when you grow old?”


©Bhuwan Thapaliya
2006



Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Caitx

Three things enjoyed today.

Musical tracks I have enjoyed today. ( more below on separate entries).


First is Rod Stewart singing The First Cut is the Deepest.







Below are:

Three quotes from a favourite poet of mine, (yes I am sure you know it is Yeats).


Three gorgeous pictures by the artist, Trudi Finch.

A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, our stitching and unstinting has been naught."

But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."

"A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love."

Crucify, Tori Amos

Mad World, Gary Jules

Something Else by Gary Jules

Something Else Lyrics

Random Acts of Kindness

Dear Diary,

It is 16th December 2007. However, there are only thirty minutes left of this day and one thing is for sure, it will never come again. It is the day that bloggers all over the world have been asked to perform (and record) a random act of kindness.





I have had a quiet and very restful Sunday. I’ve hardly performed any acts at all apart from venturing out a few times with tasty morsels for my garden birds and to exercise the dogs. I haven’t been anywhere, well only a quick flight down to the local garage to get a Sunday paper. I didn’t get much of a chance to be kind there, apart from exchanging a few kind-I-hope words with a neighbour. The outdoor temperature has been only a degree above freezing, with a biting wind, so, like most people around here I would imagine, I’ve stayed indoors and spent time curled up on the sofa by the woodburner. A really lazy Sunday.

I have sent healing thoughts to someone in need. Three people n need in fact. I hope that each will qualify as an act of kindness? And I have asked others to do the same in one instance, hoping perhaps that it will increase the power with a wonderful ripple effect, the much needed pattern that will hopefully change this world for the better. After all this is the purpose of the appointed day of kindness.

I was also meditating on kindness and working out why only some people are drawn to be so. I remember a hymn I sang as a child in junior school. I loved hymns, little did I know it was mainly the words that attracted me so and unbeknown to me at the time, a love affair with poetry was in its infancy.

One hymn I really loved singing was this one below, written of course by William Blake. I love his poetry now but as a child it was just a hymn I had to sing at school. His words struck a chord in my sensitive soul and the first verse especially stayed with me throughout my life.

On Another's Sorrow
A Song of Innocence

Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear --

And not sit beside the next,
Pouring pity in their breast,
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear?

And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
Oh no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

He doth give his joy to all:
He becomes an infant small,
He becomes a man of woe,
He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not year.

Oh He gives to us his joy,
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled an gone
He doth sit by us and moan.

William Blake

Another poem by Blake that I love is this one:

The Divine Image

A Song of Innocence



To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
All pray in their distress;
And to these virtues of of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is God, our father dear,
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is Man, his child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human face,
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine,
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form,
Where Mercy, Love, & Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.

Learned readers will notice that I have taken a line out of the last verse which nowadays would be construed as extremely racist! (Not that Blake was being racist, rather the opposite).


I’ll sign off now but before I do I would like to mention the power of thought. If we can’t actually do anything to help another because the opportunity is not always there, we can always think kind, positive thoughts. They carry energy and have tremendous power.

And always remember to be kind to yourself as well.

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Caitx

Peace for Life not just for Christmas

Some people may have not noticed the words that follow. They are not mine. They are the words of Blossom.

I reproduce them, with the author’s permission, along with a very fine poem by the dear late John Denver as they were a comment on my previous blog.


Your reference to the troops returning from Iraq and Afghanistan made me think of the Guard of Honour at my niece’s recent wedding. They were all wearing their medals with pride and I asked one young solider what it had been like. He replied:

" I held my best friend in my arms when he died"

There is no answer to that.

I was a great admirer of John Denver and saw him play several times but the moment that stands out in my mind most was when in almost complete darkness, baring a small and pale light, he recited this poem:

Peace Poem

There's a name for war and killing
there's a name for giving in
when you know another answer
for me the name is sin
but there's still time to turn around
and make all hatred cease
and give another name to living
and we could call it peace

And peace would be the road we walk
each step along the way
and peace would be the way we work
and peace the way we play

And in all we see that's different
and in all the things we know
peace would be the way we look
and peace the way we grow

There's a name for separation
there's a name for first and last
when it's all for us or nothing
for me the name is past

but there's still time to turn around
and make all hatred cease
and give a name to all the future
and we could call it peace

And if peace is what we pray for
and peace is what we give
then peace will be the way we are
and peace the way we live

Yes there still is the time to turn around
and make all hatred cease
and give another name to living
and we can call it peace

John Denver



The soldier’s words at the wedding brought tears to my eyes. They speak volumes and will stay with me forever.

I am called to put his words into a poem. For every soldier in the world, especially in an illegal and immoral invasion, is someone’s best friend, someone’s brother, someone’s son.

You could add women to the equation but to my mind women and warfare should never be in harmony. Women bring life into the world, call me sexist or old fashioned if you like but I believe our role should always be that of the peacemaker, our pathway one of nurture and protection.

Below is a video of John Denver reciting the Peace Poem.





Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait

Pictures, Reflections, Resonance and Imagination

This picture I sent to a fellow blogger today; it is her birthday and her name is Crystal, I felt it suited her 'mystical' personality. I love it too.



Are you like me? I find it hard to give people a present unless I love it myself? And then sometimes I buy something for someone else and want to keep it!


This one was sent to another very special cyber friend who also has a birthday today. I wanted her to feel the pleasure in this picture, the warmth, the peace and the relaxation that I get from it. Everyone has loved these two paintings so I have posted them here.






This is me (in my imagination!) wearing my long red skirt and doing what I would have liked to have been doing on this freezing December day. It is an Irish coastline of course and it is midsummer, in West Cork maybe?






I sent this picture to my daughter this morning. Something about it reminded me of her and my youngest granddaughter E, aged six. V doesn't look like the mother in the pic but she holds her head to one side in that manner. I went to see the two youngest girls in their Christmas school play last night, they did Dickens' wonderful story, A Christmas Carol. S was Christmas Present and E was a dancing child. S, aged nine, sang a beautiful solo, I was very proud, (grannies are allowed to brag!).





The artist for these last three is Vladimir Volegov.


I have been watching on TV news those poor soldiers coming home from Iraq and Afghanistan and thinking that they will never get over their experiences. I have also been thinking of those who were sacrificed and will never come home and feeling so sorry for their poor loved ones.

I found these two quotes recently.

War should be made a crime, and those who instigate it should be punished as criminals.

Charles E Hughes

The world will never have lasting peace so long as men reserve for war the finest human qualities. Peace, no less than war, requires idealism and self-sacrifice and a righteous and dynamic faith.

John Foster Dulles

My daughter sent me this Siegfried Sassoon quotation this morning. She found it while researching for an essay she is writing. Read it and see if it rings any bells with you, it certainly did with me.



"I AM making this statement as an act of wilful defiance of military authority, because I believe that the war is being deliberately prolonged by those who have the power to end it.
I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers. I believe that this war, upon which I entered as a war of defence and liberation, has now become a war of aggression and conquest. I believe that the purposes for which I and my fellow-soldiers entered upon this war should have been so clearly stated as to have made it impossible to change them, and that, had this been done, the objects which actuated us would now be attainable by negotiation.,

I have seen and endured the sufferings of the troops, and I can no longer be a party to prolong these sufferings for ends which I believe to be evil and unjust.

I am not protesting against the conduct of the war, but against the political errors and insincerities for which the fighting men are being sacrificed.

On behalf of those who are suffering now I make this protest against the deception which is being practiced on them; also I believe that I may help to destroy the callous complacence with which the majority of those at home regard the continuance of agonies which they do not share, and which they have not sufficient imagination to realize."


Siegfried L. Sassoon...July 1917

Dear Cait, Aged 13, The Adopted Child

Dear Cait, I hope you will heed my advice and trust me because only I understand how lost, isolated and ‘different’ you feel. I do understand the reasons behind your shyness, your reserve. When you came into this world you chose a difficult path, but keep in mind that suffering will bring you inner strength and spiritual growth. Hang in there, things will get better once you discover who you are. NEVER GIVE UP searching, but I don’t need to say those three words to you do I? Nothing in life matters. Only love. Always remember this. The Beatles will be saying it soon in a song, I know you are a great fan of theirs. Don’t get hung up on any ‘small stuff’. Only kindness matters, (that too will be a song title one day!). Treat others as you would like to be treated. Believe in yourself, You are beautiful and clever, even if no-one has ever told you so. Don’t worry about doing well in every subject at school, if you hate science, maths, geography, history, hockey, so what? (At least history will become fascinating when you are my age). You have been lucky enough to pass the eleven-plus and go to a good school. Enjoy the many things you will learn there.. You will also leave being able to write proper English (having learned to read, spell and recite your tables prior to getting there). These basic skills are sadly lacking nowadays. Devote your life to your passions. ‘Follow your bliss’ as they say. You are becoming a teenager at a very exciting time. Everything is changing, exploding even; the class system, music, art, fashion, politics, sexual liberation……there may not be a time of such positivity again in this country, so make the most of it. I know you love music and that it has saved you, along with your books of course. They will both be your lifelong companions. Keep writing. Cultivate your psychic gifts, don’t hide them away. Always trust your intuition. I know you have no confidence at all and you feel terribly self-conscious all the time; this will pass and when you are my age you won’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. Stop hiding your body. Don’t worry about being painfully thin and having such long and skinny legs, for very soon it will be in fashion! I know you love babies and children, one day you will become a mother and it will be the happiest day of your life. You will be a grandmother one day too and that will bring you such joy, I cannot tell you. There will always be a guardian angel or two watching over you, along with our dear Irish mother. Make the most of every moment and focus on the positive. Turn every negative into a positive; it is possible. Don’t dread getting middle-aged or even old. The best is yet to come. Go mbeannai Dia duit, All my love, Caitx
PS I see you are reading Germaine Greer's The Female Eunuch, I warn you, it will change your life!

Retail Therapy and More

Hay on Wye
Town of Books

Christmas gift suggestions

To your enemy, forgiveness.
To an opponent, tolerance.
To a friend, your heart.
To a customer, service.
To all, charity.
To every child, a good example.
To yourself, respect.”


Oren Arnold

Dear Diary,

I wake early to another monsoon day in spite of having gone to bed at 2.30 am.

Sundays have the best mornings. I creep down to let the dogs out and make the tea as my ‘tea-man’ seems to be on strike. Because of the extremity of the weather conditions K, the collie, seems reluctant to venture out so needs a little ‘coaxing’. It only takes a bit of encouragement using my ‘firm’ voice, that’s all you need to train dogs, tone of voice. As soon as I’ve made my tea (well-honeyed of course) I let both dogs in again. K is crouching under the back step, most unusual for her, does she know that even worse weather is forecast for today?

Back in bed I don warm socks and take up my pen and pad. Looking out of the window I have a direct view to the river and can see the dipper in my line of sight, dipping and diving (you can see how they got their name), swimming out, swimming back, a sure sign that there are fish-a-plenty in the waters again. We always ’rejoice’ when we see the dippers because of the egg that is taken from their nest each year by the academic folk from Cardiff who come trespassing and poaching eggs (excuse the pun). I wrote rather an irate blog about it last spring.

They are such clever birds in that they find the little shallow areas in the stream where the current flows into the bank and avoid the really rapid flowing parts where they wouldn’t stand a chance were they to venture in when the river is in flood. They would soon be in Herefordshire, swept along at a rate of knots.

A little later, when the dipper has gone, I see there is a wild mallard duck fishing in exactly the same spot, they are not seen very often so I am always excited when they swim past. There are certainly fish in the river! (I know that the salmon have been up recently).

I’ve been set a task by Snailbeach Shepherdess to write a letter to myself at the age of thirteen. Such a good idea. I did in fact once write a draft letter to myself as a child, as part of a book I am writing at the moment. I may have thrown the letter away though so I shall have to delve amongst my piles of papers. I believe it’s used by psychologists as a kind of therapeutic tool to make contact with your inner child. They are certainly fascinating to read and also to write. I shall work on this task and make it my next blog entry.

I am on annual leave from work at the moment as I have a lot owing to me and thought I would take it as I have the aforementioned book-writing project to finish; it’s part of my OCA course.


I went to Hay-on-Wye on Saturday with B, a dear Irish friend of mine; brollies in hand we braved the elements and indulged in some retail therapy. We were mainly browsing, not seriously Christmas shopping, but managed to find a few treasures along the way and spoilt ourselves as well - we both bought woollen hats, the same style but in different colours, mine is a sort of airforce blue and B’s a creamy kind of colour. They are both adorned with coloured flowers and tassles, they sound horrendous don’t they, but in fact they are really pretty (and warm). I shall post a photo of mine that M has kindly just taken.

















We went to a local garden centre at around tea-time, had a cuppa in the café there and then a bit more retail therapy was called for. I bought some bargain books for presents. B bought me a gorgeous poinsettia plant, she is very naughty.


Then it was off to the Hollybush Inn, the place I mentioned a few blogs ago, to meet up with our husbands for drinks and a meal and to listen to Sammy G (Samuel Gomm) a singer/songwriter from Holland, originally from Welshpool in Powys.



Hollybush Inn, Hay-on-Wye


We expected a wonderful meal and we were not disappointed. B’s husband is a chef, cookery teacher, food writer and used to have his own restaurant so I would not recommend anywhere to him if I did not feel confident. The music was superb too, Samuel’s voice is wonderful, far better than lots of ‘famous’ recording artists. I wish my son had been able to come and listen, he too is a singer/songwriter.

Blessings before I go?

Hay-on-Wye, one of my favourite little towns because it is filled with bookshops and other enticements at every turn.

Friends, laughter, good company.

Food

Singers of songs

Poets

Tellers of Tales.

I’ll sign off now, the day that lies ahead is free and I have lots of writing to do.

But first I have to pen a few words to a shy young teenager,

I have such a lot to tell her.

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait

Sammy Squirrel

Just Blessings and a Poem

The whole life of man is but a point of time, let us enjoy it.

Plutarch 46 AD-120 AD

Dear Diary,


I haven’t written of Blessings for so long, or posted a poem, so I shall be doing both today.


Blessings……… first for a change.


Time. This is a gift we would all like for Christmas really and surely it is the one thing that most of us crave more of. I feel a New Year resolution coming on, a bit soon perhaps, but I think I shall be seeking ways to save more time for myself in the future, as in our modern lives I see it as the most precious commodity.


The slow movement has much to commend it. Slow food, slow time, soft time indeed. Anyone read the book by Gill Edwards entitled Pure Bliss? It is a great book about this very subject and the word soft that she uses to describe time is an appropriate adjective. I too love dreamy time, meditative time, daydreaming.


Talking of dreamy time, I went to a Richard and Judy roadshow for children recently, the only one held in Wales. It took place at the very fine Wyeside Arts Centre in Builth Wells. Three children’s authors were talking about their books which are on the R & J shortlist. I took two of my granddaughters and K was especially pleased as Cathy Cassidy, one of K’s favourites, was one of the writers. I would also add that her books are great favourites with the girls at my library.


I was pleased to see that there were lots of children there and they had the opportunity to ask the authors questions. Cathy spoke about daydreaming and how it had helped her become a writer - she actually thought that daydreaming should be part of the schools’ curriculum. A girl after my own heart if ever there was one.


Everyone says that this year has flown by. I have never known twelve months pass so quickly and I worry that this phenomenon will worsen each year. I've come to the conclusion that time only quickens when we pack too much into it, so that only leaves us one solution doesn’t it? If we persist with our need for everything to be presented to us quickly and our almost-lust for speed both in our mode of travel and in every action taken from dawn to dusk, what chance have we of making time pass more slowly?

It is only when you meditate on time that you realise that actually it doesn’t really exist; time is a man-made linear thing, There is only the Present and that is the precious gift that we are erasing, in our constant struggle, as we rush, rush, rush.


Wild Weather.

Even our river is rushing past and white horses race by upon her. The wind is blowing a gale and if it’s this bad in our sheltered valley, I know it will be much worse higher up in the hills. I enjoy these wild extremes of weather and am a self-confessed lover of rain. Today it falls in torrents and is pounding on the roof. Bliss! I hate weather that just ‘sits’; those dull, still, grey days, they are the worst.


Colour.

The cottage smells of gloss paint and it’s making me feel quite lousy. The emulsion doesn’t affect me but the fumes from the gloss paint give me a sick and headachy feeling. There is no escape though if I want more colour in my life.


I now have a rich red kitchen and I love it. Like a scarlet woman she comes into her own at night when she really shows off her warmth and passion. It suits this time of year of course and someone even described it as very Christmassy (ouch!).


There will be no more painting now for a while as I have nearly banished all my white walls. Only my bedroom and what we call the wash-house remain so and three quarters of the little room upstairs that we call the study. (One of its walls is pretty pink). I have a sexy pink bathroom with blue beams, a honey gold snug and sitting room and a pink guest cum ‘music room‘.


Bargain Finds.


M and I had to go to a local market town this week and though it was raining very heavily we managed to do a wee bit of shopping. I went into an Air Ambulance charity shop and found two beautiful old china tureens, tea plates, dessert dishes and a large oval plate (Fantasia, dusky pink floral). In another tiny shop I fell in love at first sight with a Nomad, burgundy coloured, long-sleeved midi dress and most unusual, I just bought it, without even trying it on. I told myself if it didn’t fit I would either return or see if my daughter wanted it but when I got home and slipped it on it fitted perfectly.
My Christmas present to myself, I always treat myself to one. I hope you do too.


This town also has a good butcher’s shop and we bought some of their award-winning pork and leek bangers and a couple of their tasty Welsh cheeses.


My final blessing? Photographs. I should really have mentioned this one before. I’m going to start posting some of our own pics, mainly they will be M’s as he is the photographer in the family.


Before I go I promised a poem, I hope you like this one. It’s from the latest Salmon collection, the Irish publishers. See the link on this page.


The Day The Horizon Disappeared


Cast out, flung to the furthest rim of neediness,
then caught there in the branches of the danger tree,
where meaning dwells, out of reach, attached
on its green stem at the very edge of dreaming,
a sign repeating itself through branches
surging in air. Wind surrounds and blows through us.
And whose hand is tearing strips from the sky,
And whose hand will seed wild grasses
on the worn nap of the threadbare world?

Nadia Aysenburg


I’ll sign off now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait

Christmas: A Daughter's View.

My daughter and I have been having a bit of a 'discussion' about Christmas. Now I am a Grown-Up I freely admit that my middle name is Scrooge and I despise the commercialism of this time of year with its emphasis on spending and the material.

V is doing her best to remind me of the magic of the season which I agree is still there for children.


I have taken the liberty of copying the email she has just sent me.

The question I asked was What IS Christmas?


An extract below:


tradition, history, innocence (well my kids have it), occasion, family get togethers, wrapping paper, tinsel, ribbon, colour, lights, trees lit-up and decorated; inside and out, the smell of pine needles and woodsmoke, magic, anticipation....and the transcendence of everyday ordinary bleak British winter blues.

The kids have just come in and I 've asked them what they love about Christmas...

Shauna...Exciting time to share with family.

Kayleigh... Ohh, I was going to say that Shauna...the special food and...MAGIC!...and the feeling when you can't sleep because father Christmas is coming...and leaving him a mince pie

Emmie.. Family, going to Nanny's house.

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.

'We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,'
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.

- Oliver Herford, I Heard a Bird Sing

A Letter

From:

Mr. A. Graduate

Thatcher Cottage

Blair Way

Dumbingdown Road

Everytown

Less-than-Great Britain

Dear Mr Knowbetter,

In my defense can I first say that I haven’t received proper stationary yet ordered from eBay and I am fed up of waiting for it to arrive.

Im sorry this is late but on route I was held up in my journey to deliver this and had to wait for an accident to be moved to the side. It was a near-miss. Someone had been shopping and must have brought a lot of thing’s because they were all over the road.

I am writing to convince you to except my principal license application to practice as a color therapist. I could of wrote more on complimentary therapy’s like, as I practice and look at these treatments from a personnel prospective. They are very unique. I always try and insure my patience are well cared for and looking after there happyness is my principal roll.

Less people are using conventional treatment’s as their bored of it and fed up of the side affect’s. People who visit me at the center harbor serious affect’s.

I have read loads on it as I have a m8 who’s got loads of book’s on the subject, I havent got none myself and I cant let you lend them as you might loose them, but if your desparate tell me and I will ask. Their certainly fully comprehensive and convinced me to be a therapist.

I could of mentioned a lot more but I will sign of now and wait for your advise.

Yours

A. Graduate

Warmth and Returnings

Dear Diary,

“Let me light my lamp,”
Says the star,
“And never debate
If it will help to remove the darkness.”

Rabindranath Tagore, Indian poet.

I dedicate this entry today to J who was very ill and has now moved on from this world. She was a regular borrower at the library, a member of our book group and a dear and supportive friend. She was one of those special people who was perhaps too gentle, too good for this world.

May God rest her soul.

*

Back home again.

We drove home from Surrey sunshine yesterday and when we reached Wales we encountered the White Stuff: fields, hills and cars covered in real snow! The air turned very damp and chilly and we were reminded that it was indeed late November. We had been warned of course because my daughter had kindly phoned to forewarn us in case there were problems on the journey. The famous reversal of roles kicks in when you reach a certain age and your kids start to worry about your safety in the same way that you (always) worry about theirs.

It was M’s birthday so, when we were not too far from home, we treated ourselves to a pub lunch near Hay-on-Wye. The Hollybush Inn, we hadn’t been in it since 1988 would you believe, when we were house hunting in the area and planning our escape from the other world. The present owners have been there for three years and I can really recommend the food, there is a wonderful menu, a simple and tasteful interior (Country Living would approve) and they have varied live music evenings too. M let slip it was his birthday and a diner played Happy Birthday on the piano as the staff sang along. It was a very pleasant stop on our journey.

But it’s always good to be back home. I am such a home bird, I am like a fellow blogger friend who says she gets homesick walking to the post box. I have two more days off work as I am having to take all my leave that is owing to me. I shall also be taking some time off in December so I can finish my main and long-outstanding writing project.

*

The stone walls of the cottage quickly lose their heat and take even longer to warm up again. A joy in the hot summers, the cottage is pleasantly cool, but not so pleasant to return to in these dark Winter days and I secretly vow to not go away in the winter again.

Come Home to a Real Fire, Buy A Cottage In Wales.

A few daft sayings enter my head. Do you remember years ago that was an in-saying, when there was really bad feeling in some parts of Wales towards the English incomers. Never ’twas round here, I hasten to add.



But joy of joys! Our dear neighbours have lit both our fires, the ancient Rayburn in the little snug and also the woodburner in the parlour. They are so kind, they’ve also cared for the two dogs and Molly the cat. The dogs have spent the days in their house, probably being spoilt and lying in front of their fire. It has been known for Finn, our lurcher, to sleep on J’s bed!






Wet leaves are knee-high in the yard outside the back door and are a bit of a death-trap so I don warm clothes, gather up the broom and barrow, sweep them up into a huge pile and then put them to rest and decompose on the compost. I like a mixture of materials on there. I always find leaves less of a hassle to clear if they are wet as they merge together in a soggy mass and can be pushed easily to where I want them to go. The light is fading but I just have time to go over the road to the old forge and fill the wheelbarrow with logs, some are freshly delivered by E our local wood angel. I have blogged about him in the past. He has left us offcuts from fencing posts and now we have a real mix of woods. Silver birch, ash, pine and oak which is the best of course as it is slow burning. There is also some applewood from a tree our neighbours took down; that smells divine when it burns. We are lucky to have such a selection of wood for the fires as we also get some delivered by a local person .

When I take the logs back to their little winter space in the open front porch, I notice that M has also been there before me so we have a huge pile ready to burn. M says that’s OK as they all burn too quickly!








I haven’t posted any Blessings for ages so I think there had better be some today.

Home. Hiraeth, as the Welsh say, though I am told that there is no real English translation for that word as it is more a feeling in one’s soul, much like the love I hold in my heart for Ireland.

Our neighbours and their kindness.

I missed my computer too, how sad is that? Or rather I missed my purple coo friends and look forward to catching up on their news and their blogs.

My own bed, there is nothing like it is there, however comfy anyone else’s is. That leads me to my last blessing which is my new acquisition.

My new patchwork quilt. I will plug a local firm here, Pretty Practicals and try
and do a link, I’ve never done one before so please let it work.



I notice the owner of this company also has a blog that would be quite at home with purple coo, I will maybe send her a link. I am ashamed to say I ordered the quilt over the Internet and asked for it to be delivered through the post when I could quite easily have driven to pick it up as their unit is in a local market town, not that many miles from me. But I was very busy at the time and what with the ever-rising cost of petrol I decided it wasn’t too much of an extravagance really. But I see that they are opening a shop very soon and feel sure that V and I will be wending our way to Rhayader to have a look.



I’d best not forget the joys of our weekend away, it’s not all about the coming home. It is good to be with my brother and sister-in-law. We were both adopted and had little to do with each other when we were growing up, there was a big age difference, but we have become close since we have been adults. We share the same strange childhood with its terrible memories and when we get together we always end up talking about it. We laugh as well and that is the best therapy! We also enjoy good food and wine and much time was spent talking, either reminiscing or putting the world and especially the UK to rights. Isn’t that what most of our generation (and those younger!) seem to do all the time? I also met my nephew and his wife and their two young and beautiful children.

Life goes on and too quickly passes. Makes me feel old. Stop me now as I am sounding like a real wrinkly.

Before I go, here is something topical but please don’t think I am a supporter of royalty. I do steadfastly refuse to be anyone’s ‘subject’. I don’t even accept the sentiment in the poem. I just like the wording.

Diamond Wedding


Love found a voice and spoke two names aloud -
two private names, though breezed through public air -
and joined them in a life where duty spoke
in languages their tenderness could share,
A life remote from ours because it asked
each day, each action to be kept in view,
and yet familiar in the trust it placed
in human hearts, in hearts remaining true.
The years stacked up and as their weight increased
they pressed the stone of time to diamond,
immortal-mortal in its brilliant strength,
a jewel of earth where lightnings correspond.
Now every facet holds a picture-glimpse;
In some, the family faces and the chance for ordinary talk and what-comes-next;
in others, shows of pomp and circumstance.
And here, today, the diamond proves itself
as something of our own yet not our
own -
a blaze of trust, the oneness made of two;
the ornament and lodestar of the crown.


Andrew Motion


Enough of paradox, I shall sign off now. An unexciting blog, I admit and I do apologise that mine are always a tad too philosophical with not enough ‘content’. But personally I don’t want an exciting life but rather a quiet and peaceful one.

Peace and blessings to you,
Go mbeannai Dia duit
Caitx