So goodbye Dear February, my most-disliked month. No hard feelings though because perhaps I was a little harsh in my condemnation. You did carry beauty, good luck and blessings in your wake and I have survived intact. Nothing too untoward has befallen me or those I love.
Tomorrow comes a new month, Dearest March, a real harbinger of Spring and She will open with a very special saint’s day for the people of Cymru. There will be much wearing of the daffodil tomorrow and vases of them will be displayed in every home and public building. Daffodils are budding a-plenty hereabouts; there seem to be more than usual this year, or is it my imagination?
Today, the 29th February, they say, is going to be very wet and windy but I wake to a dry day with the barest of breezes. The collared doves are still busy flying back and forth to their new nest in the tall pine. I hope they have built a sturdy and secure home if gales truly are on their way.
I missed that earthquake by the way, I am so cross, I would have loved to have had the experience of the earth moving. I haven’t felt that for many a moon. (That joke was on everyone’s lips yesterday, I apologise).
My cold has come back, they are calling it a ‘boomerang virus’ round these parts. This time it has set up residence in my throat and chest and my voice has gone all funny. I would like to say it sounds huskily sexy but it actually sounds as if I am somewhat demented and close to death, when in fact I don’t actually feel too bad. By the end of the day I do feel rotten though and have been indulging in, or rather collapsing into, Early Nights.
So are there any Blessings amongst all this?
Bronchial Balsam from Boots. Not sure of the make but it’s the cheapest in the shop and there are no nasties in it; rather it contains all sorts of weird and wonderful but wholesomely dark and natural ingredients. Good black stuff, almost as good as those Calpol Brandy slammers (Purplecooers’ secret indulgences).
Paracetamol, honey and lemon, they also keep me going and stop me coughing too much.
Log fires are a comfort too and the sofa with blankets, soft cushions and pillows and some mindless TV. And let’s face it, most TV is mindless these days. It’s cooking, gardening, celebrities I’ve never heard of etc etc, you all know what I mean. I have been watching Place inthe Country, or whatever it’s called…all about these really odd couples going house hunting, relying on some equally smug and weird person with an annoying accent to find them four houses to choose from. As if they didn’t have the gumption to look for themselves. And we all know they only do it for the huge fee and to appear on TV. But somehow if I am feeling poorly I can happily watch this crap. I don’t mind Location, Location, Location/Relocation etc as I really like the intelligent presenters of that one, also it’s the original idea I suppose and not a cheap copy.
Final blessing. M has fixed my newUn Peu Loufoquetiles on the kitchen wall and very fine they look too. I will try and take a photo of them in situ but this is what they are.
Some people M knows came to visit us with their metal detectors yesterday and went round our field. The most interesting thing they found was a medieval loom weight if you know what that is. It is made of lead, looks like an over-sized Polo mint and apparently was used to weigh down either the warp or the weft (am sure someone will tell me). My money is on the warp because the weft goes in and out?
Here is a photo of one, not of ours, ours is the same but is not cracked...... but I haven't taken a photo of it yet.
They found all sorts of interesting little bits and bobs but no buried treasure unfortunately. We want to get the field ploughed up as an old Roman road actually crosses it, who knows what may lie beneath?
Well I will sign off now, I am feeling a bit worn out.
Before I go here is a poem I have only just this minute discovered on the net. Isn't it lovely?
MARCH
Dear March, come in! How glad I am! I looked for you before. Put down your hat- You must have walked- How out of breath you are! Dear March, how are you? And the rest? Did you leave Nature well? Oh, March, come right upstairs with me, I have so much to tell.
Emily Dickinson
Funnily enough Emily Dickinson uses the term ‘Dear’ to address the month. I had already done the same in this blog but swear I had not pinched her idea.
Ho Hum. There is nothing new under the Sun and all that…..
I cannot believe this is a year old, my son's first go at recording on YouTube To listen you will have to stop my other songs on the right, click on PAUSE button with your mouse.
This morning as I lay in bed drinking my honeyed tea, I draw an Angel Card , the one that falls out as I shuffle is labelled ‘Joy’ and coincidentally M is downstairs playing music, a Roxette CD and guess which track is playing? ‘Joyride’.
A few days ago I drew a card which said the angels would leave signs for me (coins, white feathers etc) to show they are helping me. This does happen to me when I am troubled so it was nothing new to hear. However, on the same day, it was when I was unwell earlier this week, I was eating a meal that M had cooked for me. I had helped him dish it up so I knew exactly what was on the plate. When I had nearly finished eating the meal I looked down, there was about one mouthful left and lo and behold (that phrase again) there was a white feather on my plate!
There was quite a lot of joy in the cottage yesterday afternoon and evening as both Wales and Ireland won their rugby matches. Much whooping and clapping went on.
But in two weeks comes my dreaded fixture, Wales versus Ireland. Then I am drawn in two ways and painful it is too!
So are there even more joyous blessings for today?
Firstly M has woken up feeling better, miraculously so he says, maybe those angels really are working overtime.
Also, two Purplecooers have brought joy to me this week.
Artistic angels I shall call them.
I have always disliked matching tiles and have all different ones in my kitchen so discovering Un Peu Loufoque’sart has been a joy. Today the set I bought entitled 'Washing Line' is going to be fixed on my kitchen wall. I treated myself to it, I deserve it and all that.
It’s especially wonderful as I have a ‘thing’ about washing lines. I started taking photos of them actually until I thought I might get arrested for being a pervert, spying on people’s underwear and the like! I like nothing better than the site of real washing blowing in the wind on a long old-fashioned line. They are disappearing from the landscape actually so I may well carry on capturing those images.
Dear Pipany is another gifted artist and she brought me joy too in an unexpected parcel containing some seeming-to-be magical lotion and some surprise Cornish delights. Also a lavender bag which I popped under my pillowslip last night and its effect was to make me sleep like a baby.
I think some human folk are really just angels in human form don’t you?
M is feeling better - miraculously so he says, perhaps all those angels are working overtime.
Before I go, a poem.
Joy and Sorrow
Then a woman said, 'Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.'
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, 'Joy is greater than sorrow,' and others say, 'Nay, sorrow is the greater.'
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
Kahlil Gibran
It’s Sunday, a free, blank-canvas day.
I wish you joy, Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Caitx
PS I have been asked to pass on the name of the author of the poem The Crabby Old Man posted on my previous blog entry. I am afraid it is Anonymous.
This is the story attached to it.
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Tampa, Florida, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
Some doubt its verity but I care not whether it is ‘genuine’ or not. The truths therein are for all of us to digest, nurses or otherwise.
Nothing in the world is meaningless. Suffering least of all.
Oscar Wilde.
Today’s blog is a short, boring one and something of a mish-mash, a bit like my head really.
February is my most ‘difficult’ month, the one I’d like to eliminate from the calendar altogether. The very cold temperatures start to get to me, the winter seems too long and there is often too little sunshine to lift my spirits. This month has been an exception though; it has been very cold indeed but the Sun has shown herself on many occasions.
But it’s still the month when colds and flu are in the air and I have at last succumbed. . I’ve caught a fluey head cold and unfortunately couldn’t go to work yesterday. Yes I love my job so I am not pleased to have a day away from it. Still the library is in good hands as dear C, the relief is there.
You know when it’s a bad virus infection because it always comes on so suddenly, it doesn’t creep up slowly and there may well be no sign at all of its arrival, save perhaps a feeling of being over-tired in the day or two before it breaks out. It can start with just a sneeze, a runny nose or a sore throat. You also know it’s an infection when you have no appetite, a temperature with its resultant aches and pains, shivering and hot and cold feelings. These viruses just have to be endured until their lifespan ends. I had the turning point last night, the sweats and the feeling of release that comes with fever proving that my immune system had fought a battle and won. This morning I feel so much better, though still very weak.
Time for Blessings methinks.
I couldn’t concentrate on much reading yesterday but I did dip into dear Sara Ban Breathnach’s books, they are always such a comfort. Also a few glossy country magazines that shall remain nameless, they also soothe with their beautiful photos. (I have saved every copy even though I no longer buy them). And the radio helps. But most of all my best blessings were aspirin and paracetamol (not together of course) and sleep when it finally would come. Mostly I was just dozing, tossing and turning.
Other Blessings?
Music of course. Talking of which….. apparently stroke victims recover quicker if they listen to at least two hours of music every day. That is very interesting. Would listening to music help in stroke prevention I wonder? I digress again.
I am listening to dear Johnny Walker this morning, my favourite DJ, he is sitting in for Terry Wogan this week. He always plays such good music, I admire his taste. I make a mental note to remind myself to listen to his Sunday early evening show on Radio 2.
The View from my Window. I don’t need television because there’s plenty to see going on outside, a real wildlife soap opera is being played out just for me. Amongst the bird population that is. There has been much romancing in the air in the branches of the two tall pine trees. And as in all species the whole world over, the male chases the female until she catches him! There have also been a few viewings of the bird boxes, that is always good to see. Three magpies feasting on the mixed corn that M has put out. Sammy Squirrel is also about, feasting on the nuts as usual. A fox makes his way across the field, blissfully unaware that he is being watched.
It is bitterly, bitterly cold again although the weather forecast says today will be the last cold day for a while, a spell of milder, wetter and windier weather is on its way.
Hooray is all I can say and thank God for hot toddies.
My last blessing will be Finn our lurcher. When I am poorly he curls up on his pillows on the floor beside my bed sending his healing rays up to me (he likes nothing better). And I mustn’t forget M of course, he is an excellent nurse and healer himself.
I’ve still not got much of an appetite but I’m off now for a hot shower. Then I will change the sweaty bed linen and return to bed. I will break my fast with an orange, a banana and some tinned peaches. Aren’t the oranges juicy this time of year?
There were two coincidences today - you may be interested in such things. I have started drawing an angel card each day and today’s (Reward Yourself) told me to be kind to myself, maybe take a day off work and reward myself. My astrology reading by Russell Grant said the same thing Reward myself, be kind to myself etc.
Then I heard on the radio about the excessive number of accidents happening today and I idly wondered if it was a Full Moon. I had no idea but checked my very own moon calendar on this page and lo and behold it is a Full Moon!
And no ordinary Full Moon either.
I’ve just checked my other favourite astrologist, Jonathan Cainer and he has this lunar information.
A glorious lunar eclipse will be visible tonight. It lasts for several hours from 'first bite' to last clearance. The Moon will turn crimson and some think, at totality, it should appear briefly turquoise. It's visible in the UK from around 1am - 5am. If you're not staying up all night, set your alarm for 3am and take a brief look. Assuming the cloud cover is not too thick it will prove well worth interrupting your sleep for. It is, of course, on view much earlier in the USA - and it happens a little later across continental Europe. When you see it, make three wishes... one for your own wisdom and growth.. one for the wellbeing of a loved one.. and one for the world!
I hope you haven’t been too bored with my mish-mash and I hope you remain virus-free.
Bye for now, Go mbeannai Dia duit, Caitx
PS Just before I depart here is a poem sent to me from a cousin in Canada. I read it and it stopped me feeling sorry for myself.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? ......What do you see? What are you thinking......when you're looking at me? A crabby old man, ...not very wise, Uncertain of habit ........with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food.......and makes no reply. When you say in a loud voice.....'I do wish you'd try!' Who seems not to notice ...the things that you do. And forever is losing ............. A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not...........lets you do as you will, With bathing and feeding ...... The long day to fill? Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see? Then open your eyes, nurse..you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am ........ As I sit here so still, As I do at your bidding, .....as I eat at your will. I'm a small child of Ten.......with a father and mother, Brothers and sisters ..........who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen ..with wings on his feet Dreaming that soon now. ..........a lover he'll meet. A groom soon at Twenty .........my heart gives a leap. Remembering, the vows........that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now ......... I have young of my own. Who need me to guide . And a secure happy home. A man of Forty ......... My young now grown fast, Bound to each other ....... With ties that should last.
At Fifty, my young sons ...have grown and are gone, But my woman's beside me.......to see I don't mourn. At Sixty, once more, ...... Babies play 'round my knee, Again, we know children ......... My loved one and me.
Later in life dark days are upon me .......
My wife is now dead. I look at the future ...........I shudder with dread. For my young are all rearing ...young of their own. And I think of the years...... And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man.........and nature is cruel. Tis jest to make old age .......look like a fool. The body it crumbles..........grace and vigor depart. There is now a stone........where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass ..... A young guy still dwells, And now and again ........my battered heart swells. I remember the joys.............. I remember the pain. And I'm loving and living.............life over again.
I think of the years ...all too few......gone too fast. And accept the stark fact........that nothing can last. So open your eyes, people ..........open and see.. Not a crabby old man. Look closer and see........ME!!
Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!
PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched.
Acupressure. Thanks to dear Westerwitch who gave me a few tips for migraine relief.
A Good Night’s Sleep on Clean Sheets, the two seem to go together, I often mention this, forgive me, its one of my passions.
My local writing group, an inspiration and a joy to be with.
Last but not least: The tantalising and uplifting taste of spring we have recently been granted.
I’m just going to blog a few musings on education. After hearing on the media yesterday that money has been ‘found’
(where does one 'find' money, I would love to know?)
Money has been found for an ‘initiative’ - how I hate the misuse of that word too…….. to ‘give’ children five hours of culture a week. Is it me? I thought that’s what children should get from their time in education establishments. A taste at least of culture.
I looked up the definition of culture in my Concise Oxford Dictionary 1964. This book is my Bible where words are concerned. I shun all modern publications, they seem to lack a lot of words that were in use in the old days. Yes I know language evolves…. but it shouldn’t disappear.
I digress,
Culture, improvement by training by mental or physical means. Intellectual development.
It’s a tillage/rearing thing, much like making cultures in a laboratory.
So it obviously can’t be something you tag on to regular schooling, it is schooling.
I got to musing …… thinking about what I expect from education, pie in the sky most of it.
I wonder what you want from it? Your educational aspirations for your children/grandchildren?
Here are mine.
Firstly all children need to gain confidence and self-esteem. This is a top priority.
Then for a basic grounding I want children to learn to read, write, spell, learn their tables, add and subtract. I want them to learn their tables by rote as I did. I want them to learn the rules of grammar.
Without these basic skills, standards will plummet.
It may be too late I fear.
I want them to have access to a local library and to fall in love with books. I want them to also read and write poetry (I would wouldn’t I?).
I want them to visit museums, galleries, places of historical interest etc. as part of their education, not something tagged on as an afterthought. When I was a child at school in South London we did all these things. Aren’t we meant to have progressed? Where have we progressed in education?
In anything come to that?
(I digress again.)
I want them to learn how to find information in all the many ways available. They will need fast keyboard skills and to be able to READ.
I want them to learn crafts and skills before they are lost altogether. All crafts and skills should be given as much status and financial reward in our society as academic ones.
I want them to learn how to grow food organically. I want them to learn to cook and also to eat healthy foods. They need to learn about the science of nutrition.
I want them to ‘experience’ the soil, to grow plants and flowers as well as vegetables.
I want them to learn about the Earth and how to save it (another top priority).
I want them to learn a foreign language or two.
I want them to learn sciences (much as I hated them!).
I want them to have the opportunity to study and experience all forms of art.
I want them to learn to express themselves artistically, to use and develop their imagination and creativity in whatever medium they are drawn to, whether it is by acting, singing, dancing, music, playing sport, writing etc.
To learn the arts of relaxation and meditation, to play sport and dance, to exercise in all sorts of ways.
To learn about other countries and their cultures (that word again), to maybe go on exchange visits.
To help both one’s local community and those overseas.
I want them to learn about history and how NOT to repeat it.
To mix with all different races.
I want them to learn about the REALITY of war, not about its glorification. I would like them to be part of both a local and a global community group that fights for peace.
I want them to learn how to help those less fortunate, both in their own country and the rest of the world and to understand why they are less fortunate. I want them to understand and care for anyone with any kind of disability.
I want them to learn about the dangers of advertising and the subtle exploitation of people in all its guises.
Let’s teach them about real and worthwhile role models. I don’t want their idols to be so-called celebrities.
I want them to have Original Thought (most important). This is a sign of true intelligence and is nothing to do with the retention of learned factual knowledge.
I want them to each develop their own (individual) potential.
I am not a number. I’m a free man!
Before I go, here are some words, the lyrics of a song by Enya.
Pilgrim
Pilgrim, how you journey on the road you chose to find out why the winds die and where the stories go. All days come from one day that much you must know, you cannot change what's over but only where you go.
One way leads to diamonds, one way leads to gold, another leads you only to everything you're told. In your heart you wonder which of these is true; the road that leads to nowhere, the road that leads to you.
Will you find the answer in all you say and do? Will you find the answer In you?
Each heart is a pilgrim, each one wants to know the reason why the winds die and where the stories go. Pilgrim, in your journey you may travel far, for pilgrim it's a long way to find out who you are...
Pilgrim, it's a long way to find out who you are...
Pilgrim, it's a long way to find out who you are...
We walk through half our life as if it were a fever dream
barely touching the ground
our eyes half open our heart half closed.
Not half knowing who we are we watch the ghost of us drift from room to room through friends and lovers never quite as real as advertised.
Not saying half we mean or meaning half we say we dream ourselves from birth to birth seeking some true self.
Until the fever breaks and the heart can not abide a moment longer as the rest of us awakens, summoned from the dream, not half caring for anything but love.
I have to pick the book nearest to me, go to page 123.
Find the 5th sentence.
Type the next five.
Tag five people to do the same.
Don’t forget to name the book. I borrowed mine from the library.
****************************************************************** Invisible Acts of Power by Caroline Myss , bestselling author of Anatomy of the Spirit and Sacred Contracts.
Her words meant the world to me at that moment. She gave me the gift of knowing I was not alone and that I was understood. Both these acts of service came as complete surprises. I now feel that I can do pretty much anything!
Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think. - HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE - A PIECE OF NOSTALGIA - SAYS IT ALL REALLY. Check out the audience.
Dear Diary,
A while ago I said I would take up the challenge to write 25 of my needs so here goes.
I can’t think of needs without going back to my nurse training days. When I was studying psychology for my diploma, great emphasis was placed on dear old Abraham Maslow’s Hierarchyof Needs model.We were advised to use it when creating care plans for our patients.
Maslow's hierarchy of needs is often depicted as a pyramid consisting of five levels: the four lower levels are grouped together as being associated with physiological needs, while the top level is termed growth needs associated with psychological needs. Deficiency needs must be met first. Once these are met, seeking to satisfy growth needs drives personal growth.
HERE lies a poor woman who was always tired, She lived in a house where help wasn't hired: Her last words on earth were: 'Dear friends, I am going To where there's no cooking, or washing, or sewing, For everything there is exact to my wishes, For where they don't eat there's no washing of dishes. I'll be where loud anthems will always be ringing, But having no voice I'll be quit of the singing. Don't mourn for me now, don't mourn for me never, I am going to do nothing for ever and ever.'
Anonymous
HOUSEWIFE
Some women marry houses. It's another kind of skin; it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements. The walls are permanent and pink. See how she sits on her knees all day, faithfully washing herself down. Men enter by force, drawn back like Jonah into their fleshy mothers. A woman is her mother. That's the main thing.
Anne Sexton
I have been tagged by Bradan to write some Household Tips so here goes.
I will start with a few suggestions and they are but a few.
Vinegar has so many uses, just try it for everything. White vinegar is best as its scent is less like a fish and chip shop, but any vinegar will do. It is powerful stuff; you will be impressed and wonder why you ever bought anything else.
To neutralise smells in the loo, strike a match.
Baby wipes are a marvel. Use them to clean absolutely anything, from computer keyboards to spills on your clothes! The only worrying thing is that they are so powerful, it makes one wonder what is in them and should we be using them on out babies skin?
Sprinkle bi-carbonate of soda on your carpets, leave as long as you can and then hoover (gets rid of doggy smells etc).
Save orange and lemon rinds and burn in your fire, makes a nice smell. Or simmer in a saucepan with cloves or cinnamon to scent the whole house.
Use eco-friendly cleaning products, they are more expensive but smell divine and are safest for the environment. I use Ecover.
Don’t use aerosols. Or any chemicals. I am allergic to chemical air fresheners and many many other products. Even walking in the ‘cleaning’ aisles of supermarkets makes me feel their powerful effects.
I save my soap pieces in a soap jar. Add hot water and use for all sorts of things. Spraying on roses for example to kill nasty bugs. Any other suggestions?
This last one is nothing to do with housekeeping but I am quite taken with it.
If you make custard with custard powder, don’t add sugar, there is no need. Try it and see!
***
I have a teeny room in my teeny cottage that I call The Snug. On the wall is a framed picture of a quotation.
Dull Women have Immaculate Homes.
Where I live in Wales Dull means something different, it means someone who is a bit thick or a trifle ‘dim’. I understand the word dull to mean someone who is boring. Either way the quotation resonates with me and I love it.
Every woman loves it.
I don’t like mess and I love to be in a clean, tidy and shining environment but it is a constant struggle to keep one’s home in tip-top condition, would you not agree? Unless you have ‘hired help’ I suppose. Ha Ha.
Whenever my little cottage is clean, tidy, sweet smelling and shining immaculately no one turns up but whenever the place is looking like a tip, visitors will always appear unannounced. And the thing I hate about having invited guests is the urgency I am struck down with to clean and tidy up before they arrive or I feel guiltily sluttish. Am I alone in this?
I like and feel most comfortable in houses that look and feel lived-in, that are filled with all manner of wonderful things, all strewn around. I don’t like homes that feel like furniture showrooms or something out of a magazine, these so-called Ideal Homes in the Country for example, that resemble nothing like REAL homes lived in by REAL country living folk, none that I know anyway.
When I was a young wife I bought a book called Superwoman by Shirley Conran. It was filled with Household Hints and hints on life in general. Very good it was too, I still have it. I always remember a couple of Conran’s quotations
Life is too short to stuff a mushroom
and
I’d rather lie on a sofa with a book than sweep beneath it.
And I remember reading somewhere else that a woman’s gravestone would never have the inscription ‘Here lies So and So …….. SHE WAS TIDY‘. No I don’t think that anyone has ever been especially admired or rewarded for being so.
I will admit to one weakness in the housekeeping line and that is my passion for doing laundry. Iespecially love the act of hanging washing out on a line and I also love to see clean washing blowing in the wind. I also adore the smell of clean washing and even find ironing relaxing when I get around to doing it, when the mountain is so high or I have run out of clothes to wear!
My sweetest ally in the laundry stakes is my beloved, ancient Rayburn. It is so old, it is actually one of the original models, but is still going strong. It dries, airs and irons for me as well as warming the cottage, heating my water, simmering my pots, keeping my dogs and cats cosy and being the heart of my home.
But the main problem with Housekeeping - I love that word - I wonder why? is that it is still (nearly) always seen as a woman’s job and women still feel that they are somehow defined by the image of the home they present to the world.
I prefer to make my home as pleasant as I can just for myself (and my animals) to suit my needs and tastes, to make me feel cosy and comfortable as well as safe and secure……… rather than to impress.
I don’t want to be judged by it.
Home is where the heart is after all,
Here endeth the lesson,
I am tagging five more victims now
They are:
Camilla, Exmoor Jane, Frances, Irish Eyes and Faith.
(And like housework dear friends, only do it if you want to ).
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.
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.
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 AnamCara 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.
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 BeerFestival this weekend, one of the populargreen 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 (AnyQuestions 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.
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?”
February makes a bridge and March breakes it.
