Monday Apr :08:03
By Cait
Dear Diary, The primroses are for ’Muddy’ and is the ‘new’ plant mentioned in an earlier blog There are no great things, only small things with great love. Happy are those." Mother Theresa Well it has been a blogless couple of days as I have been looking after E, my youngest granddaughter, who has been staying with me. Mum went on her own to stay with a friend in London and the two other granddaughters stayed with Dad to help with lambing duties. What a lovely weekend weatherwise even though here in Wales there was a nip in the north wind. But if you could find a sheltered spot it was heavenly. E came to work with me on Saturday morning and as it was my first day back I was grateful for a second pair of hands. I am still not completely over this bug but I was so pleased to get back to the library. And I thought a Saturday morning would break me in gently. It was a hectic morning though but the time flew by. E enjoyed every moment, she is only five but she worked very hard at helping me. After lunch we went for a walk with our two dogs and Grandad came too. It was sunny and I was well wrapped up; it was very pleasant to be out and about again. I let E choose which direction to walk, she wanted to go up on the common, always her favourite. We found a lot of fir cones. E knows I collect them so we filled our pockets and wished we had brought a basket. She knows I also collect white stones (revered by Celts) so a few special ones were also brought back. There was an abundance of moss so E wanted some of that too, along with some strong twigs, to make a bird’s nest. Where she lives on their farm it is quite wild . It is possible to walk from the farmhouse onto the mountain and you could literally walk for miles and miles ‘on top of the world’ all the way to Aberystwyth. The views are fantastic and 360 degrees. All the girls are great walkers, they would have to be in our family, having grown up with dogs I suppose they get used to it. When my own children were small I took them out with the dogs, every day, come rain or shine. And walking also for pleasure, it has always been one of my favourite pastimes. It is fabulous riding country too round here, especially where my daughter lives. They have their own Welsh ponies and ride out regularly. Like most sheep farmers, my son-in-law does most of his shepherding on a quad bike but he does sometimes go up ‘on the hill’ on horseback (bareback) and my daughter will go too. She also goes out riding with a couple of woman friends who live close by. When we got back from our walk we went round the field and checked on the sheep. Twelve ewes and twenty-four twin lambs. All were present and correct and looking well. Not very sociable sheep though, each family unit seemed to have segregated themselves off into separate patches in their own little sections of the field. Perhaps they are getting settled. I am sure it won’t be long before the lambs form into their ‘gangs’ and start to entertain us with their antics as they race around. This is the time of the year when I just cannot eat lamb. Having checked on the sheep, E and I played in the caravan (her favourite place). We played an imaginary game, the sort that five year olds love. And I had to play my part. E has a vivid imagination. I had fun. Then we sat for a while on the ‘sunny bench’ by the river. E was daisy hunting and we commented on the great number of celandines this year. The kite seemed to follow us al the time, both on our walk and in the field. And then we found two white feathers, signs of ‘ang passe’. Some of you may know that if you see a white feather it is the sign of an angel having passed by. You will find them when you are in times of need and usually when you find one you will see another the next day and possibly the next. This morning we had another walk in the field, another caravan game and later there was more hunting for daisies. We found more very precious white stones and lo and behold: two more white feathers lay in the grass. After lunch we played Scrabble and then more books were read. Mostly read by me to E, some read by E to me but the enjoyment was mutual. I love reading children’s stories as does my Inner Child. Being a granny is wonderful. I never had grandparents so it is all a new adventure for me, this relationship and I am having to play it by ear. I never imagined how much joy it could bring me. Grandparents and their grandchildren are sort of similar I have decided, both into the same things. Children are new and fresh from Spirit and ‘older’ folk are well on the way on their Journey back to it. I am going to sign off now, it is late but I will write more next time. Just time for a poem though. My Friend the Tree Outside my window the creeper diligently Embroiders the wall in colours of red. Daily I am more amazed. On my way home I pass my friend the tree Spinning all her dreams into gold: A cloth to spread beneath my feet. Daily it is different. Over my head the grey cloud only shines Between a shining web of yellow leaves Daily reaching to heaven and the sky. Mist hangs in the air, brushing my face Soft as a wet kiss; every breath sharp, Daily refreshing me. The beauty found in each, more, in the whole, Is too big; my eyes open wider Daily, to see it all. Another something complete apart from me Of its own effort grows, and so Daily I am changed. Caroline Stokes Blessings today. E, one of my earth angels, who like her sisters always makes me feel better and lights up my life. White feathers. The return of family, both my daughter and my son safely back to Wales, from visits beyond its borders. Music, music, music. And today, especially my son’s wonderful music making. My weekly paper (Saturday Guardian). Clean sheets and soft pillows which I am off to enjoy. Bye for now, Caitx
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Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Love your blogs Cait, so too poems. I had two welsh uncles, and my son has a welsh name, and my eight year old grandson has a welsh middle name. Love the thoughts of the white feathers. Warm Wishes. Camillaxx
Posted by CAMILLA
April 02, 2007 12:36 AM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Cait - forgot to say, what a lovely photo of flowers you put on for our dear Muddie, very thoughtful of you. Camillaxx
Posted by CAMILLA
April 02, 2007 12:38 AM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Cait, the flowers are beautiful, your time with your granddaughter also beautiful. Thank you for explaining the ang passe. And for the poem. Glad you are getting over your bug and are out and about. What joys and blessings await next week!
Posted by frances
April 02, 2007 01:40 AM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Your walk sound wonderful, i too love to collect pine cones, lovely thouughtful blog.
Posted by briar-rose
April 02, 2007 07:36 AM
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Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Friday Mar 30 2007 23:09:05
By Cait
Here is the photo of Jean-Christophe Novelli, it didn't post before. A little treat for you.
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Dear Diary (Country Matters)
I'm definately a dog person, we've got cats in the byres and pottery and they are so independent I don't bond with them the same. Love the photo.
Posted by Posie Rosie
March 31, 2007 10:19 AM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Ooh, some friends of mine know him (but they haven't introduced him to me, sadly). Only just caught your blog from last night, absolutely lovely, I was feeling all rushed and busy but it has settled and de-stressed me, thank you.
Posted by suffolkmum
March 31, 2007 12:50 PM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
I love your collection of thoughts and memories, the photo of delicious Jean-christophe -- I mean Jean-christophe cooking delicious dinner. the William Morris is to remember forever. Eden.
Posted by EdenEising
March 31, 2007 05:58 PM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
hi, glad you are feeling better. love your dream garden below. photo looks a bit like ian used to (still v handsome of course).
Posted by elizabethm
March 31, 2007 11:01 PM
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Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Friday Mar 30 2007 22:52:03
By Cait
Dear Diary, ‘Simplicity of life, even the barest, is not a misery, but the very foundation of refinement. A sanded floor and whitewashed walls and the green trees and flowery meads and living waters outside. William Morris I am sitting at the computer bashing out the blog ready to copy and paste and send to you. My cat Molly is sitting on my lap blocking my view of the keys as she watches the mouse cursor racing around the screen. Now you know why they call it a mouse don’t you? It is one of her favourite hobbies, computer-screen watching and cyber-mouse chasing! She is also an avid TV watcher and always enjoys a good wildlife documentary. So does Katy, my border collie, it is so comical to see them both, ears pinned and sitting together, glued to the TV screen, watching the antics of some wild animal or other. But my cat’s most preferred pastime is bird watching which she regularly does from her vantage point on my bedroom windowsill. Without doubt I would have even more bird life here at Glandulas if I didn’t keep her as a pet but I just love cats so much, I somehow don’t feel it is a home without one. It does break my heart though when she brings in dead or nearly-dead birds. I just have to steel myself and tell myself it is ‘nature’. To me a home is not complete without a dog or two either. A lot of my friends are either dog people or cat people but I really love both. But at least the dogs don’t kill anything in the vicinity. I am playing a new CD, do you remember I was waxing lyrical about Jack Savoretti? Well his first CD arrived in the post today and I am loving it, it is haunting lyrically as well as in its melodies. The birds seem to be enjoying it too as they are singing away merrily outside my window. It’s funny how they seem to appreciate music, or perhaps not, they are great choristers themselves who also bring me much joy. I did dearly want to go back to work today, (I miss the library so!) but I woke feeling nauseous, with an horrendous headache and also toothache, I had all these symptoms in the night too and kept drifting into painful semi-consciousness; not awake enough to get up and get some painkillers. I undoubtedly have acute sinusitis; I always self-diagnose, go to the doctor and tell her what’s wrong with me. However it is not worth going to the doctor with sinusitis so I will self-treat myself. I will take Sudafed tablets, ‘put my head in a bowl’ three or four times a day and inhale the steam for ten minutes each time. Adding a drop of Olbas or lavender oil is good too. I hope you don’t think I am a hypochondriac, going on and on about my ailments in my blogs. I am hardly ever ill nowadays and I haven’t had even a cold for years. It just so happens that the virus has coincided with this part of my blog journey. Please forgive me if I am a pain to you! And I do like passing on the old remedies which really do work. Also a problem shared is a problem halved, do you not agree? I could not have lasted a day at work. It is my ‘long day’ on a Thursday, 9.30 till 7.15 pm and it is the sort of job where you always have to be on form; you are on ‘display’ and dealing with the public so you must be welcoming to all, bright and cheerful. Not like an office job for example, where you can get on with your work hiding in a corner, sniffing and coughing, whilst wrapped round a mug of Lemsip. Speaking as a nurse I also think that if infectious people stayed at home more these viruses wouldn’t spread so rampantly. I work with the primary school children in the library, I love them all dearly but they do cough and sneeze over me a lot! * I’ve just read the Birdwatching for Beginners page in the CL and it says nuthatches are aggressive at bird tables. Our nuthatches who have babies at the moment have obviously not read the article as they are the gentlest birds, so well behaved and they share the table with all and sundry, happily co-existing. The robins do the same and they are also meant to be ultra-territorial. At least weatherwise the day looks as if it is going to be bright. The novel I am reading is nearly finished (Margaret Forster’s Diary of an Ordinary Woman). I heartily recommend it as a heartbreakingly wonderful piece of social history. Everything is there, class matters, feminist issues, war, domestic life, sexuality. Everyone I know who has read it has loved it, even young women. There is something about diaries isn’t there? If they are written well you feel as if you are getting into the ‘heart’ of the writer. It is much the same with reading some of these CL blogs. We are drawn into and feel we are getting to know each other’s lives; our hopes and fears and our aspirations. I’m going to try and make some breakfast now, force some porridge down and then it will be ‘head in a bowl’ time. Wish me luck…. * Later……….. My son-in-law has just arrived with the first of the new ewes and lambs. Always a special day. Summer won’t be long now. All blogging will have to stop soon and the kettle will be going on. I will catch you later. Later still…………. I was wondering what to do this afternoon in the hours before a little TV therapy in the shape of Richard and Judy. In the end I have read lots of blogs, a joy as always. They are so moving some of them and all for different reasons. * And finally. The following inspiration came from Suffolk Mum’s blog which I loved, especially her ‘Earth poem’ metaphor. As I don’t feel well enough to garden I will have to dream one instead. So mine is an ‘earth dream’. I have finished reading my novel and feel like writing now but am in a silly ‘dreamy’ kind of writing mood , can’t physically garden so I am going to plan and to visualise what would be my ideal country garden. It costs nothing and uses no energy either. And I will tell you how it turns out, my fantasy garden. Could I have any dream gardeners to help me, the ex-Ground Force charmer Alan T, maybe and Jean-Christophe Novelli , no hang on I do actually know he is a chef but this is a dream and he is very dishy (can you have a ‘dishy chef‘, is that too much of a play on words?) Oh blow it, he can cook dinner for me in the evening, I’ll be tired and hungry after all that planting! Dream Force The Perfect Cottage Garden, achieved by me in an afternoon. (An Untrue Story). It’s not grand garden. I don’t do grand. Simplicity and harmony do it for me though but with a good dose of blowsyness thrown in. The gate is painted white and the pathway is of cobbled stone. Either side of the gate are lilacs in flower, one mauve and one white, they drape themselves gracefully over the gate, welcoming visitors with their beauty and also with their scent. The garden is hedged with Irish fuchsia, a mass of bright scarlet, yet still possessing a quiet and gentle beauty. As you enter you will see a ’Welcome to my garden’ sign and a slate with an inscription: Though Leaves Are Many The Roots Are One The path leads to a slate-chipped ‘sitting out area‘. Sorry I abhor the word patio and will not use it, well I just have, sorry. Shall we refer to it as the ‘p’ word from now on? (You’ll know I am ’strange’ about words) There is a blue painted cast iron table and chairs with a pot of flowers sitting upon it, freshly picked this morning of course. Also a larger round wooden table and chairs for meals out in the garden and a small raised ’stage’ area for music sessions. Behind the cottage is the gravel garden which is home to all manner of self-seeders. Foxgloves, verbena bonariensis, alliums, chives, heathers and many types of my beloved poppies. And there are pots of flowery plants galore. Nearby, amidst a bower of scented roses lies a swinging-seat and a book or two. There is a hammock on the river bank, swung between two oaks. The other trees are copper beech, crab apple, silver birch, Sitka Spruce, beech, eucalyptus and alder. A very strong swing is hanging from the beech tree for the children (and for me). Beside the river are blue iris beds and marsh marigolds. An upturned coracle awaits. There is a special watercress bed growing in the very pure water. There is a scented garden near the seating area by the cottage with all manner of plants giving of their little taste of heaven. There are fragrant herbs such as peppermint and rosemary, a selection of varieties of lavender, lemon thyme and melissa. Also a little bed of lilies-of-the-valley hides below some roses and primulae. The perennial bed has hollyhocks, delphiniums, sunflowers, peonies, hardy geraniums, penstemons, verbascum, evening primroses, hardy fuchsia, lilies and more. And in the herb garden are many earthenware pots: parsley, purple sage, rosemary and thyme. In its beds are borage, sage, chives, garlic and many more. Beyond the herb patch is the vegetable plot with its raised beds and a salad garden sits next to the cedar-framed greenhouse which is crammed full of plants. Against the cottage wall grow multi-coloured sweet peas. Also on the end wall is a lean-to conservatory, cedar-framed and furnished with a squashy sofa and a comfy armchair. Books and plants cover most of the surfaces. Old fashioned scented roses, honeysuckles and clematis trail and climb wherever. Wild roses and wild woodbine weave amongst the ancient hedgerows which border the meadows, one meadow is filled with rare forgotten wild flowers, the other with sunflowers and one more with scarlet poppies. The garden slopes gently and there are secret pathways with sitting areas in hidden corners. All have different views. And everywhere, now the snowdrops have faded, there are daffodils and narcissi, primroses, crocuses, blue hyacinths and sweet violets. And just coming into blossom there are massive drifts of my favourites, the clichhau’r Gog (bluebell, thank you Anna K) An ancient stone river-bridge was sadly demolished some years ago. There is an old stone wall remaining, which is now the backdrop for a walled garden clothed by fanned fruit trees. Across the river is the small orchard which has fruit trees, Bramley cooking apples ,Victoria Plums and Cox’s and Devonshire Quarendon eating apples. Nearby is the soft fruit area. Beyond is the Really Wild area which is part woodland and part meadow. There is beauty all around, the scent of magic is in the air and the only sound is the music of the birds, the only touch is the softest of warm breezes caressing my face. All is complete now and nothing to do but sit and dream. There are no weeds. What’s a weed? It’s getting dark now. Alan T, the saint of gardening, has worked wonders creating this garden for me. Helped of course by Tommy Walsh and Charlie D. I did my bit as well, dreaming is quite tiring if done to excess. But the smell of the meal being cooked by Jean-Christophe is wafting out into the garden. It is Irish salmon en croute. Followed by a delicious pudding. What is it? I don’t care really as long as it contains the word ‘chocolat’. Oh I must go now, I can hear those vin bottles popping…… * Blessings My lovely new CD, my man Jack is going to be a big star. Seeing friends and family Feeling better at last Scrabble Guinness My granddaughter E is here and we have had fun. She is now tucked up in bed PS Here is a poem I like. It has an unusual title. No Poem... No poem with jewelled words visits me now. Only the hills, silent and black on an afternoon of clouds in an almost-spring, when children's laughter is swallowed somewhere in schools, and you are away, and the landlord's black hound lies sleeping in the awakening grass. There are letters scattered as if on the floor --orders to pay fines, or report to the Registry, to meet the dark gavel of deadlines, and there are prohibitions, posted from someone without a face, without a signature or name. Yet, if I wait the spring leaves will write themselves, the scripts of trees filling the hills. And the granite and quartz will grow ever so slowly, rising between cedar and pine. This is the orchestra of legato, while the daffodils play a quick stacatto, and mosquitoes sleep at the window. Perhaps soon the black hound will wake, bark, run, like my heart, when you come home. Lenox Bye for now, Caitx