Thursday Mar 22 2007 00:41:31
By Cait
Dear Diary, Can I indulge in just five minutes of self-pity? Five minutes and no more I promise. I have caught the bug which is going round the area. I had a lovely aromatherapy bath with a blend of lavender, geranium and patchouli oils this morning which made me feel much better for an hour or two. I am now flopped on the sofa, feeling hot one minute and cold the next. Coughing, aching sinuses and feeling nauseous. You get the picture? I’m hoping that writing the blog will take my mind off it. But indulgence time is over, I will now try and think positively. ‘Good day sunshine‘. Even M, who is recovering from a chest infection, has been out today. After seeing Bill Wyman on Richard and Judy enthusing about metal detecting, M dug his out and went off treasure hunting in the field hoping to find some Roman artefacts. We have the remains of a Roman Road crossing our field; nothing to see except an indentation and a wetland/pond area. I have been told that the indentation was caused by the Welsh taking the stones from the roads, many years ago of course. I wonder whether Ty’r Gof was built with stone from the Roman road? I’ve started calling our cottage Ty’r Gof as it is the Welsh for blacksmith’s cottage. My three granddaughters are learning Welsh at school of course and are teaching me at the same time. They get a little frustrated as I am not very good at remembering all the words, but I am trying. (I think that’s the word they use). The dogs went in the field too of course and revelled in the weather and the freedom to run and play-fight together. They get on well but needless to say the bitch is in charge and always gets her way (sound familiar?). But today all M found was a bit of old iron. It could well be Roman iron of course. I’m feeling a bit quoozy now so M is getting me a brandy and ginger. I always swear by brandy for tums and whisky for colds. One or two sips of the brandy and ginger and the quooziness goes. Quoozy is one of my made-up words for a cross between queasy and woozy. I am dosed with cough mixture and paracetamol as well. When I have finished my scribbling I will either watch some rubbish on TV or go for a lie down. I remember the days when my children were young and I would have to keep going whilst feeling unwell. I know a lot of you reading this will know what it’s like especially if you have no one else to help out. But now I am able to drop everything and care just for myself which is a luxury really. And luckily M is on the mend. But children grow up far too quickly. I am enjoying reading the blogs written by mothers of young children and sharing some of their funny, happy and memorable experiences. When I had my first baby a work colleague of mine told me to ‘enjoy my baby’ as she would grow up far too quickly. How right she was. I am noticing that same ‘speed’ now with my three grandchildren; the oldest is nearly eleven and will be going to high school in September. The old cliché ‘It doesn’t seem possible’ applies as ever. And when they go into secondary education the child in them is lost somehow and they quickly become like mini-adults. But you never stop worrying about them even when they are twenty-nine and nearly twenty-six as my daughter and son are. Blessings from today? There were some even though I felt lousy. The bunch of daffodils M picked from the garden. Their scent is so strong, (they never smell like that when you buy them do they?). We have many varieties of daffodils and some narcissi in the garden but no wild ones. I have seen masses of the little wild ones in North Yorkshire but very few in this area. More blessings. The glorious weather. Brandy. The blog by AnnaK which cheered me and made me reminisce about my own ‘babies’. A visit from my daughter and two of the granddaughters. It made me feel better. Yesterday when I drove to work there were pretty ribbons of white garlanding the hilltops. I am trying to post a photo taken by my daughter on her way to college in Brecon. If it doesn’t go through tonight I will post it tomorrow. I saw a lovely healthy looking blackbird today. It is good to see them coming back as they seemed to be disappearing. Which reminds me. Here is the list of wildlife on our land, as promised. It is not complete and there are some birds missing but my brain is addled at the moment. In random order. Jays Herons Kingfisher Buzzards Nuthatch Robins Dippers Housemartins Swallows Crows Ravens Pied wagtails Red kites Greater spotted woodpeckers Blackbirds Wrens Woodpigeons Collared Doves Magpies Tawny Owls Great Tits Blue Tits Coal Tits Thrushes Cuckoo Chaffinches Mallards Greenfinches Willow/Marsh Tits Siskins Goldfinches Bullfinches Yellowhammers Skylark Pheasant Rooks Starlings Brambling Sparrows Eels Salmon Trout Other fish not listed Lizards Badgers Polecats Squirrels Rabbits Hares Otters Mink Water voles Shrews Rats Bats Foxes Field Mice Frogs Toads Wild bees Butterflies and Moths and Insects, this list is still to be done. Sheep Cows Horses I will sign off now, there is more I wanted to write but it will keep until I feel better. Before I go here is a poem by yet another favourite poet of mine. On Turning Ten by Billy Collins The whole idea of it makes me feel like I'm coming down with something, something worse than any stomach ache or the headaches I get from reading in bad light-- a kind of measles of the spirit, a mumps of the psyche, a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul. You tell me it is too early to be looking back, but that is because you have forgotten the perfect simplicity of being one and the beautiful complexity introduced by two. But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit. At four I was an Arabian wizard. I could make myself invisible by drinking a glass of milk a certain way. At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince. But now I am mostly at the window watching the late afternoon light. Back then it never fell so solemnly against the side of my tree house, and my bicycle never leaned against the garage as it does today, all the dark blue speed drained out of it. This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself, as I walk through the universe in my sneakers. It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends, time to turn the first big number. It seems only yesterday I used to believe there was nothing under my skin but light. If you cut me I could shine. But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life, I skin my knees. I bleed. Bye for now Caitx
Recent Comments
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Greetings, Cait, I am way too tired now to even appreciate what you wrote, but even so ... it was swell to read it, hope you are up to 100% soon, but you can write great blogs at whatever percentage you arre feeling right now. I am gonna come back to read tonight's from you again ... if I ever get some extra time. Best wishes!
Posted by frances
March 22, 2007 01:31 AM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Oh hope you feel better soon, Cait. Love the blessings as ever and daffs are one of my (many) favourite too x
Posted by pipany
March 22, 2007 07:18 AM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
You didn't sound self-piting at all! Well done!
Posted by CountryNobody
March 22, 2007 08:22 AM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Children growing up it is so true and the sheer luxury of being able to have a cold and look after yourself,why not brandy ,whiskey and ginger??? Your place sounds like a veritable nature resreve.and what agood idea to write them down....poems great.
Posted by ragrug
March 22, 2007 08:35 AM
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Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Monday Mar 19 2007 23:25:45
By Cait
Dear Diary, Music headphones on, (Eric Clapton and J J Cale keeping me company tonight), a cup of tea by my side, here we go…… It’s a bit of a boring blog-day today, will you bear with me? I do like Mondays. It’s a day off work, you could call it my Sunday really except I usually spend it on chores, cleaning, shopping, washing etc. I really don’t need to explain what chores are do I? The woodpecker was busy on the nuts this morning. I could just make him out in the snow flurries. The weather cannot make its mind up and Winter has returned with a vengeance and taken over the place of Spring. We have Arctic winds and gales are forecast. The birds seemed happily unconcerned though and instead of one dipper on the riverbank there were two today. I think romance is in the air in birdland. Let’s hope the dippers will be nesting as usual under the road bridge. There is a lot of buzzard activity as usual and the red kites are becoming almost common now in this area. A friend of mine had a chicken taken by a bird of prey recently. She thinks it was a goshawk. I am told that the trouble is that because of new legislation, the farmers are no longer letting nature take its course by leaving dead animals lying in the fields. So the birds of prey are now resorting to looking elsewhere and are preying on other creatures. The hares are busy at this time of year. It is worth visiting a common near here at this time of year which is alive with them. Some also play in the field next to ours and I can peep at them over the hedge. I always look forward to the March Hares as that really is the month when they gambol and play together. In a future blog I will print a list of all the species of birds and other wildlife which live close to my cottage. I started the list when I first moved here ten years ago and have been adding to it as new animals or birds are discovered, Today a whole morning passed and I was unable to connect to the Internet, cold turkey or what? Now I know I am truly addicted because I could think of nothing else, how could I exist without reading the blogs and would anyone miss me? Anyway I practiced some distancing from the problem and I got some chores done. I had already done my yoga but convinced myself that doing some brisk housework would be a positive thing for me exercise-wise as it beats going to the gym. So I whizzed round with my hoover and mop. When the cleaning and washing was done I made a quick trip to the opticians in Llandod to pick up M’s new glasses, photochromic no less (but only new lenses). I also had to do battle in the supermarket (yes the fridge had emptied very quickly as predicted). I intended to get it over with as quickly as possible and I succeeded. It was very quiet in the town, probably because it is a Monday. Snow, rain, sleet, hail, we had it all at home, one after the other, but Llandod, which is only twenty minutes away, was dry, sunny and calm. I felt overdressed in my boots and thick scarf but was aware of other folk who must have come in from the hills, they were similarly dressed and I heard them talking of snow. I had intended going with M to a wood yard today to get some planks for making raised beds but unfortunately he has a nasty chest infection. He managed to see a GP at the weekend, out of surgery hours. He met him at the local cottage hospital. M suffers from angina so I have had my nurse’s hat on in the last few days, trying to take good care of him. He has been coughing so much and is unable to lay down in bed so he has been sleeping in the armchair. He’s a tough old thing, he doesn’t look his age, no-one believes he is seventy-one! He seems to be on the mend now thanks to the antibiotics which the GP prescribed. When I got back home my son who is at home again today unpacked the car and helped put it all away (whoopee). * A quick bite and then I figure I can’t ignore the big mountain of ironing which is threatening to take over the cottage and I have actually forgotten what clothes I do own. I don’t mind ironing but I can only do it if I am in the mood. It is another chore which is actually quite therapeutic, especially if done accompanied to a good radio programme, music or a Talking Book. Today I iron while listening to my son playing the guitar in the next room. He has a great voice and writes his own songs. Like Eric Clapton did when young he spends hours in his bedroom practising. He is getting an album together and works on his music whenever he can. Luckily we have understanding, music-loving neighbours who are also our close friends. They also make music so the two properties which make up Glandulas often resonate with the sound of instruments, I am pleased to say. It is lovely in the summer when they play outside. Many impromptu barbecues are enjoyed with our neighbours, they are special folk. I finally decide to ring the Orange helpline as I cannot bear being without my net connection. I fear the worst, maybe it is the modem that has died. However it turns out to be a simple problem. The woman at the other end tells me that the modem may simply need ‘refreshing’. (I know the feeling). This just means disconnecting the cables, switching everything off and switching it all back on and praying. Well my prayer was answered because it worked! So here I am back blogging, joy of joys. I really wanted to go on a proper walk today with Katy my border collie. I haven’t had a decent walk for ages. I’ve just been round the field with the two dogs; they enjoy it as they can really have a good race round. They are so lucky to have such space and freedom. Soon though the sheep and lambs will arrive and I will keep the dogs out of the field. I don’t want to alarm any ‘mums.’ (David Gray has joined me now, aren’t headphones wonderful?). I promised I would tell you about the book club, one of the activities which gets people together and lightens the dark days of winter. We meet in the library once a month, there are about a dozen of us, mostly women, just a couple of men. We take it in turns to choose a book for discussion. We have been meeting for a year now and have read a very wide range of books. Memoirs, biographies, fiction, poetry. The two books I chose were The Treehouse byNaomi Woolf and The House on Beartown Road by Elizabeth Cohen. If any of you have a relative with Alzheimers do read the Beartown Road book. It is a memoir written by a woman who was bringing up her young daughter whilst simultaneously caring for her father who was suffering from Alzheimers. It sounds depressing but is an uplifting book. Another book with similar qualities is Living with Mother by Michelle Hanson. Again what could be a misery memoir is actually a very humorous, yet still revealing book. Sometimes we don’t have a set book to read. Instead we have a ‘What’s on our Bedside Table’ session. These evenings are popular and we come away with a good few titles which we may look forward to trying in the future. I find with readers that they usually form into ‘sets’. As a librarian I can tell which books will go with which sets of people. I am in my own set and can guarantee which books will be borrowed by which borrower. It is handy if you can pair up with a fellow reader with the same tastes as your own. There is one such woman in our group and she keeps a notebook listing all the books she reads and a little review of them, more of a memory thing but a good idea none the less. Our next title is ‘Diary of an Ordinary Woman’ by Margaret Forster. I am enjoying it very much; it is quite appropriate really considering my own life has been taken over lately by this blog which is a form of diary. Well I must sign off now as it is quite late and I have work tomorrow. My two menfolk have already gone to bed, (well M to the armchair, poor soul). I still feel stirrings of excitement at the thought of the Spring and Summer days to come. And they will come, we must be patient. This tune has just come into my mind. You will know it for sure. April come she will When streams are ripe and swelled with rain May she will stay Resting in my arms again June she'll change her tune In restless walks she'll prowl the night July she will fly And give no warning to her flight August die she must The autumn winds blow chilly and cold September I remember A love once new has now grown old I adore Paul Simon’s lyrics. They are pure poetry (and of course his music with Art Garfunkel). I have the DVD of their concert in Central Park, New York and if I am feeling low I will watch it and, as sometimes only music can, it will lift my spirits. And so I will dream. Of Sunrise and Sunset. Of early mornings and late nights spent outside; the very best of times, the most magical times. Of sitting on a tree stump by the river watching day come, day go, night come, night go. A friend of mine who lives close by once said that one summer’s day in this part of the world makes up for all the grey depressing days of winter. And she was right. Blessings today M feeling better. My son’s music. My modem which hadn’t died after all. Old photos of the family which my daughter has posted on her website. And finally a little postscript but a big blessing. I happened to catch an item on the TV news tonight which brought tears to my eyes. It would make being depressed about the weather something to be mightily ashamed of. I saw Ali, the poor boy who was injured in Iraq four years ago. I wrote a poem for him in 2003 as I was so moved by his plight. This was it. To Ali, Not in my name Ali Are you armless. With your pregnant mother dead. Father, brothers, sisters and six cousins dead. All vapourised. Not in my name Ali Are you all alone and with injuries so bad That the doctor has said You would be better off dead. You alone are just one. A symbol of why we fight for peace Why we wanted to stop An illegal, immoral invasion And why a white ribbon still hangs on my door. Would Bush and Blair Give up their arms? Would they give up their ARMS? They have your blood on their hands. Not in my name Ali Were arms sold to Iraq’ Not in my name. Your arms were blown off And your family blown away NOT IN MY NAME. Ali is a young man now and what is his ambition? He wants to work for peace. Bye for now, Caitx
Recent Comments
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Tell me about the picture Cait? Did you do it?? I love hares, have only seen one ONCE-so magical and mythical. My raised beds are now finished (rough timber planks too) Just need to let the top soil settle and get planting by easter! So keep us posted on yours. I saw the young man, Ali earlier on news and was amazed-his story should be an inspiration to us all! LOVE your poem. You sound an artistic and sensitive soul warm wishes
Posted by ChickenLicken
March 19, 2007 11:44 PM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Evening to you, Cait. so good to read these words, connecting to peace, from you today. I can remember being at that Simon and G concert in Central Park, and other earlier of their out door performances. (Telling the truth, my friends and I thought that Mr G was off key throughout the reunion concert, but were still glad to be sprawled on the Great Lawn.) I do still enjoy hearing what Paul Simon comes up with. Best wishes.
Posted by frances
March 19, 2007 11:59 PM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Dear Cait, I have just caught up with your earlier entries and spotted your reference to the 'Paupers Cookbook' and that it is still available - will order at once, I lent mine out in about - ooh, 1982? Enjoy all your notes about life in Wales. Suzanne
Posted by suzannedavies
March 20, 2007 06:57 AM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Love the hare picture. I've never seen hares in real life. Wonderful poem.... many bloggers put poems in their work. I suggested on my last blog that it would be nice if CL had a poems page.
Posted by faith
March 20, 2007 07:43 AM
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Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Sunday Mar 18 2007 17:06:21
By Cait
Dear Diary, The dove is universally regarded as being a symbol of peace and is also associated with purity, love and tenderness. Apparently Christians view it as a symbol of the Holy Spirit. One returned to Noah on the ark with an olive leaf in its beak, a sign from God that there was hope in the midst of the flood. The Chinese associate it with long life. Two doves together represent the unity of love. I shall have to name her, she is a regular sight now in the front garden. She and her partner nest in one of the pair of Sitka Spruce fir trees which stand tall just outside my bedroom window. So beautiful and graceful. Today, St Patrick’s Day, she is obviously to be my special gift for she has left her usual feeding post under the riverside bird table and has come round to the back of the cottage and is perched on the roof of our other bird table which I keep just outside the kitchen window. I wander into the kitchen, first thing in the morning and she is there, tentatively tiptoeing on the roof of the table peering down under its eaves at the small birds feeding below, the blue tits of all sizes, the robins, chaffinches etc. There is no aggression, no pushiness from this gentle dove and I can see why they are called the birds of peace. I love to watch the birds while working at the sink. I don’t have a dishwasher; I used to own one when we had the previous smallholding; it used to run by electricity from the generator. (Yes, we were so isolated that we had no mains supply!). But no, I do actually enjoy washing up, I find it therapeutic to be close to the element of water and all that. I seem to get inspirations, sudden flashes, which come into my head when I am hands-deep in water or idly dreaming in the shower or the bath, for example. Is anyone else like me in that respect? And another reason I don’t want a dishwasher (apart from the environmental reasons and we won’t get into that subject just now) is that I loathed loading and unloading it. But I am digressing again, apologies. Snow is forecast and I worry about how the wildlife and the plants in bloom will cope with these constant fluctuations in temperature. They must be so confused. I vow to fill all the nut holders and cover the tables with a good selection of food before the snow arrives. If it arrives. A lot of my borrowers at the library are sceptical about the meterological so-called experts as they keep getting it wrong all the time. Personally I love snow for all its beauty and I secretly relish the prospect of perhaps one more day of snuggling lazily round the woodburner, But I fear for my birds as some of them appear to be feeding babies already. And I feel protective about my budding and blossoming plants too: my big tall daffodils which are dancing proudly today in the breeze and showing off all their bright yellowness as they cheer our spirits. And their little relatives, the miniature daffodils which I adore as they seem to peep out at us, shyly but so prettily. I regularly buy pots of bulbs now, put them in the house for some welcome colour and then when they die down I plant them in the garden. Then, come the following year they always surprise me with their arrival. I do the same with primulae and primroses. All my primroses are flowering now as well as the crocus, celandines, lungwort, white bells (what are white bluebells called, I can never remember?) and my daphne shrub is beautiful in its full flower and scent. But I must stop writing now, time to wish you a Happy St Patrick’s Day online and then off to work…………….. * After a full morning’s work I fly home and flop on the sofa just in time for the first of the three rugby matches. I will write more later. Get the Guinness lined up. It is going to be a long afternoon…………… * Sunday Dear Diary, It is Sunday morning now. I’m sorry I didn’t get to post the second blog yesterday, Three rugby matches on the trot just about did it for me and I felt like I’d been on an emotional roller coaster by the end of it. First there was joy at Ireland’s win over Italy but again the champagne was short of a few bubbles because of the worry over the number of points which were needed to be gained by France over Scotland which would claim the title from Ireland. Then came Scotland v. France and to those of you non- rugby fans who didn’t see it, the ending for we Irish was like teetering on the edge of a cliff and finally going over when France were controversially awarded a try in the last thirty seconds of the match. The try which just gave them enough points to win the Six Nations. I’m sorry I can’t talk about it…….. But then came England v. Wales. Of course you don’t need to be told where my allegiances must lie, living as I do in Wales, (born in London of Irish blood and living in Wales, complicated eh? Try and keep up.). But the Welsh boys didn’t let me down and there was much shouting and screaming going on in our wee parlour but in this match it was from pure joy. There would have been a lot of noise echoing round the hills and valleys of Wales yesterday and much heartfelt joyous singing as well. So, by the end of the three games I was naturally exhausted, fit only to catch up on one or two blogs. First a trip to New York to see how St Pat’s day went in New York (Frances didn’t disappoint me). And that was about it for the day really. My bed by then was calling * Sunday morning again. Another week flown by. I enjoy writing to you first thing in the morning from my bedroom. The room is tiny, white-painted stone walls and with just enough space for a double bedstead, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. My daughter says it resembles a monk’s sleeping quarters. There is a little linen chest next to the bed and on the floor a couple of pillows for Finn the older dog to sleep on, spoilt as he is as he’s getting on in years now. Katy, my border collie sleeps downstairs on a mat in front of the Rayburn in the ‘snug’ beside the ancient Rayburn. Molly, the cat, when she comes back in the early hours from a night out hunting, sleeps on a cosy armchair next to the Rayburn and she looks down on and feels very superior to Katy who has to make do with the floor! I sometimes feel as if I am sharing the animals’ home and not the other way round. Same with outside as well but then I realise that outside especially it is truly the case; we do share the Earth with all the other living creatures on it. I live in a small hamlet on a minor road eight miles long which links two villages. One which nestles in the Wye valley in Radnorshire and one deeper in Breconshire. Our cottage, which years ago always used to be owned by blacksmiths, is set among the scattered sheep farming community. There are numerous stone farmhouses, smallholdings and converted barns hidden away in the folds of the hills and the valleys, down little country lanes and up farm tracks. As it is Wales everyone is known by where they live and in this area everyone knows everyone! Sheep dominate the landscape though, there are far more of them than people. Soon, very soon, we will be fortunate in seeing this season’s newborn lambs as they are turned out to grass with their mothers. Our five acre field will be grazed by my son-in-law’s sheep. His farm is not far from here as the crow flies and is nine hundred feet above sea level, in the foothills of the Cambrian mountains. They have hill farming status. My dogs have access to the field but I have trained them not to go near the sheep. It is quite easy really you just walk them on the lead through a flock while at the same time ’impressing on them’ that sheep are a NO-NO and something to ’LEAVE’. They don’t even walk near them when I take them in the field to check on the sheep; they completely ignore them, it is as if they didn’t exist. I am sure the local farmers cannot believe it when they see it, especially as one of my dogs is a real born and bred sheepdog, bought from a local farmer as a puppy. Snow showers are here but so far only pathetically light flurries but just enough to make it too wet to garden. I will curl up with the April Country Living later, when I have finished reading all the blogs of course, well not all of them, that is well nigh impossible. I am still worrying about the blogs I may be missing. Do let me know if you have any to recommend, any that you think I may like. I see there is an article in this month’s CL about saving your local post office. It is a coincidence as the post office is under threat in Llanwrtyd, the town where I am branch librarian. The borrowers complain to me that they seem to spend all their days fighting. Fighting to save their post office, their cottage hospital, their tourist information centre, (gone), their bank, their community transport, and the school, being a small one, is always a worry I wish the powers that be would realise how vital these services are, especially to rural communities. Llanwrtyd folk have recently been fighting to save their library as have the people of two other small towns in Powys: Talgarth and Llanfair Caereinion. All have won reprieves, but for how long? Llanwrtyd has a spirited and united community and it has formed a ‘Friends of the Library’ group. To be ready for any further threats, they tell me. Would that authorities would think of the ‘C’ word when they make decisions. Not ‘C’ for Closure but ‘C’ for Community and all that it means. It is all about getting our priorities right. Look at the problems in the urban environments where there is no sense of community and the resultant disharmony is all over the news, even today on the radio as I am writing these words. Community is and always has been the lifeblood of rural existence, long may it remain so. If only some of the powers that be realised what services libraries provide and it is not just all about stamping books nowadays. Apart from books of course and information on any subject under the sun they help with job-hunting, education choices for those of all ages, health and social matters, bereavement, counselling, tourist information, local services and council information. Information on anything under the sun really (and beyond). Vital computer access too for populations at the far-flung edges of the country. Also the borrowers call their library the ‘heart of the community‘, a social meeting place for folk of all ages. And to all, an introduction to what will hopefully be a lifetime’s love affair with the written word. And an education. Well I must get off my soapbox now, the showers have ceased and it is surely time to get up. Fried breakfast and another story of everyday country folk, this time on Radio 4, beckons and then Desert Island Discs with one of my favourites, Jo Brand. So my blessings today? My dear Irish mother is not on the Earth but I send her love. My blessing here and now will have to be my own role as a mother, the one which has given me the most joy in the world. Here are a few lines which I am sure you all know but they are true. On Children Kahlil Gibran Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable. To grow up knowing that the adult or adults who care for you have your concerns at the centre of their universe, is to be given the psychological equivalent of a million-pound jackpot. That certainty of being loved and valued is a security blanket which immeasurably increases your chances of a successful adulthood, too. It makes it more likely that you will look at your own future relationships with optimism; that you will expect them to succeed, expect them to be fulfilling. (Ruth Wishart, Glasgow Herald, March 2003) And finally. CHILDREN LEARN WHAT THEY LIVE If a child lives with criticism, she learns to condemn. If a child lives with hostility, he learns to fight. If a child lives with ridicule, she learns to be shy. If a child lives with shame, he learns to feel guilt. If a child lives with tolerance, she learns to be patient. If a child lives with encouragement, he learns confidence. If a child lives with praise, she learns to appreciate. If a child lives with fairness, he learns justice. If a child lives with security, she learns to have faith. If a child lives with approval, he learns to like himself. If a child lives with acceptance and friendship, he or she learns to find love in the world. Bye for now, Caitx
Recent Comments
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
I like the Kahil Gibran, Cait, and the cooing doves. And like you, wish we had more snow. It's so cosy making and such fun for the children. Proper snow that lasts days and days. that would be great.
Posted by EdenEising
March 18, 2007 05:28 PM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Hello Cait. Glad you enjoyed the parade! I in turn am delighted to learn about where you live and work. From my past blogs, you may already know how much I love libraries. Cheers.
Posted by frances
March 18, 2007 05:30 PM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
We had Kahil Gibran on marriage at our Wedding I love his work,and keep getting on the soap box we need people there all the time keeps the world going round.
Posted by BlossomCottage
March 18, 2007 05:52 PM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
We have a pair of those doves come too sometimes but mostly they go to my neighbours (the trolls) who call them Jack and Gertie.
Posted by faith
March 18, 2007 05:59 PM
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Dear Diary HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY
Saturday Mar 17 2007 08:37:41
By Cait
Lá le Pádraig dhuit Happy St Patrick's Day Just off to worknow but just wanted to wish all the bloggers the best happy St Pat's Day. I wrill write more later. And Good Luck to both Ireland and Wales today in the rugby. Bye for now and God Bless, Caitx
Recent Comments
Dear Diary HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY
And to you too - I blogged Irish today too!
Posted by faith
March 17, 2007 08:48 AM
Dear Diary HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY
arrhh to be sure to be sure. Will miss them now they've gone home (live near Cheltenham)
Posted by Milla
March 17, 2007 09:11 AM
Dear Diary HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY
And to you, Cait. See you later. Eden.
Posted by EdenEising
March 17, 2007 09:16 AM
Dear Diary HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY
Love the shamrocks,I didnt realise it was st pats day darn i'll have to go and share guiness in the pub with lot of people watching rugby yipeee!
Posted by ragrug
March 17, 2007 09:52 AM
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Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Friday Mar 16 2007 16:10:07
By Cait
Dear Diary, (Look out Masterchef). Artichoke Soup. As promised to a fellow blogger I am including this (old) recipe from The Paupers Cookbook by Jocasta Innes. I have had this book since 1976; it’s falling to bits now but I still use it regularly. I think if I were restricted to one cookbook (and I have many) it would be this tatty little Penguin paperback. When it was first written the meals were meant to cost between ten and twenty pence per head! They are international recipes, some very simple and some quite ’posh’ which Jocasta calls ’Fancy Work’. I have just checked on Amazon and you can still buy it but apparently it is now an amalgam of her 1971 edition and a later edition in 1992, but it is still meant to be as good as the original. I was so thrilled to read a review of it just now saying that it is worth buying for the ‘Onion, Bacon and Potato Hotpot’ recipe alone. This is our family’s absolute favourite and every guest who has ever eaten it has gone into raptures and asked for the recipe. Jocasta says herself that if she were restricted to only one recipe it would be that one. I will post it for you in a future blog. I found a very similar (French) recipe in another cookbook recently (Comfort Food). There it had the wonderful title ‘Tartiflette’ but it also uses onions, bacon, potatoes, three special French cheeses and cream. The dish is apparently enjoyed after a day’s skiing. But I digress as usual, here is the couldn’t-be-simpler artichoke soup recipe. I only ever made it once when we lived in the wilds on our previous smallholding and we harvested our very own Jerusalem artichokes. I make soup a lot but M always says this was the best soup he has ever tasted. (Why don’t I make it again?). Artichoke Soup 1 lb. Jerusalem artichokes 1 oz. Butter 1 and a half pints of water I stock cube A little cream or top of the milk Salt, pepper, nutmeg. Peel the artichokes, slice them and heat them gently in the butter for a few minutes. Add water and stock cube or basic stock, to cover about an inch, also salt, pepper and nutmeg and simmer gently till tender - 45 minutes - 1 hour. Put in blender, whizz and return to pan and add a little cream or top of the milk, or plain milk and butter. If you have time make some croutons to go with this. The small cubed sort are best, sprinkled over the soup. Of course the other ingredient which I forgot to mention is a pinch of love. I am told that witches have a jar in the kitchen labelled ‘Love’, or they light a candle daily to bless and cook by. All I know is that ‘frame of mind’ is so important when cooking. If I prepare a meal in a rush, against my will as it were, it will not turn out successfully yet if I am fully in the moment, caring about every ingredient as it goes in and feeling ‘loving’ thoughts it will be a success. Perhaps it is like anything in life, it will succeed if done with love and a good intent. Does anyone else feel the same way? * And now for something completely different. A few jokes as it is Comic Relief Day. A recent EU directive states that is no longer legal to keep chickens in the back yard. From now on they must be kept in the back metre. At election time a coachload of politicians leaves the road and crashes into a field. When the emergency services arrive the coach is empty and there's no sign of the passengers. The farmer is there with his tractor so they asked what became of the politicians. "I buried them." he said. "They were all dead then?" "Well, some of them said they were alive but you can't believe anything a politicians says can you?" Q. Why are you stuffing that sheep into your computer? A. All together now. Because it needs more RAM. And two for the children. Q. What do you call someone who used to be really keen on tractors? A. An extractor fan! Q. What's brown, sticky and found in the countryside? A A stick. This is also for a fellow blogger and it is a poem about the psychology of sheep. The sheep farmers round here have enjoyed reading it so I thought I would share it with you. It is Comic Relief Day after all. I can’t take the credit as it is written by M. Sheep A sheep is both brainless and stupid No matter how hard you may try It’s just when you think you are winning It will run to the midden and die! Now a goat runs it close in the brain race And will give you a whole lot of sorrow, It will seem to be well Then it’s belly will swell And she’ll die on her bed on the morrow. But a sheep takes the cake (and the silage) And will eat you from house and from home And just when you think the sun’s shining, It dies with a cough and a groan It studies the old art of dying And passes the well kept secrets on down It spends its short life just a-prowling On the lookout for somewhere to drown In a hedge or a ditch It doesn’t mind which Whether stuck on a fence or flat on its back It’ll die just the same, silly bitch! It just isn’t fussy which way it meets death It will only be happy when it draws its last breath! Yes a sheep is both brainless and stupid Its dying is more like a trade It will die in the snow Or die in the rain Or die in the sun or the shade. It will get in the way of the postman Who will cheerfully run it quite flat But one way or another It will die like its mother And you’ll never stop it That’s that! * And now for something which is only slightly to do with country living though the lyrics of his latest single are, in a way, which is why I am reproducing them below. Listen out for this song which is entitled ‘Dreamers’ by Jack Savoretti. (I am playing it and also his previous song ’Without’ while I am writing to you). Children of the sixties who dropped out and escaped to the countryside may identify with his words. The singer is Anglo-Italian, tall, dark and handsome, but that’s just a bonus for we females and the voice is pure, deep brown and smooth like melted chocolate. Dreamers There was a time and place not far from here and now Maybe a brighter day, maybe they had it made somehow Living for there and then under a psychedelic spell No-one was listening Still they had so much to tell Whatever happened to the dreamers That always looked beyond the sky? Saw the world they could believe in But only when they closed their eyes There were the politicians men of the cloth, carpenters and poets, starting a revolution, without even knowing Making the world around us Making heaven and hell Saying so much about us Still they had so much to tell. Whatever happened to the dreamers They always looked beyond the sky? Saw the world they could believe in But only when they closed their eyes Where are they now? They’ve all left town. Bring in the clouds. Whatever happened to the dreamers That always looked beyond the sky? Saw the world they could believe in But only when they closed their eyes But only when they closed their eyes Nothing’s ever been this way before A dream is just a dream and nothing more. Nothing’s ever been this way before A dream is just a dream and nothing more Jack Savoretti (Album Between the Minds) * And blessings today? Comedy. For laughter, like music, is a joy and an international language. Sharing. As well as the sad times we share the good things in life: meals, recipes, jokes, songs and stories, happy memories, experience, knowledge etc. Moments in time, never to come again. The present which is always the gift to us for yesterday is past and tomorrow only a dream. This very moment which is all there is. Seize it. Bye for now, Caitx
Recent Comments
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Enjoyed the jokes & poems, never had Artichoke soup, but may try it now, recipe book sounds great! Sheep poem rang home, i saw the skeleton of a sheep upside down in a ditch in field a few weeks ago! Just read your hedgehog story, how amazing! We've not seen a hedgehog here for several years now, very concerning as they are in decline. Many blessings to you , dear Cait
Posted by inthemud
March 16, 2007 04:29 PM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Inspired writing Cait!! I particularly love the Sheep poem-they are my favourite animal, however stupid they are! And I love jerusalem artichokes so have noted the recipe warm wishes
Posted by ChickenLicken
March 16, 2007 04:30 PM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Hello I loved the Sheep poem! Also particularly like the politicians on a coach joke.
Posted by Clodhopper
March 16, 2007 06:31 PM
Dear Diary (Country Matters)
Hello Cait. Thank you for your kind comments. Your book sounds a real find, and the artichoke soup sounds very tempting. Poems and jokes, great combo. xx
Posted by Charlotte'sWebb
March 16, 2007 10:01 PM
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