Lazy Day

Dear Diary,

When I awake it is to the song of the birds, the taste of the mildest honey in my tea and the sight of the colourful jay, one of my favourite birds, who is drinking at the riverside. He is around a lot now. I notice I am over-using the word ‘favourite’ and must either try and cut down or try and find an alternative. Where would we be without good old Roget? And every time I type the word favourite my dear old computer underlines it in red as she speaks American. Annoying or what?

The radio pulls me from my slumbers and soon brings me back to that real world. My blood pressure soon rises, can it be good for me I wonder? I pull the duvet over me and snuggle into it softness. Clean sheets last night. I always sleep better in clean sheets, free of all those negative energies cast off during those bad dream episodes.

I loved the ‘funny’ someone posted about the aliens and the sheep producing Bush, Condoleeza etc. Sorry was it Jacko? My memory..:>) I have forwarded it to my friends and relatives. One of them asked when Blair was born…… But no it was 1953... That’s not to say that aliens weren’t something to do with that conception though? :>))

Blessings today?

My friend Roget and his Thesaurus.

Diversity in all its shapes and forms. If we didn’t have it how dull life would be.

Biographies which let us dip into other peoples’ lives.

Birthdays - which will, for my granddaughter K, unlike me, be golden times; days she will always remember fondly.

The Hay on Wye Festival.

Colours and their words……scarlet, indigo, violet, cerise, grey.

Talking of words I added three more yesterday to my little blue book. Constance. (I have a borrower with that name and I love virtue names, I called my daughter Verity).

Changeling. (See Oldfield book recommendation above)

and Harbour (a word in the Walcott poem and which is also used in a poem of mine which I may post another day).

I could go on with words. Stop me now.

All is green about me, so healing and balancing. Prayerful in its peace.


*
Later.


10.26 and I portray the woman-in-a-dressing gown syndrome but I am not depressed honestly. I have just had a lie-in. I woke to hear the pips on Radio 4 and felt quite comfortable about it being eight o’ clock. Then horror of horrors, the dulcet tones of Libby Purves continued and continued, and no it wasn’t an a trailer for ‘Midweek’ it was the actual programme itself. It is nine o’clock! I must have gone back to sleep after the honey nectar. I told you my late nights would catch up with me…..

But I have slept well and I have slept deeply; the bad dreams have gone. Was there a full moon recently I wonder?, I should know, I usually keep up with the Moon’s phases and I know I always have vivid dreams during the week leading up to the time She is full.

I linger in bed a while longer as Mike Oldfield is on ‘Midweek’ (remember him?). I recently got a free copy of the classic ‘Tubular Bells’ with a newspaper and it brought back so many memories for me. I did of course once own it in vinyl but I haven’t kept any of those. ’Bells’ was a wonderful piece of music, of its time, and carried such magic in its melodies. Evenings alone and also evenings spent with special people, enjoying a drink or two. The Good Old Days eh? .

Mike Oldfield has a memoir out called ’Changeling’, this is one of my favourite words. Listening to Mike is interesting, he was an escapee to the wilds of Wales as well, absorbing Her healing qualities and curing his depression and drug addiction too by the sound of it. He mentioned how a shaft of sunlight could have such an effect and I know just what he means. He has an Irish mother too, I had not realised that, but it explains a lot. He says he grew up with legend, songs and music. But sadly his mother suffered from bipolar depression and her father was affected by his experiences in the First World War.

I firmly believe that we are drawn to places, to books and even to programmes. I would probably have missed this piece if I had got up earlier.

I apologise for the prominent counter at the top of this page. I am going to get an invisible one. I can’t understand how all these visitors from foreign climes are finding me in the ether! But sadly I have nil points from Ireland. My spiritual home after all!

Today is a free day, tomorrow is a long day at the library and then, joy of joys, I have nine days off, nine blank spaces to fill as I may. The weather forecast is for improved weather too so all my fingers are crossed. I will bring home two or three good books and spend the days reading, writing, in the garden, whatever. Might even take off, who knows. Trouble is I am like someone else who loves her home so much, I forget who, (I really am beyond help!). But I too get homesick just going to the postbox!

I have to catch up on my writing course and produce my assignment before the end of June. I am taking the OCA course in conjunction with writing my adoption ‘memoir’. I have a fantastic tutor, a published author, who has helped me so much in the craft of writing.

I am also going to do some more family tree work. I am chasing my paternal grandmother who was born in the north of England, Northumberland. I visited that county many years ago, before I knew my origins and loved it and remember being touched by the light in the region. Lindisfarne also left a strong impression on me.

Tomorrow my oldest granddaughter has a birthday, she will be eleven. To celebrate there is to be a visit to our little local cinema with a few best friends to see Pirates of the Caribbean and then an evening spent camping out in a field on their farm. Sounds like fun for an eleven year old. Today she is at the Hay Festival, she is a member of the Powys Writing Squad and they are having a writing workshop with famous authors. She is so lucky. And on Friday there is another. I am taking her to Hay again for a poetry workshop given by Derek Walcott no less, the winner of he Nobel Prize for Literature in the 1990’s. I wish I could be a fly on the wall. My daughter sent me one of his poems yesterday. Here it is.



Midsummer, Tobago



Broad sun-stoned beaches.

White heat.
A green river.

A bridge,
scorched yellow palms

from the summer-sleeping house
drowsing through August.

Days I have held,
days I have lost,

days that outgrow, like daughters,
my harbouring arms.



Derek Walcott


Let me know if you love it as much as I.

Well I must sign off now and get this show on the road. Katy my collie is nagging me to get up. M has offered to go into town for much-needed supplies so I need to write a few more words, but this time it is only a shopping list.

Bye for now,
Caitx