Blogger's Block

Dear Diary,

No kind action ever stops with itself. One kind action leads to another. Good example is followed. A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees. The greatest work that kindness does to others is that it makes them kind themselves.

Amelia Earhart

Please forgive me as I have blogger’s block today but as I haven’t posted for so long I thought I had better pen just a few words. Perhaps things will improve when the Full Moon is past, I always feel unsettled in the week leading up to it.

Life got in the way as well last week, as it often does but my worries and problems have thankfully dissipated.

So today’s will be a short one as inspiration is hard to find but there will be blessings, pictures and a wee poem of mine that I wrote last week.

Blessings?

Signs of spring that I noted on my walk this morning. Catkins, crocuses, daphne, lungwort, tiny daffodils coming into flower and sunshine that was doing its best to warm me in spite of the bitterness of the cold wind.

My grocery delivery. This is a new venture in these rural parts of Wales. The Asda lorry comes to the door and I am able to order online.

My new heating system is installed and will soon be up and running. Economy 10 should be working on Friday and in the long run we should be spending a lot less on keeping the cottage warm.

Book group tonight which I am looking forward to as I have enjoyed the choice this month. It is Spilling the Beans by Clarissa Dickson-Wright. Although I am not a fan of all her exploits (foxhunting and hare coursing are just two examples) I found her life story a really good read. I am in that state of wanting to find another Good Read to lose myself in and will be away soon to dig one out from the big pile I always have waiting for me.

I always look forward to reading other people’s blogs as well so they are also a blessing. When my ideas run dry I can while away so much time enjoying others who seem never to have such a problem. I have not read any for a while now but I am on the case.

I shall leave you with the little poem.

Mothering



It’s an umbilical cord thing,
in the sense that we are connected throughout lifetimes
(and beyond)
though our babies may have grown and flown
and may even now have children of their own.
They will come and they will go
and each parting is not remotely sweet
but rather it is sorrow

The years we held our children close and safe
enfolded in our arms
seem like a fleeting moment lost in space.
And along with pangs of labour
and the agonising throes of each ensuing birth,
why did no-one ever give us warning
of the worry and the yearning
and the lifelong pain a mother feels
that is the constant tugging
at this instrument of love we call the heart


Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait