A Meme

Dear Diary.


I promised I would do it so here goes.

I’ll try and be brief, you have probably read this one as it has been tackled by others so many times before.

What are my current obsessions?

Photography is my latest craze and I have opened another blog for some pics.

My others you know about. Poetry, books, music, Ireland…….

Which item of clothing am I wearing most?

Jeans I suppose and scarves and shawls but to be honest (as they say in Wales) I am bored with all of my clothes.

What’s for dinner?

Roast chicken (lemony and garlicky). Got the recipe from Nigel Slater’s Appetite, a great cookbook.
Roast potatoes, stuffing, broccoli, carrots.
Delia’s toffee pudding.

Last thing I bought?

A photography book!

What am I listening to?

A friend sent me a song on the subject of watching clouds as we both love this pastime. The song is sung by Abby Dobson., an Australian singer.

What would I say to the person who inspired me to do this post?

Willow, your blog is fantastic!

Favourite holiday destination?

Ireland

A canal boat holiday in France maybe, or Ireland or the UK.

Anywhere I would like to visit before I die?

New England
New York

Reading right now?

One of Us - A fabulous novel by Melissa Benn who is the daughter of my hero Tony Benn.

Guilty pleasure?

Buying a magazine occasionally. No delete that, they are always a disappointment.
Buying books?

First Spring thing?

Picking snowdrops from my garden.

Best thing I ate or drank lately?

Butterscotch cake made by M.

Which Spring flower am I most anxious to see?

Snowdrops, bluebells.

Care to share some wisdom?

Only kindness matters.

Is there a television programme that I enjoy at the moment?

All the Small Things


That’s all folks and if you’ve got this far then thanks for reading..


I am tagging Milla and anyone else who fancies having a go.

(Remove one question and add one of your own making)

Bye for now,

Cait

Just a poem for now, back soon

Out of Hiding


Someone said my name in the garden,

while I grew smaller
in the spreading shadow of the peonies,

grew larger by my absence to another,
grew older among the ants, ancient

under the opening heads of the flowers,
new to myself, and stranger.

When I heard my name again, it sounded far,
like the name of the child next door,
or a favorite cousin visiting for the summer,

while the quiet seemed my true name,
a near and inaudible singing
born of hidden ground.

Quiet to quiet, I called back.
And the birds declared my whereabouts all morning.



Li-Young Lee

If you love poetry

Achill Head - Paul Henry

Dear Diary,


Below is a piece taken from a blog I read, it is about a journalist's interview with an American poet. I hope she won’t mind me repeating it here but I thought others might like the last line.

*
This is the extract.

I can't tell you what we talked about; I need to save that for my story. But I will share his last quote, since it was so lovely. I said, Why poetry? Why not prose? And he answered immediately; he said,
Why dancing? Why not just walk around?

*

Then quite by chance I received this poem in an email tonight, also on the theme of poetry. So I thought I would share this with you also. Pablo Neruda is a favourite poet of mine.


Poetry


And it was at that age... Poetry arrived in search of me.
I don't know, I don't know where it came from,
from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices,
they were not words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone,
there I was without a face and it touched me.

I did not know what to say,
my mouth had no way with names
my eyes were blind, and something started in my soul, fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering that fire
and I wrote the first faint line, faint, without substance,
pure nonsense, pure wisdom of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened and open,
planets, palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated, riddled with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void,
likeness, image of mystery,
I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.

Pablo Neruda
1904-1973

That's all for now,
Cait

A little award ceremony

Dear Diary,


I must thank the very kind blogger at Third-Storey Window for giving me the Premio Splashdown award in the form of the little picture below. It was a complete surprise to me. ( I am very much into angels but have never been called one before!).

Third-Storey Window is a favourite blog of mine - a real haven for bibliophiles like me. Go visit - you can spend ages there - so much to enjoy.


I would like to pass this award on to other 'angels' in cyberspace:





Cowgirl because she is an inspiration and is touched by angels for sure. There are beautiful photos of New Zealand to see and great writing. Do go over and visit.

I like to visit The Keeping Room because it has everything I love therein. The room is so cosy and welcoming, there are beautiful photos, so much to read and there is poetry too. An harmonious place to linger.

Three Dog Blog is another much-loved haunt of mine as the writings here are superb and it is crammed full of gems to inspire me. One not to miss. (I am a dog lover but you don't have to be to enjoy it).

Last but not least I must mention Camilla and Edward, the quality of the writing here is just outstanding, it is a magical, beautiful blog, a treat for the senses. A must-read.

There are others I could mention but I had better stop at four. Aren’t we blessed to have so many wonderful ‘angelic’ blogs to read?

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait,

Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday



An Easter Sunday morning walk beside the precious mountain stream
amongst the carpets of sweet celandine and purple violets at their edge.
Peeping shyly, hiding, coy and timid in their beauty.
While clumps of primroses, so full and brightly yellow are
not the least bit bashful of their hue as they
compete with golden daffodils along the river’s bank.
While all around is greening and every plant and shrub is budding, simply bursting into life.
And all the while the river sings her song
and birds join in the chorus as she flows.
But I detect a brightness in their tune,
a tinkling sound of joyfulness is in their melody,
as if they too can tell it’s Spring and
they can also see and feel God’s beauty in our midst.


Cait O’Connor

The Butterfly's Tale

A glasswing butterfly

This is homework for my writing group. I had to write something incorporating these seven words - we each chose one at random from the dictionary:

chance, butterfly, responsible, drab, firefly, tube, fastidious

The Butterfly’s Tale


(A very short story)

"Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you"

Nathaniel Hawthorne

Along with the hordes, an unusual butterfly flew in the just-opened carriage door of the London tube. A very rare irridescent glasswing butterfly that shone like sunlight on stained glass in colours of blue, green, rusty gold and white. Its effect amongst we travellers was like that of a rainbow on a dullish day.

Enlightened onlookers in the carriage suspected it to be a just-passed soul fluttering by, as they do, to comfort a grieving loved one.

(I knew better).

One lucky lady found a seat. If I was kind I would say she was nondescript but if I was honest I would say she was prim and proper looking, glasses perched on the edge of her nose, sad-eyed and clothes far too drab (a librarian?).

A man stood near to her and looked around with the air of someone who thought himself a wee bit superior. If I was kind I would say he was clean and smartly turned out but if I am to be honest he seemed to me dull and far too fastidious for his own good (an accountant?).

The atmosphere, which had previously been cheerless and dark, grew brighter as glowing sparks from the butterfly started to burn as it landed on the windowpane between the dull accountant and the sad librarian. Their eyes were drawn to it and then to each other and, as they say in books, a smile passed between them.

(We psychic ones call it energy).

I knew a passion was ignited in that moment and perhaps (as I have the Gift) only I saw it, but the butterfly was slowly undergoing a metamorphosis and its sparks became flames.

The creature had become a firefly.

(My spell had worked).

And then I too had a flash, a flash of the fortune teller, the true sign of a witch,

(It happens a lot).

In their future lives together as man and wife the dull but now happy accountant and the sad but now fulfilled librarian would describe how they met as pure Chance and Chance alone was responsible.

(But as I told you, I know better).

Dreams

Another Paul Henry picture for you
(you can just make out the donkey!)

This is a long range photo of an empty cottage taken recently.
My kind of place, a very tiny dream cottage perhaps?

Imagine all the people living life in peace.
You may say I'm a dreamer,
but I'm not the only one.
I hope someday you'll join us
and the world will live as one.

John Lennon

No person has the right to rain on your dream

Marian Wright Edelman

Quite by chance and following on from the wish list theme of the previous post, my favourite daughter sent me this poem today.

Hold fast your dreams

Hold fast your dreams! Within your heart
Keep one still, secret spot Where dreams may go,
And, sheltered so, May thrive and grow
Where doubt and fear are not. O keep a place apart,
Within your heart,
For little dreams to go!
Think still of lovely things that are not true.
Let wish and magic work at will in you.
Be sometimes blind to sorrow.
Make believe! Forget the calm that lies In disillusioned eyes.
Though we all know that we must die,
Yes you and I May walk like gods and be
Even now at home in immortality.
We see so many ugly things— Deceits and wrongs and quarrelings;
We know, alas we know
How quickly fade The color in the west,
The bloom upon the flower,
The bloom upon the breast
And youth's blind hour.
Yet keep within your heart
A place apart Where little dreams may go
May thrive and grow.

Hold fast—hold fast your dreams!


Louise Driscoll

That's all for now but before I go I shall leave you with a song, one by the artist I am listening to tonight.

I wanted to post a song on the dream theme but it was very hard as there are so many I like: Jack Savoretti, Fleetwood Mac to name just two but I felt like hearing Roy Orbison's voice again and here is his lovely song.

In Dreams:

A Wishlist - A Meme

Two new babies

If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of potential -- for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints; possibility never.” Soren Kierkegaard 1813-1855

A Romany Caravan by the Sea

An old red VW Camper Van

Perhaps it is the gypsy in my soul?

If you fancy doing this Meme why not start your own wishlist. Include only wild and/or impractial dreams; try not to write about those too seriously achievable desires.

Start with as many as you like and keep the list tucked away so you can add to it as and whenever. But let me know when you do......

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait.

Apologies

Dear Diary,

Patience is the mother of will.

- Gurdjieff

Lady Godiva  -  John Collier

So sorry not to have posted for ages. My computer has been playing up and when it has been working it has been on a go-slow and just at the time I was trying to open another blog to store some of my photos. I have succeeded at last but it has not been without a lot of swearing! I lost the lot at one stage and had to re-post all over again, bit by bit. My patience has been tested!

(Did you not see the smoke rising?)

So I have little to say here today but will return tomorrow. Just wanted to say do go and have a look at the new blog with the original name of Cait's Photos, though it is still 'under construction' as they say in techno-land.

(http://caitsphotos.blogspot.com/ )


You will find the odd poem scattered about the place, they seem to mix well, poems and pictures, would you not agree?

See you soon,


Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait