A transformative event

 

Just wish I could find a pre-emptive strategy for these sudden onset bouts of painful exhaustion, it’s not as if I can lay the blame on over exertion. I’d had a quite lazy restful day today, apart from an unduly early morning waking, from my fitful slumbers, as the hound expressed an urgent need to utilize the garden! I was able to get back into bed within ten minutes but, it seemed like an eternity before I was able to resume my slumbers. When I did finally emerge from the duvet realm there seemed little option other than a very restful day.

 

Around 18.30 hours, a painful tiredness enveloped me; it’s almost impossible to determine which came first, the weary tiredness or the pains in upper limbs and feet. A not unfamiliar gnawing discomfort from the armpits served to induce feelings of nausea and a few shouted expletives caught the snoozing hound quite unawares, although he did quite quickly proffer me his paw and snuggled up closer to me. The discomfort dissipated, of its own volition(?) as I listened to Sibelius ‘The Wood Nymph’, at the opening of tonight’s Prom broadcast on BBC4 before I was fully awakened by the vocal dexterity of soprano Anu Komsi in a newly commissioned piece, from Laura Poe, ‘Laulut maaseudulta’.  The soprano’s performance reminded me of the excitement I felt when I first discovered Cathy Berberian’s vocal gymnastics in the 1960s. A transformative moment.

A Quick And Yet

Painfully restless nights have been showering me in abundance of late; how I yearn for those times when bed-rest actually proved restful and, one had the joy of waking refreshed to the new morn, albeit assisted by a strong caffeinated beverage.

My beloved OH generally manages to sleep soundly, unperturbed by the thrashing of my restless legs or the wildly uttered expletives, emanating uncensored from my brain out through my mouth, as the aches and pains attempt to take total control of limbs and torso.

A supply of wrist, elbow, shoulder and knee supports remain in attendance by both bed and armchair side, never quite sure when they will be summoned into action! Much the same applies to the omnipresent box of medications. And yet …

Oh yes, there is fortunately an “and yet” addendum to the above summation of dis-ease. Enjoyment, revelling in the music I listen to via vinyl, cd and the airwaves; movies we watch both broadcast and via dvd and even, dare I utter, VHS tape. Piper, our wonderful hybrid hound, some part beagle, some part podenco (and whatever else) went into this wonderful creation that provides entertainment, love, frustration, and simple amusement. I am fortunate that at present I am able to manage an evening walk with the boy (canine variety) as we let him run freely down squirrel alley, through the wild verges of the local playing field and the adjacent grass tussocked, cow parsley, tree and sapling sprinkled, hound scented haven.

This year the birds have returned to our garden feeding stations, nothing exotic but a rewarding mix of blue tit, coal tit, great tit, house sparrows, goldfinch, starlings, collared doves and also wood pigeons, jackdaws, and bullying magpies. It has, once again, been a delight to watch the always hungry, newly fledged starlings being fed by their elders.

There’s just so much to enjoy in the world around us, just wish the sundry bodily ailments would take a vacation!

ACHES and GAINS

Just when you think you’ve recovered from the roller-coaster ride, a sudden smack of reality makes you realize that you’ve stepped onto the ferris wheel and this time it’s supercharged. Stomach and oesophagus have never felt so close, a moderate underlying nausea takes on a more prominent role. The head feels giddy as if too much time has been spent on the ‘waltzer’, and knees, ankles and elbows throb as if stray balls from the coconut shy have found fresh targets.

You’ve maybe guessed it, I’m talking payback; a reasonable period of (partial) remission had almost persuaded me that life had been restored to normality. As I’m now into the fifteenth year since my collapse, succumbing to ME (myalgic encephalomyelitis), one would think I’d know better than to miscalculate my reserves of stamina. I’m not talking of any undue exertion, just twenty minutes of mowing the lawn with an electric powered mower seems to have knocked me back. Mind you, this additional exertion came at a time when I’m just coming to the end of a course of antibiotics and antimicrobials.

These additional medications had been prescribed as a result of a visit to A&E at the district hospital last Thursday evening, following a flare-up of diverticulitis (and probably gall bladder as well). There have been many occasions recently when I’ve felt as if my moderate ME had turned to a milder form but then, brainfog, alongside excruciating discomfort in upper and lower limbs, and nagging pains variably dispersed around the torso, randomly exert their authority.

Putting those ailments aside, I am fortunate that I am still able to enjoy listening to a wide range of music (via CD, radio and vinyl sources) and am generally able to accompany Piper (our beagle – podenco  rescue dog) and my beloved OH Helen on short evening walks. A few years ago there were occasions when it seemed / felt like an effort too far]just to walk the few yards to the corner of our road. I really miss it when I’m not able to manage these short walks but the love and attention, received and given, by Piper compensates more than a little, and I’m still amazed at the therapeutic value of this charismatic canine.

An additional source of joy is provided by not infrequent visits from our grandson Alexander, now in his ninth month of bringing and receiving an abundance of smiles to the house. Piper is intrigued by Alexander, even though he’s never sure of how to take the infant’s reciprocal interest; the boy stretches out to feel / stroke Piper but has already managed to grab his tail on one occasion as well as being drawn to his ears (always a sensitive part of the pooch’s anatomy).

still rambling on ... and further words

Life races by, with a generous sprinkling of love, received, given and shared as the most vital portion of each day. I am blessed with a catholicity of musical taste, ranging from early music, through classical, romantic, all the way to contemporary; my taste in jazz extends from traditional New Orleans to freeform and experimental sounds. An appreciation of popular music, from the great American songbook, through folk, blues and rock, also provides me with much auditory pleasure.

Admittedly, my listening to music for the past several years is confined to vinyl, cd, radio, mp3 recordings, rather than the “live” experience. Since 2003, when I succumbed to ME (myalgic encephalomyelitis) I have been unable to cope with theatre, cinema, concerts and gigs, and rarely venture far from my home as shopping, travelling, and crowds, easily result in sensory overload. I am fortunate enough to manage an evening walk with our rescue dog Piper, which far exceeds my expectations / abilities from a few years ago. Piper both provides and receives an enormous degree of therapeutic affection and attention.

My greatest blessing is the love and support of my beloved OH, Helen, who manages to put up with me, even through my far too common periods of pain and frustration induced foul moods and vocal declamations.

Anyway, all this is by way of an intention to apologise for the irregular postings on my blog.

Even when postings are sparse, on this particular blog, you may well find some of my poetic utterances on my poetry and prose-poem blog Mal’s Factory – for those who don’t click on links, it is to be found at https://malsfactory.blogspot.co.uk

hazed out days

Just a vague dull irritating ache throughout torso and limbs, feeling as if a detached “I” was looking on pityingly. For the past couple of days this seems to have been my exhaustingly shattered state of being, an exhaustion of mind and body, almost as if it’s payback for forcing myself out of bed after a mere 11 hours of intermittent unrefreshing sleep.

 I expect, and reluctantly accept, those cloying nausea inducing aches and pains, seemingly emanating from cervical and axillary lymph nodes. Familiarity has also enabled me to accept the more erratically intermittent acute pains in joints and muscles, which pain-killers can control to some degree.  Even the gnawing, discomforting, symptoms of IBS never seem quite as disconcerting as this seepage of hollow ache which seemed to embrace both psyche and soma.

Today, I at least feel awake and, I’ve managed to prepare a kedgeree for our main meal as well as a gently peppered chicken, peppers and mushroom casserole for Sunday and Monday’s lunch time. My halo has been polished once more. I’ve got to admit though that the slightly warmer weather does me no favours in terms of stamina; I only wish its enervating effect could be transformed into true relaxation, serving to ensure some long needed refreshing sleep.

At least I’ve managed in recent weeks to enjoy BBC4’s excellent coverage of Cardiff Singer of the Year, and by way of contrast, mentally grooving to ‘Jungle’ and Mark Ronson, amongst others, transmitted to our sitting room courtesy of the BBC. The sound of each event has been much enhanced via the SoundStage (a sound bar with built in sub-woofer) bought by my beloved for my recent 71^st birthday.

tidings of discomfort and joy

The gaps between postings seem to be increasing; don’t know why I tell you that, presumably you’d already noticed. Sundry muscular aches and pains almost got the better of me during recent weeks, not so much the intensity of pain (barely halfway up the scale) but rather a disconcerting all pervasive sense of dis-ease. At present it feels as if a generalized discomfort proves more disabling than spasmodic acutely intense pain.

The question constantly arises whether codeine, tramadol or any general painkiller can tackle these dull persistently nagging aches. On occasion simply putting on wrist, elbow and shoulder supports seems to alleviate all but a background purring nausea, at others only the combination of pills and  strappings seem to do the trick.

It’s strange that some nights, following on from a more comfortable day, the discomfort only begins its nagging and gnawing routine when I attempt to settle down to sleep; brief interludes of dream laden sleep interrupt my sadly familiar restlessness. At times I could swear that the amitriptyline is working as a stimulant rather than benefitting me with its supposed gently sedative properties.

For the past several nights I’ve pre-emptively dosed myself with tramadol before retiring au lit but, I’ll never know whether it’s the medications efficacy that grants me a more comfortable (albeit still unrefreshing) night’s rest, or have these nights just happened to be ones that were destined to be more comfortable anyway.

At its worst the discomfort is such that I become nauseatingly ill at ease inside my own skin ….

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I’m now beginning to see a reason for not posting; all the preceding spilt out as if I’m having a miserable life whereas in fact I continue to feel rather blessed.

My love for ma belle grows ever deeper and, what’s more, that love is reciprocated. The assurance that one is loved somehow overwhelms life’s more negative aspects, simultaneously building one’s reserves of emotional stamina in readiness for the ongoing struggle for justice and compassion for all.

Having always been of a somewhat gregarious disposition I still, not infrequently, find myself mourning the loss of the ability to socialize (other than on the most modestly minimal scale) but still feel fortunate that I can enjoy all kinds of music and drama via television, radio, and sundry recorded formats. It’s strange the way that sudden unexpected sounds can serve to shatter my nerves, almost crushing the breath out of me, whilst dramatic transitions in a musical score never (or perhaps very rarely) seem to play such a disruptive role.

The garden too is a source of constant delight and refreshment, even when it’s getting a bit out of hand, and the avian activity (viewed from the comfort of a supportive high-backed armchair) is a constant source of pleasure.

Come to think of it, perhaps the reason I’m not posting so regularly is that I’m far too busy appreciating life!

upbeat to crestfallen and rising again

I am genuinely puzzled about where the daytime hours go, or at least how swiftly they pass; a sure sign that I’m not currently experiencing any of the more excruciating aches and pains that the flesh has so frequently become heir to. A little pottering about in the garden, the odd half-hour of book reading, listening to sundry genres of music brought to me via radio, vinyl, CD and MP3 – the time just seems to vanish.

Have to admit though that, having had the company of my beloved for the best part of 24 hours every day during the past fortnight, Monday did seem to drag somewhat at times. Even though I strolled down to, and enjoyed an hour at, ‘Open Church’ (in the morning), and performed some minor gardening chores later on, I became increasingly conscious of the absence of ma belle as the day went on and was just eager for her return home from her first day back at work.  I never cease to be amazed by the love and bond, between Helen and myself, which just seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

Reflecting on the rapidity with which each day passes by serves, quite simply, to amplify the rapid growth of that bond. It was twelve years ago last March that I first met Helen, we married eleven months after that; I just feel so fortunate in having such a wonderful partnership.

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“not currently experiencing etc…..” –  less than twenty-four hours after writing the preceding paragraphs, the sundry aches and pains returned with a vengeance. My colon seemed determined to painfully demonstrate its full range of spasticity whilst, simultaneously, my chest played host to a spasmodically pounding ache; at times it felt like a heavy-handed skiffler had chosen my ribs to replace his washboard.  Add to this the aching calves and thighs, sore throat and raw feeling sinuses and, you may get the feeling, it wasn’t too bright a start to the day. Having spent a goodly part of the morning in intermittent sleep, I was somewhat surprised to be overwhelmed by a heavy drowsiness in the early afternoon at which point I had to wrap myself in a slanket and seek at least a moderately comfortable posture to snatch a few more zzzzzs...zzsssss…

This morning time had moved into a long slow crawl, each moment hanging drearily on the edge of despair. At times I feared that I was heading back towards depression; reactive or clinical remains a moot point!

After a post-lunch catnap, I decided to sample a little of that which “hath charms”; in retrospect my choice of listening [The Randy Newman Songbook Vols. 1 & 2] may be considered odd in the circumstances but, somehow, even (or perhaps especially) the more cynical lyrics of Randy Newman, presented by the master himself, managed to lift my spirits.

Mal's Madeleine Moment

It really is proving quite refreshing to listen to some dirtily muddy recordings, 1964 vintage, by The Downliners Sect, ex the live EP 'Nite in Gt. Newport Street', now included amongst the bonus tracks on a re-issue of their first album 'The Sect'.

The sound really was quite muddy, when listening to them in the low-ceilinged basement 'Studio 51' (aka Ken Colyer's Jazz Club). Back in those days I used to go and listen to the New Orleans style jazz at the same venue. Nostalgia just ain't what it used to be. In those days I had the stamina and enthusiasm to haunt various venues purveying R&B, modern jazz, trad et al. The handiest venue, five minutes walk from my then residence, was 'Klooks Kleek' at 'The Railway' in West Hampstead where the not infrequent highlight was The Graham Bond Organization - Bond (organ), Dick Heckstall-Smith (sax), Jack Bruce (bass), Ginger Baker (drums). I have special memories of an occasion when Phil Seaman - a modern jazz drummer, one of Ginger Baker's influences I suspect - turned up. At other times, Long John Baldry's Hoochie-Coochie Men were the guests, apart from Baldry a young Rod Stewart also provided vocals. Rod's version of 'Stormy Monday' was quite simply sensational.

At other times I'd venture down to the 'Flamingo' to hear, on different occasions, Georgie Fame's Blue Flames, Zoot Money's Big Roll Band and Chris Farlowe & the Thunderbirds. Whenever I wasn't engaged in my political and social-activism I just had to be out somewhere; I didn't like my own company much in those days and, despite having friends scattered around various parts of North London, I had never in my life experienced such loneliness as I did after my move from the sticks to The Smoke.

Suddenly, all this stuff comes pouring out just from listening to a few CD tracks. I wouldn't want to change anything in my life, highs or lows; life is just too precious to have time for regrets.

When I think back, it's quite amazing how puritanical the various left-wing political sects, with whom I was affiliated, were; in fact it's surprising that my disagreements were generally on points of dogma rather than my somewhat beat lifestyle!

LISTENING

It’s more difficult than you’d imagine to listen to one’s body. When things are going well, as has been the case for the past few months, with a paucity of trigger alarm signals, one becomes blissfully unaware of their own limitations. Managing a bit more here, and a bit more there, the extra effort seemed as if there were no toll to pay; the boundaries of my physical and mental effort have extended dramatically, way beyond what would have been my wildest dream during most hours, days, weeks and months from late 2003 to early 2009.

One takes the occasional trivial setback in their stride so, it came as something of a shock, this morning, when my head, torso and limbs were all suffering from several of the symptoms and sensations that so frequently blighted my being during that earlier period. Thankfully, they were only present as a pale reflection of their former intensity; even that was sufficient to prevent me continuing a leisurely stroll, on which I’d embarked mid-morning, to ‘Open Church’. That’s when I realized that I’d been losing the knack of ‘listening’ to my body, overdoing things a bit in my complacency. It’s almost as if I’d become too positive in my outlook; mind you, if positive thoughts had been a “cure” for ME-CFS I wouldn’t have ever succumbed in the first place.

So, it has been a lazy day for me, enhanced by listening to a new CD, ‘Tortured Soul’ by Danelle Harvey; the lady in turn rocks, grooves and tenderly coaxes her own words into life in these songs. Although the title of the album, and indeed the subject matter of some of the songs, could lead one to expect a ‘downer’, it’s the artist’s vitality and resilience that shines through.

Not only have I been taking stock, renewing my vigilance, when it comes to listening to my own body, I’ve also had the pleasure of listening to an inspiring singer / songwriter.

SENSATIONAL

I was just in danger of falling into that heard it all, done it all, seen it all trap (with and without the help of artificial aids) when something happened and, I’m stunned, breathless, excited and emotional.

The reason for this exhilaration; Crosby, Stills and Nash at Glastonbury 2009! Wow, what can I say, really I’m all shaken and stirred; I doubt if they’ve ever played a better set; blissful harmonies, smiling rhythms, steely leads and an overall spine-tingling, tear tickling (and stirring), celebration of what it means to be alive.

Yep, you’ve guessed it; I was impressed!

Thanks to BBC4 – I was there.

Sonic Vibrations

Disrobed and prepared, time hangs slowly, waiting to enter the unknown zone.

The first bit’s nice, lie down, head on the pillow; a pillow propping up the knees to ensure optimum stability and comfort, alleviates my anxiety regarding maintaining stillness for the duration. Headphones firmly clamped in place, emergency / panic button placed at ones fingertips and it’s all systems go. Just a last check to make sure one’s arms are well tucked in, before the slide into the cylinder begins.

Curiosity takes over and, I’m desperate to know how light or dark it’ going to be in the belly of the machine. As it turns out to be light, next decision to be made is do I close my eyes or leave them open; the awareness that its light also enables one to be fully aware of just what a confined space they are within. Close the eyes and this restraint has gone; there could be all the space in the world out there so, what’s the worry? To my surprise there are no worries at all, nor is there any real awareness of time.

The soundscape is rather like an avant-garde techno-trance experiment. What’s lacking in the drum and bass field is more than compensated for by the healthy bass balance in all the proffered sounds, bass, treble or mid-range. To my ears, this random array of note clusters strikes me as quite tonal, a remarkable absence of discomforting dissonance.

It’s virtually impossible to apply any regular time signature to this precocious rhythmical melody; at times one is aware of the absence of note-clusters, a blanketed industrial washing machine being heard some distance off, before the music begins again.

Following on from this excursion, to a rather exclusive little music club, my GP will be informed of the results of my MRI scan within two weeks.

And Was My Friday Good

AND WAS MY FRIDAY GOOD (Friday 21 March)

A dispassionately mundane retelling of the gospel account of Jesus crucifixion, monotonously narrated by Mary Magdalene, with music of a banality that makes one think that perhaps Lloyd-Webber is Verdi’s natural heir. This was ‘Good Friday Liturgy’ (BBC Radio 4), words by Carol Anne Duffy, in what the Radio Times described as having feminist perspective. If having a woman say that she saw the events, rather than a male recorder of the events voice stating what was happening makes it feminist, then ………..!

Having spent a few of the preceding hours listening to Palestrina ‘Stabat Mater’, Liszt ‘Via Crucis’, a plainsong ‘Stabat Mater’ and sections of the Verdi ‘Requiem’, the banality of this special radio production was all the more striking.

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The following is a random jotting which I failed to get around to completing or posting yesterday, presented in glorious Technicolor incompleteness.

MAUNDY THURSDAY ( Thursday 20 March)

On Maundy Thursday, a few random thoughts spring to mind concerning the Last Supper.

I’ve often felt it ironic that the last meal Jesus shared with his disciples, prior to his death by crucifixion, should have been the Passover Seder, a celebration of the Hebrews release from their Egyptian captivity; redemption and death seemed to have been rolled into one. (Pesach derives from the tenth plague when those households whose doorposts were daubed with the blood of the Passover lamb were ‘passed over’ by the avenging angel, a prelude to their release from the Egyptian captivity).

Some scholars however suggest that the meal may have been on the day, a few days before the Passover Seder, when the Passover lambs were slaughtered; this would of course have provided a more instant symbolism.

The symbolic potency of the last supper ( as Passover Seder) becomes truly significant when we realize that through the death of Jesus and the subsequent event known as ‘resurrection’, death itself was overcome, the ultimate liberation from oppression.

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A later posting for today (Friday), A Little Miracle, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Dylan Patrello

Just wanted to share this video.

The Art of Fusion

A pungent melee of aromas fills the air; coriander, cumin, garlic, turmeric, ginger, chilli, tikka & garam masala powders prepare to assault the senses. The master chef (well at least yours truly) is at it again with preparations for Sunday lunch. Once the heat has released this pungency, a dash of oil to the griddle-pan serves as a starting pistol and, let the good times roll! Simultaneously, my aural space is flooded with the Kansas City strains of Jay McShann, as I swiftly chop the peppers, mushrooms, onions, broccoli and other goodies before they taste the searing heat.

Once the onion’s sweated, and the other vegetables have searingly absorbed some of the spice, the lean minced beef hisses on the griddle, and swiftly integrates itself with the vegetarian accoutrements. As it sizzles, I add a further generous dollop of crushed garlic and then a tin of plum tomatoes, swiftly smothered in freshly ground black pepper before chopping and crushing with a spatula. There follows the lazy bit as I stir in a jar of Rogan Josh sauce, allowing it all to simmer to perfection.

Having transferred the magical concoction into two casserole dishes, to stand until tomorrow lunchtime before their long slow simmer, Helen and I race each other to finger out the residual sauce from the griddle pan, pass it to the mouth and, appreciate the tingle at the back of the tongue!


A later posting for today, 'A Spell on the Garden', can be found on Mal's Murmurings.

Ain't like what it used to be!

As Heterocon has already reported "recent days" and "recent daze" are now to be seen as synonymous! Still, I manfully struggle on, not that I've really got any option ... but is it really I ... or, to quote some French poet, am I simply "a trumpet blown by another". Oh the nostalgic joy of that slight trip into my bohemian days/daze!

The media player blasts out something about .. "love is all you need" and I'm thrust back into the days of my return from section-dom into the real world ... heading on for three decades now ... how I yearn, how I yearn! Cliched as the saying may be, I do feel it's a shame that youth is wasted on the young.

It's strange, the voice ex-machina now proclaims " I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello"... are the days of such profundity really gone forever. Lady Madonna certainly doesn't think so. Thanks for those number one hits lads!

A Few Plebeian Pleasures

Last evening, a bottle of 'Taittinger' helped this couple of young lovers celebrate the local MP's re-election. We enjoyed watching and listening to "Kiss Me Kate" as we imbibed; somehow Cole Porter always seems a fitting accompaniment to a drop of bubbly. Oh how petit bourgeois I've become (at least that's how it must seem) but honestly, us plebeians can truly appreciate the finer things!

Tomorrow is my beloveds birthday; for lunch, when we'll be joined by Cathy's boyfriend and our friend Graham, we'll be having one of my simple pasta dishes followed by Helen's special Sticky Toffee Pudding. I will try to force myself to be on my best behaviour, despite being at a difficult age! Maybe when I get through my lengthy mid-life crisis it will no longer be a problem!