Posting on Hirsute Antiquity

Today's posting, Back In The Swing, can be read on Hirsute Antiquity.

PTSD - Cause Unknown

Several years ago, whilst looking out of the living-room window, Beth (my eldest step-daughter) and myself were somewhat startled to see a heron launch off from the garden pond. For the following two or three weeks, no matter what hour I visited the pond, there were no sightings of any fish in the pond; come to think of it some frogs, which had been present the previous couple of days, were no longer in evidence. It was with a great sense of relief, and joy, that I observed the fish once again after the aforementioned interval.

So much for the fabled short memory span of goldfish; they’d managed to stay in hiding until such time as they assumed the coast was clear. Could they have been in a depressive state for all this time, a kind of post-traumatic stress disorder?

What has brought this memory to the fore is the lack of piscine sightings for the past couple of days. With the recent warmer weather, and the clarity of the water, sightings had been impossible to avoid; yesterday morning – zilch! At their usual feed time, I scattered a few floating foodsticks but, by the end of the afternoon, nothing had been touched so I netted the food out again. I caught a glimpse of one of the small fish, half hidden in the aquatic compost and pea gravel in one of the water-lily containers then, as soon as I knelt down beside the pond, it darted away. Later in the day, I caught a glimpse of one of the medium sized goldfish hiding beside one of the drainage pipes at the bottom of the pond.

Whatever has happened, I know that there are at least two fish there but, today yielded no further sightings, even of these two! One possibility is that one of the neighbourhood moggies had made a deliberate lunge for one of the piscine inhabitants; on several occasions these cats have been seen in the vicinity of the pond and, one of them, Peanuts, had recently devised a way of tilting an overhanging decoration to enable him to get a drink … strange that this feline ability to use/devise tools seems rarely, if ever, to have been recorded. This overhanging platform has now been removed!

It hardly seems likely, with present weather conditions (the lack of overly swollen rivers etc – which seems to deter them from those particular hunting grounds), that we have had a further visitor from the heronry. I live in hope that, trauma forgotten by the piscine inhabitants, I will once again be able to observe, and feed, the full glorious company. If their numbers are diminished, from whatever cause, re-stocking may be in order.

If anyone out there is aware of any research papers into “post-traumatic stress disorder” in goldfish, it would be interesting to find where they can be viewed online.

Blog Update

Today's blog posting, REALIZING THE VISION, can be found on Mal's Murmurings.

Outpacing Myself?

Why should I feel a sense of failure when I resort to pain-killers once more? I don’t know that there is an answer to that question but, I’ve always been reluctant to consume these items.

I’ve never particularly liked cocktails comprising paracetamol, codeine phosphate, ibuprofen etc and, it’s with the greatest reluctance that (as a result of the renewed cyclical dance of nagging pains in wrists, elbows, hips, knees) I had to admit positive thinking is not enough in and of itself.

Perhaps the lack of acupuncture sessions, my last two appointments having to be cancelled, has contributed to my present dis-eased state of being, or maybe my positive outlook has led recently to my overdoing things.

The problem is, I always feel that I have my ‘pacing’ under control and, attempt to finish, or at least draw to a temporary halt, any task I undertake whilst I still have a little energy in reserve.

Unfortunately, the shattered-ness only appears after many hours (even days) delay.

Why should I feel a sense of failure when I have to resort to painkillers? A simple answer could be my failure to fully appreciate how little exertion my body can cope with, no matter how much rest it takes!

Idling Along

The mouse finger’s growing tired, slip sliding through various websites, occasionally allowing me to peruse the content of the page it stumbles upon. An adventure without purpose, an aimless search through all the wonders the web has to offer but, I’m still awaiting the return of the necessary powers of concentration to give my searching some kind of focus. If only this aimlessness was my purpose, I would now be the victor; sadly there seem to be a paucity of rewards on offer for such unwitting purposelessness!

The rewards are much greater when I idle my time away sat on the bench beside the garden pond, observing the frenetic activity of sundry insects amongst the pebbles, hovering over the pond and rockery and, generally engaging in the necessary tasks for their survival. The clarity of the pond water is quite remarkable, a reward for the earlier application of barley straw extract and Sludge Buster. Despite the timidity of the ponds piscine inhabitants, they still eagerly surface on my first visit of the day in anticipation of their feed yet, at other times, they dart for cover at the merest hint of a shadow cast upon the water.

All too frequently, I become distracted by the thought of necessary gardening tasks and, despite the exercise of admirable restraint, yield to their beckoning. Although I enjoy pottering about, and sometimes getting my hands dirty, it’s still far too easy to overdo it. At times, I think it would be much better if exhaustion displayed itself as a preventative, rather than in its excruciatingly numbing delayed post-exertional manifestation.

All that being said, I still find it easy to enjoy life, although any socializing activity is strictly rationed; I love sharing my life with Helen, imbibing the odd glass of fermented grape juice and, consuming the fruits of my cookery experiments. Life would be so much harder without such a wonderful encouraging partner, certainly much duller.

For all that life has given me I give thanks, and rejoice in this day the Lord has made.

Aftermath

Every action seems to have its cost, albeit far from predictable. Recent weekends away proved most beneficial in their demonstration that, after several years when such a venture was beyond even the least consideration, I really was improving in the health stakes.

Although something like two-thirds of my time away was spent resting, more from necessity than choice, on each occasion the return home found me running on adrenalin, as I set to necessary tasks in house and garden. Recent bright days drew me into the garden once more, just a bit of light pottering about, but it didn’t take long to realize that my “pacing” had gone somewhat awry!

There’s something gnawingly frustrating about that sensation, when the usual aches and pains, merge into an all encompassing blanket of exhaustion; a kind of leaden hollowness, underpinned by spasmodically searing twinges, somehow blanks out the least residual remnant of ones power of concentration.

Suddenly, in the midst of typing this reason for the paucity of recent blog postings, I’m transfixed by the liquid alto trilling of a blackbird on the garden shed; that simple call eradicates any risk of drifting into self-pity. Quite frequently I feel that there is no need to venture any further than the boundaries of our garden. Sitting on the bench beside the pond, watching the goldfish devour the foodsticks, whilst on the neighbouring rockery the peacock butterflies, and honey bees, are drawn to the heathers, a sense of contentment floods my being. Contentedly fatigued, that phrase just about captures the present state of play.

What I was going to say, before this gentle interruption, was that recent days have found me unable to concentrate sufficiently to check my e-mail boxes and, my normally regular swift surfing of news websites has been honoured more in the breach than by its observance. A blank ‘Word’ page proves far too daunting, the prospect of painting it in words too challenging a task, but I will be back!

In life and love and friendship, I feel truly blessed.

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This post also appears on 'Mal's Murmurings' and 'Hirsute Antiquity'

The Day of Resurrection

Jesus died as a victim of Imperial Occupation and Piety - the resurrection symbolizes overcoming oppression and injustice

A Sequel

A sequel to yesterday's posting, HOMECOMING, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Malcolm's Travellers Tale

Once again, I've managed a weekend away and apart from a generalized fatigue and the usual aches I'm here to tell the tale!

24th March 2007

As we journey westwards, the day brightens and, once again I’m enraptured by the beauty on our doorstep as we traverse the dales and moorland. As we enter Lancashire, the roadside welcome sign is subtitled “Where Everyone Is Welcome”; I find myself wondering whether our return journey will witness a sign reading “Where No One Cares” as we re-enter God’s own county. The journey goes smoothly and, neither myself nor ma belle chauffeuse feel too exhausted by the effort.

Having signed in at the Travel Inn, my first impulse is to go and have a lie-down on the bed. After a brief rest, we look out of the window and see our friends Peter & Pamela have arrived at the nearby bar so, duty calls us to venture across and share a few glasses of vino before deciding on our evening meal. The conversation flows quite fluidly, after all, we’ve got a couple of years to catch up on since our previous meeting. That’s the beautiful thing about friendship, it’s almost as if the conversation continues from just the day before; an understanding of each others humour and situation makes things so much easier. Pamela and I are the experienced old crocks, Pamela having been a wheelchair user for many years now, although the image in my mind of her racing up fellsides, Peter and I breathlessly following, still seems fresh.

I’ve known the two P’s since university days and, Peter was best man when I married Helen seven brief years ago. Much as travelling disagrees with me, meeting up with old friends makes it most worthwhile. By the time we’ve had our meal, Pamela shows obvious signs of flagging so, we bid our adieus and, it’s not that much later when fatigue takes over for Helen and myself so, an early night is called for.


25th March 2007

To my surprise, we managed to make it down for breakfast in good time but, those old weary blues caught up with me by the time we’d ventured back to our room. A further lie down was called for and, this accounted for the rest of the morning (and early afternoon). By 2.00PM we were ready to head off to Peter & Pamela’s abode and, it wasn’t long before we ventured across to their wine cellar to select a bottle of bubbly. Conversation found its own direction and, we chatted about their Australian holiday as we looked at a few of the copious quantity of photos taken on that occasion as well as venturing down memory lane. For our meal we enjoyed one of Peter’s celebrated kipper and egg kedgerees accompanied by one of Tony Laithwaite’s Chilean Sauvignons. I declined the dessert, which the other three managed to demolish without my participation.

We arrived back at the hotel by 9.00PM, switched on the telly to watch what turned out to be a Jane Austen travesty, switched off the telly after about twenty minutes of this abhorrence and, decided it was time for an early night.


26th March 2007

Once more, this time slightly more of a struggle, made it down in time for breakfast then ventured back to the room where the need for rest was instantly apparent. I duly settled on the bed for forty winks but, when the staff came round to clean the room around 11.00AM I was sound asleep. Emerged from my slumbers at 11.30AM and we went out to sit and have a coffee on the benches outside of the bar whilst the necessary tasks were fulfilled by room service. Back to the room for a bit more rest and, I was just about alert by our friends arrived to direct us to their local, ‘The Hest Bank’. This proved a great opportunity to meet their friends, from Geriatrics Corner, much feted by both Peter and Pamela in their respective blogs. The most difficult decision for me to make, on this occasion, was that between ‘Black Sheep’, ‘Timothy Taylor’s Landlord’ or ‘Caledonian’. A couple of pints of ‘Black Sheep’ sufficed for me before we perused the menu. After an enjoyable meal, it was once more time to bid our farewells, an early night once more being a necessary part of our agenda.

more on 'mal's murmurings'

Yesterday's posting, FROM UNPREDICTABILITY TO AFFIRMATION, can be found on MAL's MURMURINGS.