Looking Forward

Blossom Time - Harrogate Stray

Now that's what I'm looking forward to! Don't get me wrong though, I generally love all phases of all seasons but, as our temperatures have dropped somewhat the last few days, decided on a sneak preview of changes to come. (Strange that I should go back to an image from last spring to do so).

We enjoyed a little walk this afternoon, appreciating the new shoots and buds as they gently unfurl.

Meanwhile, a little question. When does an apple tree become a thorn tree?

Answer: When it's branches are wrapped and bedecked with thorn branches, in an attempt to prevent a couple of neighbourhood cats climbing up to the blue-tit's nesting box.

No matter what cat deterrent device we utilize in the garden, our endeavours always seem to come to naught!

Fishy Business on 'Mal's Murmurings'

An update on our calico fantail, CALLIE'S PROGRESS, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Houdini's Release

Houdini, the uninvited furry house guest, on his fifth trick failed to escape. This morning, very early by my standards, I ventured up to the wild area of the garden, live-capture mousetrap in hand and, released the charmed little critter into the undergrowth.

The Houdini title was well-earned, although I suspect his first visit (to) and escape (from) the trap owed more to the friction of the floor covering than the meeces innate skill. On that occasion the door failed to click into place and, young Houdini beat a hasty retreat. On another occasion he managed to tip the trap onto its side, thus enabling easy access to the lure bait, of which not a single trace was left.

Two further times, the little ‘un visited the trap and, managed to evade capture. Last night, shortly after we’d retired to bed, I decided to create my own live capture trap. No use contemplating sleep when my mind’s buzzing so, having donned dressing gowns, ma belle et moi, returned downstairs to bring this idea to fruition. Of course, it was far from easy to work out the best positional strategy for the new creation. Our discourse on this matter proved quite hilarious, even the proposition that little H could climb up onto the arm chair and dive down, as if from the high board, to sample the delights nestling far beneath the one way opening seemed almost plausible.

My beloved muttered, within presumed earshot of the little critter, “don’t you realize we’re trying to save you. We don’t really want to bring in capital punishment!” We duly positioned the new device, in close proximity to the original live trap, and bade our unwelcome house guest “good night”.

Come early morning, young Houdini, obviously regretting the discomfort he was causing his human friends, surrendered him self to the lure of the original live-capture trap.

Having released H into the wild, we decided to err on the side of caution and, once again baited a couple of the humane traps, just in case our guest had invited more of his friends to enjoy our domestic domain.

Creature Discomforts

Reptiles, I love them, such a rare kind of beauty. That feel of silken sunshine as you handle a snake, a skink etc., straight from the warmth of its vivarium; the sensation’s just so difficult to describe. Much as I love handling reptiles, I’m not sure that I’d have the necessary skill and dedication to look after them. One side of me hates the idea that they should be captive* but, they’re so wonderful to observe. Feeding’s another problem, especially as they like live bait, ranging from crickets to mice, to day old chicks, dependent on size and species, is a bit of a turn off but, the only vegetarian lizards I’ve considered seem to have been the larger ones. Strange that I should want the reptile to be vegetarian when I’m not!

Having said that, were a reptile suddenly to slink across my living room floor, I suspect my immediate reaction would be to flee the scene. And as for the little meeces that I’d have to consider feeding them with, fresh or frozen, I love those little creatures (in their right place of course). When a mouse suddenly scurries across the room, that’s a different matter; my response proves irrational, feeling slightly queasy. Last evening, in the dining room, both my beloved and I witnessed a scampering little furry creature heading away from a packet of wild bird feed. On close inspection, I find that the little critter has developed a taste for the suet balls.

Both Helen and I kept glancing around the room as we ate our meal, looking for further sightings of this tiny foe; all the time hoping, of course, for non-sightings! A trip to the hardware shop was called for to acquire a couple of live capture mouse traps which I duly baited and, by morning one of the traps had tilted but, the carpet prevented the trap door from slamming properly shut. The live capture traps have now been placed on smoother surfaces and, I’m just hoping we have a swift capture, otherwise I might have to resort to the more conventional type of trap (which I understand has a higher success rate – but do I really want the mouse executing?). We try to keep the wild end of the garden friendly for all types of creatures; I wish they’d respect their boundaries, and ours too!

*Of course, come to think of it, there’s an apparent contradiction between my concerns about whether reptiles should be held captive, whilst no such concern crosses my mind about keeping fish in both pond and aquarium.

An earlier posting for today, Callie's Return, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

A Matter of Chance?

No matter how much we may think we freely choose the time and place for our actions, there are times when a specific action (in terms of time and place) quite simply had to be. Yesterday was a case in point.

Regular readers of my blog will realize that so often my decision to go out, perform a certain activity etc, is determined as much by the vagaries of my resource of physical and emotional stamina as it is by my will to do so. Yesterday afternoon I had determined on a certain goal but, a choice had to be made as to whether ma belle and I would walk there (a venue slightly further than my usual brief brisk walking range) or go in the car.

The day being beautifully sunny, and noticing the pond had survived the winter with an absolute surplus of oxygenating weed, I was almost distracted sufficiently to abandon the aforementioned goal, tidying up the pond instead. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, I decided it would be better to walk to the pre-planned venue rather than do any work on the pond. It was definitely decided that we should walk, rather than use automotive power for this little errand.

A couple of hundred yards down the road, a voice called out “Malcolm, Malcolm”. We turned around and, at first I didn’t recognize the lady who was calling out. As we chatted, she told us of her worries and anxieties and that she’d lost two stone in weight through the stress of recent events. She seemed close to tears as we chatted and asked if we would like to call around to her place for a coffee and a chat.

Having performed our little errand, we called in on our way back home and sat and chatted for a couple of hours. Although it was quite an exhausting experience, well past my usual socializing limit, it was also most rewarding. By the time we left it was really great to see her smiling. The problems she’s been facing seem some way from resolution but, at least the problems have been shared.

The timing and direction of our little venture seems almost to have been pre-ordained. Yes, I had to make the choice to venture out but, I had no idea that the exercise would prove so fruitful.

Gently Does It

The penny has finally dropped. For the past week to ten days, a physical shattered-ness has forced me to retire au lit at a marginally earlier hour, although my nocturnal bed rest requirement has remained somewhere around 11 hours. Last night, I performed the task of resetting the clocks for the advent of BST (British Summer Time); I now have a strong suspicion that my biological clock was gently adapting me to this man-made leap!

Whatever the clock may say, I can guarantee that my body will continue to forcefully state when it requires rest. For far too long I’d ignored these promptings, and look where that got me!

On the general health front, things have been on a pretty even keel and, apart from taking my regular medications, I’ve been resorting far less to pain-killers. To tell the truth, the analgesics don’t seem to cope too well with the nauseatingly intermittent nature of the pains and discomforts my flesh is heir too. On the other hand, I’ve overcome the quirky guilt feelings that used to overwhelm me on those occasions when I’ve found it absolutely necessary to take them; I’ve also discovered that they can sometimes be used to make an essential pre-emptive strike against intense discomfort.

The not infrequent involuntary leg crumbling spasms, nine times out of ten, I’m able to find amusing … “look what the little bugger’s doing now!” The nagging bruising aches emanating from the armpit seem to have re-emerged with a vengeance, a couple of weeks after my last acupuncture treatment, ending in a sharp numbness of the inner upper arm and around the elbow joint.

Most importantly, I’m enjoying life as long as I accept my limitations. A couple of years back, I never even dreamt that I could feel this good again. Now I’ve just got to work on the ….. what’s the word I’m looking for …… concentration!

I rejoice and am glad in this day the Lord has made.

Thinking Aloud : Substitutionary Embryonics

"Using one as a means to an end is never justifiable, it is morally wrong!" In this instance the person speaking on the radio was referring to the human embryo,  apparently ruling out the possibility of any stem-cell research.

If using an embryo as a 'means to an end' is so abhorrent, how much more horrific is the story of a Father who allows his Son to be born, and grow to maturity, in the knowledge that the Father will send Him to a grisly death, or (at the least) the Son  lives life in the knowledge that he must die this same awful death. Such is the substitutionary theory of the atonement, a good man has to be punished (in the case of penal substitution) or else willingly dies (substitutionary atonement)  for the redemption of all. What sort of immoral ogre is the Father in the penal substitution theory?

Of course one could refer to the Resurrection as cancelling out this evil act but, by the same token one should acknowledge that a person healed from a cruel degenerative disease, as a result of embryo research, would provide a resurrection moment in response to the 'sacrifice' of the embryo!

Easter Day

By malcolme at 2008-03-22

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'

PC Pro: News: Phorm "highly intrusive and illegal"

BT, Virgin Media and TalkTalk have all signed deals to sell their customer's data to the company, and both the Guardian and MySpace have agreements in place to provide targeted advertising on their websites.

PC Pro: News: Phorm "highly intrusive and illegal"

Mal the Aquarist

Today's blog posting, An aquarists trials and pleasures, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Ride on, ride on ...

The demonstrations in Tibet, and neighbouring provinces, being met with brutal suppression strike a particular chord this Palm Sunday. Amongst the people dwelling in Palestine there was much unrest, which in its turn was met with brutal suppression by the Roman occupying power and its Herodian quislings.

Into this political ferment Jesus and his followers, a number of whom were Galileans (not the most respected region to hail from), arrived in Jerusalem. Amongst the crowds that welcomed him there were, most probably, those with an urgent desire for social change. Although many of the ideas he had preached were quite simply an extension of those already being disseminated by sections of the religious community, his teaching was expressed with an urgency that commanded attention. A new kingdom, one which turned the values of the ruling elite on their head, was imminent, choices had to be made! Not for Jesus the full regal panoply of the present rulers; in a way the entry into Jerusalem on a humble ass could be seen as cocking a snook at the prevailing powers.

The reasons for the welcome he received can be linked with a variety of expectations, both political and religious. But could this enthusiasm last, was this movement for change an unstoppable force? In a society riddled with informers and agent provocateurs, fear was soon to overtake these ‘supporters’, indeed before long many of his closest followers were in fear for their lives, even to the point of denying that they ever knew him. Jesus was soon to ask his heavenly father to take the cup of suffering away but, this moment of doubt notwithstanding, his conscience wouldn’t permit him to recant, the die was cast. This was his chosen path. To the authorities he was a nuisance, an agitator, a traitor and, as such, he must suffer the most humiliating and degrading death by crucifixion.

To be continued ….

Mal Posts A Murmur

Today's post, NON-TASKING, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Pentagon Hyperventilates About China's Military 'Intentions' | ForeignPolicy | AlterNet

A report accuses China of understating its military spending, which is a whopping one-fifteenth of the United States' defense budget.

Pentagon Hyperventilates About China's Military 'Intentions' | ForeignPolicy | AlterNet

A Delicate Balance

Although I’m frequently aware of the close proximity of contentment to complacency, it’s only on rare occasions that the narrow margin between contentment and frustration comes to my attention. Alongside the health improvements of the past twelve months, I have developed an acceptance of those limitations, compared to my state of being five years ago, which drastically curtail so many of those activities which were once part of my daily round.

For at least 75% of my time I dwell in contented acceptance but, a sudden (albeit short-lived) reinstatement of some of the more debilitating aches, pains, and mental numbness, dissolves this sense of modest well-being, replacing it with a general sense of alienation from all that is ‘normal’.

Last night, as I struggled to make it up the staircase, I was reminded of how things were in my darker days but, alongside a feeling gratitude for recent improvements, a sense of frustration creeps in. Rather than being grateful for the relative state of comfort that I live in, a strong current of anger overwhelms me as I consider all the violence and injustice that surrounds us on planet earth. Perhaps this is a righteous anger but, if all I can do about it is sign a few petitions, make a small donation to some of the charities I support, rather than manning the barricades, its effect can be rather negative like resentment.

In one sense though, it is a relief to recognize that the anger is not that of self-pity; the discomforts I face are so paltry, compared to the daily struggle for existence that confronts such a large proportion of humankind.

I am content but not complacent, frustrated but not in despair.

FROM CLARITY TO CANDY STRIPES and thence to vacancy

Prior to going out, for our thwarted Mothering Sunday Meal, I decided to play about on ‘Old Faithful’ (my original tailor-made PC). As I waited for the anti-virus to update, the occasional vertical pinstripe appeared on the screen. A few minutes later, the whole screen was dressed in almost psychedelic candy stripe array. I attempted to switch off the TFT monitor, (date of manufacture: September 2003), to no avail. An attempted re-start of the computer, via the PCs reset switch (the monitor remaining inaccessible) proved futile; the candy stripes resolved themselves into a state of stasis, regardless of the CPUs activity/inactivity.

At this point there was no other option than a forced shut-down of the system.

Having unplugged the monitor, various tests (using alternative transformers etc) determined that the monitor was totally defunct; no more candy stripes, no power led light, just an inert blank black screen!

Evidently, LCDs lack the stamina of good old CRTs; I’ve had far better service from second-hand (office cast-off) CRT monitors than this ProView TFT. Thankfully I have ready access to other machines, otherwise my frustration would have turned to righteous indignation.

Frosted Garden

I had intended to post these pictures, of our garden (taken on 20/21 February 2008), on Mal's Murmurings but, unfortunately, Windows Live would not permit me to sign in - their loss I suppose!

Bruised Without Bruising

This morning, the winds bluster challenges my lungs; it hits my face and takes the breath away. A plenitude of airiness leaves me gasping for air. My body was already feeling buffeted but, this was not of the winds making.

Strange the way that these elemental forces reflect back on me; my feeling leadenly bruised in limbs and torso, it’s impossible not to identify with the howling wind, a desire to wield rather than yield.

I watch the trees flex and strain, as if to minimize the effects of resistance. If only I could take my cue from them. Unfortunately, neither my physique nor will is quite that supple.

I seem to be suffering from the belated aftermath of last weeks endeavours. Transported by an adrenalin rush, I felt a temporary invincibility; reason (or perhaps vanity) told me I could manage a few more little tasks, having decorated the bathroom. After all, the tasks were of extremely modest proportion, but my body still pays the price in terms of a leaden, numb, aching exhaustion.

Psychologically I feel good, a modest overcoming, but physically quite drained.

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This post would have appeared on 'Mal's Murmurings' had I been able to sign in on Windows Live

WAITING

So much time is spent waiting, even when we’re too busy to recognize it, yet no-one seems to think it worthwhile to educate us in the use of this time. We send a message to someone and wait, in anticipation or even trepidation, for a reply. We have a job to do but, invariably, there is some preparation required before we are able to get down to the task in hand. Frequently however, these moments are spent hyping ourselves up in readiness rather than using it as a time for taking stock; we have to be busy. Perhaps we are afraid that we might not like what we see or feel if we take time out for ourselves.

A time of waiting must never be confused with idleness. Waiting is always active. Once in a while it could prove useful if we took the time to consider what we’re doing, what implication it has for others, is it really what I should be doing? Rather than dashing out to do God’s will, listening and waiting is required to grasp what that purpose may be. It is never necessary to do just for the sake of doing, what is more important is doing what should be done, what needs to be done.

As Christians we are called to be doers of the Word but, how can we be doers if we never take time to consider the implications of that word for ourselves and others. For me, Jesus is the Word made Flesh, yet he spent 90% of his life waiting to discover what his mission was. Even during his ministry, he had recourse to times of solitude, a time for reflection and restoration. These quiet times are as much of an activity as the practise/action that springs from them; during the time of the temptations, the lure of wealth and the accepted routes to power, he was called on to make a decision and, his decision was not to accept the frequently tried, and always found wanting, methods of leadership.

The times of reflection, of waiting, were essential for him to formulate the ideas upon which he would act and, the results he came up with are of far more enduring value than if he had unthinkingly accepted the normal pattern.

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What prompted these random reflections was a sense of frustration I was experiencing, waiting for one coat of paint to dry, before I could get on with the final coat. For all my familiar lack of energy, an impatience to get on with the task in hand made it impossible to settle down to any other ‘activity’.

The thought suddenly occurred that I could use this time to take stock, sparked by the realization that my health-imposed idleness was of a distinctly different character to this period of waiting.

For all my recent inactivity, I am instinctively a ‘doer’ and, this conflict causes so much dis-ease. Perhaps some of the vast tracts of idleness could be transformed into periods of active waiting, a time to discover just what and how much I may have to contribute, (without exerting too much pressure on my limited resources of physical stamina).

Few Surprises Here

Prompted by my friend Graham's retaking of this test, thought it maybe time to MOT my own position once again!

What's your theological worldview? created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Emergent/Postmodern You are Emergent/Postmodern in your theology. You feel alienated from older forms of church, you don't think they connect to modern culture very well. No one knows the whole truth about God, and we have much to learn from each other, and so learning takes place in dialogue. Evangelism should take place in relationships rather than through crusades and altar-calls. People are interested in spirituality and want to ask questions, so the church should help them to do this. Emergent/Postmodern 89% Neo orthodox 64% Modern Liberal 61% Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan 57% Classical Liberal 57% Roman Catholic 50% Charismatic/Pentecostal 29% Reformed Evangelical 21% Fundamentalist 0%

Mal Exerts and Celebrates

A new post, Of Exertion and Celebration, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

you don't know how restless I made me

The day starts well, the curry I prepared last evening, and the specially prepared rice, is well up to standard. Mid-afternoon we venture out for a stroll around the block on a beautiful bright crisp day. Early evening, whilst setting up a couple of TV programmes to record I start having problems with the electronic programme guide and, rather than taking it in my stride, I start to become very tetchy. Suddenly, I’m feeling totally ill at ease with the world; an intense sense of frustration grabs me by the throat.

A total restlessness takes over and, to add to the troubles, the problems I was having with the aquarium lighting system (see second paragraph of ‘Stepping Out’, on Mal’s Murmurings) have intensified. Not only are the lights displaying a temperamental spasmodic dimming but, occasionally going out altogether. I’ve checked the fuses, even switched sockets but the same problems recur. Usually this would be a minor irritation; this evening the effect of this technical glitch seems almost traumatizing. I pace around, go out to the stable door to grab a nicotine fix, return briefly to the living room before stepping out again for a further fix, totally fazed by these inconsequential incidents.

Yesterday, we visited the DIY store to obtain some paint; about time I decorated the new ceiling, and the untiled areas of the wall, in the bathroom which have been crying out for attention for well over a year. A similar task remains in the kitchen; in this case four years on from the new damp course being installed four years ago. As Helen has the week off work, we felt it would be a good time to tackle these little decorating tasks. The fact that they’ve been neglected for so long reiterates to me just how lacking in stamina I’ve been for far too long. If only it was possible to forget that there was a time when I had energy, and an active lifestyle to go with it, perhaps my current frustration wouldn’t be so intense.

Merged Image

The above image is a digitally modified merging of two of my watercolours.

Mal Steps Out

Today's posting, STEPPING OUT, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Springs Spring

Four in a row of crisp, bright, sun-kissed days, makes for a little miracle in how I feel. Although I did not arouse myself, from fitful slumbers, until the morning was well under way, by 10.30am, a fair covering mantle of frost still lay on the lawn.

The garden is a hive of avian activity, blackbirds, house sparrows and starlings are all to be seen in abundance. Our resident robin puts in an appearance too, whilst a trio of blue tits visit the feeders. A dunnock joins the blackbirds at the ground feeder but, the blackbirds today seem torn between a need for food and flirtatious play. Spring is truly on its way.

At the top end of the garden, blackbirds wade and wallow in the dead leaf strewn waterlogged plastic sledge, more utilized in its desuetude than ever in its glory days of sledging purpose. The patio pond is covered in a thin ice crust but, barely a patch of ice touches the garden pond. Repeated frost-filled nights give me little hope for the frogspawn’s survival. Mind you, when a spawn is successful in the main pond, the goldfish never seem to tire of the fast food it supplies.

After a slow lumbering emergence into the day, I soon feel revitalized as I watch all this activity in the garden. My usual muscular niggles are hardly in evidence, it’s great to feel really alive. After lunch, I step out for a little stroll. Today, the walking stick serves more as a propulsion aid, rather than its customary supporting role, as I take a brisk walk around the block. The course I take is completed in twenty minutes, on a route which more usually takes me thirty.

Rather than wait for any anticipated backlash, I’ve told myself that I’ll free my mind of that possibility. Problem is, on a psychological level, it may be healthier to be prepared for any post-exercise malaise, rather than be caught by it unawares. Denial by positivity may not be the best approach. On second thoughts, I’ll just settle stoically for whatever befalls.

One swallow may not make a summer but, today, I do have a new spring in my step.

Without Comment!

“All but a handful of conservative evangelicals - the sort who have been calling him a heretic and demanding his resignation ever since he was appointed five years ago - greeted his arrival with prolonged and sympathetic applause. Whether it was a standing ovation is a moot point since the synod customarily rises to its feet on his arrival anyway.

One of the unnoticed ironies of the row is that the archbishop has been most vociferously criticised by precisely those within his flock who normally demand the harshest punishment against those with whom they disagree.” [my emphasis]

Williams, sharia and a mea culpa ... of sorts
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/feb/12/religion.islam1

Light through a shattered screen

Our experience of the world is always screened through our own subjectivity. This being the case, the past few days found a minimal expectation of enjoyment from these quarters. So, I should be miserable … right? I have been surprised at how satisfying I’m finding life today, despite my low reserves of physical and emotional stamina.

Last evening, my overall mood was being pinned down under a barrage of frustration and, I found myself on the verge of succumbing to despair. There’s no particular incident that can be pinpointed as causing this ‘low’, just an overwhelming sense of falling victim to my own lack of energy, low concentration, the sense of interminable exhaustion. The perpetual nagging aches, which I thought I’d learned to accept, seemed to impose themselves like a cloud in front of anything I hoped to enjoy. Surf the net, and surf again; nothing held my interest. Truth be told, successive days of drowse-laden discomfort tempted me into the realms of self-pity. That way one starts to feed on themselves, so there are even less reserves of energy to draw upon.

When it comes to energy, there’s one thing of which I’m certain; it’s a force that I’m more able to recognize by its absence. Today, by the grace of the gods, I’ve recovered from the despondency, despite starting off in a totally shattered state. By the time I’d emerged from the duvet-realm, my beloved had already been out to a coffee morning at the local chapel and, this dressing gowned zombie managed to greet her on her return. At this point, I was able to help her with finalizing the preparations for the children’s address at the service she’ll be taking tomorrow. This modest polishing of my halo boosted my lazy limbs as I headed towards the shower; my beloved provided the necessary supervisory attention, for me to undergo this experience.

Refreshed by this, I was able to contemplate a little journey with ma belle chauffeuse to the garden centre at Otley, where we were able to replenish our stocks of wild bird feed etc. Helen managed to find some bags of polished pebbles, for use in the service tomorrow, before we visited the pet shop/aquaria section. We were totally captivated by a selection of Hermann’s Tortoises, tiny creatures a mere three to four months old, in a vivarium just inside the door. We enquired about their care requirements, and estimated the price for a properly equipped vivarium, in which they would spend substantial amounts of their time until they were 5 years old. The problem was going to be whether we had sufficient space to house them and, unfortunately, the answer seems to be in the negative as it would entail us having to move out our large aquarium, or the TV and video. I was quite fancying having my toes nipped, as we let them out for a bit of free range roaming in the sitting room.

Anyway, the time spent observing them, and sundry reptiles, served to brighten my outlook on life. It’s nice to find positivity restored, even though my spectacles have lenses that are cloudy and shattered, rather than rose-tinted. Life can be truly wonderful, warts and all, and I rejoice in this day the Lord has made.

Aged Poet - New Product

DAZZLED DILEMMA, a freshly minted poem, can be found on 'Archive Mined and Freshly Spun'

Truly Alive

Retire to the duvet realm shortly after 10.00pm, re-emerge shortly after 9.00am, a remarkably early hour for yours truly. Dressing gown bedecked, switch on the PC for a little idle surfing, feeling rather washed out and jaded. Somehow the time just scurries by, surprising in an era of idleness. Contemplate taking a shower but, uncertain as to whether I can cope with the effort, return to the desktop and continue to get nowhere slowly. By this time a serious debate with oneself occurs, the topic is the pros and cons of showering.

By 11.30am, I succumb to the lure of the shower. Sheer luxury as I sit in the shower; I rub my face almost gleefully, watch the water flow over my weary limbs, the warmth seems to alleviate the pesky muscular aches and pains with which I share my daily journeying. This is bliss, it almost feels like something I should feel guilty about; it takes quite some time before I even contemplate the washing process, it’s almost as if in these moments time has stood still and I’ve entered some kind of sublime ecstatic state. I start to count my breaths, a kind of reassurance that it’s not quite simply a dream; all is calmness!

There once was a time, which I find hard to believe, when showering was a straightforward mundane routine, neither pain or pleasure. Next, there was a period when I could only take a shower when my beloved was there to support me, an omnipresent giddiness / light-headedness made the shower a most insecure place for me. Things became somewhat easier once my beloved obtained a shower seat; once that was in situ, the task became far less troublesome, although for long enough it still proved a chore. I still found that by the time I emerged from the soaking, and towelled myself dry, a half-hours rest (minimum) was required before I could consider getting dressed.

Anyway, that’s the past and this is now. I’m still basking in the afterglow of that serious pampering, provided by the shower unit. The muscular and joint pains are returning but, I am still able to revel in observing the sun blessed blue skies. Today I am truly alive.

New on 'Mal's Factory'

TWO NEW POEMS (First Drafts), or they may even be jottings towards a single poem, can be found on 'Mal's Factory'.

A True Thanksgiving

Sometimes a very basic foodstuff can seem extra exciting; in this instance I’m referring to a simple baked potato, served with stew and a few garden peas, as the main course at a community meal at the local Methodist chapel last evening. I really must find out who supplied the potatoes, and what variety they were; the nicest baked potato I’ve tasted in several years.

This particular chapel no longer serves as a place of worship, having been closed in the course of circuit re-organization, but its former congregation, who were forced to disperse to other churches in the broader vicinity, still meet together for coffee mornings and the occasional communal meal. There is a very strong sense of fellowship at these gatherings and, any proceeds raised from the events, less expenses, go to a worthwhile cause either locally or abroad. Although it was not the church that I attended, the warmth of welcome received was a real treat.

Much as I appreciated the symbols of the communion service, in times when I was more able to regularly attend worship, I couldn’t help but feel that this was a true eucharist.

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A later posting for today, A QUESTION OF IMBALANCE, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Mal's Skywatching

This mornings posting, WEATHER WATCH, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Bring Me Sunshine

The sun shines, and all seems much better with the world; a bright day has such an amazing effect on one’s sense of well (or even not-so-well) being, it’s only a pity that it has little effect on the multitude of socio-political ills that afflict the majority of humankind.

Just looking out onto the garden gains new vibrancy; each year I’m amazed and encouraged as the first shoots thrust their way into daylight, preparing for spring. (see my poem First Rite on this theme)

Shuffle my way up to the garden pond, look in disgust at the floating debris, think about netting it off but, I’m all too aware that once I make that effort I’ll be too tempted to start on a more widespread cleaning. The piscine inhabitants wouldn’t be too happy about that, this early in the year, so it’s just as well my energy reserves are not exactly fighting for release.

For the moment, I make do with topping up the bird-feeders, pace about a little to give my leg muscles a little stretch, before returning to the house for a nice cuppa (or three) of Earl Grey.

It’s remarkable how much easier it is, on a bright day, to count ones blessings. At a time when I’d lost contact with many of my friends, as my ability to socialize declined, I was able to make contact with others in cyber space, and most importantly able to offer help and encouragement to some of these people.

As my love for my wife grows daily, and that’s starting from a remarkably high plateau, I am so fortunate to have that love reciprocated. Being able to pop down to Open Church, for a cup of Fairtrade coffee and a natter, still seems like a bit of a luxury and, I can only be grateful that I can comfortably manage the walk down there and not be overwhelmed by any background noise. It’s simple things like that, which I would have taken for granted a few years ago, that I have now learnt to appreciate; even the fact that I have a roof over my head, food in the larder and, water on tap provides cause for rejoicing.

Even on a dull, wet day, I am aware of the many blessings (though sometimes it takes a bit of coaxing to bring them to the fore) but, as the sun continues to shine my gratitude is somehow amplified.

A PAIN IN THE ....

It’s only when I sit a certain way. Correction; it’s sometimes when I’m sitting still, at other times when I shuffle my bum to the back of the chair. Truth be told, it’s worse when I lean forward, to put something down, from a seated position except, when I stand up and reach for something it’s sometimes even more of a pain. Come to think of it, it could be when I take a sudden step forward; at least that’s when it causes my leg to fold on me and I lose my balance.

Who am I trying to kid; all I really need is plenty of fresh distractions, that way my awareness of it would simply dissipate.

A few minutes ago, whilst standing by the kitchen door, it suddenly attacked again! A searing pain shoots through my thigh but, unlike sciatica, there’s no apparent reference back or forwards from the hips or spine, nor is there any downwards extension through to the calf muscles. All is (apparently) encapsulated within the rear of the thigh. The physio suspects that it’s a nerve problem.

Pain-killers hardly touch it, but then, how would I know if they were being effective? It’s the brutally spasmodic, crippling, lightning flash that’s the real pain; there have actually been periods today, of almost 20 minutes duration, when I’ve not been startled by it. Meantime, a manageable dull bruising throb is much easier to ignore than the staccato stabbing.

My diagnosis is that “it’s a real pain!”

If only it wasn’t such a discomforting thought, I could add that “at least it keeps me on my toes!”

New on Mal's Factory

I've just posted a freshly woven poem, WINDBLOWN, on 'Mal's Factory'

Today's posting on Mal's Murmurings

The Force of Circumstance can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Random Ramblings on Time and Perspective

Strange, the tricks of light and perspective; the history of art has a lot to answer for. I’m stood by the backdoor and, a good three hundred or more metres away, there are giants working on the roof trusses of a house under construction. I see these figures, each around 5’10” to 6’0” in height, at much the same height as they would appear if they were standing next to me. Were I to paint, or draw, the scene I’m witnessing, it would be expected that these figures would appear quite miniscule, positioned well on the way towards the vanishing point. Why, for the sake of convention am I expected to diminish their stature; our observation is always subjective, we always interpret the scene laid out before us so, why did anyone ever to take the trouble to lay down rules as to the way we are to portray it? Is it supposed to bring some sort of objectivity to the interpreted world?

I suppose there is a degree of importance to quantifying time and space, to enable us to more easily modify our environment for the sake of efficiency in our daily routines but, it has got me wondering about whether art comes under the category of work or play.

Mind you, I’m not wondering all that seriously, it’s more a case of letting ideas fly off the top of my head (and being bald, I suppose it makes for a smooth take-off as these random thoughts take flight).

Suddenly, I find time has become a greater issue than space, as I await the arrival of the workmen who are going to be renovating our downstairs loo; as I wait each minute seems like a quarter of an hour and, once the appointed time for their arrival has passed the moments seem to stretch out even further. It’s strange how the waiting process plays havoc with temporal values! Where once patience was a virtue I could uphold to a considerable degree, the past few years have swung the pendulum the other way; patience is now a quality which seems to belong to a dim and distant past life. Somehow, whilst anticipating an impending event, I find it impossible to apply my mind to any other task; it only seems possible to concentrate on one thing at a time and, even then, the quality of concentration ain’t what it used to be.

At least these random jottings have helped the time pass more quickly and, I’m relieved to hear the doorbell ring. Meantime, I’ll get on with a little bit more net surfing, before my physio arrives to administer the magic needles once more.

Reclaiming KING

People usually focus on the historic "I Have a Dream" speech, but it's the work King was doing at the end of his life that deserves more attention.

Read the article:

Reclaiming King : Beyond "I Have A Dream"

http://www.alternet.org/stories/74337/

transformations elsewhere

Mal's murmuring persona bears witness to some TRANSFORMATIONS

BEST FRIENDS

A generalized sluggishness pervades my being, marginally more so than is my norm. Yesterday, the day being somewhat brighter than of late, decided to take a modestly longer walk than I usually manage, in the (misguided) belief that it may alleviate the droningly throbbing pain in the left thigh. I almost overdid the exercise and, found myself struggling as we tackled the homeward bound section. At least it proffered no more than the usual degree of tiredness and discomfort by way of reward; I suppose that’s progress of some kind.

Although you may find it difficult to believe, I don’t really like moaning on about my assorted aches and pains, it’s quite simply that they are my most constant companions; I feel the same obligation to report upon them as I would were I to boast about or describe the achievements of best friends. [Yes, I admit it; best friends can at times be a pain too!]

Trouble with the aches and pains is, they never seem to know when one needs time to be on their own. There are times when I would appreciate the absence of their company!

Mal's Cold Feet

Mal has been Murmuring again, this time about The Chef's Cold Feet. Why not visit 'Mal's Murmurings' to see what's cooking!

Quite Simply Breathtaking

Just as well I received the CUPPA THERAPY boost to my morale yesterday; otherwise, I would be feeling quite morose this morning. Last night’s bed rest was intermittently disrupted by intense discomfort in the lower limbs; a dully throbbing sense of bruised hollowness affected both limbs but, more emphatically on the left hand side. I felt less comfortable than I had in the previous position, no matter which way I turned, nor how slowly, within minutes of each move. This, combined with a vengeful return of the night sweats, ensured that any bout of sleep would prove less than refreshing.

At 9.40am, my light slumber was disturbed by a thunderous hammering at the door accompanied by a seemingly panic stricken sustained ringing of the bell. By the time I’d groggily disbanded the duvet, and donned my dressing gown, two large boxes were resting at the side of the door and the delivery man, from Argos, was carrying another couple of parcels. He asked me to sign for them but, I questioned whether he’d come to the right address; the outcome was that he was on the right road but at the wrong number. Our house number is clearly displayed adjacent to the door! I dread to think what I’d have said were the benefits of yesterday’s therapy still not apparent on the emotional front.

Having dragged myself back upstairs, decided it was perhaps time to get dressed and confront the day head on. Seated on the edge of the bed, I carefully placed one leg into the top of my trousers when the spine, or quite probably the muscles attached thereto, decided to deliver a short sharp shock. Now that’s what I call a breathtaking experience! A few painkillers, and a generous Ibuprofen rub later, I have returned to my more comfortably familiar sense of dis-ease.

Fortunately, I have no immediate need to venture far from my comfortably supportive armchair.

Therapeutic Cuppa

This morning Malcolm submitted himself to some CUPPA THERAPY. Why not read of the results on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Normal Service will be resumed

It really feels good to see ma belle back more to her normal self; the fact that she was able to taste the chicken paprika I’d prepared for Sunday dinner is just an added bonus. Sadly, she had to miss her surgery’s belated Christmas dinner on Friday night but, she should be well enough to return to work tomorrow, although she will forgo her Bible Study group in the evening.

This morning she took the service at Killinghall chapel and, perhaps three short talks (as it was a family service) took less toll on the congested vocal cords than the usual sermon. What she missed most was not being able to sing along with the hymns as she realized that would only start off a bout of coughing. I don’t mean to say her singing’s that bad, that the congregation would try to drown it out, but rather that laughing and singing are two activities destined to activate her own coughs and splutters.

The rest of the day has been spent in relative idleness as I’ve struggled to keep my eyes open, and my head in non-giddy mode. Just sitting beside, or opposite, my beloved makes me feel so content, as well as relieved that her recovery is well under way. It’s difficult to understand how I ever managed a life without her

Jaded Guilt

A rather jaded Mal has just posted 'The Guilt Game' on his Murmurings.

Self Pity?

I currently seem to be sinking into the kind of morose, self-pitying frames of reference that used to be the result of excessive alcohol consumption. Perhaps the cause is the teetotalism that I’ve been practising these past few days; there’s just no winning in these situations.

Truth be told, self-pity is barely part of my vocabulary these days; I tend to cope reasonably well with the slings and arrows that ME/CFS ensures my flesh is heir to, I don’t really have much choice in the matter. Ever since Julie, at the Chronic Fatigue Unit, grounded me in the principles of pacing, I’ve managed to avoid the worst excesses of my former ‘boom and bust’ circle of activity/inactivity and, for that I’m extremely grateful.

What I’m finding difficult to cope with is the viral attack that my beloved currently has to cope with. I was already at a fairly low ebb, stamina-wise, before I started to apply myself to my nursemaid duties and, what really startles me, despite my youthful training as a student nurse, is that I’m finding it really difficult to cope with Helen being poorly. She is my life, my raison d’etre and, I just want to do more for her but feel quite helpless into the bargain. The self-pity is more rooted in this sense of helplessness, rather than the everyday reality of coping with me.

Q and E mirrored on Mal's Murmurings

A sequel, titled Mirror, Mirror ..., to the preceding two or three posts can be found on Mal's Murmurings.

Quasimodo and Esmeralda

The past few days have witnessed a hobbling Quasimodo climbing up into the tower to look after an ailing Esmeralda. Crookbacked and crablike I’ve ventured up the stairs, trying to tempt my beloved with a few hot drinks and the occasional poached meal. My Esmeralda’s complexion seems to keep ringing the changes between flushed and drained, as she shivers whilst simultaneously burning up. I actually find it quite disturbing when ma belle is reluctant to take on board either fluids or solids, yet at times she’s even finding it difficult to quaff sufficient water to aid the swallowing and absorbing of the paracetamol. In more normal times I suspect that the reservoirs must have difficulty in providing the copious volumes of liquid consumed by my good lady.

On the positive side, although I’ve not ventured outside of these four walls, I’m getting plenty of exercise – against my backs resistance and legs reluctance – as I tread the stairs. My beloved keeps saying that she shouldn’t feel so rotten because it’s only a virus; meantime, I keep thinking a virus is only a bug that the medicos fail to understand and are unable to deal with!

Spasmodic doses of co-codamol, together with rubs of ibuprofen gel, seem to keep the worst of my back pain in check, though neither supplies an adequate counter to the occasional locking of the spine.

La Rue des Invalides

Have you ever tried walking down the High Street whilst attempting to clasp a tennis ball between your upper thighs? That’s exactly what it felt like as I ventured out to the local bakery this morning and, I could have done with a pair of reversible knee joints to hasten my errand. Any attempt to modestly stride out seemed to return the back muscles to the state of spasm which started yesterday afternoon. A combination of Co-codamol and externally applied Ibuprofen gel helped me to get a reasonable night’s sleep but, getting dressed this morning seemed a terribly arduous process.

Our homestead feels like a regular maison des invalides, as my beloved has had to return home from work with sundry flu-like ailments, a general feeling of nausea now accompanying the chest infection which has been honking its presence for the past few days. The nurse, at the practise where Helen works, thought it a bit odd that ma belle should need to wear an overcoat in the office, a classic case of burning up and feeling cold. When ma belle is off her food there’s definitely something wrong and, this morning she’s even finding it difficult to drink – that pervasive sense of nausea has much to answer for.

Meantime, my younger (step-) daughter, who lives just around the corner from us, has been and still is struggling against a host of virulent bugs. Perhaps a quarantine order needs to be applied in these parts. Ironically enough, the town which we are privileged to inhabit was once a celebrated Health Spa! Still, I suppose that means it’s used to having a lot of old crocks in residence.

BODY TALK

There’s something simultaneously amusing and disconcerting about an erratic body thermostat. Recent days have seen a return of both excessive night sweats and diurnal frozen extremities – oh that the power of reason could overcome these apparently irrational somatic dispositions!

Elsewhere on the health front, the antibiotics prescribed for an intimate abscess (on the dark side of the moon) has also served to clear up a painful tenderness in glands in the neck and under the chin; that’s what I call getting to the top and bottom of the problem. I’m so familiar with tenderly swollen glands, a traditional component of my ailments, that one so easily overlooks the probability of infection.

Thursday afternoon saw a welcome visit from Helen A, physiotherapist and acupuncture practitioner, and after quite a break from this treatment, I once more welcomed the wonderful drowsy zonked-out aftermath of being a pin-cushion.

This afternoon, shortly after lunch, it was the turn of my lower back muscles to go into painful spasm, moderately alleviated by a dose of Co-codamol but, at least it has turned my attention away from the omnipresent hollow ache in the left armpit (frequently accompanied by a gnawing numbness in the arm and wrist) and the self-locking right knee joint.

The rest of the day is set to pass with me seated on a comfortably supportive upright armchair beside a warmly glowing fire; a necessary luxury.

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PS 7.15pm A further posting,on a somewhat different topic, PLAYING BY THE RULES, can be found on' Mal's Murmurings'