Getting Down To Business

The 6.00pm news on BBC Radio 4 is a regular accompaniment to meal preparation chez nous. Not exactly a barrel of laughs but, tonight they excelled themselves.

The news headlines, which top and tail the bulletin, were a cause for mirth and merriment:

(initially referring to Gordon Brown’s speech at the UN) "Gordon Brown said it’s time to end the age of irresponsibility. He will be meeting George Bush this evening”

This evening's encounter should be quite something : An awesome vision of the British PM toting an AK47 flashed across my mind, as if to show that he meant business.

London priest is jailed after anti-war protest | Ekklesia

Stories like this help to restore my faith in the ordained ministry. Must admit that even in my more politically radical, and anti-clerical, days I maintained a healthy respect for the Catholic Worker movement!

London priest is jailed after anti-war protest | Ekklesia

Mal's new murmuring

Today's posting, ME and my shadow, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

still grinding on

 

My friend, M (see posting ‘Playing by the Rules’ – ‘Mal’s Murmurings’ 6 January 2008), after many delays involving appeals, renewal of passports and identity cards, returned to Iran towards the end of August. The understanding was that he could then apply to return to this country. His son, meantime, is allowed to remain in the UK to continue his education.

 

Earlier this month M had an appointment at the British Embassy in Tehran and, was requested to return to the embassy yesterday. The embassy duly informed him that they were unable to make a decision (regarding his application) and, the matter is now being referred back to the Home Office. The Home Office is of course the very department that demanded he return home to apply for permission to return and work in the UK.

 

It seems like the monkey has no option but to remain in servitude to the organ grinder!

'Tis better to arrive ... than having journeyed

After all the apprehension regarding a forthcoming journey, the whole experience is now behind me but, not without having once more vowed that I’ll never embark on such a venture again. Truth be told, the outward journey went reasonably smoothly as we journeyed via A1, M1, M42, M40, M25 & A24 from our abode to that of my brother on the South coast. The only little panic attack I suffered was during a break at Oxford Services; it was just so bustling with other travellers that it caused a bit of sensory overload on my part. Breathing exercises duly performed, I was soon ready to move on.

Shortly after we arrived, at our hosts, a delicious lasagne was appreciatively devoured by hosts and visitors alike. Food and wine throughout the visit was much appreciated. Both Helen and I were ready to retire au lit, during our stay, at an earlier hour than is our norm; the sea air seemed to be laced with knockout drops.

Of necessity, for me, life and the events / activities therein has always to be taken at a leisurely pace; I am far too well aware of the deleterious effects of overdoing it. Although I managed to do more during our weeks stay than would normally be my monthly quota, I found it impossible not to feel guilty when I couldn’t readily jump at the opportunity for further outings or activities. At times like that a sense of helplessness / hopelessness becomes overwhelming, until my beloved reminds me that a couple of years ago I wouldn’t have even been able to contemplate taking a trip anywhere; even routine visits to the hospital proved daunting at that time!

Visits to Littlehampton, the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust at Arundel, and the Istanbul restaurant in Worthing were all experiences to be savoured but, the real highlight of our stay was a visit, on the Saturday, from my (nearly) four year old great-niece, with her Mum and Dad in tow. Apart from the delightful antics of Ruby herself, it was a real pleasure to see Dave and Jan in action as the doting grandparents.

The first panic attack of the return journey home occurred before I’d even got into the car and then, three loo stops were required before we’d even arrived at the M25. To my surprise, the journey went smoothly as soon as the major motorway part of our route was underway. No matter how much one may have enjoyed their stay away, there’s nothing quite matches that feeling of exhilaration at arriving home. I appreciate home at any time but, each return there (from whatever locale) is just the greatest feeling imaginable. For me, familiarity breeds content!

Pond-ering

The heron takes ponderous flight, drudges its way over the garden, a sideways glance at the pond discloses a surfeit of vegetation; I imagine the birds disappointment that it has no easy access to the piscine residents. It’s quite some time since our fish suffered from severe post-traumatic stress disorder, following a heron’s intrusion on our pond in its earlier manifestation.

 

The glorious realization that heavily overgrown pond margins serve as a deterrent, to this type of predator, brings a huge smile to my face. That thought alone serves to brighten yet another sodden grey day!

 

CHEAP THRILLS

Years ago I really enjoyed roller-coaster rides, the slow groaning ascent, and the short plateau trail, all a part of the anticipated thrill of descent. These days, when it’s my health that boards the roller-coaster, all I long for is a prolonged period of time to be spent on a somewhat lower plateau. Any descent is an unwelcome event!

Although undergoing a rather shattered tetchy phase at present, as my body screams out for rest, my sleep pattern has returned to a much more erratic state. It’s a bit of a chicken and egg conundrum really; am I unable to sleep properly because I’m so shattered or, am I shattered because I’m not getting the right kind of sleep?

Even the shutting of the washing machine door creates sufficient sound energy to send shock waves through my chest, and sets my body trembling. At least these days it’s just a passing phase whereas, a few short years ago, I underwent extended periods of time when any unexpected sound or strong light source was sufficient to send my nervous system into overdrive, my mind and body requiring periods of isolation to recover, so I’ve nothing to grumble about with the current situation!

The prospect of a long journey (5 ½ hours, arduously long by my standards), to be made in the not too distant future, does little to ease my discomfort; in fact it starts the vicious tension circle rolling. Any journey these days requires a steeling of the nerves on my part and, I only wish I had more courage to cope with the period of anticipation.

Meantime, weather permitting, the best therapy is sitting or pottering about in the garden, observing the avian and piscine activity at close range. Recent watercolour painting activity has ground to a (hopefully temporary) halt, resources of mental / emotional stamina being in rather short supply.

Of Disparity and Separation

If the overall level of discomfort was greater, the whole situation would be easier to understand. It’s a rather strange sensation, even if not at all unfamiliar, to feel totally drained and tetchy, yet not at all tired. It has been one of those fidgety days for me, eager to get on with something yet not having the stamina to perform whatever task it may be.

Perhaps I’m suffering from shell-shock, having been separated from my beloved for more than 14 hours yesterday, whilst she attended a wedding in Northumberland!

We’re a couple of softies really, with a mutual dependence on each other’s presence; in the 8 ½ years since we were married, we’ve only spent three nights apart, two occasions when I was hospitalized overnight and once when Helen’s recently bereaved sister needed her company. It’s almost as if life goes into a tortuous state of suspended animation, when such separations occur!

For someone who had remained free from marital entanglement, until I had spent nearly five and a half decades on planet earth, it’s rather unnerving to have entered such a mutually dependent relationship but, neither of us feels complete without the other.

I’ve just realized, it sounds like I’m blaming marriage for my plight. That’s far from the reality; in fact, what I was hoping to express was the deleterious effect of separation! Similarly, the disparity between my desire to be active and the available resource of physical and emotional stamina could well be responsible for today’s sense of dis-ease.

Mal's delight

I've just posted an entry, TEMPERAMENTAL NATURE, on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

Alex(andra) Davies

I really enjoyed this audition on last nights X-Factor

Murmuring Mal paces his space

Since my posting earlier in the day, I've posted a further blog, "pacing my space", on Mal's Murmurings. It probably contains what I thought I was going to write about when starting to doodle on the keyboard this morning but,my mind quite naturally went off at a tangent.

Who Knows ... ?

Who knows where the time goes? Is it a song, is it a bird or, is it quite simply a statement of my reality? Truth be told, I love the song but, even more, I find myself wondering exactly where it does go! Strange how it sounds like either a metaphysical or a pure physics question.

 

Where once I regularly managed, or indeed needed to, post a blog entry every day, in these days of idleness it’s often difficult to find the space in my non-routine to fit it in. Sometimes, I’m quite amazed that I manage to get anything done; day-dreaming proves such a time consuming occupation!

 

My thoughts often turn to serious issues like how a military force that moves in defence of a brutally repressed separatist movement in Eastern Europe (think South Ossetia) can be considered wrong, as it thwarts the goal of an American educated and supported President with an army partly American trained, whilst the people who offer such condemnation think nothing of slaughtering innocent Iraqis in the course of perpetrating an illegal war! Issues of sovereignty suddenly loom large. Sadly, when the big boys play their self-interested games, it’s always the innocents that suffer most.

 

When it comes to politics, there seems to be little room for morality. There was a time when I was a truly political animal, it served to take the place of the evangelical religious faith I had recently rejected owing to its reactionary asocial outlook. Even then though, I was a creature of contradictions, a would-be pacifist longing to man the barricades in the cause of social justice, a pothead serving a puritanical Trotskyite sect, a Buddhist clinging to the material world.

 

This isn’t the post I sat down to write but, who knows where the words flow?

Long-tailed Delight

Just as the needle swings towards, and hovers around, the compass point of self-pity, I shift myself towards the kitchen door, take out a cigarette and inhale deeply. Not that the nicotine alleviates the symptoms but, it does serve as a temporary distraction from my calves apparently laden with heavy toxic waste and the hollow sensation in my upper limbs.

 

No sooner have I drawn deeply from the chemical laden coffin nail than my attention is drawn to the congregation of birds around our various feeding stations. It’s truly delightful to see more than half-a-dozen long-tailed tits amongst the other visitors. We’ve always had plenty of coal tits around and, regular if somewhat spasmodic visits from blue tits and great tits but, previous sightings of this particular variety have tended to be of one bird at a time. It’s quite strange that many of these common birds seem to give the garden a miss, no matter how well we try to cater for their needs.

 

Today, this sighting proved a real godsend. It’s so wonderful to revel in observing nature on ones own doorstep. The traces of self-pity swiftly dissipate, as I immerse myself in a joyous creation! For the moment, the debilitating aches and discomfort can be left to take care of themselves; at least I’ll try my darnedest to ignore them!

Elements Of Surprise

Perhaps I’m still not sufficiently in tune with the warning signals my body emits. My confidence in the ability to recognize acceptable levels of exertion is perhaps misplaced. This evening, totally unexpectedly, an onslaught of old familiar symptoms pounced upon me. A nagging, nausea provoking, bruising discomfort simultaneously attacked shoulders and upper arms, forearms and wrists, as well as a distinct sense of dis-ease in hips, thighs and right calf. These symptoms were swiftly followed by a tender discomfort in the glands of left armpit and my neck.

 

Such a congregation of ailments, gathered in one place at one time, have been almost unknown for the past couple of years, in spite of occasional irregular visitations in a variety of different combinations. As it proved impossible to find a comfortable position in which to relax, an attempt at exorcising these harsh discomforts by writing them down seemed a reasonable idea. To my surprise, as I force my fingers to strike the appropriate keys the symptoms themselves have abated to a less excruciating level.

A Matter Of Time

Well, once again I’m rather shattered but, I didn’t get here without a fight. In the course of the past week I’ve managed to get a bit more work done in the garden. Yet another water feature is now part of our garden-scape, this time a small pre-formed pond close to the greenhouse, as home to one or two marginal plants, a water lily and hopefully, in the course of time, a multiplicity of fauna. The digging out proved remarkably easy, until I hit the clay layer, but thinking back a couple of years I wouldn’t have even been able to contemplate this kind of endeavour. I have to admit that, what would have been a couple of hours effort (before returning to other tasks) in pre-illness days, had to be spread over days rather than hours!

Our main, and deepest pond, framed with reeds, water spearmint and flag iris, is also home to a few water lilies and a selection of variegated goldfish. There’s certainly no paucity of frogs in the garden, despite the havoc wreaked on the tadpole population by the fish. To one side of the garden we have a heavily planted circular patio pond as well as other sunken water containers scattered around.

Today was heavy weeding day, closely supervised by small flotillas of tortoiseshell butterflies on adjacent buddleias but, just over one hour of effort presented my body with all the warning signals that I needed to rest.

After a little rest, I was able to get on with preparations for Sunday lunch; what I’d do without the heavy duty wok is a bit of a mystery to me now; I always prepare my casserole dishes, curries, saffron rice, stir fries etc in this utensil.

My casseroles frequently start with the same ingredients but it’s amazing the difference a random sprinkling of a few different spices and herbs make to the end result. Today’s effort began with a generous sprinkling of ground black pepper and Tabasco sauce onto the freshly diced chicken breasts, left to stand whilst I prepared a couple of onions, yellow, red and green peppers, and sliced a couple of handfuls of closed cup mushrooms.

The olive oil in the wok was generously infused with paprika, coriander, cumin, turmeric and a sprinkling of mixed herbs. Firstly I browned the onions before throwing in the diced chicken then, after a few minutes stirring added the sliced peppers a short while before I added the mushrooms. A tin of plum tomatoes was next to go in, more freshly ground black pepper added at this stage. Having ensured that I’d sufficiently pulped the tomatoes, I left the lidded wok to simmer for few more minutes before adding a jar of creamy mushroom sauce.

The resulting concoction has now been decanted into a couple of casserole dishes and, par-boiling of my special herbed and spiced potatoes, which I’ll roast tomorrow, is all that remains for me to do. My beloved always sees to the accompanying greens!

I hadn’t intended to write about my cooking, just as I didn’t know I was going to write about the garden; it quite simply felt that a blog posting was overdue and, the keyboard took over!

I rejoice and give thanks for this day the Lord has made.

Mixed Blessings

All week I’ve been awaiting the arrival of the forecast mini heat wave and, each day offered up my grateful thanks that it hasn’t arrived. Friday proves much warmer, with radiant sunshine from an early hour; I actually ventured out and sat beside the garden pond at an hour when I would normally still be in the duvet realm. By 11.00am it was getting rather too warm so I moved into the new shed to dabble in a little watercolour painting; that’s two days running I’ve attempted to refresh my skills in this particular pursuit, the shed proving much more convenient than the loft space studio. If only my energy resources could be boosted a little more, I may be able to get as much painting done as I managed to fit in on top of my full-time employment.

Late afternoon our friends, from t’other side of Pennines, arrived in Harrogate after a somewhat more arduous journey than had been anticipated; it surely is amazing how traffic hold-ups can almost double the duration of such a journey, my total nightmare scenario. Having taken a little time to unwind at their hotel, my beloved transported them chez nous to share our evening meal and a few glasses of vino. Come evening, the temperature was more conducive to sitting out beside the pond.

This morning, Saturday, I was somewhat shattered with muscle and joint pains struggling to convince me I was awake whilst the soul sought a further bout of sleep (preferably of that all too rare refreshing kind).. Come late morning, a friend from Helen’s schooldays (visiting the area for a few days) called around to visit us and, we ventured out to the pond-side seats once again. The heat proved all too much for me within 30 minutes and, by the time Helen returned a la maison she found me flaked out on the bed. The combination, of heat and socializing, sure takes its toll on this ailing frame of mine. Great as it is to meet up with old friends, my body doesn’t quite appreciate the spirit’s enthusiasm for such endeavours.

Despite my best intentions, the good weather seemed to militate against a further meeting with our Lancastrian friends this afternoon, about which I feel somewhat guilty. Although these little setbacks are far from unknown to me, I still have an intense sense of frustration when even the most modest of socializing plans come to nought! At least, having learned to listen to it, my body forewarns me, at times, when I’m nearing my exertion limit; for that I’m extremely grateful.

Why not flutter by Mals Factory?

A freshly minted poem, FLUTTER BY MOMENT, sparked by the shirtsleeve incident, can be found on Mal's Factory

Shirtsleeve Plays Host

Yesterday was one of those days when, although the threat of another rain shower seemed omnipresent, the sun did manage on several occasions to break through the cloud cover. In many ways it was the kind of day I prefer, sufficient breeze to prevent the atmosphere from becoming too hot and cloying. Like most people, I love to see and feel the sun shining brightly but, at the same time, my body has a quite low tolerance level for heat. My body thermostat being somewhat erratic, I can sweat profusely with the least prompting and, feel even more drained than my familiar norm once the thermometer rises beyond the upper teens (centigrade).

This was not always the case but is rather something that emerged with the onset of my illness. [Admittedly, I'm one of those rare people who managed to suffer from sunstroke in the British Summer, whilst doing a vacation job as a gardener in my student days.]

As I was saying, before I so rudely interrupted myself, yesterday was one of those kind of days that I enjoy tolerating. I even managed to spend some time sat on the garden bench, beside the pond, whilst my beloved carried out some serious weeding duties in one of the garden borders. Whilst sat there, I was privileged to receive an immigrant visitor, A Red Admiral butterfly, to whom my shirt sleeve played host as he basked for a few minutes during one of the intermittent sun showers. This was my first sighting this year, in our garden, and it was a real pleasure to share those few intimate moments. Although many of the flowers have played host to both large and small whites, tortoiseshells and meadow browns, the presence of the Red Admiral suggests that summer is really here, no matter what the weather may seem to say!

In this part of the country the Buddleia blossom has just started to open, so I look forward to many more Lepidopteron visitors.

But You Don't Look Sick

"Yesterday, I heard yet another person complaining about people being on the sick unnecessarily & get free cars etc. I do wish some people would realise that some people are disabled even though they look perfectly normal. To get any sickness benefits you have to go through rigorous medicals."

The above is an extract from an excellent, heartfelt, blog post on our judgemental attitude towards those people unfortunate enough to have an invisible disability.

To read the full post click here or copy and paste the following link : 

http://journals.aol.co.uk/peliad/the-oxcliffe-vixen/entries/2008/07/17/disability/1521

In Everything Give Thanks

Although the day started rather muggy, despite a moderately forceful breeze, the atmosphere became fresher as the day progressed; a welcome opportunity to sit beside the pond surveying our modest estate. It’s one of those times when I’m rather overwhelmed by gratitude for these simple delights right on my own doorstep. The sudden sighting of a few baby frogs, emerging from the gardens southern border and, other more mature specimens whose camouflage prevented me from spotting them amongst the ponds vegetation.

 

First thing this morning, bearing in mind that my “first thing” is usually a couple of hours after my other half has gone off to work, I notice a manila envelope on the doormat from the DWP (Department of Work and Pensions) and, it’s with relief that I discover that the next medical assessment review, regarding my Incapacity Benefit, will be due on 8 July 2013. The actual date becomes something of an irrelevance as I will be in receipt of a State Pension from June next year! One side of me thinks it would be really great if I was able to present myself as fit for employment before that date even; at least that would mean I was well enough to pursue some of my former social pursuits. Fortunately, our financial needs are relatively modest; we don’t go in for an extravagant lifestyle even though the wine-cellar suggests otherwise!

 

This morning I ventured down to ‘Open Church’, for coffee and a chat, where the narthex was a real hive of activity as differing groups of toddlers and infants spontaneously and positively interacted. It’s always a treat to catch up with some of the regular, and not so regular, visitors to these weekday coffee mornings. On my return to the homestead, it was great to enjoy the aforementioned outdoor inactivity. I did manage to exert myself sufficiently to transplant a few of the overcrowded tomato plants from the greenhouse to a sheltered spot in the garden border.  [Actually, they were rather sickly specimens which I’d already put out freestanding in their pots, where the wind far too regularly took advantage of their precarious stance!]

Reelin' and Rockin'

I’m reeling somewhat from the verbal abuse delivered by the big boss; all that I’d done was use my lunch hour to visit a friend. What he’d seemed puzzled about was my expectation, that it was possible to visit an antipodean friend, at home, during my lunch hour. Yes, I know that it took a little longer break than usual, to travel halfway around the world and back but, I also know that he’s extended his coffee breaks on numerous occasions.

I wake up feeling battered and bruised; it’s hard to believe that a barrage of words can cause such physical damage. Thank God, it was just a dream; don’t think I could have taken much more of this stress. The dream was so ludicrous anyway, a couple of hundred yards is the furthest I’d ever travel during a lunch break and, my aversion to travel, makes the dreamt adventure seems suspiciously representative of some subconscious masochistic yearning.

My beloved suggests a plausible connection between my dream and very recent reality. Yesterday afternoon, after many hours of restful inactivity in preparation (on my part), ma belle chauffeuse drove me to a barbecue*, some twenty five minutes away from home; most of the journey was on the A1 before manoeuvring our way through a couple of potholed, spasmodically flooded, country lanes. Even that little journey provides me with sufficient stress induced exhaustion.

Once we get there, I recover sufficiently to become, temporarily, my old sociable self, contentedly sharing conversation and anecdotes with the assembled company. The company and the pastoral location prove most rewarding but, that doesn’t prevent a state of mind and bone numbing fatigue overwhelming me by 9.00pm. Everything around us is still in full swing but, I can’t risk overdoing it!

So, here in the real world, I recognize that this small excursion is my equivalent of that travel so casually undertaken by my dream-self!

________________

* for more details of the barbecue see my beloved's posting on her Bright Light blog.

Freshly Minted

GREY DAY, a freshly minted poem, can be found on 'Mal's Factory'

Of Rain, Needlepoint and Relief

Just one of those familiar night alerts; I wake suddenly to obey a call of nature. Look at the clock but, owing to the darkness, fail to believe the time it tells. The display tells me that it’s three forty-five (am) but the enveloping darkness suggests somewhere between midnight and one (am); an ominous start to the day. Elements of the dawn chorus drift through the open window, striving to affirm clock time.

 

I soon drift back into the realm of sleep and on re-awaking, some six hours later, the light (or relative absence of such) suggests a much earlier time than that the chronometer tells. Torrential rain seems to have set in; my beloved remembers that it’s supposed to be the local play school’s Gala Day on the playing fields, just around the corner from our home; I can’t help having a sneaking premonition that it may be called off. I like to make the effort, stamina permitting, to support these events but it seems that I may be able to preserve my energy.

 

Yesterday proved to be one of those woozy zonked-out days, not too surprising as the previous day had been one of my human pincushion sessions (acupuncture); it’s quite normal to feel a little washed out the day after!  At lunchtime I received a most welcome ’phone call from my physiotherapist / acupuncturist to say that my medical appointment in York has been cancelled. The department will now be contacting her directly to determine whether an assessment is necessary and, if necessary, it will be a ‘home assessment’. That news was subsequently confirmed by e-mail, just in case I thought I was dreaming!!!

 

In spite of an all too familiar fatigue, and the somewhat oppressive nature of the day, some of my daily compliment of aches and pains seem to have gone into a temporary hibernation, their presence a mere shadow compared to that of recent days. The acupuncture seems to be kicking in!

 

As I write this, the day seems to have brightened a little but, I fear it may be a little late to redeem the Gala.

Mal Murmurs again

SHATTERED,the natural sequel to yesterdays post, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

A Loss Of Affirmation

Although I generally manage to maintain a reasonably upbeat outlook, in the face of the various slings and arrows my physical and emotional being undergoes, there are times when the clouds just fall around you and the sun refuses to break through. Today, possibly the hottest day of the year so far, is one such occasion. Not that any major disaster has occurred, hot weather always drains me. The day started with a delivery, of a shed and tool store, twenty minutes before the allocated delivery window and without the promised thirty minutes prior ‘phone call; seemed like a bad omen. I immediately called our friend who was going to help with its assembly and, to my relief he came over within a few minutes.

 

The plans for preparing a level base went rather awry and, although I wasn’t involved in the process, it made me start to feel uneasy. I’ve mentioned before how difficult I find it to cope with any change of routine and, that even seems to be the case when I’m not directly involved in the new situation. Even I find it hard to believe that there was a time, some years ago, when I thrived on new situations and new challenges.

 

Next delightful event of the day was the recurring appearance of the blue screen on my old PC and then, later in the day a letter from my beloved ATOS (see previous post) when once more it became apparent that the form I submitted had neither been thoroughly read, nor had aspects of the brief telephone conversation been taken on board.

 

So the oppressive heat, the ATOS lackeys, and plans going awry, each contributed to a reduction in my inner resilience and the loss of any sparkle in the eyes. Three times during the day I fell asleep, a welcome relief from a sense of intensely aching frustration. A griping sensation around the knees, similar to cramp, caused them to lock up as I ambled up the garden, an unwelcome distraction from the pain in calves, thigh, and back.

 

I seek the strength to affirm the day!

ATOS Calling

11.30 am, Sunday morning, and the telephone rings. The caller asks if I’m me, a disembodied voice from ATOS, the private medical arm employed by the DWP, proffering me a date to attend a medical in York. It has got to be York (not Leeds, my preferred option next to a home visit), in the most dismally oppressive claustrophobic building, where one is locked in the waiting room, outer door locked behind you and the door to reception locked in front of you. If you need the toilet, one has to get the attention of the receptionist and traverse the corridors beyond the receptionists room; an ideal setting for people who have problems with their physical and/or mental health.

The date suggested by the disembodied one is a Tuesday, to which I have to point out that I’d already explained on my form that Wednesdays are the only day when my beloved chauffeuse is available to transport me there. Of course, they had an available time on the Wednesday so they’ll be sending a confirmation letter regarding the date and time of the appointment.

In less than one year’s time, I shall be in receipt of a State Pension, as well as a couple of other policies maturing; the big question is, will I be in receipt of incapacity benefit until that time? The unpredictable nature of my condition, how I will be from one day to the next, (the only certainty being that if I overdo it I’ll be wrecked for several succeeding days), has prevented me from taking on any voluntary work or having what I used to consider a normal social life. To be honest, if I was to declare myself as being available for paid employment, I would be lying to myself as well as any potential employer. I’m sure they’d all rush for the opportunity to give employment on the basis that I would only attend when I was fit or alert enough to attend, at the whim of my erratic achingly exhausted body.

The only viable option, should they (under their remit to attack the most vulnerable members of society) deny my eligibility for IB, is to live off my savings, and make the necessary national insurance contributions, for the next eleven months.

Just something I had to get off my chest, at the same time acknowledging that there are far too many people in a worse predicament and condition than myself. I just wonder why I should be made to feel guilty about having a health condition which is not immediately obvious, except to those like my beloved who have to live with its effects.

Mal Takes Stock

Today's general blog post, TAKING STOCK, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'. I have also posted some poems from the archives on both 'Mal's Factory' and 'Archive Mined and Freshly Spun'.

Archbishops fail to condemn violence against lesbians and gays | Ekklesia

“When given the example of a lesbian women from Uganda who had applied for asylum in the UK after being jailed, raped in the police station, and marched for two miles naked through the streets of Uganda, Archbishop Akinola said: "That's one example. The laws in your countries say that homosexual acts, actions are punishable by various rules. I don't need to argue."

"If the practice (homosexuality) is now found to be in our society" he continued, "it is of service to be against it. Alright, and to that extent what my understanding is, is that those that are responsible for law and order will want to prevent wholesale importation of foreign practices and traditions, that are not consistent with native standards, native way of life."”

Archbishops fail to condemn violence against lesbians and gays | Ekklesia

Presumably Akinola and his ilk would also remain silent in the case of violence being practiced against supporters of the foreign practice and tradition of Christianity, inconsistent with the native way of life.

There are times when I think that Jesus, with his stance against bigotry and injustice, died in vain.

The Spice of Life

Do you ever get that feeling that you’ve been bone idle for the past ten days or so, until someone reminds you just what you’ve achieved? I know, by my generally shattered state of being, that I’ve not been quite so lazy as I like to imagine; if anything, I’ve probably overdone it but, when one’s level of emotional and physical stamina is at the most one third of those distant pre-illness days, it’s far too easy to fall into that trap.

The paucity of blog postings has little to do with having nothing to say, more a case of not knowing where to begin or, even having sufficient emotional resource to make such a complicated decision.

The recent trip to Northampton, even though I spent much of the time resting, took more of a toll than I’d realized at first; so often these events catch up with one when it’s least expected! Still, they do say “variety is the spice of life”, in which case I’m a very lucky man; variety of the surprise kind must be even spicier than that of one’s chosen course of action!

Most of my activities have been garden and greenhouse related; assembling a “love seat” adjacent to the garden pond, building a small cairn of reclaimed stones, boulders, granite, sandstone and limestone, to provide a little haven for various insects and wee beasties in the wildlife end of the garden, as well as re-potting a few of the tomato plants. I’ve also lost track of the number of tomato plants we’ve given away. The fact that my beloved has been on holiday from work, and doing a splendid job of tackling some of the more tenacious weeds in borders and rockeries, has served as a splendid incentive for me to slightly expand my usual pottering about activities.

As I’ve been writing this, I’ve been somewhat distracted by a 35 minute commercial for the Spanish Tourist Board, on BBC1, under the title ‘Songs of Praise’. So now I know where not to go on holiday, to the Costa del Sol, as it seems to be primarily a community for British expatriates, a haven for golfers and visitors to zoos. The tourism promo was occasionally interrupted by hymn singing!

Many Happy Returns

I make little secret of the fact that I’m not the best of travellers so, having just returned from a visit to Northampton, today is going to be a rather quiet celebration of my birthday. At the time the Beatles released “When I’m 64”, such a great age seemed almost unimaginable for this wreck of a twenty-something but, now I’m there, health problems notwithstanding I’m going through one of the happiest periods of my life. My only requirement for contentment is the presence of ma belle amoureuse, tending to the garden when stamina permits, and observing the flora and fauna hereabouts.

Sorry; that paragraph took off in a direction I hadn’t anticipated, even though every bit of it is true. Come to think of it, any direction my rambling takes is something of a surprise, not exactly stream-of –consciousness more rivulets-of-idleness. I don’t even know what I intended to say; just crossed my fingers and trusted in the keyboard to make it plain!

Let’s start at the very beginning, it’s a very good place to start; when you read you begin with A,B,C, when you write you begin with me, me, me … So, travelling is the cue. The reason for the visit to Northampton was, for my beloved to celebrate her sister Margaret’s 70^th birthday; the six siblings were to go out for a celebratory dinner on the Friday lunch time. Helen and myself don’t like the idea of being apart for even one night, so we decided that I would travel down with her, provided I could overcome my travel anxieties. Being a poor traveller, this necessitated a two night stay, arriving on the Thursday afternoon and returning home on Saturday morning.

Most of my time on the Friday was spent in our room, at The Innkeepers Lodge, resting and sleeping. I occasionally ventured out to amble around the pine tree surrounded grounds of the establishment and, grabbed a couple of starters in lieu of a main meal at the adjacent carvery. I’m grateful for the time spent sleeping, otherwise, it would have seemed an extremely long day whilst my beloved was out with her siblings. What kept me going was the thought of being back home around lunchtime the following day. Please note, it’s the arrival that matters not the journey.

The return journey went much more smoothly than we could possibly have anticipated but, nothing can match the joy of ones return to the homestead.

A highlight of the return journey was a sign, presumably referring to ongoing maintenance work, stating “DELAYS ARE LIKELY UNTIL AUTUMN 2010”; my God, I thought, I have difficulty coping with a ten minute hold-up (hyper-ventilating panic attacks etc.), I don’t think I can survive one for 2 ¼ years.

A little further along the motorway, a large poster in an adjacent field read, “PREPARE TO MEET YOUR GOD”. The way some people were driving, crossing lanes without signalling, cutting in without leaving an appropriate space between the other vehicles, it seemed quite ominous. If the intent was to proselytize, it was sufficiently distracting to ensure that potential converts may not survive long enough to repent or convert. Must admit, I appreciated it more as the work of a prankster with a sick sense of humour, rather than a wayside pulpit.

This posting also appears on Mal's Murmurings

Let The Sunshine ...

Glorious sunshine today, rather too warm to risk doing too much pottering about and, Cathy who had joined us for lunch (one of my special chicken & vegetable Madras dishes, served with saffron rice and a side-dish of tomatoes and cucumber in natural yoghurt) basked on one of our sun-loungers close to the garden pond, whilst my beloved sought the shade of the parasol.

Heat notwithstanding, after a little postprandial rest, my beloved boldly managed to fight a victorious struggle with invasive ground elder and yellow loosestrife as she cleared some of the shadier areas of the garden for me to plant some of the pansies we’d been given yesterday.

Having mentioned yesterday, I should mention our enjoyment of Afternoon Tea in the local Methodist Chapel. Although the chapel has not been used for worship for a considerable time, the former members (now dispersed elsewhere in the circuit) meet occasionally for coffee mornings and other social events, the proceeds from which all go to charity. Although I never actually attended this chapel, I’m made to feel very much a part of the community.

Had this event been on Friday, I certainly wouldn’t have been in any fit state to attend, the entire day having been spent, by yours truly, in an achingly exhausted woozily zonked-out state of being. Much of this zonked-out state, I suspect, was in response to the previous days acupuncture treatment. The overall effects of the treatment, in terms of pain-relief and energy boosting, are invariably most beneficial but, I have rather learned to expect this preliminary slump before the positivity shines through.

a glorious compensation

The garden is alive with cheeps, twitters and chirps, as generations of our avian friends share the feeders and the wilder area of the garden. Wherever one looks, the garden is abuzz with their activity. Juveniles squeal, wings all a tremble, seeking attention, their gapes extended in eager anticipation.

I always enjoy these garden gatherings; the species may be common enough, starlings, blackbirds, collar doves, wood pigeons, house sparrows and dunnocks, being the most frequent attendees. Blue tits and coal tits weave their flight between feeders, shrubs and plants – I suspect a lot of greenfly and other bugs are being garnered to feed their young.

Each time I wander to the kitchen door, for the occasional nicotine fix, I’m cheered to hear the glorious concatenation of bird song; a glorious compensation on those days when either the elements or lack of stamina prevent me from pottering around out there myself.

New Picture Blog

I have recently started a new 'image' blog, MAL's PICTUREBOX, for occasional postings of snapshots and paintings. Why not pay it a visit?

The Syro-Phoenician Woman

Having just read a most enlightening posting about The Samaritan Woman on KHANYA blog, I was in some way reminded of this Bible Study on our HelMals website.



Mark 7 vv.24-30 The Syro-Phoenician Woman

Before I returned to this passage, it was already obvious (to me) that the passage was about ‘inclusiveness’ …… a) A Gentile b) A Woman, neither of which were qualities to be valued within the Jewish orthodoxies of the time, dares to approach this itinerant Jewish preacher. I had not
foreseen / remembered the dynamite of this encounter!

Jesus responds to this woman’s plea, by offering a rather offhand Jewish comment about Gentiles being dogs and, implying His duty was to feed the children … the chosen ones. The woman dares a riposte … “even dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the children’s table”.

Jesus listens to the woman, sees her need, acknowledges the truth of her response. Her faith was to express her need. Jesus didn’t approach her as a lost soul; He listens to her need, already expressed by seeking Jesus out, the depth of her need / faith being re-affirmed by her riposte. This woman, an outsider from the church, expresses her faith in a very direct manner. She approaches Jesus out of concern for her child.

Sometimes we may have to question what we think the Lord is calling us to do. Jesus turns the other cheek …. He doesn’t turn around and say “you’ve challenged the word of the Lord” and give up on her as a lost cause, rather, He acknowledges her honest need and acts upon it. Her challenge, her act of faith results in the healing of her daughter.

Because we as Christians “know” what people need, we can so easily fail to listen, especially if what they have to say challenges our
preconceptions. Jesus didn’t see the challenge as an avoidance of
commitment; in her challenge he saw her faith.

A person’s race, religion, sexuality, social status, are unimportant; their needs are important! Perhaps one day the wrong kind of person will be the one who removes the beam from our own eye.

Malcolm Evison

Mal's Waffling On .. and on ..and on

My latest posting, Whatever Happened To?, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'.

The Morning After (the days before)

After yesterday’s bout of mat wrestling**, a fitful nights sleep is hotly pursued by an achingly battered and bruised Sinna Luvva’s emergence into the grey light of day. Lower limbs feel like they’re struggling through a vat of leaden sludge, and that’s simply the effort of releasing themselves from the duvet lair.

There’s no need to pinch me to check that I’m awake, rather than dreaming; every muscle and joint cries out to affirm the fact. I ache therefore I am.

At least every other day, for the past fortnight, has found yours truly engaged in performing some minor horticultural task. It’s quite surprising really, how much nurturing goes into the establishment and nurturing of the wildlife friendly area of the garden; even the transplanting of inappropriately self-rooted wildflowers, from cultivated to a more suitable site proves quite time and effort consuming.

On more than one occasion I’ve managed to overdo it; pacing isn’t quite as straightforward as I’d wish it to be. Although I recognize my limitations of physical and emotional stamina, it’s almost as if a little inner demon assures me that any perspirational endeavour that proves enjoyable can’t possibly have an ill effect.

Although I should know better, I still fall victim to the demon’s ploy. The spirit may be willing but, it’s the weakened flesh that pays the price. An increased tetchiness, and fog-befuddled thought processes, sits uncomfortably alongside the pains and aches that flesh is heir to.

*********************************

** for those readers who don’t follow / click on hyperlinks, I hasten to assure you that I have not taken up a new contact sport. The link is to my posting ‘The Heart Of The Matter’ on ‘Mal’s Murmurings’

US absent as 100 countries meet in Dublin to finalize global cluster bomb ban | Ekklesia

 

"Over the past 40 years, the vast majority of confirmed casualties from cluster munitions have been civilians, and children are particularly at risk. Cluster bombs open in mid-air dispersing dozens to hundreds of small submunitions over a large area. Many of these “bomblets” fail to detonate and can harm civilians decades after a conflict has ended."

US absent as 100 countries meet in Dublin to finalize global cluster bomb ban | Ekklesia

Today's Post on 'Mal's Murmurings'

A posting for today, Of Disassociated Leg Syndrome and Pottering About, can be found on my 'Mal's Murmurings' blog.

Tax evasion 'costs the lives of 1,000 children a day' | Ekklesia

 

Tax evasion 'costs the lives of 1,000 children a day' | Ekklesia

The lives of 1,000 young children a day are being lost to disease and poverty in poor countries because of illegal trade-related tax evasion, says a new report from Christian Aid.

It has calculated that this evasion costs the developing world at least US$160bn in lost revenue annually. The culprits are companies using false accounting to reduce their tax liability.

... a bright, bright, bright, sunshiny day

There’s something quite rewarding about a succession of very warm, bright, sunshiny days. Did I just say rewarding? I’m exhaustedly tetchy, achingly shattered, generally out of sorts; just goes to show that some people take a lot of pleasing!

On the positive side, it has got me out in the garden, planting a few more alpines and some wildflower plants, each in their respective place. Apart from the minor gardening effort, I’ve also had to start treating the garden pond with a course of ‘Anti Fungus & Bacteria’, having only recently completed a similar course of treatment for a goldfish quarantined to the patio pond. I have a slight suspicion that I may have overdone it a bit, not the garden, nor the pond, but rather an overstretching of my restricted stamina reserves.

Meantime, Cathy’s partner has been decorating our hallway and landing, it being the first time I’ve felt able to cope with the thought of such upheaval since the new damp course was applied 4 ½ years ago. Even now, I find it difficult to relax whilst such tasks are being performed; it wouldn’t be such a problem were I not spending such a large proportion of my time in the homestead.

Bright warm weather may be deemed good for the morale, ‘tis such a pity it’s not much cop for my physiological functioning!

60 years old - just a little younger than me

Joint declaration by Christian Leaders on Israel’s 60th Anniversary

Give Me The Simple Life

Oh the pleasure of simple things. Although my beloved wasn’t sure whether the groans I emitted, whilst sat in the shower, weren’t those of agony, I hastened to reassure her that they were definitely not of that ilk but, neither had I quite entered the realms of the ecstatic. It was a simple shuddering joy; the joy of being alive and luxuriating in the steamy heat, the superficial alleviation of the aches in shoulders, hips, thighs and calves, even a temporary farewell to aching sinuses.

It really is amazing that we can so easily take these little luxuries for granted. Although, at times, I still lament the dramatic reduction of physical and emotional stamina since those, seemingly distant, pre-illness days (pre-2003), in the course of the past couple of years my gratitude quotient has increased dramatically. A walk down to St.Marks for coffee and a chat at ‘Open Church’ almost invariably proves a rewarding event. The delight I take in the garden, just pottering about, watching the fish in the pond, filling up the various bird feeders, (even watching the grass grow) is something I couldn’t have imagined in the more active phase of my life.

The garden seems to be an oasis for blue tits, coal tits, great tits, collar doves, tree sparrows, dunnocks, squabbling starlings and wood pigeons. How privileged I am to have the time to simply observe the avian goings on.

Of course the greatest privilege of all is my beloved, Helen, who brings so much light, love, joy and fun into every day. It’s strange that for so many years I was afraid of commitment, being tied down, only to realize in later life what an abundant freedom is to be found in a committed loving relationship. It is truly a cause for thanksgiving that in each other we are able to find ourselves!

Need Is A Purpose

A brand new poem, NEED IS A PURPOSE, can be found on 'Archive Mined and Freshly Spun'.

New post on Mal's Factory

A freshly minted poem, TWILIGHT SEARCH, has been posted in 'Mal's Factory'

Apologia Paucitas

I guess it’s a combination of omnipresent distractions and feeling rather drained that has led to the paucity of blog postings of late. Sometimes, it seems as if the PC suffers almost as much from “brain fog” as do I. When the computer has its silly little glitches, I get so hung up on resolving them that fiddling about with programmes etc. takes the place of purposeful use of the machine. I love those moments when, after hours of frustration, one can simply rest back on one’s laurels having thwarted its best laid obstacles; oh the glow of self-satisfaction!

Mind you, there are always more little tasks to perform, around the house and in the garden, than stamina reserves permit the serious contemplation of. Or to put it another way, the contemplation is as great an endeavour as I can manage.

Recent weeks have seen an increase in my already sizeable bed-rest requirement; although I’m usually managing to remove myself from the duvet realm whilst it’s still morning, my hour of retirement has advanced somewhat. It’s strange how exhaustion suddenly overwhelm one; by the time I get up the stairs, I no longer have the stamina or patience to brush my teeth. The effort of getting undressed, without confusing myself, is challenging enough. The more exhausted I become, the more fitful the sleep pattern but, this doesn’t preclude an abundance of vivid naturalistic dreams at some point when a more general somnolence yields to the arms of Morpheus.

No matter how prolonged the bouts of sleep, it almost invariably proves unrefreshing; mid-morning usually finds a distinctly under par Malcolm, headachy, catarrhal, painful sinuses, ears, and tender glands. Apart from that, the sundry other muscular and joint pains proffer only a minor degree of discomfort at present, so maybe some things are picking up.

Sorry, I don’t want this to sound like I’m complaining; I really do enjoy my more alert moments and, thank God for the gift of family, friends, food in the belly and the privilege of observing all the piscine and avian activity in the garden. Just having the time to sit and stare is a rich gift in and of itself.

I trust that somewhere, in that jumble of words, you will discover the reason / excuse for the paucity of postings.

**********

This post also appears on 'Mals Murmurings'

SFO wrong to drop BAE inquiry, court rules | World news | guardian.co.uk

Surprise, surprise ... it's wrong to yield to blackmail ; admittedly the bribes that were to be investigated are probably par for the course.

"In a stunning victory for the activist groups that launched the legal challenge, the two judges said Tony Blair's government and the SFO caved in too readily to threats by Saudi Arabia over intelligence sharing and trade."

SFO wrong to drop BAE inquiry, court rules | World news | guardian.co.uk

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'