- living and frequently struggling with moderate M.E. -
where (bad) health, faith, politics and the joys and troubles of daily life collide.
“I wish the church knew that having questions, experiencing doubts and being uncertain about things that the church is teaching does not necessarily equal spiritual immaturity.”
On stumbling across this post my first thought was that those who have no doubts or questions may well be the spiritually immature. Perhaps they mistake their own spiritual ego with the divine spark itself!
After considerable soul destroying hassle with our ISP, Virgin Media, we have now agreed to a new 12 month contract giving us the same broadband & phone package as we’ve had for a few years at £7.00 less per month. Of course, had we not been existing customers, it would have been a further £4.50 less for these 12 months.
Although we had threatened to move to another ISP, I doubt whether I could have coped with the upheaval that would cause. As it is, I’m in a physical and emotionally lower state than I was before these “negotiations” began. Oh, how I longed for the stamina and resilience I knew several years ago.
Although we’re staying put for the time being, I could not honestly recommend our service(!) supplier to anyone that I respected! And that’s despite the profuse apology, passed onto me by my beloved, proffered by the helpful lady who finally sorted things out.
Yet again, on this Sunday, we once more are blessed with glorious sunshine, accompanied on this occasion by a gently refreshing breeze, a day for true thanksgiving.
Needless to say, although I still persist in saying it, the love seat beside the garden pond became my abode for most of the afternoon. As we sat there, the cheerful chattering of the house sparrows in a nearby shrub proved a real uplifting balm to the spirit; I seemed to be transported away from the sharp shooting pains emanating from the sciatic nerve, my constant companion over recent days (and nights).
My beloved (that’s Helen, not the sciatica) soon felt the urge to do a bit of gardening, with me in the role of passive observer. Obviously her stamina levels had been refreshed by the Harvest Service at her chapel this morning.
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I suppose that this posting is a natural sequel to yesterday’s posting, Flutterby Visions, on ‘Mal’s Murmurings’.
Are they really reporting on the same debate?
“From the economy to foreign affairs to the way they carried themselves on stage, Senators John McCain and Barack Obama offered a dramatic contrast to the nation in their first presidential debate on Friday night, mixing disdain and often caustic remarks as they set out sharply different views of how they would manage the country and confront America’s adversaries abroad.”
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/27/us/politics/27debate.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&th&emc=th
“JOHN McCAIN and Barack Obama entered last night's debate with fewer differences on foreign policy than their rhetoric usually suggests. Some nuances excepted, the two candidates basically have the same ideas for containing the Iranian and North Korean nuclear programs, responding to
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.
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!
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
Earlier this month M had an appointment at the British Embassy in
It seems like the monkey has no option but to remain in servitude to the organ grinder!
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!
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.
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
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.
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?
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!
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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."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
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 ‘
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!
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* for more details of the barbecue see my beloved's posting on her Bright Light blog.
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.
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!
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
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.
“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.
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
I make little secret of the fact that I’m not the best of travellers so, having just returned from a visit to
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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** 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’
"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
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.
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!
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 ‘
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,
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.
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This post also appears on 'Mals Murmurings'
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
