Old Territory - a caricature of me

A day begins but I am in reverse going over old territory getting nowhere.

Making the same old promises of what I will do in the future

While revisiting exactly what I did before

Like the caged lion in the zoo

Walking up and down

Not only the same side of the cage

But placing each paw

In exactly the hollow

Moulded by years of habit

Something must be broken

To break free

Some caricature of me that I have unwittingly become

To really, like this day begin!

Choose the Opposite - be wise

This is me aged 5.  As you can see I have the doll and pram but look carefully and you can see a gun and holster.  What an odd mixture, hand on gun and pram.  Perhaps it comes from having only brothers and to this day I wonder how different things would have been had I had a sister.  However, no complaints the brothers will do fine.  Only, they don’t visit me, ever!   

I used to think it was the fact I lived in Greece for a decade and that, admittedly made visits tricky and expensive.  But actually living in the same town has the same result, no calls.  But, to be fair Northern Ireland folk are pretty strange.  Perhaps it is the same where you are?  Here, people polish and clean their houses, fuss over tiles and curtains, sofas and bedding.  They match carpets to lamp shades and a whole lot of other stuff I have no time for.  Then, they establish a routine that is stuck to.  It may be watching soaps, football, endless work or hobbies but when that routine is established not even the end of days will shift them.  You sense it, when you visit, that an inner sanctum has been breached.  The place of security that homes have become and in which others should not come.   

All of us become foreigners outside our homes and feel strangely adrift until ensconced once more on our coordinated turf, remote in hand.  The only outing tolerated is to the shops and that is too is part of the routine.  Don’t vary from the norm, don’t risk changing anything, after all so much crap happens even when you have constructed this spider’s web of activity – heaven knows what might happen if routines were abandoned. 

 Well, I reckon we need to challenge the norm.  A friend once said, if you want to do the wise thing look around and watch what just about everyone else around you is doing and choose to do the exact opposite.  There is something in that. 

To have no rain is a rare thing

It rains constantly here

Pouring out of the skies

As if a gracious Gardner is over concerned

About the greenness of our lands

These small fields

Multihued hankies

The hills bog strewn

With bleak beauty

We discuss our weather

As we do our health

Shocked at how poor both are

Comparing notes on how wet things are

‘sure no summer at all’

And happily combining both in

‘this weather really gets into my bones’

But if the sun shines, all is transformed

The green freshness looks majestic and vital

The sea turns from gray to beckoning blue

And our mountains become as nature intended

Wild with beauty

Every face is radiant with joy

In the rare sunshine

We cannot hide our delight

And want to hug ourselves

At this good fortune

A dry day with no clouds

Sure it is no wonder we dance and sing our joy

To have no rain is a rare thing

Sorry lads, could not resist!

You hear the warnings about things that appear in Facebook, Myspace etc, unexpected photographs, videos taken by others while you all unaware show aspects of yourself that you would not dream of exposing.  Horrid people are out there willing to do the dirty.  Having begun to back up all the laptops and computers as part of the house move I have been stumbling upon photographs of my kids at young ages and have been putting them up willynilly on my facebook.  Apologies for those subjected to these.  But coming across videos taken by my sons that are still on hard drives that I have never seen has proved extremely entertaining.  It worries me greatly that this is how they behave when driving a car, but it made me chuckle and will no doubt make them cringe so here goes.  Let it be a warning to this generation of mobile phone recorders.  No one is safe!

Arthur and Iris

Hospital Visit

He hated the smell.  That antiseptic assault with bleach mixed in.  Even the corridors annoyed him.  The shiny tiles that make shoes creak and slap down their long corridors of doom.  As he made his way to medical ward 2 where Iris, his wife lay, he tried to shut it all out and think about their home, the farmhouse, the green fields and wild hill beyond.  Fresh, free from this toxic frightening world he found himself.  There were a group of visitors waiting outside the ward.  Like cattle not allowed into the parlours until the buzzer sounded.  Arthur stood cap in hand conscious of his huge size dwarfing everyone.  He was not designed for indoors, his father had always joked, “as big and thick as a barn”.  His only brother George had been his father’s favourite.  George has been the exact opposite to Arthur.  Small, slight with quick movements and sudden gusts of temper.  His father described George in glowing terms to anyone who’d listen.  “He’s bigger than he looks George, sure there’s four feet of him underground!” That boy has massive roots, don’t judge him on what you see above ground.  For Arthur, he accepted his position on the farm as the one who did most of the chores but got none of the praise.  His size seemed to annoy people, especially his father. 

The buzzer sounded and the doors opened and George went in carefully trying to avoid bumping things or people.  Two turns of a corridor and there was his Iris looking pale and thin on a bed surrounded by tubes and equipment.  Arthur went to her bedside clutching the brown paper bag in his massive rough hands.  His voice was concerned as he kissed her wrinkled cheek,

“Hello love, how are you doing?”

Iris looked at him with a weak smile and responded

“All the better from seeing you, Artie.”

Arthur’s heart gave a jolt.  The love he felt for her stung his eyes and made him ache inside.  

“Good, good sure the house is empty without you. And mind you the dishes are piling up and it’s an awful mess”, 

complained Arthur trying to talk away emotions.  Iris laughed and reached for his hand with two of hers.  Her hands disappeared in his shovel like hand and he held them tenderly like fragile chicks feeling like the enormous useless monster his father made him feel. As they looked eye to eye, Iris whispered, 

“They say I can get home at the weekend.” 

Arthur realised that this hospital room felt suddenly more like home than anywhere else because she was here.  She’d filled his life with love and wonderful memories, this tiny woman.  And the wonder of her filled his heart.  His face creased in delight to be with her again. 

moving home

Packing one's belongings into boxes is a depressing business.  Firstly, you realise how much crap you have and two you realise no one else wants it.  Been going to car boot sales in  the hope of offloading some of it for cash.  Vain hope indeed, people have much better taste than I thought.  I've discovered the ultimate insult is when you forget to close your garage door all night and all your belongings carefully stored there are not stolen.   Moving house reminds you of what you have not done with the passing years, moving country reminds you it pays to travel light.  Both useful things to be reminded of at any stage of life.

solution to every problem

There is a scheme locally in our town where volunteers phone elderly people who are housebound and alone every day.  Usually these are just quick chats to touch base and have a laugh together.  The crack is often good as they say here.  One of the volunteers was telling me that one elderly client usually had a small quote or joke to share.  Today this was what she told him


There is always a solution to a problem you've been set
There always is a way in which the challenge can be met
There always is a means of getting over every fence
With just a little patience and a bit of common sense