Night Time Hypochondriac

In the dark of the night when the cramping in my right leg keeps me awake I find myself imagining all kind of terrible outcomes. I'm an optimistic old stick when the sun shines but the wee small hours are quite  a different matter. The best I can wish for is a blood clot, hope I can get to the hospital before I take a stroke. The worst is, of course, cancer. Morning comes, I hop out of bed, gingerly put my foot to the floor and all is well. I can practically hop, skip and dance. The day wears on, the knee starts to ache, I start to limp and by evening it's the hip and by bedtime shin, ankle  and thigh muscles are gowpin.* Paracetamol (and sometimes wine) takes care of the pain but the cramps do not ease.

Eventually, more than six weeks after the initial injury, I saw the doctor. She examined it thoroughly and pronounced it tendonitis. Says she suffers from it herself because she likes to run. Said I ought to rest more, said she ought to rest a bit more herself. We agreed it wasn't easy. I got Ibufren, a stomach pill to help me take Ibufren and a lotion. The latter two are medicines that Pearlie takes. Now we are practically twins! Twin crocks.

But I'm happier now. No more night time hypochondria. I just have to take a bit more care of myself to be able to get into this tree house. It's not quite finished yet but that isn't stopping us from picking the furniture.

A photo taken last Sunday by Hannah Banana.

And just to prove that I am actually aware of what goes on outside Cully here is a photograph of President Obama leaving Northern Ireland, taken today by my friend Brian.

* gowpin - adjective, from Ulster-Scots - throbbing with pain.

Father's Day

 Bert's Dad, Johnny with Prince. Johnny's anniversary was on 2nd June. He died in 1997. Sixteen years gone. He was the kindest, sweetest man and I wish we could have had him for longer.

My father, Seamus, was a couple of months older than Johnny. They were born in 1919. Daddy got eight more years. He died on the 3rd June, 2005 making his anniversary the day after Bert's father's. They were two fine men and we miss them every day.

Nelly's Scones

Music night at Nellybert's and scones were served again. And once again Brendan asked for the recipe. The first time I wrote it down for him. Then I sent it in an an email. This time I'm going to blog it and link it to Facebook.

It's a cross between my mother's recipe and  a Nigella Lawson recipe. This is it. I don't know if soda bread flour is sold outside of Ireland. Probably not. Sorry about that.

Ingredients

• 500g soda bread flour
• 1 tsp salt
• 50g butter
• 25g lard or more butter
• 1 egg beaten
• enough buttermilk to make up to 300 ml when added to beaten egg

Method 

1. Preheat oven to 220°. 
2. Sift the dry ingredients together and rub in the butter thoroughly. 
3. Add the milk and stir very briefly. 
4. Knead lightly together on a floured surface.
5. Roll and cut approx. 12 scones
6. Bake for 10-15 minutes. 
   
   
   
   

Eight Years

Daddy in his Sunday best. He had probably called to my house to bring the girls and I to Mass. For sure I'd never have gone if he hadn't made the effort to pick us up. Afterwards we would usually go out to Drumkeeran for Sunday lunch.

I'd say, in the photograph, that he was probably only a little bit older than I am now.

I still have that old map but I don't have him. He is eight years gone today.

Still missed. Still remembered.

Seamus.

The Tree House Progresses

 The four beech trees

 Erecting supports

Laying the platform

It is kind of awesome. I have always wanted a tree house but lacked the trees. Then we got this place with mature beeches galore. Then we got ourselves a new friend who loves tree houses, who has the skills, the enthusiasm, the tools and the encouragement to make this dream a reality. So what if I'm nearly sixty! I'm beginning to realise that the good things that happen when we are older are what we appreciate the most. This knee, this hip is getting better for I am going to spend some time in the trees. Lucky, lucky me.

Knees and Trees

It is four weeks today since Rusty gave me a knee injury. I thought I'd gotten away with it but it was not to be. I now have a 'hip', a 'knee' and a 'shin'. I know most people possess these body parts but mine are special. Especially sore. I am scoffing so many painkillers that my stomach is starting to ache. Sometimes if I hurt it a little bit more (which seems to happen very easily) I find myself limping or, as we say in Northern Ireland, harpling about. I have never felt so old.

In fact, the situation is so dire I am seriously considering going to the doctor. At least I'll be making a start on the road to bionic leg-parts.

Other pleasanter news is that we are getting a tree house. The foundations were laid yesterday. When houses are built in trees the true foundations are the trees themselves but there are other supports needed. The adults are very excited and I hope the children will be excited too. And I hope that my damn knee gets better for we haven't incorporated a chair lift into the plans.  

Bonnie Takes Her Last Holiday. Again.

Bert and I have just come back from a short break in Donegal. We weren't on our own. We had four dogs, the Banjos and Swisser as well. Swisser got a new nickname – Professor Pants. She was waxing superior over dinner, told Jazzer and I that we had given over the control of our lives to our husbands because we are currently not working. I was having none of that. Just because someone is Professor Pants does not give them the right to judge how others organise their lives. Anyways Swisser was just pissed off that her youngest dog didn't get to come but we had to put a lid on it somewhere. Our caravan, we get to take all three of our dogs if we choose. We made a concession for the Banjo's youngest dog who is our youngest dog's litter mate. They are wild together. And as Swisser's youngest dog is also their litter mate the canine craziness would have been unbearable. He'll get to come the next time.

Once again it was Bonnie's last holiday. She is so old and done now that we have to lift her in and our of the van and she needs help getting up stairs and on to sofas. She was not able to get to Ballyhiernan beach because it meant climbing some pretty steep sand dunes so, just before we left, we took her to another beach that was easier for her to get to. Just seeing her there, plodding along, trying to keep up with the younger dogs was nearly tragic. Her back legs are getting weaker and it is much more noticeable when she is in unfamiliar surroundings. I wonder how much longer she can continue. But she had her little break, she was with people and dogs that she knows love her and I think she enjoyed it.

I wonder if she will be able to squeeze in just one more 'last' holiday?

By the way Swisser really is a professor now and about time too! I think adding Pants to her title will help her to keep everything in proportion.