An seid prátaí

I was making soup and needed a large onion so, outside to find Bert who is clearing the middle bay of the polytunnel. He is going to make an obstacle course for Cleo. It was Hannah's idea, a way to burn off some of the pup's excess energy and take her mind off the Kong.

Where are the onions?

Scratches head. Thinks. Says,

Big ones or wee ones?

Big ones.

They're in the pruta shed.

Pruta shed? Which one is that?

You know! The pruta shed. 

Never once in my life have I ever heard you calling any of the sheds a pruta shed.

It's always been called the pruta shed. Ask Clint.

I'm sure Clint would be too embarrassed to call a shed for something it hasn't had in for forty years. Now which one is it again? Give me a clue. What do you keep in it?

Onions.

What else?

Tools, kindlers, stuff!

Oh - you mean the workshop. Righto.

The naming of places has always been an issue with Bert and I have blogged about it before. And as I'd told him the pruta shed was a new one on me I thought I'd refer back to this post.

It seems that back then he called it the potato shed, and that's another thing, as Bert gets older he uses much more Ulster-Scots dialect. I have been known to accuse him of making words up and he'll say,

Get the book* out!

The book always proves him correct.  

*The Concise Ulster Dictionary was a gift from Ganching 28 years ago. She paid £9.99 for it. Today you'd be lucky to pick up a second-hand copy for under £100. I'll not be selling mine. Far too useful.

Those of you that have Irish will see that most of Ulster's old words for the spud are derived from our native tongue. I wish I had more of it myself so that I could take my turn at confusing Bert.

Right Place Right Time

 

My horticultural daughter during her early years. 

Sometimes online shopping doesn't work out. My gardener daughter asked me to buy her a particular pruning knife as a Christmas gift and I was glad to oblige. But because this thing was exceedingly sharp and pointy and I was ordering it in Antrim and having it delivered to Norfolk I was unable to satisfy the requirement for age verification. I phoned the company and they were lovely about it but said it was a tricky one, rules and all that. 

Then it occurred to me that the company's main shop is on a rather posh street in London and that I know someone who is not unfamiliar with upmarket shopping areas. Reader, I called Ganching and amazingly she was out and about and not tremendously far from the sharp things shop. A few hours later she messaged me saying the job was a good one. And she's doing the delivery too! Everyone should be so lucky to have a Ganching in their life.   

Ownsome Lonesome

 

It's been a very family-orientated few days. Ganching was here Friday-Monday and Leitrim Sister Sunday-Tuesday and last night we had Martha, Evie and their parents for supper. All good. 

This morning Leitrim Sister and I went out for breakfast. Not too far as Cully has two cafes. We chose Toast and as we went in I asked LS,

Shall we have the full relish?

She knew what I meant. An Ulster Fry with additional toast. How could we not?

The previous morning we had hoped to go to Middletown for a slightly more sophisticated breakfast but it seems they take Mondays off so the Leitrim one, the London one and myself went to Cameron's coffee shop for scones and coffee and a nice view of Slemish. Afterwards, we had to say goodbye to Ganching as her mini-break was coming to an end and she was off to the airport. 

Today it was Leitrim Sister's turn to head back and I found myself home alone as Bert was off doing Christmas farming with Clint. It felt very odd. Also good. Just me and the dogs and the cats and the pigs and the hens. Tomorrow I will get back to fretting about Christmas. Just 12 days to the best day of the year - the day after Christmas. Can't wait.

Drumrankin, Drumkeeran, Dublin and Dingle.

 On Monday night I put the moth trap out and captured just two yellow underwings. It's not advisable to catch moths on consecutive nights as it prevents them from feeding and breeding. But... two yellow underwings. Against my own (and Rachael's) advice, I tried it again last night. The trap I'm using at the moment isn't that efficient but I'll take that as a good thing. The moths are fine without being trapped and I do get to see a few nice specimens.

This one is a burnished brass, not uncommon and really beautiful. There were two of them. Here's hoping they were male and female and will be out there tonight, making sweet, sweet love. 

This was the only photograph I managed that didn't feature an egg carton so that's the one to share. Who needs to see yellow underwings at rest? They only look good when they're on the move. 

This beauty, a Gold Spot, was in the trap four days ago. The best picture I got was of the moth positioned on my hand. Unfortunately, my hand looked as if was attached to a drowned cadaver so far too vain to show that one. Have to make do with the grey egg box shot.

It was another scorching day. Sometime in the afternoon, the clouds began to gather and there were distant rumbles of thunder. The rain never came, just a couple of spits in the early evening. I'd be glad to see a shower and so would my flower and vegetable beds. As always, the fine weather brings out the heavy grass harvesting plant. The machines rolling through this yard get bigger every year. Just a few branches ripped off the horse chestnut and a gate post knocked over. Thankfully, the dogs know to stay out of the way.

We had visitors this afternoon, a couple of younguns, Emma and James who'd never stroked a hen before. Dolours obliged them. Dolours is moving around more and can now travel about four metres. She's eating and drinking well, pecking at vegetation and searching out insects. I am thinking of applying for a Carer's Allowance. 

In other news, I am delighted that Ganching will be visiting Nellybert for a couple of days. She is doing a tour of all four Ireland-based siblings. Drumrankin, Drumkeeran, Dublin and Dingle. Exciting times. It's a ridiculously long time since we've been together. 

Try Hen's Anxieties

 Happy Birthday, Ganching and thanks for all the blogging.

I Actually Quite Like Mondays

The weekend plan worked out well except Saturday turned out to be a very fine day so tiling was abandoned in favour of gardening.

We started a new flowerbed and most of the plants in the picture were planted, mostly verbascum and aquilegias. The rest of those pots were cleaned up and mulched. They are pines that Zoe grew from seed, a fig and some lilies. On Sunday Bert started the tiling and I tidied the garden.

That's a work in progress.

Today was another fine day. Bert spent the morning on the tiling and I helped with the cuts by spraying water while he used an angle grinder. He forgot to tell me to be careful of flying dust and tonight I have a sore eye. Tomorrow he will be purchasing a tile cutter to finish the job.

I spent the afternoon making dinner and having little chat with the girls. Martha and I were looking at pictures on Flickr and she noted that I get a lot likes from 'Jean' and 'Ganching'.

Who is Ganching? 

I told her about blogs and blogging and that Ganching and I have been writing blogs since before she was born.

It might be fun to see what I wrote when you were born.

We found this from the day of her birth,

Today was always going to be a busy day. We'd planned to go visit, with a view to procuring, Kune Kune pigs. Later we'd be going to the Wee Manny's for a surprise birthday party.

What I didn't expect was hearing from Dave that Zoe has been safely delivered of a daughter, our first grandchild. She was a week earlier than expected - the impatient little thing!

So now I must go and wash the smell of pig from my person and get myself ready to visit Zoe, Dave and daughter.

And a few days later,

How fascinating this little human being is! And really, all she does is nurse and poo and burp and pull the most peculiar faces. I'm told she cries but, so far, never in my presence.

She is, of course, far more beautiful than the normal run of babies. She is, which goes without saying, already displaying signs of superior intelligence. And, for a creature barely a week old, she is amazingly strong and active and alert.

Am I besotted? I think I must be.

But I had an oven to attend to and salads to make and Martha wanted to read more. About ten minutes later she was able to inform me that I'd written hardly anything when her sister was born and that Evie was almost a year old before she featured in Nelly's Garden. Sibling rivalry. I told Martha that Flickr was where I'd put all my Evie pics. I hope I wasn't telling a lie.

Flickr Thirteen

 976 views, 13th most viewed

Hannah posing with Shaggy Blog Stories, a compilation that included an offering by Ganching. The purpose of the book was to make money for the charity, Comic Relief. It was published in 2007. I wonder how many of the bloggers featured are still at it Obviously Ganching's excerpt is the best in the entire book but I would say that, wouldn't I? And she's still at it.

212 views, 13th most interesting...

...but not as interesting as the completed wine, I'd wager.

1. A conglomeration of pome fruits. Middling to good. All drunk.
2. A rhubarb. Rhubarb is always good. All drunk.
3. Carrot and Raisin. Carrot is always good. This one was dry and delicious and is all drunk.
4. & 6. Rosehip, made from dried hips. Overly sweet. Still some left.
5. Orange and Apple. Made from fruit juice. Not very nice and wouldn't use juice again. Still drunk it.
7. Damson. Fabulous, delicious, sublime. All drunk.
8. Nectarine. Some of the fruit was over ripe and there was a slight mustiness to it. I liked it. All drunk.

All these wines were started in late 2012.

The piano they are sitting on? Chopped up. Late 2014.

A History

My sister wrote this. It is worth sharing.

Another Normal Day

I woke just before 7am and decided not to get up. Immediately I fell into dreams. I dreamed that my mother was dying and that I held her in my arms and would not let her go. We lived in a succession of damp, dilapidated and tumbledown sheds and still I would not let her go. She got frailer and smaller and eventually she was as small as a baby. She was my baby, she was also another person called Shirley and still she was my mother. She was dying and I had to get her a coffin. She was small enough to fit in an infant's casket but I knew that because she had been a woman I needed to get her a woman-sized coffin.

These are the dreams I have without opiates. God only knows what Matty dreams. She told my sister, in one of her lucid moments, that it was like 'being in two places at once.'

Today was my Miss Martha day. We went to Matty's then out for a run with Great Aunt Ganching (with whom Miss Martha has become most enamoured). Next home to see Bert, a picnic on the lawn and a very relaxing afternoon with toys and pigs and dogs.

When Martha went home I spent a while watering the vegetables (this will be my role and it is a very important one) and then gathering sticks, a proper outdoor barbecue (no charcoal) and pork chops, spinach and baked potatoes for supper.

Another normal day. Tomorrow I go shopping for funeral clothes.

The Troubles We've Seen

Poor Ganching has been having a rotten week. It just goes to prove that good people don't get their just deservings for she has been more than good this past year in giving up so much of her time travelling back and forth to help out with Matty. She's not the only one. All my sisters have travelled regularly from London, from Kerry and from Leitrim to help keep Matty at home. My brother in Canada has been over twice this year.

Matty is stable but not nearly as well as she was. She still gets up every day and eats fairly well and, this is a real blessing, she keeps her wits about her still. Her main trouble is that she is very tired and weak. This affects her mobility and she cannot get around very easily. Despite these troubles she stays in reasonably good form.

So that is that. For now.

A Cure For Ennui,Blame and Blue Funk

Sometimes things just get on top of me. Work can be difficult sometimes, as it seems to me that my role includes soaking up all the responsibility for things that go wrong. Guys - sometimes I screw up and sometimes you do too. I don't want to be the Designated Blame Monkey any more.

Hannah threw a little farewell shindig for the lovely Mel on Friday for she is going to Australia for a year. Many moons ago this gathering was supposed to be a demure little tea party with cucumber sandwiches and iced buns. Then 'The Trouble' came along and I got distracted from Nigella recipes and entertaining. Hannah and Raymond Party Planners stepped into the breach and my cucumber sandwiches were replaced by spicy party food from Iceland and my iced buns by something far more potent and the Earl Gray and Chardonnay by Buckfast and Carlsberg.

Mind you the guests were ever so, ever so... including primary school teachers, assorted geniuses, two people with firsts and two people related to people with firsts. Educated people - so rough and ready these days. You cannot take them anywhere! I blame the universities.

Before we got thoroughly drunk I took The Genius Dougie out to see the wildlife. I showed him the Bad Bees, one of which came up and hovered nastily just six inches in front of my midriff giving off buzzy fuck off vibes. I totally respected it and fucked off and it respected me by not stinging me. I then showed Dougie the Nice Bees and we were able to get proper close up to them and view them through the glass crown board. Then we viewed Pearlie through the front windows and she glared at us but luckily no stings or stinging remarks were made when Mel and Hannah ceidhlied with her later.

Saturday - clean, clean, clean. Buckfast everywhere. These geniuses and intellectuals throw more drink around them than they actually imbibe. Perhaps it's for the best. I wouldn't lip the stuff. It's worse than Lucozade (Pearlie's current poison). I'm sure I visited Matty at some point but I disremember the details.

Sunday was Aunt Mary's month's mind and I was halfway home when I turned and went home to bed. I was feeling rather unwell, suffering from ennui, cystitis, depression, the blues, fever, tiredness, blue funk, blame, guilt and a cold in the nose. Later I also suffered from regret. I should have went to Aunt Mary's month's mind. I had an awesome outfit consisting of a Primark vest, a Monsoon jacket, a Fenn Wright Manson skirt and Diesel courts. I was mixing it up. I was so ready for Tannaghmore except for the blue funk, fever etc. Still - Ganching went, worked the room, represented the family and sure I'd only have been in her road.

Monday - Duvet day. I was far too blue to go to work and I still had enough symptoms left to justify it to myself. Then in the afternoon - along came the cure for it all!

A Cure For All A Granny's Ills

After a lovely afternoon spent in the company of Miss Martha and her people and dogs I was ready to resume all my responsibilities.

Hypochondria

Matty informed me that she had what she believed was a mini-stroke on Thursday. "I've had one before," she informed me. I'd taken Matty on her weekly outing to Tescos on Thursday evening and she never mentioned the mini-stroke. She did say that her wrists were very sore. I resolved to give her plenty of help whilst shopping. We started off at magazines, My Weekly and The People's Friend. I glanced quickly at the books then caught myself on, remembering the height of my 'to read' pile. Matty was wandering up the household goods aisle. I tried to keep her in sight. She darted off, then I lost her. I searched up and down the aisles and found that she'd backtracked. I waited for her then became distracted by the office supplies. It was only for a few moments but when I turned round she'd disappeared. Up and down the aisles I went before bumping into her in fruit and veg. I swear she was trying to shake me off. "Wait here," says I, "I'm going to get some onions." I was quick as I could be but of course she hadn't waited. She never, never does. I had another searching match for her with no success and after throwing a few bits in my trolley I decided to call it an evening and tried to catch her before she got to checkout. She'd got there before me and smiled triumphantly as she took the last item out of her trolley. At least I was able to pack for her while she went off for a scratch card. I'd exhausted myself looking for her and didn't get a quarter of the things I needed but, thanks be, I did get the gin. In the car she winced at the soreness of her wrists but never mentioned the mini-stroke. We talked about an appointment with her GP to discuss pain relief. On Friday I phoned her from work and she said she wasn't feeling that well so I went to visit her during my lunch break and made up a bed for her and put together a rhubarb crumble. She was expecting Ganching for the weekend. She seemed perky enough. No mention of the mini-stroke. On Saturday I went to the car boot sale at Dunsilly and was sitting in Matty's at eight o'clock. Ganching had to pick up a hire car so I said I'd take Matty to Randalstown for a coffee. She'd already had her usual toast and tea breakfast. She was keen as mustard and we went to the Forge and had Ulster Frys. Matty ate everything except a tiny bit of bacon and pronounced it very enjoyable. I wanted to go to the charity shop to see if they'd sold any of their high-priced books. They all seemed to be there, the book on the 19th century religious revival (big chapter on Kells & Connor, 55 pounds) and the book on Winston Churchill (12.50) , and the Arthur Grimble (17.50) and one at 75 quid, damme if I can remember what that was, but it was in very middling condition. Matty complained of not feeling great while she was there so we didn't stay long. When we got home I made a cuppa and she told me about the mini-stroke. When I got home I looked up mini-strokes on the internet and I really don't think she has had one. There are no obvious symptoms and apart from her complaining, which is usual, she seemed well enough, with a good appetite, talking normally, no real difference in her movements or appearance. If a doctor in a hospital once told her that she had suffered a mini-stroke I would think that he/she may have been (a) talking shite, (b) she didn't hear them properly, (c) she imagined it, (d) he/she was thinking of the woman in the next bed or (e) she really had one. But Matty is a panicker when it comes to her health. Her GP once told her, maybe 25 years ago, after she presented him with a host of vague symptoms, that he was going to test her for Multiple Sclerosis. She told me that she fully expected she'd end up in a wheelchair. I have other stories like that but I'm not going to tell them right now. I'll never forget how upset I felt when I heard that. Then I felt angry that she upset me because she didn't have MS, no wheelchair was necessary. Matty, when she's in good enough form, is a great woman. She has many wonderful qualities and I'm glad she is my mother. I love her. I do not love her preoccupation with illness and I feel that it has blighted her life. But now that she is over 80 and she does have angina and she does have painful arthritis and thyroid problems and I don't know how I should deal with her. I try to be supportive and I worry about her lots. But if I'm honest, I have to say that I find her never-ending preoccupation with illness hard to handle. I used to try all kinds of strategies when we were both younger such as ignoring her, jollying her along (I still use that one), reasoning with her, getting cross with her but now she is very old I have to find new strategies. What do you do with a mum who has had hypochondriac tendencies all her life and then she gets really old and she does have health issues? Maybe there's a simple answer. I've got a feeling somebody out there might have it. We are going to the doctor tomorrow and I'm going in with her. That's a start.

The Piglet, The Health Visitor and CS Lewis

When I had Zoë I was very young and silly. I knew hardly a thing about babies and yet I thought I knew everything. I was not looking forward to meeting our Health Visitor. Matty had told me that District Nurses and Health Visitors were terrible old harridans who would ‘ate the face of you for anything’ I was dreading her visit for I thought we would disagree about everything

Now at that time my father kept a couple of sows and soon after I came home with the new baby one of them pigged. As usual there was a runt in the litter and he was brought into the house for hand feeding. This became my job so it meant I had two babies to feed. The piglet was always fed first as he squealed a lot harder than Zoë.

The morning of the Health Visitor’s first visit Zoë, the pig and myself were the only ones at home. I’d fed the pig and nursed Zoë and I was just about to give her a bath. I had the baby bath ready on the living room floor and I was undressing her when the door knocked. Oh no! My first visit from the Health Visitor and the baby is half-naked and unwashed. I invited her in. She sat down. I decided to abandon the bath for fear of accidentally drowning the child owing to my state of nerves but still went all fingers and thumbs and couldn’t operate the poppers on Zoë’s babygro at all. I felt sure the Health Visitor was watching me and thinking that I was a very ineffectual mother.

Then the piglet started to squeal from his box beside the Rayburn. “What’s the noise?” the Health Visitor asked. “It’s a baby pig.” I replied. She looked a bit nervous at this for she was from Belfast. “It’s OK,” I said, “It can’t get out of the box.” Just then the piglet chose to make a liar of me by jumping out of the box and looking around expectantly. The Health Visitor gasped. The piglet came over to me and snuffled at my feet. Then he got into the baby bath and had a little paddle about. He climbed out of the bath with his little wet trotters and sniffed at the Health Visitor’s feet. She screamed and drew her feet up as if the pig was going to bite her. I managed to lay the unpoppered Zoë down without dropping her and got the pig back into his box. I closed the lid on him and set an iron on top of it to keep him from escaping again. I was mortified and thought that the Health Visitor would be horrified that I was rearing my baby along with a pig.

I spent the next few days anxiously waiting for the Welfare to take Zoë into care. I truly believed that the authorities would take a very dim view of her being reared in close proximity to a pig. But no one came and I began to relax again.

The next time the Health Visitor came her first enquiry was for the pig. Well I suppose babies were in every house she went into but pigs were not as common. I told her that he was strong enough now to fight his own corner and he was back in the pig house with the others. She seemed pleased at this although whether it was at his having survived or being back in the shed I do not know.

She turned out to be a great Health Visitor and visited me regularly with little mention made of Zoë. She brought ice cream, which we shared and we would talk about life and books and stuff. She introduced me to CS Lewis’ non-fiction writing for which she had a huge admiration. I cannot say I got much out of them for I much preferred the Narnia books and the Space Trilogy.

It’s all the talk about the Narnia books that has brought Joan the Health Visitor back into my mind. In our house it was Ganching who was the first to read the Narnia Chronicles. I was a bit older than the recommended reading age (mid-teens) but I loved them anyway. The Christian allegorical part passed me by but I do remember thinking along these lines ‘Aslan reminds me of Jesus,’ but being Catholic reared I took that to be heretical and pagan rather than Christian. I guess I just didn’t get allegory then.