Ten Things I Did on Mother's Day

 I woke up worrying about the Antarctic Ice Shelf, then decided that my fretting about it would not help.

Listened to the dawn chorus and estimated that there must be at least a thousand birds living nearby. Sounded like it anyway.

I thought about my own mother.

I sowed lots of vegetable seeds.

And entertained two adopted sons and a girlfriend. Received a Mother’s Day gift from Locky.

Participated in the naming of the most recent calf born on this farm. He is to be called Sparrow.

Spoke to my Katkin from Norfolk. She has had a bout of Covid. That’s all of my children have had it now.

Pondered my tendency to feel guilty about everything.

Did lots of knitting.

Did lots of weeding.

It's a long way from Clare to here

 

On Thursday last we drove to Doolin in County Clare to attend a wedding party. The drive down was delightful apart from Bert's worry that our vehicle wasn't up for it. The engine sounded a bit funny, the speedo wasn't working and the wipers could have used new blades. Bert fretted a lot but the old girl got us there in the end.

I had been thinking before we went that Bert and I would probably end up sitting with the old folks and I wasn't sure what I thought about that. But it turned out that the person at the do who was the best craic was ninety years old and, unlike us, she was well up for the next afternoon's session in the pub.

For unfortunately both Bert and Leitrim Sister were incapacitated the next day by a stomach bug. Which meant that we did not get an opportunity to visit the flaggy shore lauded by Seamus Heaney. So, as other guests worked on their future hangovers, Bert and I rested in our room. He slept and I finished My Name is Lucy Barton and on closing the last page, reached for my phone to order Anything Is Possible.

Poor Bert and Leitrim Sister were still too unwell to go to dinner that evening and I found myself seated with my Glaswegian brother-in-law and his dear ma, she who is ninety. We had a good old time discussing family life and politics. B-in-L opined that the best start on dealing with climate change was to round up the government, get 'em up against a wall and... well you know the next bit. 

By the next morning Bert was feeling better but still very anxious about the van. So I took the time to say the Memorare before we left. Ominously, I forgot some of the words but made it through on the second try.

My prayer must have been heard because not only did the van get us home in six hours, but the wipers worked beautifully and the speedo started working again just after Lisdoonvarna. Miraculous. We gave Mary a nod as we passed Knock.

And on passing St Mary's in Bellaghy, I made a promise to Seamus that another time, we'll drive out west again, along the Flaggy Shore.

Rainy Day Woes

Today I did not go for a walk but I did go to visit and old and very dear friend who is recovering from serious illness in a nursing home. That did me far more good than a walk. Anyway, it was teeming down with rain and I have a big worry on my mind. This is the kind of worry that actually belongs to someone else. The weight of it is on Nellybert now but it is going somewhere else. I really wish it did not exist.

In other news, I need a new camera. Readers may have noticed the absence of photographs. I do have the means of taking pictures but not rainy pictures. I'm so glad we live on a hill and that Bert has wood working skills, the tools and the wood. We will have time to build that ark. Such a shame so many of our animals are sterilised.

Poorly Pig Tale

Rusty got sick last weekend and at first we thought it was a return of the pneumonia that he suffered from when he was a little pig. We got a shot from the vet and put him under an infra red lamp. It was a bad sign that he just stood there and took the shot. Poor thing was too weak to struggle.

Lily made all our lives difficult. It is so hard to nurse a sick pig when there is another one vying for attention, the warmest part of the enclosure and all the food so we decided to separate them.

He was completely off food and would not drink so we brought the vet out the following day. His verdict was that Rusty had 'got a foundering' and we were to give him warm liquids and tie a blanket around him. His temperature was low and he got another shot to prevent him from taking anything while his resistance was low, He needed to be warmer. So we built him a little den within a stall with rubber matting and piles of cardboard on the floor. It was lined with bales of hay and he had piles of straw bedding. This kept the heat in as did the blanket tied round his big round middle. He still wasn't eating or drinking but he was starting to feel warmer.

Rusty on the mend

The next morning I went out half expecting him to be dead but when I went into the house there were morning snuffles and grunts coming from both sides. Rusty was up and he felt considerably warmer. He took a decent amount of water and afterwards a bowl of warm mash which he wolfed down. While all this was going on Lily was squealing with rage so as soon as I'd finished with Rusty she got her breakfast too. I went indoors to tell Bert the good news.

I had the dentist that day and while I was out I stocked up on strawberries, grapes and bananas for the patient. As soon as I got back I was hand feeding strawberries to the poorly boy while his sister raged. She got some but Rusty had most of them. Lily knew she was being short changed.

Rusty continued to eat and drink so we put them together for a while. That did not work out as Lily started to bully him. He is a great lump with big scary tusks yet he is mortally afraid of his sister. He is a far nicer pig than Lily.

I had another appointment today and while I was gone Bert tried them together again leaving a door ajar so that Rusty could escape her wrath if he needed to. After a while he heard them squealing and within moments Rusty was at the back door looking in at Bert with a beseeching 'rescue me' expression. I don't know what we are going to do. If I felt he was completely well I would let them sort it out between them but that doesn't seem fair when he is recuperating.

 The day the pigs came

People – pet pigs are not for the faint-hearted. In fact they are not for anyone who has an ounce of sense.

In other news – my hospital appointment in Belfast went very well and it seems I will be getting my cataract surgery sooner rather than later.

Strawberries are their favourite food

December Daily Post, No. 9

I am writing this with great difficulty. My sight has worsened. I have just got back from the doctor and I am to see an eye specialist this afternoon. I am very frightened even though my GP says she sends at least two patients a month to this emergency clinic.

Preparations for Christmas? None. I'm even wondering if there will be a Christmas.

What's Going On

Two weekends ago Pearlie got sick. On the Saturday night she was in a lot of pain. I thought it might be the crampy, colicky pains she suffers from occasionally and managed to settle her down. The following night I awoke at around 2am and was unable to get back to sleep. I was listening all the time to hear if she was crying out. Then at 4am I was just about to drop off when I heard her wailing. I raced downstairs. Her bedside lights were off and the overhead light was dim and I wasn't wearing my glasses so at first I did not see what ailed her. As I moved closer to the bed I saw that she had been vomiting blood. A lot of blood. I got Bert up and she continued to vomit. I called an emergency ambulance and they arrived about 30 minutes later.

She was kept in hospital for four days and several tests were carried out but they could not identify the point of the bleed. Gastritis was mentioned, as was a burst ulcer. She received a few blood transfusions. On the fourth day she was discharged. Five days later her tummy started to swell and her navel turned from an innie to an outie. Her skin was tinged a yellowy shade. I called the GP who was concerned enough to refer her back to hospital. They kept her for a few hours, did an X-ray and some blood tests and sent her home again none the wiser. Apparently it is 'normal' for an elderly person to have a tummy so hard and swollen that their navel pops out.

This is what I think. The hospital (Antrim Area) does not give one damn about patients in their late eighties. They are seen as nuisances and bed-blockers. And this is what I want. I want her to be at home but I want to know what is wrong with her so she can receive the appropriate care and support. As it is we live from day to day never knowing when there is going to be another incident. Bert and I are both so stressed.

And Pearlie? At the moment she is OK. Happy to be home. She is still bloated but does not seem to be in pain. So - until the next time.

I Hold Things Back

I was going to write a post about how 2010 has been a really shit year and how I'll be glad to see the back of it. My reasons for thinking this? Well – for a start there has been too much death and illness in my family. And I have been under a great lot of stress which has impacted on my work life and consequently I am no longer happy in my job. Added to this I have lost my health and fitness mojo, haven't been doing as much walking as I'd like to and have been comfort eating which has resulted in a weight gain of 14 lbs and the relegation of lots of my clothes to the back of the wardrobe.

But then I had to reconsider – was I being unfair to 2010? For it did have its good times and Miss Martha has been a constant source of joy throughout the entire year.

So how did the year pan out? What were its ups and downs?

The downs are easy to remember.

In January Matty's only brother Dessie died the day before his 80th birthday. Matty was, at that time, complaining of stomach pain but wasn't keen on seeing her doctor. Looking back, we can see that for Matty this was odd behaviour. She finally allowed herself to be talked into it. I was sure it would be nothing.

In Spring Daddy's sister Mary went into hospital. She had cancer. Somehow I convinced myself that if Mary had cancer Matty couldn't possibly have it too. But I was wrong. Mary died in May and I was privileged to be one of three nieces at her side. Her passing was peaceful but previously her suffering had been immense.

It was after Aunt Mary's funeral that my three youngest siblings went to receive the news that there would be no treatment for Matty's illness.

Then in November Aunt Josephine died. She had been ill with dementia for a long time. Matty was in hospital when Josephine died, she was recovering from the after effects of a pulmonary embolism. We brought her home on the evening of the funeral and she now requires a serious amount of care, help and looking-after. After seven months of round the clock care from ourselves we, as a family, worry how long we can carry on with it.

I'm not great with stress. It must have been June when things started going wrong at work. I couldn't concentrate and, at the back of my mind, I couldn't convince myself that work concerns were actually important. Of course this is wrong thinking because one's employers don't approve of their workers taking this view. And I knew it was wrong thinking but I couldn't shake it off. Then the stress, the lack of sleep started to impact on my actual performance and it all turned into a vicious circle. Still spinning around in it to this day although it has got slightly better. I still feel as if I stand at the edge of a whirlpool of negativity and disaster. Expect I'm depressed.

It doesn't help that I often feel I'm waiting (impatiently) for all to be over. And not just Matty, Pearlie too and that makes me feel like a really bad person. I wait for my old people to die and then I'm old people and there are people waiting for me to die. Yep. I'm depressed.

Tomorrow I'll write about the best bits of 2010. They deserve a post of their own and pictures, lots of jolly pictures.

St Stephen's Day

Miss Katy and Miss Martha

For a while now I've been waking up at 3 or 4am and have not been able to get back to sleep. Some worry or other will come into my mind, usually something to do with work such as, will the Whoevers get the dents in their fridge freezer sorted out or will the Somebodys get their central heating fixed? And what about that franking machine - will we get it up and running? Will we ever find the black biros again?

Being on holiday I worry about other things. Is the turkey overcooked? Will there be enough room in the oven to cook the Yorkshire Puddings? Does Bert really, truly love me?

After the usual four hours tossing and turning I got up this morning at 8am and made a plan of work. I cooked beef and ham and brussels sprouts with bacon and almonds. I cooked carsnips and mushy peas. Bert and I had previously prepared a Norfolk Bronze turkey with stuffing, a tiramisu and a London cheesecake. Swisser made mustard mash and beetroot. Interesting. Zoe brought chocolate orange cake and home made ice cream.

All my daughters were there with their boys, their dogs and Miss Martha. We had Ploppy and Jenny and the aforementioned Swisser. We missed Mel very much.

Miss Martha had baby-sized Man Flu but bore it stoically. We had a lovely evening.

And now I believe we are going to play Texas Hold-Em.

Just in case you were wondering there wasn't enough room in the oven for the Yorkshire Puddings.

Of Little Calves And Sausage Rolls And Snowy Woods

All that worry. And at the heel of the hunt it was all pretty much unnecessary. That situation that has caused me so many restless days and nights is close to being satisfactorily resolved.

This weekend has been good despite not going anywhere except to Cully and getting a hand taken out of me by the butcher.

I want some sausage meat.

Certainly. How much would you like?

About enough to make a dozen sausage rolls

I thought he was giving me rather a lot but I didn’t like to say. And you know – he was right. It was enough to make a dozen sausage rolls – if each sausage roll was a foot long! Still Pearlie can eat the surplus. She likes a sausage but always complains that we don’t skin them for her. And what is sausage meat but unskinned sausages?

Then we’ve all been agog with Northern Ireland’s latest political scandal.

Iris Robinson should take a leaf out of my book when it comes to the younger man. Instead of seducing her young man and setting him up in a cafe she should simply bake him a nice plate of scones and bask in the glow when he says,

Honestly Nelly I’m not just saying this but those were the nicest scones I have ever tasted – in my whole life!

Maybe not as exciting as an illicit affair but I bet I’m feeling a whole lot better today than Mrs Robinson is.

That sweet compliment wasn’t the only lovely thing to happen this weekend.

Bert and I took a walk this evening. If there is one thing I like about this snow stuff that is its effect on our 12 acre wood. Ah sure it’s only a baby wood but right now it looks like Narnia. Going for a tramp through it just before it gets dark is a delight. The snow is more than a foot deep in places. Foxy’s tracks were clearly visible and we kept rising woodcock. The long-eared owls live in the Scots Pines at the edge of the wood but sadly not a glimpse this evening.

And it might seem strange to have taken pleasure in this, but yesterday one of our two new calves gave Bert the slip and took to his little clackety heels. He needed to be caught before he made for the road so Bert gave me a shout. There was no way the little devil was coming quietly so we got him haltered and he bucked and leaped while I held him (Bert had him by the tail) and at one point I nearly went down but we got him back in and I was ever so pleased with myself because a few years ago I wouldn’t have been fit enough to manage it.

So what shall I worry about now? Oh yes. There’s that matter of Hannah heading to the Americas next weekend. Weather permitting.

Please God No

Is this the return to our dark days?

Reasons Not To Blog

Myself and a fellow blogger had a conversation tonight. The subject was blogging. She says,

Do you ever think of stopping?

Not really,

says I.

Why would I do that?

Reasons Not To Blog

• I can't/won't blog about my work life because it's business and, unlike my feelings for my previous job, I actually would care if I got dooced.
• I've got a lot of heavy feelings about home life, responsibilities and ageing that are mostly to do with living with Pearlie. I haven't worked these out yet. All I know so far is that looking after an elderly relative is not about being a nice person. In fact it brings out your inner shit and it doesn't feel that great.
• Is blogging even where it's at these days? So many good bloggers have fallen by the wayside.
• Then there are the big issues. It seems trivial to blog about chickens and foxes and cake and gin when I'm secretly worried (not so secret now) about the world, specifically climate change, the economy, global politics and getting old.
• I'm also worried about my drinking. I rarely get noticeably drunk but since Pearlie came to live with us I drink a little bit of alcohol pretty much every day.
• And then of course there's my obsession with wordgames on Facebook. First it was the late lamented Scrabulous, sadly missed, now the equally addictive Wordscraper. When would a body get time to blog?

Change Coming

How’s Pearlie?

She’s doing not too badly considering.

She’s been in a nursing home for just over a week now but I’m afraid she doesn’t like it. I don’t blame her because the home she’s in is one of those huge chains. Smells like pee and staff seem a bit thin on the ground. There’s damn all going on in there other than folk just sitting around waiting to die.

We decided a couple of weeks ago that Pearlie should come over into the house with us. This is scheduled to take place in 4-5 days and Pearlie says she’s ‘dreading it’.

Mmmm.

Pearlie doesn’t want to stay on her own any longer. She doesn’t want to go into a home and Bert doesn't want it for her either.

I’m not entirely sure why Pearlie is dreading the move across the yard. What she says is that she needs to go to the toilet at around five am and she doesn’t think that Bert and I can manage it. I don’t think we can either. When I suggested that she come to us I thought the only upheaval would be that of the carers in and out all day. But since she’s been in hospital and the home they’ve been getting her up to the toilet at the scrake of dawn – or so she says.

I say to Bert – she needs two people to help her. We cannot do it on our own.

He says – that’s just them and their health and safety regulations.

I say – you were on your own with her when she fell. I’m not going to take that risk.

Pearlie’s not the only one who is worried about what’s in front of her.

Things Change

I've been reading a lot of Barbara Trapido recently. In Noah's Ark (1984) Noah is preparing for a trip to New York and he asks his wife if there are any cartons of orange juice that he can take with him, as he never gets enough to drink on the plane. His wife then reminds him to bring scissors to open the cartons. How strange that sounds now. Noah might find himself in Gitmo if he tried doing that today.

Then in Brother of the More Famous Jack (1982) Jane Goldman smokes a cigarette and drinks a glass of wine. And she's pregnant! No one blinks an eye in 1982. Nowadays her unborn child would be placed on an At Risk Register.

It was in the early 80s that we thought we were all going to die in a nuclear accident, disaster, war, whatever. Maybe we still will. Who knows? If we survived that then our lives would be blighted, our babies blinded by genital herpes. Once Aids came along herpes was never talked about. Now Aids, in this continent anyway, is hardly mentioned and we're all going to die from obesity or die out because of chlamydia or contraceptives in the water supply.

And yes - I do worry about global warming and the environment. But not that much. Because in twenty years time we'll all be worrying about something else altogether. That's if we're still here.