Brass Bed

window, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I've had that old bed for nearly thirty years and I paid thirty pounds for it. The woman I bought it from was moving to Kuala Lumpur. There is an interesting story around her move that involves art thieves, drug dealers and dodgy barristers but it is not mine to tell. She was a generous woman that had the brass bed before me, for, with my thirty pounds in her pocket, she took me out to the Golf Club where we drank gin and bitter lemon. That was as far as it went for it turned out I wasn't her type. Not butch enough.

Bert and I dismantled the bed today. I'm turning the spare room into a little office/workroom. It will be good to gather all my paperwork and hobby kit into one part of the house.

What shall we do with the bed? Traditionally, in rural areas, old bedsteads were used to plug gaps in hedges. And we do have a couple of heifers with the wandering inclination.

It would be an ignominious end to a 19th century bed originally hailing from County Donegal. People probably died in that bed, for sure they were conceived and born it. I'm sure more than fifty people slept in it since I've had it. Those notable folk singers Tommy and Colm Sands were among them. And Hannah began in it.

New Pigs

Duroc Boar (below) Pietrain Boar (right)

new pigs, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Eight new pigs for fattening up. Lily and Rusty were most unamused. But if they knew what the newcomers' fate was they might think differently.

These ones were sired by Duroc crossed Pietrain. Bert said he was the most aggressive pig he's ever come across. I hope the younguns don't take after Daddy.

Cheers!

Back on the drink again!

28 days off the sauce except for last Thursday which was exceptional circumstances. I still don't know for sure if I'm an alcoholic but rest assured the situation is being closely monitored. At the first suggestion that I am edging towards having 'Bert' and an outlined denim pocket tattooed above my left breast I'm checking straight into rehab.

Wheelbarrow!

Hannah, Martha and I visited two toy shops today. In the first one Hannah fell in raptures at the Sylvanian Animal families. They didn't have meercat families in her day. Martha was very keen on a pink scooter but it was a little bit advanced for her. What we were really looking for was a wheelbarrow. Martha already has a green bucket for egg-collecting and lots of gardening tools but she has no wheelbarrow and she is very fond of toys with wheels.

The wheelbarrow in the meercat and scooter shop was a bit flimsy so we had to go to Camerons. That's where I always bought my girls their Christmas toys. They had some great barrows there. Martha picked a red one and, although I preferred the green, it was her choice. Back home she was aghast when she realised that it was in bits and in her view 'Broke!' but that's whan grandas are for. Bert sat himself down in the polytunnel surrounded by a gaggle of girls, average age 18, to watch him build the barrow. As one of those girls was me and another one Martha you'll know, if you're good at sums, that Sylvie and Maggie are still a fair bit off their teens.

Martha was delighted with Wheelbarrow! And solemnly set off on her maiden voyage. She happily transported an empty eggbox to the henhouse and an eggbox containing one egg from the henhouse to the kitchen. She then carried a load of grapes from the house to the pig pen and watched while Sylvie and Maggie fed them to the kune kunes. On the way back from the pigpen Sylvie's mum threw a weed in her barrow and Martha said nothing. As soon as Sylvie's mum was out of sight she took the weed out and gave it to me. It seems that Wheelbarrow! is far too posh to carry dirty weeds. It was raining and Wheelbarrow! was getting wet so she brought it into the house where she made a thorough inspection of its underside. She was distressed that some German Shepherd fluff was stuck to its wheel and this had to be removed. I did this. Then she anxiously pointed out more hairy mess and I had to clean this too. The barrow then had to be polished with a tea towel. I wonder if Martha really understands the purpose of Wheelbarrow! But it is very red and shiny and new. So who can fault her?

Nelly's Garden

Nelly's Garden, a set on Flickr.

Just a few wee photos of the garden looking good.

The Empty Chair

After Mammy died we decided that we would not be in too much of a hurry to dispose of her possessions. We all felt that we needed some breathing space.

But eventually, we knew it would have to be done.

In this past week a great deal has been done. A great deal still remains to be done but the task has been started.

Kerry Sister has been here for a week and she has worked hard. She left this morning. This afternoon I was baby sitting and called out 'home' to say some sort of a goodbye and while Miss Martha slept, I wept and wept. A lot of tears have been shed in Matty's house this past week.

My parents built that house nearly forty years ago and they hadn't a whole lot of money to do it with so, when the time came to fit and furnish it, they had to make economies. As the years passed Matty replaced nearly all the original furniture with better pieces. These last few years she had it nearly the way she wanted it. I was with her a few years back when she bought her three piece suite and I remember thinking, 'that's going to outlast her'. We all encouraged her to improve the house because we knew how much pleasure she got out of it. The two youngest sisters were very handy and they built her kitchens and laid wooden floors. Every time they came home there would be a project, either woodwork or decorating or hanging new curtains. The young brother would be getting her to modernise her light fittings and overseeing the general maintenance. The rest of us would help out in other ways – maybe driving her around searching for the perfect thing or helping out with a few extra quid towards a new carpet or curtains. I'd get her plants for the garden and I wasn't the only one either.

She was still at it after the diagnosis of terminal cancer - a new back door in July 2010, the Leitrim sister re-upholstering stools and footstools for her. She was even re-organising the china in her corner cabinet from her bed when she couldn't get up.

So – with such a mother you can imagine how painful it has been to take her house apart. To even think about the removal from her home of all the nice furniture she waited so long for is hard. But it is the small things that scald my heart. Her slippers, her handbag, her toiletries and her address book. Her hand writing in this or that notebook. Her bedroom, with her matching wardrobe and chests of drawers and all the personal touches gone now. There are no clothes, no books, no holy pictures, no rosary beads – all that remains now are her embroidered slippers, her toilet bag and a cupboard full of empty hangers. And soon, very soon that will be gone too and Matty's house, our home place, will just be an empty shell.

Great Aunt Nelly

I have a great niece!

Congratulations to Connor and Leanne. I'm looking forward to seeing the little one soon.

A Visit To Rathlin

For many years now I've been meaning to visit Rathlin Island. But somehow the months slipped away and it was winter and then I'd have to defer it for another year.

But this year I was determined to get there. Swisser was up at the weekend and I asked her to come with me. She had been many times before but was more than happy to go again.

We went over on the old ferry. There weren't that many people on it and I'd say about half of them were members of the PSNI. Swisser and I were intrigued. We wondered if there was a serious crime wave on the island and the police were going in mob-handed to sort it out. There was a Massey Ferguson tractor and bush-whacker on board as well as the police Land Rover and an unaccompanied trailer load of building blocks. When we got to the island the crew asked the police to take the trailer off the boat and they happily obliged. It looked odd to see a police vehicle hauling building materials but Rathlin seems to be that sort of place. People just do what has to be done.

We set off walking to visit the RSPB bird sanctuary. It was a fair walk on a hot day but glorious. There is no intensive agriculture on the island and consequently the meadows and verges are teeming with the flowers and wildlife that I remember from fifty years ago. We saw harebells, wild angelica, meadowsweet, a variety of thyme and all the meadow grasses and flowers that are rarely seen at home.

I enjoyed the reserve. Although there were lots of other visitors the ambience was pretty wonderful. Just people of all ages delighting in the spectacular views of the colonies of birds. We saw guillemots, razorbills, fulmars, puffins, cormorants and many other seabirds. The guides were helpful and informative. I'd recommend this to anyone with even the slightest interest in wildlife.

Of course by this time my big silly face was as red as a tomato from the sun, so we decided to take the Puffin bus back to the harbour. That too was an experience. The driver was packing punctured bicycles into the back compartment, rescuing cyclists, everyone who got on had to clamber over a dog called Theo and no one minded and meanwhile the Puffin driver had us all in stitches with his banter and nonsense. He gave a running commentary of the history of the island and a bit of current affairs as well. We got dropped off at a little bay where grey seals were enjoying the sun at the edge of the water.

We weren't the only ones either. I'm sure there must have been twenty other people, most of them children, observing the seals. The animals did not seem too perturbed. I got the impression they are well used to it.

We never did find out exactly what the police were up to (even though we asked them) but I don't think it involved anything worrying for they all looked pretty happy and were enjoying the views, taking photographs of each other and they seemed to like the bird sanctuary. It will ever remain one of life's mysteries for me.

We took the new fast ferry back which was smooth and speedy but not nearly as much fun as heading over with tractors, trailers and the polis.

I can't wait to return to explore the rest of the island although I'll be lucky ever to hit on such a beautiful, beautiful day.

And I can't believe I waited so long to visit somewhere practically on my doorstep yet one of the locals told me that there are many people in Ballycastle who have never visited the island. Imagine!

The Sting

I had big plans for today but they didn't work out. For the second time in just over a week one of our hives swarmed. I came over to see the sight but didn't don the bee suit (big mistake) as I was right in the middle of a gardening project. Bert said, "They're really quiet, they won't touch you." He was probably right about 29,999 of them. The Psycho Bee stung me right in the throat. I was annoyed but not too worried. While Bert went off to capture the swarm I returned to my gardening. Young Rainey turned up and I broke off to chat with him.

It must have been forty minutes before I realised something was up. My skin felt on fire and little pimples rose up all over me. My chest felt tight and I was itchy all over. I got a pain in the middle of my back. I felt panicky. Young Rainey was Googling bee stings on his iPhone and reading out the symptoms. I panicked some more. He advised I went to the doc. I pooh-poohed thinking that I was imagining everything except the rash, which was getting worse by the moment. When my hands started to swell up in front of my eyes I did realise something was up.

I got my rings off in time and got Bert to take me to the GP which, luckily, is only five minutes away. It was out of hours so I got seen straight away. According to the doc I was having an allergic reaction, uncomfortable but not life-threatening (TG). He prescribed steroids (six straight away) antihistamine and an adrenaline shot in case I got stung again. He did not suggest we get rid of the bees.

I got worse before I got better. The hives all ran into each other and made giant hives about eight inches long and 3 inches wide. I felt as if I was on fire. But I did not scratch. I was nauseous and could not eat. I was shattered. Although it was a sad loss of a glorious day I spent most of the afternoon sleeping in bed. Here's hoping for more garden work tomorrow.

Not Psycho Bee

The thing is I've been stung lots of time before with minimal side effects. I wonder what was different about this time?

And the bees? Apparently, according to our favourite bee man, who knows everybody in the Irish bee world, we've got 'swarmy' queens and they'll never settle until we change them for sweet-tempered, settled queens which we'll probably have to import from England. See this bee-keeping lark? It's not easy. And don't get me started on bastes (cattle).

Be Aware!

Despite reports that Facebook is losing ground, especially in the United States, it still seems ubiquitous here in the Old Countries. Everybody, the world, his wife and the oul' Granny is on it. The young ones are mad for it with their weird txtspk (which I despise) and, if it used to be that people were cool if they were on it, now it seems they're even cooler if they're not. So obviously I'm not cool.

Social networking can be elevating and depressing in equal measures.

I was recently most depressed to find on checking out Facebook that a young acquaintance of mine had just been punched in the face by her delightful boyfriend and there she was on the internet telling everyone about it. I suppose there was an element of name and shame going on there but if that was the case it was lost on me as I don't know the arsehole. What depressed me was that she felt she had to go on the internet to look for support. Where were her family, her real friends? I'm afraid I did not comment and I may have to defriend. I feel real sympathy for her but I don't know where she lives, I don't have her number and I'm not her friend. What's the point of me knowing?

Then there was another young friend who status-updated her happy thoughts on her impending marriage. It was, and she admitted this, rather cheesy. I felt that other, less happy people might have been upset by her smug-about-to-be-marriedness and thought two things. Quit it! Learn to spell!

To balance out this negativity and blahness I had a private message from a young woman who I'd known as a child and the sentiments she expressed gave me a glow that lasted all day.

Finally, and this is something to beware of - if you die in a tragic accident, accidentally run over your mum, get arrested for murdering patients in a hospital or piss on a war memorial it will be that wacky profile picture from some social networking site that will find it's way into the papers. Think on.

New Stuff

There are people who love getting new stuff. Sometimes I am one of them. I love new clothes, especially pants and socks and I love new pens and books and stuff for the kitchen and duvet covers and plants and other things like that.

And while I like the idea of new cameras, TVs, phones, computers and so on I am not so keen on the reality. I am the kind of person who could buy a new peripheral for my computer and leave it in its box for six weeks because the dread of setting it up and getting it to work paralyses me.

Today I got a new phone and a new TV. The new phone was because I put my old one in the sink with the dishes and attempted to wash it. I did not mean to do it but I was in a terrible tizzy because I had had a lot of company staying over for more than a week and I was in this robotic trance of must wash dishes, must wash dishes.

Anyways the phone is up and running although my contacts have disappeared. The TV is a different matter. It is unlike any I had before. It is out of its box but that is because Young Loveheart tuned it in for me and did lots of other complicated stuff involving the attic and swearing at McSquirter (Hannah will know what that means). I was even able to watch New Tricks and News at Ten but changing the channel fucked it up. It's OK because Young Loveheart is coming back tomorrow to tweak something after Bert buys some other thing from the electrical shop in Cully.

I'm very confident that the TV will be up and running by Thursday so that if one of Bert's annoying friends turns up to talk about matters horticultural, I will be able to escape upstairs and not miss The Killing.

Then later on, when he feels like it and I feel like it, Young Loveheart is going to show me how to work the electric sewing machine that has been sitting unopened in its box for three months. Then I can make a start on that patchwork quilt for Miss Martha.

In other news I have decided not to drink for a month. I'll let you know how that goes.

Ooops!

This evening, in a frenzy of dish cleaning, I picked up my mobile phone and immersed it in a sinkful of sudsy water. It was strange to see its bright little face blinking out at me through the Fairy Liquid soup - gave me such a start. So I did what any sensible person would do. Abandoned dish washing for I was obviously overdoing it. A child took my phone apart and set its component parts in a warm dry place (thanks Ben) while I cracked open a bottle of Italian red.

The phone may or may not survive. Who cares? Not me.

Biking It

Matty and I went out for a bike ride probably a quarter of a century ago. I can't recall very much about it. I only know that I was with her for that is my blue ladies racer lying in the hedge. It's not that good a photograph - I should have got all of Matty's bike in there and avoided those pylons. And yet - it is a good picture. Look at her happy, happy face.

It is one of those pictures taken in the olden days that were not considered good enough for a frame or an album, just one of those photographs thrown in a box and forgotten about. Then decades pass and everything changes and then they become precious. That bike ride I can barely remember but there she is. We must have enjoyed ourselves for just look at her happy, happy face.

The Horticulturist's Apprentice

Martha takes her duties as trainee horticulturist seriously. Here she is testing strawberries. She also tested blueberries but we don't have a photograph as we were too busy testing them ourselves.

Martha surveys the vegetable plot. She likes to confuse the senior gardeners by switching labels around. She thinks that if we can't tell a turnip from a carrot by now we should get ourselves another occupation.

She casts her eye over Bert's clematis to ensure that they are ready for selling on.

Here we find the little gardener potting on some of Great-granny's house plants. This job was seriously overdue and it took Martha's encouragement for Granny Nelly to get a wriggle on!

Keeping Busy

Bert and I had a busy, busy day yesterday. OK - Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest but we had loads to do. We worked in the garden all day long and only had two visitors - Rachael on co-op business and Young Rooney. They didn't stay long. We finished the day with a barbecue, home-grown pork from the freezer and home-grown vegetables from the garden with wine from Asda's finest range. We're not self-sufficient in wine yet but that's s an ongoing project. I have parsnips and rhubarb in the freezer and blackcurrants in the fridge. The meal was delicious but I could have done with a little bit of company.

We were busy today as well. (When did I ever get time to go out to work?) And we had lots of company. We had Rachael and Les and Dessie and Marty and Rod and Rod's mum and Tracy and Kelly and Matt and Zoe and Dave and Martha. And we managed to keep some of them for company for tonight's barbecue.

Sometimes life can be sweet.

Looking On

turkey chicks 1, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Lucy, Martha and Judy contemplate Christmas Dinner to come.

Strange to think that such delightful little chicks will grow into great ugly, daft, delectable, free-range and organic Christmas Dinners.

What's A Body To Do?

So here I am with this blog that I can hardly be bothered with. My life has come to a stand still and I have nothing to write about any more.

For instance, take today. I was wakened at around 5am with my chest, my throat, my sinuses and went downstairs to make a cup of tea. Returned to bed with said cup of tea, went through a mountain of tissues and fell asleep until 11 o' clock. I had noted earlier that there was no evidence of an amazing sunny day (as promised) so seemed little point in getting up.

Due to Bert also sleeping in, the pigs and hens also had a lie-in. I dragged myself out and sorted them out. They were very forgiving of our tardiness.

Today I wanted Matty. Although, prior to her diagnosis, I had often been exasperated by her obssession with her health, the good side of that was that she was most sympathetic to any ailments her children suffered from. Had she been around, and relatively well, she'd have been advising me to take it easy, get medicine, look after myself. I found myself missing that so much. So I went to visit her. even though I knew it was almost a pointless exercise because she wasn't there in the graveyard beside St Comgall's. But I brought flowers from the garden, picked the nicest roses, weeded the Herb Robert from her plot and did a bit of thinking and crying. Those flowers will probably only last a couple of days but it's the thought, isn't it?

Then I called with the young brother who has had a misfortune. His motorbike got smashed in an accident on the A26 this morning. He seems to have got away with bruising but he has a dodgy back and I'm worried about him. Matty would have been terribly worried too. That's roadworks. Two roads closed with no notice to the residents. OK - it probably was in the local rags but who reads those? Except sad sacks like me who are supposed to be seeking paid employment.

So really I should get a grip of myself. I've got a cold. Our Joe's bike is smashed, he is sad and sore. Cousin Joe has just come through brain surgery and one of the priests who officiated at Matty's funeral (also a local lad) has had a devastating stroke. So I've little to complain about. But if I could have just one kind word from Matty I'd be OK.

leap

leap, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

See Bert on his new (to him) toy. That meadow won't know what hit it.

Judy won't need to do as much leaping through the long grass as she's been used to doing.

Bonnie? She doesn't do leaping. She just does 'ponder' and 'sedate.'

Days Like These

Hurrah for the days that aren't too depressing. Today was such a day, even though I had to 'sign on'. At least the Job Centre, or whatever you call it these days, is not as dreary as it used to be.

I had Martha today and I also had Hannah. When 'Ha!' is around Miss Martha doesn't pay me too much attention but that's all right. We also had some surprise visitors, Sylvie and Maggie, both around six or seven, and Martha was thrilled to be hanging out with the big girls. They had fun with the dogs, fun with the car, fun with the pigs, fun on the gravel pile and fun on the swing.

I did teach Martha how to blow her nose on rose petals. I'm sure she thinks now that that's the proper thing to do.

Bert had hive work to do but sensibly left it until after all the girls had gone home. Just as well as he enraged the bees again. I spotted him racing past with a cloud of the little buzzing bastards pursuing him. As usual he didn't gird his loins as well as he oughta. He wore the protective smock, veil and gloves but did not protect his nether regions. The bees flew up the legs of his jeans and he had to race to the poly tunnels and debag. He was commando as well so think of the risk he was taking and imagine, if you can bear it, the sight of Bert wearing nothing but a beekeeper's smock. Thankfully no one was around. I wish I'd been out there – with my camera. I might have had to do a bit of pixellating for decency's sake.

Why,

Says I,

Did you not tuck your trousers into your socks and wear boots?

Sure,

Says he,

I was only putting a honey super on for them.

Bert thinks that if he's just going to be working with the bees for a short time that they'll not attack him. This, despite the fact that they always, always do. At least they only stung him on his shins and calves. Six stings in all and still no honey.

I Lost My Mojo

Since Matty died I have found myself short of inspiration for this blog. Sometimes I get an idea about something I want to write about but the flow isn't there. I can't seem to write from the heart any more as there are others affected by her death just as I am.

A friend told me that after her last surviving parent, her father died, she became obsessed with thoughts of her own mortality and she found this very difficult to deal with. I remember that she was extremely concerned about her two sons, both still at school, as to how they would manage if she were to die. She said she found these feelings more manageable as time passed.

And so it goes. Now I'm obsessed with death and illness too. I should be grateful that my immediate family are all well but I find myself fearing what might happen to the people I love.

Our extended family is a large one and as I've written before we received an enormous amount of support from them when Matty was ill. This week we heard that one of our cousins has been struck by serious illness. If you believe in prayer please add to yours our dear cousin and his family.

Father's Day

my parents at home, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Every day was Father's Day when Daddy lived at home.

Snippy Snip Snip. Here I Come!

I've been feeling rather depressed recently - the weather, orphanhood, stuff like that. Yesterday I got called upon by two distressed people who needed my support, so I decided I was fed up of being in a funk and that I would make a big effort to crawl out of the slough of despond.

So today I gardened. I gardened for six and a half hours.

I edged.

I weeded.

I trimmed.

I divided.

I tied up.

I watered.

I fertilised.

I potted on.

I made two little planters for Matty's grave and I took lots of climbing hydrangea and vitis cuttings.

But I missed the little snips we used to have when Dee Mac was here. They were dinky little sharp things that could do delicate work when it came to taking cuttings. You could put them in your pocket and occasionally when you'd move or bend they'd stick into you. They'd give you just a little prick - no harm done.

I decided to seek them out on the internet which, incidentally, seems to be on a go-slow today. I tried Amazon. I found just what I wanted. I tried to buy them and I wasn't allowed! They are apparently too hazardous to send to Northern Ireland or the Channel Islands. I daresay I could kill someone with them but it would take ages and to tell the truth I've got much scarier sharpishness in my kitchen drawer.

So Much For Summer

I try not to complain about the weather but this is getting ridiculous. I'm thinking of unpacking the thermals. Although we did just have a recent heatwave - it was on Friday last and I spent it in a wheeled tin box travelling to Kerry.

My paeonies, foxgloves and aquilegia are all battered down with the rain, the bees are eating all the honey themselves and I still have to water the vegetables in the poly tunnel. I found a dead bird by the lane today. I think it must have drowned.

Family Stuff

On Friday I spent 8 and a half solid hours with my youngest brother and his dog. This has never happened before.

The Brother's Dog

On Saturday I found myself somewhere West of Dingle with two sisters, a brother-in-law, a niece and the afore-mentioned youngest brother. The occasion was the half-century of one of the sisters. She threw a party and invited people from six to 60. Sadly for the niece the twenty-somethings were in short supply so she went to bed earlier than the rest of us. I think I stayed up until after 5 a.m.

Somewhere West of Dingle

On Sunday I spent eight solid hours with the youngest brother and his dog. On the way down on Friday we baked and on the way home we shivered. Yet we still ate ice-cream on both of our journeys. We probably spent more time together on that trip than in our entire previous life. I think I like him. I certainly like his dog.

On Monday I spent the afternoon with Miss Martha, her parents and her dogs. She was still a little surly from her recent illness and was not as demonstrably thrilled with the dress I bought her in Dingle, as I had wished for. I'm not worried. I know she will come to love it.

Dress For A Precious Little Miss

Party People

This post contains a little quiz. What do the white arrows indicate?

Please choose from the following answers

1. Holy well. lake, water-fall, donkey

2. Spider, leprechaun, claw, Scarveen

3. Ring of Kerry, Slea Head seagull, Mount Brandon, sheep

4. Birthday Girl, Good Egg, Blonde Bombshell,

Working and Sharing

Apparently, in these times of austerity, there are folk with a bit of ground to spare who are letting out allotments to keen vegetable growers. Most people these days only have pocket handkerchief gardens. It's not like the olden days when it was assumed that folk would be raising their own carrots and cabbages in their back gardens. Nowadays the average back garden allows for a rotary clothes line and an oil tank. No room there for a veggie patch.

We are people with a bit of ground to spare but you won't catch us making money from the landless. No - we are people with a bit of ground to spare who like to share. Currently we have three households gardening at Nellybert's. One are family, two are friends. Things can be a bit haphazard at times. The Co-op should have a plan but we're winging it mostly. We hope that we'll learn lots from our errors this year and move on to bigger and better next year.

We also have an independent gardener, not part of our Co-op. He's rather close to the bees and the bees hate him. I really do hope those buzzing brutes don't drive him away.

I like having people around the place. It feels right. Next time we raise pigs there will be more folk involved and we definitely need more hens. Life is not just about money. It's also about working together and sharing.

Month's Mind

This Sunday morning Bert and I did something we've never done together before. We got up early and went to church. And on the way we picked up Hannah and Jakers and they went too.

It was Matty's Month's Mind today.

I did not cry at my father's funeral, nor did I weep at Matty's. It was far too soon, far too raw and for everyone's sake I had to hold myself together. But I did feel emotional today. Father F., who had been with her when she passed, said the Mass and we were all very glad that he did because he had been a wonderful support to Matty, and to us all, throughout the time of her illness.

Looking around that little chapel today I saw so very many friends. family and neighbours who had helped Matty and helped us all throughout her illness and before it. She was a very fortunate woman to have lived in such a caring community.

Many people have told us that we, as a family, did a fine thing keeping Mammy at home during her illness and ensuring that her quality of life was good right up until her final weeks. I do think we did a fine thing although, at times, it was very difficult. It wasn't the looking after our mother that was the hardest part, it was the fear that we would not be able to sustain it. But we did. We helped each other and we were helped in so many ways by so many different people.

That is why I felt emotional today. Today I was part of a community that I'd once belonged to, a community that my mother belonged to right up until her final moments. And also a family. A big family, an extended family, who look after each other and are there when it matters. I often told Matty how lucky she was to have so many people in her life that cared about her. Now I realise that I am lucky too.

Happy Birthday Husband!

Happy Birthday Bert. I nearly missed getting this one in. A picture from the olden days when Danny was young, slim and gorgeous. And so were you! And you still are.