Ride A Cockhorse

Sometime in the very early sixties

That is Bert on his rocking horse. The picture was taken in the yard. I expect he soon outgrew his toy for it spent decades in the attic of this house. Eventually, while the renovation was going on, it ended up in a shed. Then a few years ago Bert dragged it out and repainted it.

Fifty years later - Miss Martha and Cockhorse

The first time Martha played on Bert's old rocking horse I recited the following poem.

Ride a cockhorse to Banbury Cross

To see a fine lady on a white horse

Rings on her fingers

And bells on her toes

She shall have music wherever she goes

I remember Matty reciting this version to me when I was a little. Bert never named his horse but Martha decided straight away that Cockhorse should be its name.

Oh October!

Oh October! How I have longed for you. No more parties, no more weddings.

The last wedding is today. I am channelling the Dowager Countess of Grantham. Watch out for my acid tongue and devastating one liners. I will also NOT BE DRINKING.

Blackberry Way

I maybe got a dozen of this size

I had one of those As Good As It Gets moments this afternoon. I was up the back lane, accompanied by three dogs, picking blackberries while Robert Powell read The Well-Beloved to me.

The weather wasn't quite as fine as yesterday and the blackberries weren't as plentiful as last year but it was good.

I remember picking blackberries with Zoe a few years ago and she was carefully selecting the biggest and juiciest berries leaving the scrawnier specimens behind while I picked all within reach. She would have trouble covering the bottom of the pail with the big ones this season.

Moving On

I thought I was running out of energy a while back. And I thought it was going to be forever, but I was wrong.

I have just spent time with Miss Martha for four days in a row. The night she stayed over was tiring but it did not take me long to get over it.

Since the beginning of August I have started blackcurrant, rhubarb, damson, parsnip and more rhubarb wine. All of these have been made from home-grown fruit and vegetables. It was not always me that grew them but that is no matter. I still have in my freezer enough peaches and damsons to make another four gallons of wine. Today Miss Martha and I gathered blackberries. They are not that plentiful this year but I'll get enough to make another gallon of wine. Miss Martha ate more than she picked and she asked to be carried which rather stayed my foraging frenzy. Still I carried her and it wasn't too hard – more proof that my energy is returning.

I have started to cook proper meals again.

And Bert and I have resumed watching The Sopranos. When Matty got ill we stopped watching at the end of Season 4. Said we'd start again when all was over. I only felt like again it a few weeks back and asked my darling Katy to gift Season 5 for my birthday. Just three more episodes left now. Bert is waiting impatiently for our evening's so I must go.

Not before I tell how I've resumed my audio books. Two Austens redd up and a Hardy on the go. I'm also proper reading Wuthering Heights and realise it's for the first time! I thought I'd read it but it turned out I'd just heard a song.

Still I'm overweight and haven't properly got back to walking, I have a sore shoulder and hives all over. So what! I'm on the right track.

I thought of Matty today and felt very sad that she was not here. I still miss her so much and my eyes well up as I write this. She would have loved this beautiful day, wouldn't have approved of my manic wine-making, “Why not make jam?” she'd have said. She'd have been excited about her new great grandchild Miss Ava and would have been looking forward to the new one due in a few weeks time (Miss Martha's brother or sister) Miss you very much Mammy but for now I am, and we all are, moving on. I even got my hair cut.

Sleep Over

barrowful of winter pansies, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Miss Martha is having her first sleep over tonight. She chose a pig pillowcase, brushed her teeth, (weighed herself), fell off the standing stool, bounced on her camp bed, had me read the book Hayley bought her while she read Peter Rabbit, then we swapped - I read Peter Rabbit while she read Hayley's book (The Little Mole Who Knew It Was None Of His Business), then I told her a story of my own invention.

With my grandchild apparently settled I phoned Zoe to tell her so.

Five minutes later a little voice, "Ganny?"

I went up. She was standing behind her little safety gate like a forlorn prisoner. "Want to get up." I told her, "No. It's sleepytime." She went back to bed. We chatted. I tried to reassure her. She said, "Mummy not here?" I told her it was so but that she would see her in the morning. Separated at night for the first time in her life - it's a big deal. Got to go now. Check she's OK.

Born To Be Sociable

Nellybert were watching clips from the seventies Old Grey Whistle Test, Bert says,

Is Elton John American?

Nelly says,

FFS!

Steppenwolf come on.

Bert says,

Wee Manny got that tattooed on his arm.

What! Steppenwolf?

No. Born To Be Wild.

Ha ha! Born To Have An Early Night you mean!

No! He was wild in his time.

Wild! Your arse. What way was he wild?

Well - he would have went anywhere, done anything, ceilidhed with any mob, anywhere, took any drug you would have offered him.

Huh! That's not being wild, that's just being sociable.

Visitors

Monday: Every day we have Pearlie's team of carers, 3 single carers and 4 doubles. Every day. Some are quiet, some are noisy. Some come roaring through the door in mid-conversation, some slam doors behind them. Mostly they never wipe their feet. They haven't the time. I know we are lucky to have this level of care. And most of the carers are lovely people. But they are still - in my house - all day long.

Also on Monday we had Miss Martha, her dad and her grandfather (who is also my first husband) and Miss Martha's two dogs. We had, briefly, R. Bluebird, his mum and their dog. R. Bluebird calls up pretty often with fruit and veg for the pigs. He nearly forgot his dog. She's a dote and we could keep her but she doesn't get on well with Miss Martha's dog. They sort of hate each other. There was lots of snarling and snapping.

Hector called to see Pearlie. He slipped in and slipped out and I hardly even knew he was there. I wish all Pearlie's callers were like that.

While I went to Miss Martha's second birthday party in town Bert entertained his friend Bilrus. So not counting the eleven carers we had seven humans and three dogs visit with us on Monday.

Tuesday: Quieter day. Bert went out a-visiting himself so I was hoping for a peaceful day with just me and Pearlie and with nothing else to do for her but keep her fire on. Was not to be. Pearlie's niece called just after Bert left and was here until 8:30pm. There is lots of toing and froing, little delicacies being prepared, re-positioning of pencils and other business. Around seven hours of it. I go picking beans and damsons while Pearlie is pandered to. Apparently no-one can mix her laxatives like Niece, or like Hannah. Bert is useless at it. Laxative all lumpy when Bert prepares it. And me? I don't do medicines. I just do laundry and cleaning and wipe up after the carers. I also have occasional murderous thoughts but we won't go there. I offer the Niece her Aunt as full-time house guest but she declines. It must be nice to have a home you can relax in. I wouldn't know. Relatively quiet day. Eleven carers, two physiotherapists, one very long visit from Niece. No dogs. Don't be getting me wrong now for I am very fond of Niece and she is often a great help with Pearlie. It's just that I envy her the home that she can relax in.

Happy Birthday Martha

bonnie mid song, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

The words of Bonnie's song are as follows:

Happy Birthday to you-hoo
Happy Birthday you're two-hoo
Happy Birthday Dear Martha-hooooo!
Happy Birthday to you-hooo.

Pity Bonnie is such a terrible singer. No wonder Martha and Judy look bemused.

Living In Chaos

shrine, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

According to FlyLady CHAOS stands for Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome because the damn house is such a mess.

Well - my problem is slightly different . My house is chaotic because I can't keep people from coming over and cannot get round them to clean.

But at least the attic is much more orderly since Miss Hannah and I had the massive clear out on Tuesday. We carried two car loads to the charity shops and Bert carried a van load to the recycling centre at the council yard.

Some people have said I could have made money out of that stuff and I daresay they are right but that would have been more procrastination. If I hadn't got round to selling any of it in 30 years, I doubt the next 30 years would be any different. Anyway, if I ever get the selling urge, hasn't Bert a tunnelful of clematee?

The picture above shows that I am not the only one living in clutter. Big Blessed Virgin Mary and Little Blessed Virgin Mary keep a very throughother shrine but it hasn't stopped Saint Bernadette Soubirous from calling over.

Remembering

This would have been Daddy's birthday and he would have been 92. I'm glad now that he didn't make it to that age because he wouldn't have liked being so old. He enjoyed being active and getting out into the fresh air. The picture above shows him in his sixties. He was weather-beaten and gruff but always with a look of kindness. Kerry Sister, who took the picture, used to call him 'Badger'.

In the picture he's taking a bag of hand cut turf out of the boot of his car. He was never happier than when he was cutting turf and working in the moss.

Thinking about you today Seamus, oul hand.

The Diary of Nelly Dismal

My 25^th year found me living alone in Drumtara, pregnant, poor and lonely. I was also very bored so, to pass the time, I kept a journal. It ran to two volumes and I have to admit it was one of the most tedious, self-obsessed and whiney journals ever written. It didn't contain an ounce of humour or interest and every time I've looked at those two notebooks since I have cringed.

So why did it take me more than three decades to rid myself of these woeful books ?

Today, during an epic attic clearance, I decided the time had come to burn the dreary things and the only place in the house with a burning fire is in Pearlie's room.

What's that ye have there?

Just some old diaries.

What! Reach them to me!

They're not yours Pearlie. They're mine. Just some old diaries I kept when I was in my 20s.

Setting them carefully on the fire.

I'd love to read those!

You would not.

Piling the coal around them.

I'd have been very interested in those.

I bet you would.

I felt a tiny bit guilty depriving Pearlie of the pleasure of finding out what a shallow twat I was when I was 24 but very, very happy to be rid of the reminder. Thanks be for the cleansing power of flames.

In Which I Become A Casting Agent

A few days ago I had a call from a fellow blogger. He and his lady were shooting a video in the vicinity and did I know of any young couples. preferably late teens, boy being dark and girl being fair? I said that I did not but I knew a suitable couple who, despite being well into their twenties, were still able to get half-fare on public transport if they so desired, although being good honest people always told the fare collector that they were liable for the full whack. They also wanted someone dark and mid-thirties for an older version of the boy. I knew of a fairly fresh young fellow with the mature, dark looks that they were looking for.

Where was the video shoot to take place? Why - on the farm of Joe Bloggs who lives very close to us, practically beside us. The young actors made their way to my crib and at five minutes before the appointed hour we set off to Joe Bloggs' place. I have to admit that I was surprised it was going to be at Joe's as he is rather a taciturn fellow, hardly the type to get mixed up with media, arts and Country & Western types. The yard was deserted. Back home to phone Joe Bloggs only to find out they'd never heard of such a carry-on. Maybe it was the other Joe Bloggs who lived a mile up the road? So off me and my car-load of budding actors went to the other Joe Bloggs who lived opposite The House With A Beard on the Killyless Road. Mrs Joe Bloggs was most bemused and, natch, knew nothing of a video shoot. She thought, and it took her 10 rambling minutes to tell us so, that the action was probably taking place at The House With A Beard. Miss Hannah went in to enquire and it took the Man Of The House With A Beard 10 rambling minutes to tell her that it wasn't happening in his crib. Maybe it was the other Joe Bloggs who lived on the road to Ahoghill.

By now I was in despair. We were communicating through Bert on the landline back at our place because, believe it or not, all this had been arranged on landlines and nobody had anyone's mobile number and there we all were 'on location' or 'trying to get to location' without any way of getting in direct contact.

Eventually Bert saved the day. He'd taken a call from the main people and they were at Alec Bloggs who he knew well (everyone knows him) and it turns out he had a brother called Joe. We went back to our house, Bert took over the driving (for I was a nervous wreck) and drove us straight to the right place where fun, frolics and hilarity ensued.

I Despair Of My Hair

martha in the garden, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

I had a similar issue with my hair but, unlike Miss Martha, I lack the necessary cuteness factor to carry off the hair fountain look. I had to rely on pinning the offending hank back with clips and grips. But it would come down and tickle me horribly. Most annoying.

I lost patience with it last night, grabbed the nearest pair of blunt scissors and whacked it off. Feels great.

But what does it look like? It looks like this!

Of course I haven't the sideburns.

Garden Collage Two

Idle Thoughts

The alarm goes off at 7am and I hit the snooze button.

7:05am RINGGG! I'm wondering what to do about the vintage Orange Order collarette in the attic. I hit the snooze button.

7:10am RINGGG! Trying to figure out the names of Adam Lambsbreath's cows in Cold Comfort Farm. Let me see - there's Pointless, Aimless, Feckless and what is the other one called? I hit the snooze button.

7:15am RINGGG! Pondering the minister's reading at yesterday's funeral service. Dorcas/Tabitha. Would those be good names for girl twins? Technically they are the same name just as Zoe and Eve are. I hit the snooze button.

7:20am RINGGGG!!!! There's this clairvoyant in Randalstown I'm going to later. She channels through an eel. Holy shit! I'm dreaming! Time to get up.

Grammar

I'd always thought that a former boss of mine had a very poor style of writing, so in an idle moment I decided to lift a sample of his prose from the internet and run it through one of those grammar-testing sites. Sure enough he only scored 43% and the prognosis was 'weak - needs revision'. Hah! thought I. Now to try me. Result! I got 73% and the comment 'adequate - needs revision'. Of course I had to run my greatest rival Ganching and she got the same comment as me but 7 points more - 80%.

Then I wondered - how would Charles Dickens score? I copied and pasted a paragraph from 'A Tale of Two Cities' and was astonished to see that he only hit 31% and the comment 'poor - needs revision'. Dickens failed majorly on wordiness - imagine! I then ran a passage from 'Mansfield Park' through. Jane Austen did rather better than Dickens as she scored 61% and got 'weak - needs revision'.

So Final Scores were:

1. Ganching - adequate

2. Nelly - adequate

3. Jane Austen - weak

4. Former Boss - weak

5. Charles Dickens - poor

Sally

Sally, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

Bert's Aunt passed away in hospital today after an epic fight for life following a car crash 12 days ago.

Happy Birthday Zoe!

D'ye know if you upload a photograph to Flickr and tag it 'pregnant' loads more people look at it than if you didn't? What's the big deal? That is what I ask myself. There are a million-zillion people on this planet and each and every one of them represents a pregnancy and a birth. It's not as if it is a 'miracle' or anything. Pregnant-schmegnant! Big whoop!

Except - unless it's me or mine. I got pregnant when I was 20 and about 10 days before I was 21 I had a daughter. That was Zoe and it's her thirty somethingth birthday today. Big whoop!

And even better! She's pregnant! Another big whoop!

Happy birthday Zoe! Love you and love your bump and all belonging to it.

Happy Birthday

This blog is seven years old today! Yay! Yay! Yay! Yay! Yay! Yay! Yay!

In Which I Am Rather Peeved

Above - an item from the country's most expensive lending library courtesy of the British Heart Foundation. Charge £2.50 for a crappy book then ask you to bring it back! This irritates me. But then I am rather easily irritated.

Posterise Martha

Posterise - a fun application on Gimp.

The Women In White

Earlier today a few of us were discussing the apparent lack of innocence in today's children. I opined that there seem to be very few young girls around between the ages of 11 and 15 - not because they have all been imprisoned in nunneries but rather because they have taken on the appearance of girls of sixteen and older. Young boys don't seem to be able to pull this trick as easily.

Children really do seem to grow up fast these days. It has been reported that more than 40% of young internet users over 10 have been exposed to pornography and you can be sure that it is a lot more extreme pornography than the likes of my generation ever caught sight of.

I remember listening uncle telling my father a joke when I was about eight years old. I was smart enough to pick up that the punchline of the joke involved a word that ended in 'uck' but was not the word you'd expect it to be. I vividly remember walking through Paddy's Field on the way to my Granny's shop and reciting this list of words to see if I could identify what this word could be, buck, cuck, duck, fuck, guck, huck, juck etc. etc. Nothing seemed to fit the bill.

It was three or four more years before I heard the F-word courtesy of a fellow pupil in St Louis Convent Grammar School. The same girl brought tampons into class for our edification and education. I was most bemused. So that's what Tampax were for!

I'd spent my entire childhood pondering the magazine advertisements, looking at those pretty and lively women in pristine white clothes and wondering what Tampax could be. I searched for clues in the text and being a real innocent had no idea as to what 'internally' or 'applicator' might signify. I made up my mind. It was obvious really. All the ladies in white were healthy, active and sporty so Tampax must be some kind of aid to sportiness and vigour.

Oh innocent days. I was over sixteen before I sampled the product myself, only got it halfway in and waddled about in some discomfort through two periods of Anatomy and Physiology at Antrim Technical College. Ironic or what?

Little Children

Nellybert has been getting out and about recently, taking advantage of the esteemable Pearl-Ri being in The Home For Crabbit Oul Dragons for a fortnight. Of course, anyone else would have taken a holiday but, what with the Martha sitting, the signing on the dole and the hospital appointments, we hadn't a minute.

So we took a 24 hour break to the Inishowen Peninsula at the end of last week and today we went to Derry City on the train.

Let the train take the strain. Hardly! For some reason the world and his wife was out today with all their whinging, squalling bratlings in tow. A young one screeched its head off from Ballymoney to Derry on the way down. I was harbouring nasty thoughts. Then when we got off I saw its wee face and it looked so miserable that I felt bad for wanting it and its Ma thrown off the train. But here's a thing - during the entire journey, during its intermittent yelling and screechings the mother never once spoke to the child or tried to comfort it. Expect if I'd been it I might have hollered my head off too.

There were more monsters on the way home. A wee lad, probably about 4 or 5 wailed himself into sobs and hiccups for twenty minutes steady. I think he wanted something he didn't get. Once again there was no interaction from the parents. The child was completely ignored.

I'm sure it's not universal but I do notice that lots of parents do not give their children any time or attention when they are out in public. Even the seemingly good kids get ignored. There were three generations sitting opposite us - a little girl of about eight, her mum and the granny. Mum and Granny had a continuous and very repetitive and dreary conversation for nearly an hour. The child was hardly spoken too. When she got excited about something she spotted from the train window she was roundly ignored. Wise up adults! Children, if you give them a chance, can be interesting too.

I Miss My Baby Owls

baby owl springhill 2009, originally uploaded by NellyMoser.

For the second year running there has been no long eared owl babies at Springhill. I miss them very much.

We think that buzzards took over their nesting site. Last year there were at least three young buzzards reared on our land. Buzzards are OK but I'd much rather have owls.

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.