The Buzz About Buzzards

About this time nine years ago I was obsessed with buzzards. Here are two of the three posts I wrote on the 23rd of March 2009. The third one was more about eBay and computer problems and missing out on a buzzard print so I haven't included it.

THURSDAY, MARCH 23, 2006

Colin

Buzzard
Originally uploaded by Wyrd.

Bert! What's a honey buzzard?

You don't get them here. They're mostly Southern English. Maybe the odd one passing through but not generally.

So what do you call the ones we have here?

Colin.

Later

How do you spell Colin? One L or two?

I was only winding you up.

Silence....then

Suppose I'd put that in my blog and made a right fool of myself!

Buzz, Buzz, Buzzard

There are a pair of buzzards are living near us and they can be spotted most days. Today while Hannah and I were driving down the road we saw one swoop down on prey in the corner of a field just beside the road. I was delighted to get such a close view. I said to Hannah,

Wow! We were lucky to see that.

Wasn’t so lucky for whatever it was got caught.

Oh well. That’s nature. Poor you moving to the town. All the wildlife you’ll see there will be mangy cats, scabby pigeons and rats.

Don’t care.

When Katy was little she asked Bert this,

Why do they call them buzzards? Is it because they make a buzzing sound?

If we’d have been decent parents we’d have got the bird books out and arranged a visit to the Natural History Museum, stimulated the child’s interest and stuff like that. Instead we laughed our legs off at her, gave her a complex and slagged her about it to this very day. My idea of a fun natural history lesson was telling Hannah all about the savage child eating bears that lived in the (local) woods. May God forgive me for I doubt the weans ever will.

St Joseph's Day Eve

Yesterday was St Patrick's Day and this Irish woman was exceedingly underwhelmed by it all. It means very little to me these days.

Bert and the Wee Manny were returning from Fanad and Bert was outraged to discover that Kilrea was blocked off and he had to take a detour through Ballymoney to get home. The Derry branch of the Ancient Order of Hibernians were marching and he would have had to wait 30 minutes for the parades to pass.

And did it ever even occur to you to park the van, go up the town, get yourselves a pint of Guinness apiece? You might have got the barman to draw a wee shamrock in the foam and you could have watched the parade go by.

I had never heard of the Hibernians until my cousin Joseph joined the White Hill Accordion Band. They weren't much chatted about in Tannaghmore. Anyway, after Mass on a rainy St Patrick's Day way back in the 1960s, Daddy took a couple of us to Randalstown to watch the parade. I was very excited. I imagined it would be full of pomp and glory like the Orange Parades that we weren't really supposed to like. It wasn't. Just a dozen or so little grey men with solemn faces and bunches of shamrock pinned to their lapels, two carrying a small banner and the White Hill Accordion Band. Cousin Joe never even looked at us. It was most disappointing.

Tomorrow is St Joseph's Day. Not a lot of people pay any attention to his feast day but I intend to celebrate it. I'll do something with wood. Chop it into kindlers maybe. Get some fig rolls in. Open a bottle of wine.

Motherless Sunday

Mother's Day again. There are yellow and purple flower buds unfurling on the kitchen table. There was chocolate too which was shared with Bert in the very earliest hours of Mothering Sunday. But, as always, this is Matty's day even though she is not with us any more.

There are so many of us today mindful of our dead mothers. On Friday a young friend called round and he mentioned that his son, aged six, was having a difficult week. At school all the talk was of making Mother's Day cards but his mum died suddenly about a year ago. He chose not to make a card. It's sad for us grown-ups but how much harder it must be for a little child.

My mother Martha with her granddaughter Katy

This is one of my most cherished photographs of  my mother who would have been my current age at the time it was taken. So - I'm wishing a happy Mother's Day to all us mothers and sending caring thoughts for all the motherless children.

It's Bert's first Motherless Sunday too.

Half A Dozen Eggs

How did it get to be Friday already? This week has been a funny one weather-wise. Divinely spring-like on Tuesday. I worked outside and discovered that Roy likes to explore. And that his exploring includes the road! We had to put a temporary gate up which displeased a number of callers. I felt a teeny bit bad about it but Bert enjoyed taking visitors out of their comfort zone. Roy is going to get extensive training regarding the lane way. He needs to know it is a forbidden area.

Bert and I also had a difference of opinion about egg donations. We like to give eggs to our friends yet I also like to be able to make an omelette or a cake using free range eggs. I was delighted to find, on returning from picking Martha up from the school bus, that my new Magimix replacement bowl had arrived in the post. Far less delighted to find that, in my absence, Bert had given away all the eggs. So, no point in keeping those leftovers for a Spanish omelette and out the window goes any plans for a cake. We had the same discussion a week previously but when I speak I hear sounds coming out of my mouth something like this,

Bert, I'd like you to make sure that there are always six eggs in the egg rack. More than that then give them away to your heart's content.

He hears this,

Drone, drone, drone, blah-blah-blah, yadda-yadda-yadda.

So that was the past few days, minding dogs, arguing about eggs, bit of gardening. I sure do lead an exciting life.

Dogs and Children

Evie delights in collecting eggs

Nellybert have enjoyed a very doggy and children rich few days. We had Miss Evie as usual on Thursday and she had a play date with the three Miss Liddys. Four girls all at once can be intense. I was rather hollow-eyed when everyone went home, Bert was not as tired as I was as he'd spent a nice, relaxing afternoon digging holes in a field.

 Martha plans her next move

Friday I spent in Belfast and on Saturday was The Sleepover. That went very well. The girls are obsessed with Little House on the Prairie. Martha is Mary, Evie is Laura and Nellybert are Ma and Pa. Mary Ingalls got frustrated with Laura Ingalls because Laura wouldn't go with her to the creek to catch catfish. So she hit Laura (Evie) with a pink handbag. There was a bit of consoling and then, when the dust settled I suggested Mary (Martha) should go fishing with Pa (Bert). This was agreed.

As Bert described it,

I had to stand with her waving bamboo canes over  a puddle for ages.

But it was worth it for they caught lots of catfish and flatfish and salmon and we had them for our supper. Well actually we had stew but we added the pretend fish to it and enjoyed it very much.

In the middle of all this was Roy, the new dog. It is probably not recommended that a dog should be introduced to a new home on the same weekend that little children are sleeping over. Nevertheless it worked out well for us. Roy is sevenish, far too fat and very gentle and friendly. I am sure he is going to enjoy living here.

Bert's Aunt Nessie got him as as a pup.  But then Nessie became ill and died before he was a year old. She got her partner Paddy to promise that he would look after Roy. Then Paddy had a fall, broke his hip and started a decline. He is in his mid-80s now and it looks that he will not be going home. His carer got in touch with us to ask our advice as to what should be done with his dogs. Paddy had four! Bert, knowing of the promise Paddy had made to Nessie, immediately offered to take Roy. Another little dog, a terrier and Roy's companion, will be going to the Dog's Trust. The other two were outdoor dogs, collies that were likely palmed off on Paddy and dogs that he was never able to look after properly. They were never trained and are quite vicious. They will be taken into the care of the local council and will probably be put to sleep.

Poor old Roy has lost his master and his long-time dog companion. Things are changing for him. He is very focussed on food and judging by his claws and coat he has spent very little time out of doors. But he likes people, has been around children (thanks to Paddy's carer) and most important of all, gets on really well with other dogs.

Needless to say Jess and Judy are rather miffed but I expect they will get used to it.

It seems Roy is the sort of dog who goes on the furniture.

Friday, Saturday, New Dog Day

Hannah and I went to Belfast yesterday. Bert was forced from his bed at an unnatural hour to take me into Ballymena to be early for my train. Hannah was still brushing her teeth but we managed to make the eleven o'clock with ten minutes to spare.

Mainly we just looked at things although Hannah bought a couple of books for her course. We explored Botanic Avenue and Smithfield Market but were unable to find Keats & Chapman. It was an easy and relaxing day.

Today might be different. Evie and Martha are coming for a sleepover. And we are getting another dog. It is not ideal that these two things happen on the same day for Roy (the dog) is a bit of an unknown quantity. The girls were asked before the dog thing happened so, in my opinion, neither can be cancelled.

There is a story behind Roy which I'll tell when I've met him.

A Farewell To Holly

Today was a very busy day for this retired lady of leisure with three entries in the diary. In the afternoon I had a dog delivery to make. Ziggy was to be returned to his owner after his regular Monday to Tuesday sleepover. His owner Miss Hannah and I had a coffee date and, as his habit, Ziggy remained in the van and got the hazard lights going to alert all passers by that it would be seriously hazardous to their health if they should attempt to steal his vehicle.

The evening brought the boys to our house for Music Night. I served them home made sausage rolls and chocolate fairy cakes. They particularly enjoyed the fairy cakes.

But, before all this, we had a dog funeral. The Wee Manny's dog was put to sleep last night. Holly was really Mrs The Wee Manny's dog and she was devastated to lose her but Holly had a good long life. She was a black Labrador cross, a rescue dog that they'd got more than a dozen years ago. The Wee brought her round this morning to be buried in our garden. The list is growing. I wrote about our pet cemetery back in 2008.

Friday, October 31, 2008

Dowsing For Dogs

...dogs we know are buried there are in order of interment:-

Polly: sweetest little Jack Russell cross. Given to Pearlie soon after she was widowed. The girls never forgave us for parting. She only lasted a few months before succumbing to the horror movie that is the Dreen Road.

Molly: Died February 2004, Springer spaniel just arrived in Nellybert's yard. Unknown to us she was riddled with cancer. We kept her six months. I adored her. We spent a fortune at the vet. Eventually had to have her put down.

Danny: Best. Dog. Ever. Nellybert's first beloved pooch. Committed suicide under the wheels of Bert's van sometime in 2004. He was nearly seventeen.

Penny: She was Pearlie's dog. Died on Christmas Eve aged around fourteeen. Her demise marked the beginning of Pearlie's decline.

Chip: Not our dog but Danny's mother. Eighteen when her owners had her put down. They had nowhere to bury her. We had all the room in the world.

Jock: Not our dog either but the beloved pet of the Wee Mannys.

Rosie: Died October 2008. She won't be the last but she was the first to have a dozen or so narcissi planted on her grave.

And since then....

Hannah's rats - Rocky, Pepe, Polly and Meka. They have their own special plot in front of the green house. It's teeny.

Five more dogs.

Peppy: Belonged to our friend Rod. She was a frequent visitor to our house. He still stops by her grave.

Paddy: Died February 2012.

Charlie: Died June 2012.

Bonnie: Died June 2013.

Holly: Buried today. Much loved pet of Mrs The Wee Manny.

Holly and her companion Rocky. 

Watch Out! There's A Thief About.

Anyone who keeps a dog about the place will know that there are things that dogs find disagreeable.

They dislike strangers coming around. Friends are absolutely fine and must be welcomed with jumps,  excited yips and leaping on to coffee tables all the better to see them. Then when the visitor is settled down they must be snuggled against, looked at adoringly and thoroughly inspected for morsels of food or tennis balls about their person. But strangers may not even get out of their car for fear of the menacing dog circling their vehicle. If the stranger is brave and gets out anyway then that stranger must be a friend  and will be treated accordingly.

They do not like cats being paid attention to. If anyone should be stroking a cat, giving it a treat or having a pleasant conversation with it, the dog must immediately leave its comfortable sofa, go to where the cat is being made much of and glare at it in a very overbearing manner.

And they can see no sense in very small children holding food. They have no problem with bigger humans having food and eating it in their presence but how can anyone reasonably expect them not to take food of a tiny child who dangles it in front of their noses. I remember our first dog Danny meeting a woman pushing a small child in a pram. We both noticed that the child was clutching a very melty Mars Bar. A moment later the melty bar was in Danny's mouth. The child made no protest. I think he was glad to be rid of it. I didn't know then that chocolate is very bad for dogs but it didn't do him a pin of harm and he lived at least another ten years.

Just like Danny before her, Judy deeply disapproves of toddlers owning food. Yet she is also aware that I disapprove of her removing food from little ones. This is why she is looking so sneaky in the photograph. She hopes I am distracted both by my camera and the the black hen. She was disappointed. Evie got to keep her pancake on this occasion.

Now Evie is two years older and not little any more. She is 'a big girl' and very well able to keep Judy in her place.

Revisiting the Past

Sorting out the photographs on my external hard drive has me living in the past and tonight I'm back in 2011. I wondered what was happening on this day four years ago and as there is this online diary thing called Nelly's Garden I was able to find out in just a few clicks. It seems I was right here in Springhill after spending a short spell in Drumkeeran looking after Matty.

Things weren't working out exactly as I'd hoped.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

The Cleansing Pow'r

I decided to have a lovely relaxing bath this afternoon. Lots of hot water, lots of bubbles, a towel to keep my hair out of the bubbles and something intellectual to peruse. Heaven. It's wonderful to live in the quiet of the country.

Hark! There's Plum crowing. Never mind. A rooster crowing is part of the country atmosphere. Outside Bert opens up the chainsaw. Never mind. The noise of wood clearance is all part of living on a farm. The back door opens. It's one of Pearlie's carers. It's the singing one. She is singing, at the very top of her voice, “Washed In The Blood Of The Lamb”. She puts the kettle on. Singing away, thumping time on the counter tops as she waits for it to boil.

I lie in my suds. I usually seethe at the Singing Carer but who gives a hoot? I'm home for a little while. Let her sing her hymns. The mad old bat.

A Visit To Asia Supermarket

My young friend and fellow blogger Hails loves Korean food and the last time we were in Belfast we visited Cafe Arirang on Botanic Avenue. Hails was more than pleased with it and I was glad of her advice as to what would be good to eat as she was familiar with all the dishes on offer. As she should be having spent quite a few years living in South Korea.

I asked her if she'd ever visited the Asia Supermarket on the Ormeau Road. She hadn't so we made a plan to go as soon as we could. Today was that day and as we neared it I said,

You're going to dance with joy when you see this place.

And her feet were jigging before we even got inside. She could smell the lovely spicy aroma as we approached the door.

Of course she knew what everything was. When we left Hails was loaded with ingredients and I'd got a few bits and pieces myself. I idly enquired what her plans for the evening were and she answered,

Cooking Korean food!

Of course. Silly question.

At Cafe Arirang I had 만두 and I didn't catch what Hails had but it came with 김치 and she polished it off with much enjoyment.

만두 - mandu or steamed dumplings

김치 - kimchi or fermented cabbage

When I got home Bert raided my shopping bag as usual and fell to the dried seaweed and kimchi with gusto. We had to decant the kimchi into a Kilner jar as we feared its pungency would affect everything else in the fridge. Apparently in Korea people have dedicated kimchi fridges but that is because they make a years supply at one go.

So what did Nellybert have for supper? We had bacon, spuds and peas although Bert did have a side of kimchi with his.

And What Of The Pigs?

My Facebook posts concerning the little black pigs. 

7th February. I wonder if anyone knows of a lost Vietnamese Pot-Bellied pig? Very young. It is running terrified through fields near Cullybackey. We have tried to find it but have not been successful. It was found in a shed in a farm off the Kilrea line but escaped before it could be taken to a place of safety. I wonder if the poor thing has been dumped. Unwanted Christmas present perhaps? If so, the person who dumped it is a horrible, uncaring, stupid piece of shit. If that piglet doesn't get to a place of safety it will die very soon.

8th February. Bert has been searching for the abandoned pig. Sighted it today and there are two of them! This gives them a better chance of survival. We have hopes that they will be brought to safety. If they cannot be captured and they are boy and girl there may soon be herds of wild pigs roaming the hedgerows and plantations of Cullybackey.

9th February. And then there were three! All boars so it is likely that they were abandoned by the breeder.

10th February. Man arrived in yard today to ask if we had lost two black pigs. Two piglets sighted in another area. The thing is, are they two of the original trio or, are there 5 of them? Bert has gone to search the place where we first saw them.

11th February. Two callers to the yard yesterday, both hoping that the abandoned pigs were our responsibility. Two sighted on another farm frightening sheep and scaring the horses. The authorities have been contacted and vets are trying to locate them. It won't end well for the pigs and it will cost DARD money, probably quite a lot. And all because a breeder off-loaded his/her responsibilities on to other people. I hope this person is found and prosecuted.

12th February. Five pigs spotted today! At least one was a sow.

And then it all went very quiet. This is what I think happened. The pigs weren't unwanted pets. They had not been abandoned by a breeder. They most likely belonged to a near neighbour of the lady who first contacted us. It seems they had simply escaped from a poorly fenced paddock and were happily exploring the surrounding countryside. The lady, let's call her Suzie, approached the likely pig-owner and he said that they couldn't possibly be his pigs as he counted them every night and they were all present and correct. I'd guess that if he had been counting them during the day the roll-call would have shown a few absentees. Since Suzie called with him the pigs have not been seen.  So I reckon he is keeping them indoors. Poor little pigs. They must have been having the time of their lives exploring the surrounding townlands.

It brings to mind that Van Morrison song.

When it's nobody's business the way that you want to live

I just have to remember there'll be days like this 

Crazy Jack and the Chickpeas

So, after I cleaned my grubby spice rack the next spot to tackle was the store cupboard. While there were no unpleasant surprises in the larder there were some elderly dried goods such as an unopened 2kg bag of chickpeas older than Martha. The cupboard was crammed with chickpeas both dried and tinned and obviously we never eat them except for that time Bert took a great notion of making hummus. The 2kg bag will be used as animal feed and I'll have to hoke out that hummus recipe for Bert.

The oldest item in the cupboard was the organic brown rice. If that packet of unopened brown rice were a child it would be at secondary school by now. What kind of idiot lets packets of food sit on her shelves for endless years? What type of deluded fool keeps buying chickpeas and then has them languish in her cupboard for over a decade? If it were another person with a store of ancient food in their pantries I'd call that person a food hoarder.

If anyone has any delicious recipes where chickpeas are one of the main ingredient please let me know.

Smoked Paprika Weevil

I decided to give my spice rack a long overdue cull. I remember Katy buying the smoked paprika for a chicken dish she prepared for her Northern Irish friends shortly before her wedding. It didn't seem that long ago but when I think of it, Miss Martha was actually a babe in arms and she is in her sixth year now.

That was a great evening. Delicious food, good company and the best of craic.  And nearly five years ago. That smoked paprika definitely was up for review. I opened it, sniffed it. Hardly any aroma. Much as I expected. But what was that? A grain of rice? A grain of rice that wriggled? It was a grub. I called Bert in to see. You should keep that, he said. See what it turns into.

No thanks! I don't think I want to see the kind of creature that pupates in hot pepper. Seems devilish. I sieved the paprika to see if there were any more. There wasn't. I took a photograph then flung the larva into the yard. See how it manages in a cold, wet, Irish February far away from its beloved paprika.

Naturally I Googled this and apparently it is not uncommon to find larvae in old paprika. It is actually best to keep it in the fridge. Who knew?

What I Learned

In my first year at the University of Ulster our class had a Friday afternoon lecture with the controversial eugenicist, Professor Richard Lynn. The subject of the  lecture  was an introduction to Psychology and it was mind-numbingly tedious. There was no hint of Lynn's particular areas of interest apart from his scanning the group looking for North-East Asian faces. He once called one of our friends down after the lecture to enquire after her ethnicity. She told us afterwards that he seemed disappointed to find out that despite her being from Vietnam her family actually had a Chinese background.

As I said, the lecture was extremely dull and I found myself half asleep during it. Little wonder I only got a 2:2. However Professor Lynn did teach me something that term, something I have never forgotten.

He was lecturing us on anxiety disorders and depression. He was speaking of anxiety and how it can consume one. He said,

Each of you this afternoon has a worry. Something that is troubling you greatly. I will tell you this - when we meet in this lecture hall next Friday, you will not be thinking about your present worry, you will be worrying about something else altogether!

And I thought about my worry. Probably something about an overdue assignment. And on the following Friday I cast my mind back. The Professor was right. I wasn't the least bit concerned about last week's problem. I was worrying about something new.

That has comforted me so many times when I have had a niggling, troubling concern. I just tell myself that in seven days time it won't be concerning me at all so why worry now?

Three Little Pigs In The Big Bad World

So there were these two little abandoned pigs wandering the fields and hedgerows of deepest, darkest Cullybackey. Bert and I went out this morning to fetch them out and feed them finest kind pig food with a view to their rescue and rehabilitation. We took one dog only, our Jess for she is good at sniffing out pigs and, unlike Judy, she does not hate the porcine race.

She did her work, sniffed them out and over the crest of a hill appeared one pig and the other. Then another. Three of the beggars! Bert emptied out the pig meal and they all tucked in. The way they were scoffing it was obvious that they were no stranger to meal and that it had been more than a day or two since they'd had any. They might be three or four months, all the same age, litter mates for sure and they are all boars. They've been dumped by the person who bred them.

This is a big problem. No one wants boars. If they were to go for pets they'd need to be castrated and that should have happened already.

I'm not sure what is going to happen. But we're not giving up on them yet. Whatever the outcome is they are going to be fed.

So we'll be back tomorrow. Fingers and trotters crossed there won't be four of them standing there.

Here Be Pigs

We were contacted yesterday by friends of a friend to find out if we were missing a pig. An exotic specimen had turned up in the yard of another of their friends. This lady kept horses and her horses were mortally afraid of pigs. This seemed odd to me but it seems that many horses are wary of pigs. Out of curiosity and some concern for the pig we agreed to go check it out.

The pig was in a huge barn and the five of us strolled in. The pig, a potbelly, was in the corner of the barn. It was only a baby, maybe a few months old. Anyway it got spooked and made for the door which was closed but it found a little breach and off it went. Pigs are great escapologists. The last we saw it was haring up the side of a hedge. Bert decided to take to the fields to see if he could find it but had no success. I met him in Clint's yard. This lady's place was a mile or two by road but only a couple of field lengths as the crow flies.

We were cross with ourselves because that time in the shed was our best chance of capturing it. I must say it preyed on both our minds that poor wee thing was out in the open without food or shelter. I was angry too with whoever had owned it because it seemed very likely that it had been abandoned. It was just about the right age to have been small and cute at Christmas time. Perhaps it was a gift that turned out unsuitable. The practice of dumping unwanted pets is common here and over the years I've come across it many times. Our big ginger cat, Fred, was actually dumped from a car in the Doagh Road as I was walking there.

What do people be thinking of when they do that? Do they think that their unwanted pet will be picked up by a kind stranger and taken in? I've been that kind stranger on a number of occasions but, believe me, there are not enough kind strangers to go round. A few years back Bert had to scrape a pulverised dog off the road and bury it. He did this on the off chance that it was someone's lost pet and that the sight of it would be too upsetting for them. But no one came looking and it is probable that the dog was dumped on our road and got hit by a car.

The little pig was on our mind and Bert went out with the dogs yesterday evening to see if he could find it. They had no joy. It wasn't a cold evening and we were hopeful that it would survive to live another day. He and his friend went out again today. Máirtín is a city boy and enjoys the things we do here. Dosing calves, potting up clematis, burning stuff , driving tractors and searching for pigs - Máirtín loves it all. Jess led them to the pig, two pigs! Two potbellies grazing at the edge of a copse, enjoying the late winter sun and not overly afraid of humans or dogs. Still too skittish to be caught. They are only a field length away from Clint's place and he says that if they turn up in his wood they can stay!

I'm glad there are two of them. It will increase their chance of survival but I cannot help wondering what is going on. Two dumped pigs or two lost pigs. Will we ever find out?

Happy Birthday Leitrim Sister

A photograph from a few years back featuring the sister and the daughter. Happy birthday Dede!

Protests and Birthdays

Yesterday I went out protesting with Hails from Coffee Helps. It's been a while since I attended such an event. The last time we were all chanting Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, Out, Out, Out!  On that occasion I got my picture on the front page of the Irish News so, needless to say, on Saturday, I dressed with care and made sure I combed my hair. It was a good day. I caught up with Hayley, met some new people and ate Korean food at Cafe Arirang. The protest went well too. About a thousand people turned up which isn't bad for Belfast on a freezing cold January day.

When I got home I found that Bert hadn't as much as lifted a spoon but he had made some great progress playing Stardust on his clarinet. I was too tired to bother with anything so watched a Meryl Streep film and went to bed reasonably early with the Guardian. But before I retired I researched 30 minute clean up on Google. For Kerry Sister is up in the North and she'd be visiting the next day and was keen to see my new private sitting room. And due to the massive clearing out I've been doing there were boxes and boxes of hoardy stuff sitting there and it was all a bit of a mess.

Happy Birthday Brendan. Photograph by Patricia Uí Mhuircheartaigh

This morning I bounced out of bed at a quarter to eight, let all the domestic animals out for a pee in the snow, made coffee, buttered malt loaf and went back to bed for another read of the Guardian. Forty minutes later I bounced back out of bed and started on my 30 minute clean up. I thought it might take a wee bit longer than thirty minutes. First off was put on the laundry, then I had to take a laundry basket and gather up all the clutter. I filled three laundry baskets and this did not include the boxes of Pearlie's old aprons, Bert's old toys and all the birthday cards he received since he was one year old and The Sash His Father Wore. And Johnny's white gloves and all the ribbons that were tied to the ceremonial sword. Bert says I can give the ribbons to Martha and Evie to tie up their bonny brown hair. So darling grandchilder you may look forward to receiving a bunch of ribbons colours red, white, blue, purple and orange.

I did manage to do everything on the 30 minute clean up list and was just wiping the last drip off the floor with my Whizz mop when the Kerry car pulled into the yard and it had only taken me 94 minutes.

All to the good though for the Kerry Sister and myself were able to relax in my clutter free and private sitting room while Bert and the Kerry Man tramped up Slemish in the snow. It was the Kerry Man's birthday and tramping up icy mountains is just the sort of birthday outing he enjoys. Before they left I gave him a lovely present - two bags of County Antrim's finest turf. He was delighted. Who wouldn't be?

Snowfolk

Martha spends Thursdays with Hannah at present while Evie continues her task of training Bert to obey her every command. I do miss Martha and am looking forward to having her again after mid-term. Today they made snowfolk. It's been a while since I've engaged in this activity and I was a bit cheesed off to see that Hannah and Martha's snowman is rather better than Evie's and mine.

I worried about it for a while, worried that competitiveness is not a pleasant trait in a grandmother but I cannot help it. Our Springhill snowlady looks wishy-washy compared to the Ballymena snowman. Actually he looks like a snow bishop with his hat, jewel buttons and his fur collar. Yes. I am watching Wolf Hall too.

Good News! I have a date for my cataract surgery in three weeks time. I am really looking forward to getting it done.

And another thing - the snow in Ballymena must have been of better quality than ours. Yes. That's what it was. We had inferior snow.

Burning Books

One of my delights is reading to Martha and Evie and that pleasure is greatly increased when I am enjoying the story myself. At the moment we are all loving the Winnie the Pooh stories by A.A. Milne. A few weeks ago I was given a pile of books by a friend. Most of them were Charlie and Lola books which were new to me but I knew Martha would be pleased with them. There was also a Winnie the Pooh book which was unfamiliar. Martha picked Charlie and Lola for this afternoon's reading session. It was OK. It might grow on me as I become familiar with the characters. Evie chose the new Winnie the Pooh book. As I opened it I saw that it was  a Disney book written by someone called Tammi J. Santa Croce. The children appeared to enjoy it but not me. It jarred. The prose was inelegant, the tone simplistic, the story trite. Croce had endowed Piglet with a stammer which was entirely ignored by me in the reading. The worst of it was the author's treatment of Tigger. She had him saying things like 'li'l buddy', 'where are ya?' and 'tigger-ific'. The most awful part was when he said, 'Hey, buddy boy! Whatcha doin'?' I was appalled and resolved to get rid of the dreadful book at my first opportunity. It's actually burning on the fire right now.

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

On This Day

On this day eight years ago Bert took Pearlie to a hospital appointment with a specialist. It was her stomach was bothering her and she was told she would be having an endoscopy. They never did find out exactly what ailed her and she died of whatever it was 7 and a half years later. Meanwhile, I went to a funeral.

Funerals seem to feature large on this blog. Probably because I come from a large family and funeral attendance is an important part of Irish culture. Country folk, particularly the older people would tend to go to every funeral about the place. It was my father's main form of socialising after he retired. And as the Wee Manny says,

Sure we have nothing better to do!

Eight years ago I wrote this about Aunt Bernadette's funeral.

The funeral service was one of the best I've ever heard. For once the priest spoke of a real person rather than a plaster saint. My Aunt was not the easiest of women yet he described her in a way that highlighted her humanity, helped me to understand her eccentricities, her outspokenness and made me wish I'd had more time for her. A lesson learned. We froze at her graveside. I'm sure it served me right.

Mum and Aunt Bernadette sometime in the 1970s

The Morning Matriarch

matriarch

ˈmeɪtrɪɑːk/

noun

a woman who is the head of a family or tribe.

"in some cultures the mother proceeds to the status of a matriarch"

an older woman who is powerful within a family or organization.

"a domineering matriarch"

So how does the Matriarch of the Springhill Tribe put in her morning?

It is winter so many of her matriarchal duties take place within the home. The Matriarch will rise two minutes earlier each day. There should be no concern that she will, one day, find herself getting up before she actually retires as the process is long. It is written in her Book of Rules that she has to earn the right to rise two minutes earlier each day. If she does not she must set her alarm at the same time as on the previous night. At the time of writing she is striving to arise at 8:02am and hopes to have achieved this by the middle of January.

On rising she must first attend to her duties of animal care. Dogs go out the double doors and cats go out the back door (Fred) and front door (Holly) as each cat dislikes dogs and hate each other intensely. When this task is completed the Matriarch lets dogs back in and returns to bed with a cup of coffee and a book. In the Matriarch's Book of Rules this still counts as getting up two minutes earlier every day unless, on finishing her coffee, she snuggles down under the duvet. Snuggling down under the duvet forfeits the right to arise two minutes earlier the following day. After drinking coffee and finishing a chapter of a worthy book she arises from bed for it is time to Feed the Hens.

Feeding the Hens is an arduous, complicated task and can only be overseen by the Matriarch. Three minutes later she is back inside the house preparing her second cup of coffee. Then it is time to Check the Internet. That duty completed it is time to Update the List. The list updated the Matriarch carries out the third important task of the day which is, Feeding the Machines. When all three machines, washer, dryer and dishwasher are whirring merrily away on the greenest settings then the Matriarch can prepare her third cup of coffee. After which, Morning Ablutions.

To be continued.

In Which I Find Myself

Over the past few months I have been feeling under-employed, with too much time on my hands, that sort of thing. This feeling probably began around four months after Pearlie's passing.

I was sharing my feelings of ennui with Les,

I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know what my role is!

And Les replied,

Nelly – you are a matriarch. That is your role.

Matriarch. I rolled the concept around in my mind. Matriarch. Liked it very much. It is obvious when I think of it. The matriarch Pearlie died and I must fill her shoes. Even though she had huge feet and mine are average sized.

So what does a matriarch do?

The Oxford English Dictionary defines the role thus,

matriarch

ˈmeɪtrɪɑːk/

noun

a woman who is the head of a family or tribe.

"in some cultures the mother proceeds to the status of a matriarch"

an older woman who is powerful within a family or organization.

"a domineering matriarch"

So how does the Matriarch of the Springhill Tribe put in her day? That is a very big question and as I'm feeling rather tired I'll leave it to tomorrow. Matriarchal duties can be exhausting.

Tomorrow. More tomorrow. For it is written in the Matriarch's Book of Rules,

Always leave them wanting more.*

*This statement only applies to story-telling and not to other important things like Food and Love.

The Joys Of Pig-Keeping

Miss Martha is otherwise engaged for ten weeks. She is doing an important after school class in the martial arts and is likely to become a child not to be trifled with. The sad part is that her class will be on a Thursday which is her day for spending the afternoon in Cully. The jolly part is that it means we have Evie all to ourselves and, as the van only has three seats, we can have days out that include Bert. He had errands in town so we decided to pick up Evie from nursery, do the important business, then go to Cafe Couture for lunch.

Evie was convinced that she would be given a complimentary lollipop after her meal so when this didn't happen she was rather sad. So we went to Lidls and bought ice cream and other essentials.

On the way home we listened to Alan Bennett read In Which Pooh And Piglet Go Hunting And Nearly Catch A Woozle. We all enjoyed it very much. Every time we hear it I have a new best bit. Today it was...

Piglet passing the time by telling Pooh what his Grandfather Trespassers W had done to Remove Stiffness after Tracking, and how his Grandfather Trespassers W had suffered in his later years from Shortness of Breath, and other matters of interest

As we approached the end of our lane I noticed the oncoming traffic slowing down and pulling out as if to avoid something. I said to Bert,

What is it?

It's a woozle!

Unfortunately it wasn't a woozle. It was Lily. The pigs had broken out of their paddock and Lily had spotted the recycling bins at the end of the lane. No doubt thinking they were full of delicious food she went down to investigate. She overturned the bins and spread the contents around and by the time I got out of the van she had crossed the road and was trying to batter her way into another field - grass being greener and all that kind of thing. The good pig Rusty contented himself eating silage in the yard. We had got home just in time. 

Yet another rethink needed on keeping the kune kunes contained. Pet pigs? Don't even consider it!

Hey Pig-Keeper! Call that a fence?

First Funeral Of The Year

As it turned out I went to today's funeral (the first of the year) with the Wee Manny. He arrived at our house more than an hour early all suited and booted. In our part of the world, by the time a man is in his middle age he has his funeral rig ready at all times. This outfit will consist of a dark suit, a dark tie, black if the funeral is that of a close family member and, given the Irish climate, a heavy dark overcoat.

It was a battle getting Bert to wear his suit but he allowed himself to be persuaded. The funeral suit is a much easier option than trying to find other items of dark (clean) clothing. And the dark tie is always in the inside jacket pocket.

The reason I went with The Wee was because Bert was picking Hannah up from work and the Wee and I, both being Virgos, are very particular about punctuality. We were there at least half an hour before the proceedings began. The Cuningham Memorial is very close to where I live yet this was the first time I'd ever been inside it. The interior is very traditional, with heavy roof beams and beautiful stained glass. The pews are those old fashioned ones with doors. Ours seated just three people. As always, on entering the church, I had to stop myself looking for the holy water font and in the pew I noted the absence of kneelers. Presbyterians do not kneel. At least I did not attempt to genuflect as I entered the pew. I did that once but I hope no one noticed. That was at Church of Ireland wedding so you'd almost get away with it.

As we sat in that pew I reflected that The Wee is actually my oldest friend. Not old in terms of age, but old in the length of time we've known each other. I met him nearly forty years ago and I knew of his existence a couple of years before that. The Wee was one of the cool dudes, living mostly outside Ballymena, in London, Amsterdam and other interesting places. I first met him in Dublin while I was visiting my sister who was at Trinity College. He and I had a mutual friend and the three of us went on a pub crawl. Little did I know that we'd still know each other forty years on and that we'd go to funerals together and that we'd have spent the time before discussing our favourite baking dishes and other mundane things. He introduced me to Bert nearly thirty years ago so I expect I'll have to be friends with him forever.

The man whose funeral service we were at was the father of one of my youngest friends. I've known Mel for sixteen years and although I did not know her daddy very well, I know that she loved him dearly and he loved her just as much. His passion was breeding horses which he'd been doing for about as long as I've known The Wee. For the very first time ever in our village we had a horse-drawn carriage carrying the coffin to the cemetery. It was drawn by two black horses and somehow I missed seeing it. The reason? Bert distracted my attention by pointing out a familiar face that he was certain belonged to an old enemy from Ballymoney. I was certain it was not our enemy although the lady did look familiar. It turned out to be our vet from Clough. I'd never seen her in a dress before.

God Rest You John A. You left a fine legacy behind you.