Emerging

Well this has been a long time coming. I'm afraid I've not had an awful lot to say. Actually that statement is wrong because I've always got a lot to say, but just lately I've not wanted to share. Don't take it personally, reader, it's not meant to be an insult to you.

Suffice to say my stomach problem has got out of hand and hospital procedures, doctors visits, and plenty of hours spent doubled over the loo or curled up in bed has left me feeling like crap, with no motivation nor energy to do anything productive.

I can't tell you what is the matter because I don't know myself yet, only that it appears to be a functional disorder.

There are two very special people I want to acknowledge, two people who've really helped get me through - my OH, bless him, who has been worth his weight in bullion. I couldn't survive very well without him, I'll tell you. The other is someone so good, kind, caring, helpful, that I'm positive she's hiding wings under her jumper. A true genuine friend and I love her to death, she's that special.

So there you have it, a short explanation for my absence. A bit serious for me, I'll go back to being my normal self now. 😀

Flutterbye

My bestie has a daughter who loves doing artwork. She's only young, a teenager, but I think she shows great promise. Hopefully, she'll be letting me put more of her stuff on here.
Thanks to Zo for letting me show you. 

                                                   Butterfly by Zo

Psst, come over here...

 Be gentle how you place your steps,
Be quiet with your heavy breaths.
Something to show you, I have got,
It cost me little but means a lot.
A few years gone, I forget the year,
I was given a pond by my ol' dear.
Not very big, but big enough
Not very posh, in fact rather rough.
Down I dug with my garden spade
huffing and puffing, sweating in shade.
At last, it was done, filled with rainwater,
planted some stuff, just like you oughta.
Dreaming, I saw it filled with pond fae
whose lustrous green skin did shimmy to dry.
Year by year passed, nothing appeared.
Was nothing coming? Nothing, I feared.
Then this month I saw, as I sat by the side,
a quick little move as something did hide.
Held in my breath, pushed aside the dog,
leaned right over and there was a FROG.
A little brown chubby, a frog nonetheless,
I'd not been more shocked had it worn a dress.
So, quietly come near, be careful if you can
for I want you to see my amphibian.

Note
My Pond fae shouldn't be confused with Plumatella repens 

In which I should grovel, maybe..

I'm not good at grovelling, which is a bit of a surprise given that I'm damn good at apologising. Just ask any of the numerous inanimate objects that I've banged up against and muttered, "I'm so sorry!" before realising what an idiot I am.

Grovelling, however, is a skill (?) that I'm not blessed with. Heck, I don't even know how to! Do I go down on my knees, lick the dirt from beneath your feet while begging,    
   "My dear blog readers, please don't leave me because I've not done anything for ages. Please?"
No, I don't think that's my style, nor do I believe my lovely, intelligent, kind hearted, gorgeous [is that enough flattering or would you like more?] readers would like me to do it. I hope.

Nah, I'll stick with telling you the facts and hope you'll understand.

Since Imbolc I've had a right crappy time, health wise. The lengthy periods of wet, chilly weather didn't help as Arthur Itis, who now seems to have moved in lock, stock, and painful barrel, really came out to play. He loves such weather! In full force, he played havoc with every joint in my body. That, in turn, led Madam Fibromyalgia to flare up and together they did their damnedest to kill me off. Add to this mix something going wrong with my digestive system, having to go for Xrays and tests, pokes and prods, well I really did think the whole lot of things were determined on the murder of their host!
OK, OK slight exaggeration there but it really did feel like they were trying.

It's only three weeks ago that I began feeling that my brain had returned.  Gratefully, soon after my body came back to Earth, enticed by the Sun exposing himself. Luckily, I felt no need to shout, "you dirty old man!" at him, so he's continued to expose himself daily. Apart from the odd time he was shoved aside by a certain gang of clouds needing to pee. Mind you, even that was welcome this week, as our water butt was getting very low.

So, dear followers* readers, now you might understand my absence. I'm raring to go, loads of ideas and little bits of things to tell you. Please accept my rose and do stay.

*on the word followers, while some people might like the idea of being followed, it always makes me think of my school church upbringing (yes, even witches go to school) and how the vicar used to go on about the followers of Christ. I'll stick to readers if you don't mind. :-)

Imbolc offerings

Awakening thoughts

Happy Imbolc!

As a friend said to me ,"it's a long time coming " , which is true but it's here now. I think most people look forward to this time of year, Pagan or not.

I went in the back garden this afternoon, the sun was giving us a weak smile that generated no warmth but a reassurance he's still there, he's gathering strength for the coming year. The knowledge pleases my spirit. Standing there feet on the sodden, muddy grass of the lawn I became aware of the life stirring beneath me. Sending my minds eye down under the soil so I could feel the roots of grass, shrubs, trees, flowers all nudging one another. ,"eh wake up, we've got to start work. Sleepy time over let's get going on grow! " 

Of course it's not just plants and trees that have begun their wakening; insects and worms become more active, hedgehogs, weasels and the like also begin to stir their limbs into more action.  I've been watching the birds, now becoming aware that mating time is approaching. I can't help but wonder if they are eyeing one another up --

  "phwoar, I fancy my chances with that wagtail!"  A cocky Robin winks at his friend "just look at the way she's wagging! She can sure move!" His friend stops preening his wing to look with disdain and says "don't be so bloody stupid. She's way out of your reach. For the goddess sake cocky, you're a Robin! She ain't going look at you!"

Yeah I know it's all a bit silly and I really shouldn't take pleasure in anthropomorphism, but it is something I've always done. I blame Johnny Morris who I used to love watching on the TV as a kid. I remember only vaguely the programme he used to do, something about a hamster and his friend, but the one that really caught my young eye was Animal Magic. Round the zoo he went in his uniform to talk to the the various animals and it was fascinating. You can see clips of him on YouTube, you might even find the clip in which the ape says "bloody hell", in Johnny's voice of course but it caused a bit of a stir in the news I think.

Where am I? Yes, life springing forth. The honeysuckle is showing tiny buds, such a soft green, so fresh and new. All the bulbs I planted are well growing, buds bursting on the bushes... What more could anyone want!

Enjoy Imbolc, start thinking of the things you'd like to grow within yourself this year.

Blessings, 😘

Part 2

I was skimming through One Note, just idly clicking away, desperate to nod off to sleep. Barely taking in what I'm looking at, when suddenly I noticed a blog post I'd written in November. For whatever reason, I'd forgotten to publish it. It made me smile, I'm such a moaning Minnie aren't I?!  Have i always been a moaner or is it something that's crept up on me? Anyrate,I decided to publish it, seems a shame waste all those words. 😊  Here it is,
                                The Crone always manages get a moan in
 It's 4 am on a late November morning, the storm called Clodagh is kicking up a fuss outside. I know this because through our bedroom window, the dark shadowy outline of our oak tree is engaged in a macabre movement, causing me to recall the Greaser Bop that my friends and I used to do when young, free and fit. The younger offspring of said oak, self set at the side of the bedroom window (which reminds me to remind Paul it really does need lopping down before it gets bigger) mimics it's elder in a half hearted way. You know how a young toddler, barely able to walk unaided, will try to copy dancers on the tv? That's what this young oak looks like. 

Neither of them are unclad yet; russet, tawny, golden and yellow tinged leaves still hold their grip on the skinny branches and twigs. Obviously they're not into nude dancing, no not our oaks! respectable they are!
When Aurora begins to flood the sky with light, in that reluctant way she has in the cold dark months, the early risers, the feathered ones, will appear in the old oak. I'll lie here and watch their ducking and diving, their acrobatics through the branches and I'll smile as they do their morning routine.

I'm so tired. I've not slept at all yet. My legs have been performing their own weird dance that is Restless Leg Syndrome. My arms have joined in also tonight, insult to injury I reckon. "here debs, have a double portion of RLS, because after all,  having two legs spasming ten to the dozen is hardly worth noting. Lets throw in some good arm jerks as well, make a proper floor show of it."

 I am Not complaining, could be a lot worse. 😃

Smarty Pants. Or 'it's not what goes in but what comes out, that matters'

Well. I don't believe it! Spent 3/4 hour filling in a free online Last Will and Testament. Totally free! OK? Got that? It's a free online Will. Only to discover it just meant "spend ages filling in and saving, that's all free but then if you want your copy to download and print, hand over your dollars !" Yeah, as if.

But that's a topic for another time because what I'd like to go on about comes under the subtitle of -

    What makes a smart phone smart?

and don't nobody say "give it a sharp, hard, slap!"  or "make it wear a suit and tie!' because I've already thought of them and you'd just look a bit, erm, Parroty?

Just hawk back to the start of this blog entry. We were talking about online Wills {of the not so free variety} weren't we? I was anyway. I'd spent three quarter of an hour tapping away diligently on the old Nexus, creating my very own Free Last, Will & Testament. Had I only known then,I could have spent that 3/4hr looking at something much nicer that I couldn't afford).  It began by needing the formal details. The boring stuff. The skeleton to be padded out with layer upon layer of words, sentences and paragraphs of my desiring to burden / gift unsuspecting members of family with various items.

I don't think this kind of thing is meant for a small 7" tablet, especially one with predictive text. 'Place of birth' an easy one that, for me anyway but not for old "Smarty Pants" Nexus. Staffordshire became staff hour, which doesn't even make sense, does it? I mean where was this staff hour I was born in? Or maybe I was born in the staff hour of the place I was born in? Yeah, see how confusing life can be.

I was certainly confused to be told that I now live in "A hole, Devon."  Oh yeah, just like that, no apologetic smiley face or anything, thanks Smarty Pants. "A hole, Devon." How do I take that one then?  Holsworthy might not be Buckingham Palace but it's no hole, capital A or otherwise!  Ahh but, could it not mean something else? Something so offensive in a Carry On manner, that it's making me giggle!  Could it not be a capital A for A#$ole? In which case I'd have to discreetly and deeply inspect each bottom in Devon just to find out what the postcode is. The Royal Mail will duly be informed to start their redirection service, I do hate to miss my post!

Are you seeing where I'm coming from?  Not so clever is Smarty Pants now eh?

Just how does predictive text work? I know how it's supposed to work but exactly how does it work in reality?  When I swipe a string of letters it causes various words to choose. Right?  Most of the time a tool bar will show what words I've typed with examples of similar words. If I've spelt it incorrectly it will show the correct spelling, although I have to admit to arguing with it occasionally. That these arguments have to involve the dictionary is simply a sad statement to life in a disability enforced retirement. I am straying again...

So we swipes our words, choosing the correct spelling versions of course, quickly glance upwards at the screen to make sure it's OK, press send. Sit and wait for your reply (if you're lucky).
"I'll just check that last text."
OMG! Or insert your fave expletive. 'Is she OK? Wanted to ask if she'd help me with my eyebrows.' has turned into 'its she prick I wanted to ask of she would help me with me bestowed.'  I mean... HOW?  I swear to goddess that it was the former words I put. I double checked. Didn't I? Did I? Oh self doubt creepeth forrads! 

So there you go. I guess it can be summed up by simply saying "smart phones are only as smart as their owner."

And before i knew it the world is a year older!

I'm not the only one am I? Don't tell such a bloody lies! You can't say Christmas eve hadn't seen you being swept up in a typhoon that began in the supermarket and dumps you, fagged out, amidst the ruins of lucidity some 13 days into the new year? Now, not only has the world begun a new number, your body has a new number too, something like 14lbs extra than it was! It's never happened to you? Oh be like that then, you're perfect! I'm not and that's why I finally focused on this blog and realised that it's still stuck in 2015.

Not that it's a bad thing, after all 2015 was nice to me in many ways. It being the year my sojourn in the village of the dimmed came to an end and I came back home, to the peace (scuse me while I guffaw) and beauty of the Ruby Country. Back to Mr P and his never ending love and care, to my familiars who made it clear they were happy to see me back. Back home safe and sound. Where I belong. (There's a song in that somewhere!)

2015 also saw me with a clean bill of health in the private areas. My cervical smear came back OK!! Wow that's something I tell you! I've had so many colposcopys and Lletz that it became routine to open wide and look at the ceiling. We even had a joke that the consultant was actually going pot holing, "have you got your torch and ropes, doc?"  I'm one of those who like to see what's been taken away from my body, so I always ask to look. It's fascinating to see an oxo cube size lump that's been quietly living in your body. Be gone damn cells!

Ladies please never be afraid to go for a smear test, never be afraid if they ask you to go and have a colscopy or anything like that. Does it hurt? Only if you want it to. The worst part for me was my first one and the injection into my cervix. It didn't so much hurt but made my pulse rate higher causing dizziness and nausea. The cups of tea and biscuits that they give you after are nice though! Try to understand that even if you have cells that are cancerous or liable to cancer, you can be treated and healed. I'm proof! Obviously the HPV virus remains in the body but I'm not letting that bother me I'll just keep going along for smear tests, let the docs sort it.

Anyway. Now it's 2016 and I've no plans or resolutions. Can't do the former because I live day to day and I don't believe in the latter. For goddess sake it's just another stick to beat yourself up with. "I made that new year resolution to stop squeezing my spots but I've just had to release that tiny volcano that was on my chin! Oh I'm a failure!"
Instead of resolutions I've made something of a bucket list for the year.
Wanna see?

1) finish writing my book, I've had three on the boil for the last 6 year, ridiculous! This year one will be finished and published!

2) visit as many as I can of the properties that the national trust and English heritage look after. I've been a member of both for years  and yet not taken advantage of it. For this I need to get my fibro under control. So maybe that's two things on the list, not one. Who cares?

3) finish the wall hanging and get it sold! Three years in the making, I think it's more than overdue to be finished.

4) try to find something that makes holding brushes and pencils easier for me. I really miss doing my art but get so frustrated with shaking hands and cramping fingers that turn dead with Renaud's at the drop of a hat.

5) Love myself for who I am and what I can still do. Don't keep beating myself up over things I can't do much about. I've never loved myself, really need to learn how to do that. I wonder though, is it too late at 57 years? Can an old crone learn new tricks? Why not! I've learnt how to crochet, surely learning to love myself can't be much more confusing than that!

So those five things are my list for the year. They're not plans and they're not resolutions. Simply five things that I'd like to do this year. If I don't manage, then so be it.

We'll see won't we? 😜

I'm tired now, my energy tank has been running on low this afternoon therefore it's been nighty on and in bed at a ridiculously early hour but Hey Ho who cares!

I'll finish by wishing all my five readers a very happy, prosperous, healthy and fun filled 2016.  Enjoy every moment!

Granny's Christmas magic

It's approaching that time of year again. As a young girl I would wait impatiently for the wheel to creak round the twelve months, to that day that the big man in red would visit us. There was a family tradition of Santa's helpers leaving little gifts on the hearth in the weeks up to Christmas. My gran started it I'm told. 
We lived in the kitchen, it was the heart of the home. The other rooms stood bereft of human occupants while the kitchen held us in its bosom and absorbed the joys, the wails, the life of our family. It's still doing it after s hundred odd years. So when Santa told his helpers to leave the little girl who lived down Spot Lane, a surprise gift, naturally it was left in front of the kitchen fire. I don't know how Granny did it. Did she possess some magical power? Was she an expert in sleight of hand? Could she hypnotise me into not seeing? I've no idea. All I know is that we'd be sitting there in front of the blazing hot fire that was held beneath the oven. Our legs and faces red with heat. She'd be sat, in her flowery pinny, red beret half covering her wispy hair, her feet snug inside her pompom slippers, on her chair to the right of the fire, I'd be on the little dolly stool* to the left, probably leaning on the wall behind me.
"What was that noise?" She'd whisper loudly in a dramatic manner, her head thrust forward tilted to one side, eyes rolling from side to side in a quizzical way. "Shush, I've heard a noise up the chimney!"
Mother would join in then, "oh yes, I've heard it too! Debbie go look outside see what it is."
Debbie, that is I,  didn't want to go look outside in the dark. Debbie wanted to stay right there on the stool safe with gran. But before I could even stand up somehow laid there on the hearth, in front of the fire there'd be a chocolate bell, a chocolate bauble, a small chocolate Santa. I never saw it being placed there! Right in front of me! How??
"Santa's been Santa's been" I'd leap up on chubby little legs, chocolate gift clenched in my hand, waving it under granny's nose, shoving it in mother's face. "Look ! Santa's been!!!" They'd both feign surprise, although the look on granny's face was one of sheer delight certainly not pretended. Her little granddaughter, her pride and joy, the one she held so dear to her heart, was in the thralls of happiness over a small chocolate.
"You know what you have to do now, Debbie, go on then..." Before she could finish I'd have thrust my head as close to the fire as possible and shouting up the chimney "Thank you Santa! Thank you very much, thank you Santa!" I was raised to have manners, so even at the risk of singeing my eyebrows I was determined to make Santa hear my thanks.
And so, I'll leave you with the image of a roaring fire, a bonny old lady sat on her chair with such a beautiful smile on her face as she watched her granddaughter carefully unwrapping the gift from Santa. And look, see that pure love on her face when she takes the tiny nibble of chocolate offered by her granddaughter.
"this is for you granny. I love you granny so you can have some too! "

*  a three legged contraption made from a washing dolly, about a foot high, made from wood and painted white. It also had a hole in the seat where the handle once was, which would suck down your bum cheeks if you didn't sit right.
    

One of those awful parent moments

I can't think of anything worse than what a parent goes through when their child goes missing. I can remember when my little tyke, Jake, climbed over the back gate while I was upstairs on the loo. He hadn't been walking long (early walker/early talker) and I've no idea how he managed to get over that gate, I thought he was safely playing in the living room!

I remember how the blood rushed to my head, the horrible feeling that swept over my body, how my heart pumped ten to the dozen as I ran up the shared path shouting his name. When I got to the car park and saw the little sod running along the pavement on the opposite side of the road, the  relief, fright, anger, love all mixed up in a huge wave that reached every part of my being. How I ran on those shaking legs I'll never know. Dashing over the road, sweeping him up in my arms, half sobbing, half laughing,  to squeeze the little buggar tight and carry him safely back home. I was drenched with sweat and tears wouldn't stop flooding down my face.

Of course he didn't have a care in the world, he just wanted go to the shop for sweets and wasn't very happy that he was being carried away from them!

I'll never forget those feelings, undescribable really. I feel so sorry for parents whose children go missing, my heart goes out to those whose kids are never found safe. I don't know how they carry the grief.

Stay safe please.

The one wherein i complain about sweating (and granny knickers)

I hate this sweating.
It's totally ridiculous; sweat running down my face, neck, chest like a mini Niagara Falls. No longer can I cheer myself up by slapping on the make up or messing with my hair. It's pointless because before I've even finished the final sweep of lippy, the whole lot is melting causing my face to resemble a child's painting, or an artist's palette where the colours have ran into each other, a muddy mess. False lashes lose their stick and hang off eyelids like dead millipedes, while my hair clings damp and limp on my wet scalp.

No longer do I open the wardrobe and randomly pick an outfit for the moment. Not that any of my clothes from twelve months ago would fit me anymore;  I've gone from size 10/12 to 14/16 thanks to medications and enforced inactivity. 
Now my wardrobe holds few basic things in natural fibres. Cotton. Cotton mixes. Linen. More expensive than the man made materials and less to find going cheap in the charity shops. I have more pyjamas than clothes, I'm not ashamed to say i practically live in pyjamas (well, i am ashamed really but i like to pretend I'm not),  far more comfy to wear and easier to wash and dry.
Having such health issues like fibromyalgia means practical thinking. Out have gone corsets, Basques, stockings and suspenders. No more six inch stiletto pleaser shoes. Goodbye thigh high leather boots with the high heels and long long zips. Hello flats, elasticated waists, leggings, extra large loose tops, yoga style bra tops and granny knickers. And pyjamas!

Goodbye femininity. Hello boring old woman!

It's embarrassing.
Sweating in public causes people to look sideways at you, some with amusement others with a look bordering on fear. My attempt at humour "it's OK it's not Ebola" fell with a resounding echo in the halls of failed jokes. 
I'm sick to the back teeth of people, including my doctor who really should know better, assuming I'm having a menopausal hot flush. I want to scream "Ffs! I'm a decade past my menopause, it's not that. I've had my hot flushes and even those weren't like this!" But I don't because I know from experience it just causes people, including my doctor who honestly really should know better, to smugly smile. Because everyone knows better than I do - I'm just a boring fibromyalgia suffering old crone.

Did I say I hate this sweating? 

Drama on an Autumn morning!

Autumn. When the land around me turns into a tapestry of orange, red, yellow, green, purple, brown and grey - all woven and layered on the ground or draped over the trees and hedges.

Autumn. Mornings of mist, of grass heavily sodden with diamonds of thick dew. The fine delicate webs, patiently designed by spiders, become necklaces adorning the bushes. The whole scene could be a lavish set from some Gothic opera, all it needs is a caped, masked gentleman floating into view...

Oh! What's that movement my terrified eyes have spotted? Who is this ghostly figure that makes my bosom heave in trepidation? That sends the back of my delicate hand to my clammy brow as I feel suddenly faint with fright!

The postman shoves the brown envelope through the letter box and trudges off again down the path, unaware of the role he's just played in my dramatic scene. Such an anti climax!

Ah Autumn! How I love the way your drenched air and rusty palette of colours send my imagination into overdrive.

What can I say?

I've got my son staying until Friday, that's my youngest one. He's 30 in a couple of months but still mum's lad. It's strange really how I never really see our kids as truly grown up. It's that baby snapshot burnt into the very fabric of my brain and heart. It's the smell of a newly washed infant head on my chest as he drifts off to sleep. It's the feel of a little chubby hand holding into mine. It's the memory of those big big eyes, snub nose and brilliant white baby teeth showing as they smile.
Now my eyes tell me that big strapping bloke sitting on my chair is fully grown up, or that other bloke in the wedding photo with the gorgeous bride, is another fully grown adult with a home and life of his own. I know all that and what's more I'm glad they've developed into men, I'm proud as punch of them both.
But I can also see the little lad with the curly hair asleep in his chocolate pudding,dimpled legs dangling from his high chair. Even when the other, my eldest by the way, was pledging his troth at the altar three years ago, my mind went back to the toddler who loved the "Early Werly Shop" and proceeded to drive the staff nuts by playing with everything he could lay podgy fingers on. (To be fair the Early Learning Shop did encourage kids to play, but hyperactive 2 year olds go berserk in a room full of toys!)
No matter how old they get, how successful they may be, how independent they are these two men will always be my little lads. The best things my body has ever done. The greatest gift I've ever been given. I am very lucky indeed.
What can I say? I just love my children. So be it.

I'm really back into it now...

I am.
I've made a solemn promise to this blog that I'll make an entry of some sort at least a few times a week.
I will. Honest.
I WILL.

I've been lacking motivation, feeling that I've nothing to share with the world. The shaggy black dog has been walking on my heels, giving a toothy nip every so often. A nip that says "you're pretty crap as a person aren't you? What have you got to offer society now then?"
Reader, if you'redepressive you'll understand what I mean. If you don't understand - you're one very bloody lucky person! Be thankful for that.

At the risk of you finding my blog a good sleep aid*,  I'd like to think aloud about how fibro found me.
I suppose most people when first diagnosed with fibromyalgia search about for a possible cause. It seems so strange to be a "normal", fairly active, working body and the next finding even a touch in certain body spots can cause you to buckle in pain and an ouch to escape your lips. Reading Web M.D, the words  (quote) "There have been some studies that link fibromyalgia to sudden trauma to the brain and spinal cord" (unquote) were like a lightbulb moment; I wonder if my car incident 4 years ago triggered this fibro of mine?

At the time it seemed such a minor incident. An old man reversing his car down the street, seemingly trying to reverse into a parking space but instead drove bang into my little Lucy Toyota.  Although I'd tried to get his attention by peeping my horn, flashing my lights, sticking my head out of the window to shout, the old chap put his foot down a bit harder on the gas. The resulting kiss of cars shot Lucy backwards with a kangaroo jump, it didn't really feel like a big deal but it caused me a bad whiplash injury and gave my already damaged spine something else to moan about.

A visit to the doctor and some days on strong painkillers followed and to be honest I thought nothing more of it. Well I was too busy seething about my poor little Lucy being damaged! Her front end all buckled and crumpled. Up until then I was renown for having a really high pain threshold; once I nearly chopped my index finger off with parrot loppers whilst trimming up the bay tree. Don't bother asking how on earth my finger got in the way, I've no idea. I remember seeing the glisten of bone beneath the spurting blood and thinking the loppers were sharper than I thought. It stung a bit, made my teeth grind a bit but certainly didn't send me crying with pain, flinching and ouching. See what I mean? I could stand a fair amount of pain.

Within a few months of the car incident I was ouching and wincing at the slightest touch. I hurt all over. And how strange! The pains seemed to travel along my body. What the heck was going on here then! It took another year and a serious bout of shingles before I was told it seemed I had a thing called fibromyalgia. I thought it was something to do with fibroids and was wondering if I would end up having a hysterectomy! Lol, so naive I am at times.

So I reckon I'm going to stick my neck out, now there's a pun!, and hazard a guess that it was my car incident that triggered it all. If only I could go back in time and avoid it happening. I'd still be the "normal", fairly active old Crone.

And I wouldn't be writing this.

What do you think triggered your fibro/ M.E/ lupus, or other such illness? Please don't be shy, if you'd like to share then use the comment boxes. I'm really interested.
          }

*and if it sends you to sleep that's all well and good. At least it's done something worthwhile.

Note: This was originally intended for my Farcebook but before I pressed 'post', I thought again. Even though I want to invite other fibro/lupus/ M.E sufferers to tell about what they think triggered their illness ( I'd love it if you would use the comment boxes), I'm aware that there's family and friends who don't like to see me talking about it on Farcebook. They feel that in talking about it, I'm dwelling on it, making myself worse. I know that's not the case but to keep the peace I decided to put it on here instead. We all need to think aloud on occasion and get things off the chest!

It's been ages.....There's good reasons.

I'm well aware that it's been simply ages since I last blogged. I could say that I've been travelling the world by air, sea, land; that I've sampled the delights of foreign cookery, and had my photo taken on some exotic shore, where the warm azure sea ever so gently lapped my ankles.
I could say all that and more. I'd be lying of course.
Truth is I've had a couple of months  completely drained of energy, overwhelmed by pain and wrecked with IBS / nausea. All effort has been concentrated on getting through each day.  Add to that various appointments at clinics and hospitals -- well I need say no more eh. You get the idea don't you?

There have been good days, nice times,  for sure there have!

Mr and I celebrated our 11th Wedding anniversary at the beginning of the month, taking a few hours out at the Gnome Reserve. It's such an innocent, natural place where the glum/old/knackered you is temporarily forgotten, as (donning the Gnome hats that come with the entry fee) the child within delights in the chubby grins of the many and various garden gnomes that reside in the wooded garden.
The dogs, Zaffi and Lulu, came along too; they got as much pleasure out of the place as we did.  We had tea and sandwiches in the cafe area, then had a wander round the wildlife garden. Yes, we had a really good time for very little expense. Roll on next spring when our next visit is planned.

On creative juices and their flow

I've always been a writer. There's a silly thing to say eh! Aren't most people writers as it's one of the first things we're taught in school (and well before school if the parents have any sense). I'd hazard a guess that being creative is indeed part and parcel of all living creatures with hands and feet. Give a child or a monkey a crayon and they'll no doubt scribble away on anything to hand. Including their hands.
Or they'll eat the crayon.
That's being creative is it not?

Anyway, back to yours truly. Yes, I've always been one to put pen/pencil to paper and form letters that make up words, that flow into sentences, turn into paragraphs, and eventually reams of paper full of thoughts, ideas, wishes, fantasies, that could be called a story.
I love escaping in words. Strangely, in painting and drawing I find it difficult to go into the depths of my own inner self and I tend to create portraits of what it's in front of me. (I specialise in animal portraiture, but have done very little since I developed fibro). But in the world of pen and paper -- or more usually nowadays my trusty Nexus tablet, or my little sweety HP  Streamer -- I just dive into the fantasy world of me.

After much urging from Mr P I've decided to dive in again and already have a good plan, what I call ISCOPE (Idea, Setting, Characters, Otherworldly, Problems, Ending). All I need to do is stop blathering on here and get cracking and write.

I'm a bit nervous. It's been a while since I wrote properly. I'm procrastinating aren't I.
I can do it. I know I can. I have a diploma and a BA  in the subject. I might be a tad rusty but I can give myself a good polish. I'll get on.
I'm going now.

My neck hurts today, I mean really. Maybe I should take a painkiller and have a nap.
Come on start writing!!!
I'm going then.
Does no one want to say anything? Anyone need any help? No? Oh.
I'll go write then....

Fibro & Me. A nonsense ditty.

Oh I have got fibro
But fibro don't got me,
It tries it's best
Won't give me rest,
I'd love to be pain free.

Yeah I've got the fibro
And I am always sore.
This stupid ache,
For heaven's sake,
Coming back for more.

I wake up in the morning
Count my problems one by one.
Can I move? Now what pains?
Fibro fog? Oh not again!
I'm Always hoping fibros gone.

But, I've still got the fibro
Looks like fibro still got me.
So it's all grin and bear
Don't touch me there !
Cos I'm not fibro free!!

Gwearbennen © Hedgerow Art 2015

I'll just say this {through gritted teeth}

If there's one wish I'd be happy to rub the Genie for {what's that? You rub the genies lamp? Ohhh, that's where I've been going wrong!} , start again... If there's one wish I'd happily rub the little persons lamp for it's for all the broadcasters, namely SKY Movies/News/Other,  CATCH UP TV, QUEST, Al JAZEERA, MOVIES FOR MEN, amongst others and THE FILM COMPANIES, to go deaf for a couple weeks. LET'S SEE HOW YOU LIKE HAVING TO WATCH SOMETHING YOU'VE NO IDEA WHAT IS BEING SAID. Yes, I'm doing some shouting because I'm totally sick of being discriminated against.

In this day and age there is no good reason why all programmes cannot be subtitled. I don't get any help with understanding the television I pay a hefty sum in licences for. I don't get any discount for not being able to hear. I don't want a discount, I want to know and understand what's being said!! For heaven's sake it's not asking much.

This past few days I've been house sitting in a home with SKY TV and was looking forward to watching some good programmes and films. I've been disappointed to discover very few films on SKY Movies are subtitled, and on the whole it's been the usual Freview programmes I've watched.

Since becoming largely bed/sofa bound I've been watching more TV than I've ever done in my life and can't help but notice that instead of an increase in subtitled programmes there's a decrease. That's really shocking in this techno world.

So come on Genie, let me give you/your lamp/whatever a good rub, I'll even use Brasso if you'd like that, and grant me this wish. Let's reach the idiots a lesson they won't forget.

Mr P's Perfectly Scrumptious prescription for calming the black dog

I've not been very well. Feeling rather down with that dratted Black dog skulking round my being, giving the occasional nip with fangs that drip hot and nasty thoughts into my brain.  I won't go into it with great detail, it's enough for you to know that Mr P has been brilliant, keeping his cool while I bubbled over with red hot lava spewing from a tongue of nastiness.

Well, I hate myself so I'll hate everyone else shall I??  And make everyone else hate me at the same time!! Such is logic from the brain of a mad old crone.

But that  husband of mine showed how decent and caring he is .... and made me a cake!  Hey, I'm now on the cake making redundancy list; his cakes are so light and tasty he knocks that other Mister's exceedingly good Crown right off Victoria's sponge! I certainly will hesitate to bake a cake in future.  It'd be like barking myself instead of letting the dogs do it. ..

Talking of dogs did cake get rid of my black dog? Not if I'm honest, but it surely made it so stuffed that it went dozing for some time.  So Thank you dahlink Mr P, I'll suggest that doctors prescribe Mr P's Perfectly Scrumptious Sponge to all depressives and Bipolars. :-) xxx

Art by Gwearbennen or just another bit of doodling

""Tribal Owl" made into poster for my niece's birthday gift.