Saturday, 18 April 2015

Just thought I’d tell you

that I’m definitely still alive and keen to get back to the blogging universe.

Funnily enough, I’m getting stiffer and more sore from the fall as the days go by; my knees still smart, and hips and shoulders complain when I make any sudden moves.

But Millie has long been forgiven.

I am using my brand new iMac, the latest version, which takes a bit of getting used to. I am nearly through setting her up. Like all new acquaintances she takes careful handling. I am also rather cross with Apple for doing away with Microsoft Office and MacWord. It’s a complicated process to reinstall the data contained in the files because Yosemite refuses to ‘read’ them. Luckily there’s Time Machine keeping them safe until I find a way to rescue them.

Saturday, 11 April 2015

Back at long last

but by no means sorted.

Everything was gone and I still haven't recovered much.
The Macdoctor wiped the hard drive and re-installed the ancient Snow Leopard which means that many apps can't 'read' contents added in more recent versions. I am working my way through apps but there's little hope that I can repair much. It'll have to be a new computer but I haven't decided yet whether it's to be a macbook or another iMac. The price of the things!

Apart from that, and on a lighter note, I am lucky to be alive. Millie did her best to kill me. Nearing the road home on a walk she suddenly saw one of her best friends, Kevin, who was out with Sam, his collie; the two of them were crossing the narrow entrance that closes off the dirt track into the main road.  There are thick metal bars across this gap, with a staggered opening, to stop kids running into the road.

Millie saw Kevin and rushed towards him. Millie loves men. The way she throws herself at her favourites is almost indecent. Terrified that she would run into the road I screamed at her. NO! She crouched on her belly, but only for a second. NO! More crouching. Believe me, when I bellow NO! the whole street hears me. Everybody around stops dead instantly. Not Millie. She slowed just enough for me to catch her by the collar but then she gave one almighty final tug to reach Kevin. As I was leaning over her I was off-balance already, so I went forward in an arc, my head hitting the metal bars, scraping knees and arms in the process. Kevin grabbed my arm, hard, which didn't help, Ralph from across the road came rushing over and a lady arrived from her garden gate. I was winded and hurt all over, so I simply sat there trying to catch my breath and whimpering a bit. That made Sam come and give me a slobbery kiss, while Millie, firmly held by Ralph, looked a picture of innocence; a little pained at having been deprived of greeting two of her favourite men in the manner to which she feels entitled but otherwise calmly wondering what all the fuss was about.

Eventually I allowed myself to be dragged upright by my kind rescuers and Ralph, still firmly holding Millie's lead, took me to the gate into our field. When I said "hold her close, don't let her get run over", Ralph said "why not, she deserves it." He was joking. He's another one Millie loves to distraction. Little tart.

I am still feeling very sore today, but upright and breathing.

Monday, 30 March 2015

Still struggling

I was going to brag and ask for a round of applause because
I cracked Yosemite and was successfully updating app after app.
Then suddenly up pops a window shouting "bug alert' and the screen froze.

I tried all the Mac Helpline advice on de-frosting to no avail and finally gave
in and took the iMac to the Macdoctor. It may be a week before I get
her back.

Hold the applause for now.

I am  typing this on my iPad, which is a right royal pain.

See you anon.

Saturday, 28 March 2015

The woman just won't learn

Can't ever leave well alone.

The Mac was working beautifully, a bit creaky and aged, maybe a bit slow; but it worked, and it and I had come to a satisfactory coexistence.

No , mess it all up, why don't you, cause a rift by installing the new OS, namely Yosemite. And thus causing the poor old Mac to throw up it's keys and not only go on a go-slow but refuse to entertain usage of my dearest and most used's all over between us, divorce lawyers have been notified and if mediation doesn't work, a new partner has to be found.

Oh dear me, I never thought that's how it would end with us. An honourable retirement of a much loved friend would have been much more the thing. But this?

Will you ever forgive me, old friend?

Saturday, 21 March 2015

A Walk On The Mild Side

An early spring day,
soft and mellow,
a slight haze in the air;

too good to spend all of it indoors.

 We start off at the confluence of two small local rivers, just beyond the castle
and what was once the castle fishponds.

 They’re streams really,
but we call them rivers,
the Clun and the Unk,
which should, by rights, become the Clunk,
but the Clun wins out.

 we’re following the Unk upriver now.

 Just Millie and me,
aunt Josephine’s walking stick,
a small camera,
and Eva Cassidy.

Sheep have been here before us, leaving gossamer strands of fleece behind
on sere bramble fronds

Eva often comes along on days like these,
her bitter-sweet voice is just what I need.

Millie walks ahead,
as usual following her nose
and the delectable scents only she can detect.

We meet nobody;
it’s just us, all the way.

 Eva is still with me,
but quietly enough so I can hear the birds;
they are making good use of this day too.
Each one is marking out his territory,
the robin loudest of all.

 And all the while there’s the sound of the river,
gently flowing and tumbling over rocks,
pretending to be a waterfall.

Somebody died here,
a hen pheasant probably.
There’s nothing left of her apart from a handful of feathers. 

Millie takes a cursory sniff, but quickly loses interest.
Some other creature has eaten all there was.

We haven’t gone far at all,
an hour maybe,
but it’s been worth it.

Just the other side of the castle is home.

Wednesday, 18 March 2015

Shadows of One Sort and Another

I was quite pleased with myself last week. There are few weeks when I can sidestep the black hole altogether, and keeping a black cock hatched in March as a protection against evil spirits - it is said they are terrified of his crowing - isn’t on the cards as I don’t keep chickens, so feeling good about myself and the world around me was surprisingly pleasant. I must try it more often. This week started a little less bright but at least the weather wasn’t all bad. Afternoon sun threw shadows across the field, and the river sparkled. Paul and I chucked a couple of hours' work at the garden too, another first for the year. I’ll get those pesky endorphins moving yet. In fact, I’d better. A winter of sitting on the sofa reading books and eating chocolate has done my shape no favours at all. I got on the scales the other day and took a quick look over my shoulder to see if anybody behind me was putting a foot on; but no, it was all me. A lot of me.

The reason I was feeling proud of myself last week was a very simple one: I rediscovered the joys of going outside my comfort zone. In a previous existence I depended on no one but myself for everything, child raising, money earning, household keeping etc. All the obligations of adulthood landed on my shoulders. Not a state of being I’d wholeheartedly recommend. With Beloved it all changed; the children had grown up and left - that blissful state all of you whining about empty nest syndrome will one day come to appreciate - and I became not only a kept woman but one who found a solid presence beside her at all times. 

And now that solid presence isn’t quite as solid as it was and I am having to relearn being the one who not only does, but also makes a lot of the decisions to do what, when, where and how. It happens. Take driving to town and going shopping. Any kind of driving, in fact. Beloved didn’t feel like coming  along, so I went off by myself.

“I am a bus virgin”, I said to the uniformed driver of indeterminate gender, as I stepped on board the ‘park-and-ride’ in the county town - s/he had a kind of curly halo of dark hair and I didn’t want to stare - “please tell me how this works.” I always find people are willing to teach you anything provided you act dumb and ask nicely. 

Shrewsbury is a lovely town, with steep lanes and smart little shops. Once I’d completed the main errand, collecting a watch from the jewellers’, I decided to roam. I bought some new undies, a lipstick, some smart notepads, a few tasty treats at the delicatessen’s and made various other totally unnecessary purchases, only limited by having to carry them to the ‘park-and-ride’ which would take me to the car park on the edge of town, the supermarket for boring groceries, and thence the hour's drive back home to Valley’s End. 

It was nothing, most of you do this daily, but I’ve been leading my life in tandem for many years now and going it alone is a whole new, slightly scary but not unpleasant, departure. Throughout the week I kept up this determination to step out of the twosome. We had dinner guests, a meal which I planned, shopped for and cooked - something usually goes wrong, this time I burnt the roasted vegetables. Prof. Tony was kind enough to say that he preferred his vegetables crispy - ; I drove us to a theatre one night, only a short journey, but I’ve been avoiding night driving for a long time;  going to a restaurant on my own was something I did all the time years ago, now I am doing that again too. Beloved will still accompany me on many outings but sometimes he feels the effort is too much and not worth it.

The shadow of old age encroaching on daily life is something we must all face eventually, but it needn’t be the death knell of all endeavour, singly or jointly.

Sunday, 15 March 2015

Parents’ Song

Children leave.
it seems not long ago 
they still ran in by the open door, 
and, united in dispute,
each took their chair around the table.

Children leave,
there was the long ago time,
when troubled hours,
hours of pain and illness,
filled the parents' day and night.
When black marks at school,
fights in the playground,
friends falling in and falling out, 
knees grazed and 
small hearts broken, 
were carried home 
and healed. 

Children leave.
Sons find wives,
daughters take a man.
At times, there is a letter,
a message, short and to the point, arrives.
Busy lives allow for brief visits,
now and then.

Children leave.
Something they always take away with them, 
parents are poorer, children are free,
and step by step
the clock marches
round the empty table.