Had to go to the doctor today, a rare experience in my life, praise the Lord! The first set of blood tests turned up some crazy results, so they wanted to take some more. The Shingles lesions are healing up well but the illness is still taking every opportunity to remind me that it's still there. Every movement produces pain, sensitivity, stinging, sore glands and the impression of strained muscles on the upper right back/shoulder blade. I've no option but to rest. My aunt tells me she worked through her attack of Shingles and ended up permanently damaging her skin. I can't imagine how she managed. Just thinking about it sets me back!!

Being driven, one can take time to observe the countryside. Each year in November, as we settle in to the long, dark evenings and the short, just-lit, damp days, I realise afresh that for all its apparent gloom, I love November. Apart from the breath-taking sunsets in mid-aftenoon, there's a richness of colour in the retiring hedgerows - reds, deep dark chocolates, oranges, russet-browns. Each year afresh, I long to be able to capture the November palette in paint - but I've always believed I can't paint!

Of course, there's also the lovely compensation of having the 'gang' back - the little flock of sparrows, the two pairs of chaffinches and two pairs of blue tits, along with two or three blackbirds and a pair of wagtails. Alas, only one great tit has returned this year, the female. As far as I remember, she was a younger replacement mate for our old great tit (who was the chubby son of the original taller, slimmer Rudy). If that's the case, he may have been about 10 or 12 years old. They were a great pair and it was lovely to watch them at nesting time, consulting and conversing together about possible suitable sites! I'm sure she must feel lonely. We'll see what Spring will bring her. The coal tits were very much part of the 'gang' at one time but apart from occasional visits to eat the fruit of the Lonicera, we haven't seen much of them lately. That may be because there are more bird tables and feeders in the general area than of old.

Mr. Chaffinch is very funny. A few years ago, for some unknown reason, he suddenly went into a moult in Summer. During that time, looking very strange with his no tail and few head feathers, his whole character changed and he became very trusting, though very shy. He would suddenly appear on the branches of a bush, at face height, waiting to be fed a peanut. Having made sure he was seen, he would then sit motionless until the peanut was held about a centimetre from his beak and only then would he bend forward and accept it. Sometimes he would land on the ground, directly in front of one's feet and just stay there, looking up, absolutely trusting that he wasn't going to be walked on and that a peanut would be produced. Of course he didn't move and one had to bend right down and hand him the peanut! He has maintained these odd habits to this day and sometimes I have to remind him that I don't have wings and that if he's beyond my head height, I simply can't stretch up that high to him!! All of the other birds who come to the hand will land on the railing outside the door and when offered a nut, will fly to the hand and take it - but not Chaffy! He waits for us to lean out until the nut is almost at his beak, no matter what the weather (or one's health!!) This year, he and the other male Chaffinch have changed their blue head feathers for particularly pale greenish-brown ones. I just don't remember them being quite so pale other years. How strange it would be without such life around the place!

One of my favourite 'stories' happened when my friend Noel was very sick with Blood Pressure/Hypertension. It meant he had to stay in bed and rest, whereas usually he would be out and about, with his pockets full of peanuts, ready to feed the 'gang' - the little flock of wild birds he had persuaded to come and eat out of his hand, including two pairs of great tits, two pairs of blue tits, a pair of coal tits, and some chaffinches. 'Rudy' was the favourite Great Tit, (called Rudy after Rudolf Valentino, because of his shiny, sleeked-back head feathers) and Reenie was his mate. It was nesting season and being very smart birds, Rudy and Reenie soon figured out where Noel was. At first, they would tap smartly on the window glass and if he was well enough, he would go and hand them some peanuts. Being under pressure from their growing nestlings, however, they soon started to fly in the window to Noel's bedside and helped themselves to the peanuts which were lying on his bedside table.
Their constant visits helped to lighten what was a very trying time of illness.
Then one day, something magical happened. In through the window came Rudy and over to the table for a nut. Then, one by one, four pale yellow, droopy-beaked, fluffy baby Great Tits followed Dad into the bedroom and lined up side by side on the wood at the end of Noel's bed, as if Rudy knew Noel couldn't get out to see them and had brought them in to show them off! Noel lay very still, afraid that if he moved he might panic the little ones but there was no need to worry. Dad was in control. Having picked up his cargo of chopped-up peanuts, the little family headed back out the window in orderly fashion. The strange thing about this story, (apart from the fact that it's true!) is that despite continued regular visits by Rudy and Reenie, the little ones never ventured in through the bedroom window again.

I have a long memory. I'm glad about that. It seems such a waste to have lived 4 or 5 years and be able to remember very little about it.
By the time I went to school at the age of 4, I had lived a lot. It has only recently become clear to me that some of the memories are imprinted because of some particularly dramatic occurrence associated with a scene or happening.
For example, I have a very clear memory of our 'pram'. (Ah, the days of prams. Buggies just aren't the same!) I remember being in it, the plastic smell of the thin mattress covering the wooden base and the feel of the crumbs underneath it. I remember the feel of the elasticated border all round the hood. I can remember that pram in various locations.
One day, I was in the pram in the front hall of Granny's house. The hall was tiled, red and white, the square tiles set diamond-style from front door to living-room door. Of course, in those days, the hall was very long and very, very high. Sitting in the pram, parked as it was at the end of the stairs, I could see into the Parlour. I can still smell the polish, the mahogany, see the beautiful burgundy-covered arm-chairs and 'parlour chairs', matched by burgundy curtains, the ever-pristine china cabinet, the lovely mahogany fireplace and mantelpiece and the two alcoves, either side of the fireplace, where the 'parlour' books lived.
(Granny was a marvel at keeping house on the most meagre of means. Each year, her curtains and candlewick bedspreads all got a new lease of life, leading to Daddy's famous statement one day, having popped in on the way home for dinner (in the days when dinner was had in the hour between 1 and 2pm)- "Your mother is dyeing again!"
On the day I'm thinking about now, I was left to my own devices for a few minutes and decided to try out the mechanics of the hood. If it was pulled all the way forward, the two hinged arms locked into position, which was interesting, except for the fact that one of my fingers was now also firmly locked under the hood. Of course I was rescued from my predicament - my aunt Mary says she took a few minutes to figure out exactly what the problem was - but I can't help wondering whether my memory of the house at that time would be as clear without a little 'boost'!

My earliest memories? I'm not sure. I know I have a clear picture of my Dad lifting me in the carry-cot out over the newel post at the end of the stairs. Mother couldn't do that because of her bad back. I don't remember the occasion now but I remember remembering the experience, looking up at Daddy's face, seeing the two pale pink soft plastic handles of the carry-cot in his hand and the feeling of being lifted up and over the obstacle. I suppose I couldn't have been much more than six months at the time, I imagine.
I also remember wall-paper and floor-coverings. There was lovely wall-paper in my room, that had puppies. It was paler than the next lot, which I think was put up when my brother Liam was born. (I may have helped in the removal of the first lot!!!) The second paper had black Scotty puppies and Hairy Molly caterpillars, among other creatures.

Another memory I have of the pram is of sitting in it, mid-morning, while Mother left her bread-making to come and twiddle the radio aerial when reception broke down for the Third Programme. Our national radio station, Radio Eireann, had a break in broadcasting in those days from 11am to 1pm and Mother would immediately turn the dial to the 'the Third Programme', BBC Radio's Classical music station. Each morning, during those seemingly long pre-school years, we were treated to magnificent concerts, concertos, operas, anything that was beautiful. Wagner usually got knocked off, as did Mahler. I didn't know who they were at the time. I know now!! Small wonder then that when we visited Granny's on Sunday afternoons and the 'aunties' were doing their homework to the sound of Radio 1 (BBC's Pop Music station) I was hearing a strange, foreign culture.

Yes, I'll have to tell you more about Granny sometime. Her warm house. Always warm. Polished warm terracotta tiles in front of the Rayburn, lovely for bare toes on a winter's morning. Toast, made with a long fork held against the red coals. The smell, always the cosy warm smell of bread baking - brown bread in the oven, 'bastible' bread with raisins and sultanas in an enamel saucepan on top of the stove. Clothes aired to within an inch of their lives in the hot hot-press. Bread, mmm, slices of turnover, dipped in milk and then fried in rasher gravy, spread with Granny's latest attempt at jam (which for some strange reason she called 'Summer drink':) ) And egg-flip. And the most melt-in-the-mouth lamb stew you ever tasted, slow-cooked on top of that Rayburn. And chalk, with which we were allowed to draw on those warm tiles in front of the Rayburn. And the box of dinner-buttons...
And of course, those trips with Granny to Tramore, beginning on the Tramore train... But that's for another night.

Shingles

Good evening Blog! I'm home alone, sitting out a bout of shingles. They're quite spectacular, visually, but the pain and discomfort have largely disappeared, praise the Lord - and Famvir. They're right round my middle, from my spine to my bellybutton on the right-hand side. The huge bubbles in the skin are beginning to recede. I believe the next thing thing I can expect is that the whole lot will crust over, by which time I won't be contagious any more (though everyone seems to agree that it would be difficult to give someone else shingles) but by which time the whole thing should be dreadfully itchy. No point in worrying about that just now. Sufficient unto the day...
It's handy that this coming week is Mid-term. I'm not due back to school till Monday week and then it's only for two days. We'll see...

My friend Karin has a lovely blog of memories. Her story of the Tortoiseshell Butterfly who came to share her bath has reminded me of some of the creatures I've been privileged to know.
Each one has been special in a different way. The one I'm particularly reminded of tonight is the Daddy Longlegs Spider who came to join us for supper a few nights in a row. We would come in from the Prayer Meeting, get the kettle on, put on the toast, make the tea and then take the bottle of milk out of the fridge and put it in the middle of the little kitchen table at which we sat. One night, we noticed one of the Daddy Longlegs abseiling elegantly down the wall towards the supper table. We watched to see what he had in mind. He walked determinedly past the marmalade, past the plates and cups, over to the bottle of cold milk which was now covered in a fine coating of condensation. Once there, he 'sat' back on his hind pair of legs, leaned forward onto the surface of the milk bottle and began to drink from the condensation! Amazed, we watched as we ate our supper, until our eight-legged friend had had his fill. Then, just as deliberately, he slowly stood up and on his oh so elegant long, long legs, he walked back past the the plates and cups, past the marmalade and made his way back up the wall to his corner from where he had come.
For the following few nights, Daddy Longlegs came and joined us for supper, in the same way, at the same time and returned to his 'spot' when his thirst was quenched. Then he seemed to be gone. We had almost forgotten him until one evening, down the wall came a spider. Was it our friend? Was he thirsty? It wasn't supper-time, there was no bottle of milk on the table, so I took a teaspoon, filled it with water and offered it to the spider who was now halfway down the wall. He took very little persuading. With those beautiful, long, delicate legs, he leaned out onto the teaspoon and buried his jaws in the cold water. This was just too good to be missed. I can't remember whether it was my video or still camera I reached for, but somewhere I have those moments recorded! If I ever come across it, I might even post it. ... Ok ... If I have time...
(Just as I finished typing, my eye was caught by a movement outside the glass door. It was my friend the Vixen, arriving for her nightly visit, wondering where her supper was. She is such a pretty creature and has such a look of expectant trust in her eyes, confident that she won't be disappointed.
So, that's two of my privileges already.
There's also the jackdaw, two pigeons, a sparrow, and a hedgehog to be remembered, apart from a plethora (what's a plethora?) of 'wild' birds who have been with us for years and years.
But enough for one night.
The Lord bless.

I'm not sure if any of the myriad thoughts, ideas and memories in my head will ever get into a Blog but I've just made a little space for when they might. Some of my friends are excellent bloggers. I'd like to do things excellently. So, I probably won't do much at all. See you sometime. The Lord bless.