MAL's MURMURINGS [aka Broad Thoughts From Heterocon]

Isn’t it strange how when one’s most shattered, both physically and emotionally, badly in need of rest, that’s the time when one feels most restless? It almost seems as if one lacks the stamina to recover. I do recognize that some sound sleep came my way after yesterday’s “downer” but, after some ten hours of bed rest, I ended up feeling even more shattered whilst simultaneously lacking the necessary resolve to allow myself a further period of rest. The spirit proved unwilling, even though the flesh was weak!

So, now I sit before a glaring TFT monitor, eyes heavily lidded, hoping that some words will come tumbling forth. Problem is, blankness is rather difficult to describe!

Just as a hint of self-pity begins to creep up on me, it seems like a good time to do a little stocktaking in recognition of all the blessings / privileges in my life. Whilst unremitting muscular twinges in the small of the back, calves, thighs and upper arms prepare me for a cussing fit, I look out of the window to observe the fledgling blackbirds, starlings and house sparrows, freshly thrown out into the world from the home-comforts of their nest. My life transitions were never that abrupt!

 The garden is a constant source of pleasure, the demands it imposes upon one in terms of caring attention are as nothing compared to the joy and contentment it proffers day after day; the seemingly endless cycle of flora and fauna, here on my doorstep, never ceases to amaze and enthral me.

As I write these words, I’m reminded of the way that the internet has proved such a lifeline, especially at times when levels of physical and emotional stamina held me captive within these four walls. [There again, I must count my blessings, four solid walls and a roof to protect me from the ravages of the elements, something beyond the wildest dreams of untold millions on our planet].

As contact with many real world friends and acquaintances, who failed to understand my health imposed transition from social to a more solitary mode of being, was broken, I had the good fortune to find new friends in cyberspace. Where once I could be out on the streets in support of causes and values that I stood for, I can now voice and share these concerns via electronic mail and petitions. I realize that it’s not quite the same as being out there but, at least my voice can be heard or represented. On odd occasions, I’ve even managed to renew acquaintanceship with people I’d lost touch with decades ago.

Suddenly, I realize that I’ve left the best to last; the love, friendship and laughter that I share with my beloved – ultimately, nothing is more important than the love and support of friends and family, an area in which I am greatly blessed.

I rejoice and am glad, in this day the Lord has made. I give thanks for the ability to give thanks!

I make little secret of the fact that I’m not the best of travellers so, having just returned from a visit to Northampton, today is going to be a rather quiet celebration of my birthday. At the time the Beatles released “When I’m 64”, such a great age seemed almost unimaginable for this wreck of a twenty-something but, now I’m there, health problems notwithstanding I’m going through one of the happiest periods of my life. My only requirement for contentment is the presence of ma belle amoureuse, tending to the garden when stamina permits, and observing the flora and fauna hereabouts.

Sorry; that paragraph took off in a direction I hadn’t anticipated, even though every bit of it is true. Come to think of it, any direction my rambling takes is something of a surprise, not exactly stream-of –consciousness more rivulets-of-idleness. I don’t even know what I intended to say; just crossed my fingers and trusted in the keyboard to make it plain!

Let’s start at the very beginning, it’s a very good place to start; when you read you begin with A,B,C, when you write you begin with me, me, me … So, travelling is the cue. The reason for the visit to Northampton was, for my beloved to celebrate her sister Margaret’s 70^th birthday; the six siblings were to go out for a celebratory dinner on the Friday lunch time. Helen and myself don’t like the idea of being apart for even one night, so we decided that I would travel down with her, provided I could overcome my travel anxieties. Being a poor traveller, this necessitated a two night stay, arriving on the Thursday afternoon and returning home on Saturday morning.

Most of my time on the Friday was spent in our room, at The Innkeepers Lodge, resting and sleeping. I occasionally ventured out to amble around the pine tree surrounded grounds of the establishment and, grabbed a couple of starters in lieu of a main meal at the adjacent carvery. I’m grateful for the time spent sleeping, otherwise, it would have seemed an extremely long day whilst my beloved was out with her siblings. What kept me going was the thought of being back home around lunchtime the following day. Please note, it’s the arrival that matters not the journey.

The return journey went much more smoothly than we could possibly have anticipated but, nothing can match the joy of ones return to the homestead.

A highlight of the return journey was a sign, presumably referring to ongoing maintenance work, stating  “DELAYS ARE LIKELY UNTIL AUTUMN 2010”; my God, I thought, I have difficulty coping with a ten minute hold-up (hyper-ventilating panic attacks etc.), I don’t think I can survive one for 2 ¼ years.

A little further along the motorway, a large poster in an adjacent field read, “PREPARE TO MEET YOUR GOD”. The way some people were driving, crossing lanes without signalling, cutting in without leaving an appropriate space between the other vehicles, it seemed quite ominous. If the intent was to proselytize, it was sufficiently distracting to ensure that potential converts may not survive long enough to repent or convert. Must admit, I appreciated it more as the work of a prankster with a sick sense of humour, rather than a wayside pulpit.

This posting also appears on The Word of Sinna Luvva

Whatever happened to those late, lamented, “little grey cells” (as H. Poirot might put it)? Their activity, or presumably their numbers, isn’t in evidence as much these days as in days of yore. If it’s true that alcohol kills them off, I imagine that mine have to be greatly diminished, if not running into reverse numbers! At least these days my wine consumption is of very modest proportions, I’m actually enjoying the taste and “the nose” far more than those times when friends were mystified as to why I didn’t display any of its worst effects on many more occasions than my constitution permitted.

It’s now quite frequently the case that I know what I want to blog about, or where I want to surf, only to find that in the short interval between switching on the PC and it’s totally readiness my mind has gone quite blank as to what the urgency may have been.

When planting or transplanting items in the garden and its wildlife area, I know that if I don’t place identifying tags adjacent to the plants their name/species will be forgotten by the following week. In recent weeks Aquilegia, Hypericum, Campanula, Hostas, Californian Poppy, Icelandic Poppy, Wild Wallflower, Wild Bellflower, Ox-Eye Daisy … old uncle Tom Cobley and all, have found their respective places chez nous but, without the labelling I couldn’t have named one of them. At least sufficient cells are active that I can carry a visual image of the plant I require as we visit various garden centres but, remembering their names seems to be a lost art.

Come to think of it, does it really matter if one doesn’t know their names (I’m a bit like that with people as well) as long as one appreciates them. Hopefully as the more intellectual aspects of the brain diminish in power, those of appreciation can be sustained and even increased. I rarely try to identify the stray weeds / wildflowers where the birds have scattered seed from our various feeders; my appreciation (or even deprecation) of them has by no means diminished.

The wonders of nature never fail to satisfy, its gentle awesomeness is natures gift to me. Were I to live in more exotically unstable climes, perhaps its “awe-fullness” would be the overwhelming sensation. There are times when one can only bow in reverence or even fear before the elemental forces but, most of those around me are quite benign.

Of course, the word benign is dependent on ones perspective; were I to be the prey of the Red Kite we were privileged to observe just a few hundred yards from where we live, it would certainly be a case of cowering or running from this malign spectre.

Sorry I’m just waffling on … must be the lost grey cells seeking their revenge! Forgive me; I know not what I do.

Today I experienced the most troublesomely frustrating mat exercise. For some days I’d been planning my routine but, when it came to it, the mat nearly floored me. The mat, about 1½” thick, comprised of multifarious roots, had linked three baskets of rushes and other marginal plants into inseparable triplets.

The rushes anchored to the outside of the planters seemed to have a greater vitality than the overcrowded inhabitants of their primary dwelling place. The aquatic planters themselves, although weighted down with granite chips, aquatic compost and a deep gravel dressing, had themselves been elevated from the marginal shelf of the pond by the dense tangle of roots. My exercise time proved to be not a moment too soon.

The preparation of the new, larger planters, took far less effort than the hacking away with scissors, shears, knife and spade, to release the subjects due for transplant. The effort of the entire garden planting and transplanting, of the past few weeks, seemed like child’s play in comparison to this modest task.

Perhaps I did overdo it a bit after all (see posting ‘Of Disassociated Leg Syndrome & Pottering About’) but, not in any major way. I’ve even managed to do a bit more pottering about subsequently, albeit for just a few minutes at a time, but the residue of shattered tetchiness and painful muscles, aching joints and tender glands were my (just) desserts for the over-activity.

At least these days I’m generally aware of the cause for these minor relapses, even though there are still times when such symptoms present themselves for no apparent reason (other than my general health condition).

The garden’s flora and fauna are a constant source of delight, providing rewards which are totally disproportionate to the minimal effort I put into garden and pond maintenance.

The strange case of disassociated leg syndrome occurred the night before last. No matter which way I turned in bed, to try and catch some sleep, the lower limbs determined on another course of action. Whilst lying on my back, the legs rebelled with signs of agonizing discomfort. Being an obedient slave to my body, I altered both my position and that of my legs; it almost seemed as if the troublesome limbs notified me of their desired posture, yet within moments of each subtle shift they rebelled again.

After a good 90 minutes of such discomforting rebellion, I decided to let them have their own way, making no conscious decision to alter their transiently current dis-ease. Within a further 30 to 60 minutes, the rebellion ceased; my mind, however, remained alert to the possibility of further rebellion for a considerable time.

By last night, my more familiar pattern of fitful sleep had returned; restless, I may have been but, the unruly limbs no longer dictated my nocturnal posture. By 9.30am today, I faced the world in a confident semi-refreshed manner and, by early afternoon felt sufficiently energized to do a bit of pottering about in the garden, transplanting a container grown Hebe into one of the borders, re-planting the container, potting up a few tomato plants and, a little general tidying up. As soon as fatigue began to set in, with a little prompting from my beloved, I had the wisdom to move back into the house for a rest.

A couple of hours of such activity seems like a quite remarkable achievement, when I recognize that, just a couple of years ago, even half-an-hour at this modest work rate would have really knocked me out. I am extremely hopeful that, having heeded my beloved’s prompting, I will have avoided any post-exertional malaise. I just have so much to be thankful for.