Daylight savings time saves what exactly?

Not my photo

Clicking on a link where I found a link to another link and so it goes...

Those who know me well know I have huge issues with daylight saving time. Yes, it is nice to have longer evenings, but it's so unnatural! My personal gripe stems from not having the sun where I expect it to be at noon. It takes me ages to adjust.

Why did it then come as such a surprise when I found an article on wildlife deaths due to daylight savings time?

http://goo.gl/PExcu - This link goes to the translated version of a Danish site

In short, animals that usually use the quieter hours of the morning to cross busy roads suddenly find themselves in peak traffic. As a result, many are killed, at least, until they, like me, finally adjust their own 'clocks' to our manipulation.

Can someone tell me why we really Need DST??

 

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Nature’s cleaner

Back when we worked at Killruddery, I discovered Nature’s handcleaner. In years past, we’ve always used all sorts of lotions and potions to clean our hands when we had no bathroom facilities on hand. Working with the animals and often giving the pigs some fairly greasy kitchen leftovers and then washing the containers, one day, I, in desperation, wiped my hands on the wet grass. It was amazing! It cut through the grease far quicker than most soaps would! I found myself a lush clump of grass and swished out the containers… Granted, not sparkly kitchen clean, but clean enough that I didn’t have to carry dirty containers back and… my hands were clean!

Since then, grass has become my first choice for cleaning when I’m out of doors and it just feels so good!

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He preached with his eyes closed

Yes, he did indeed preach with his eyes closed, but that was the least of what made Father Brennan unique. I remember the first time I met him very clearly. Jurgis and I had started dating. He decided to take me to the little (make that ‘tiny’) Catholic church in our neighbourhood just so that I could see it. I’d never been to a Catholic church before.

It was indeed a tiny church, two narrow rows of pews. Not the kind of church you can lose yourself or be inconspicuous in. To say Father Brennan was remarkable would be an understatement. Jurgis’ family were Catholic, by long-standing national/family tradition and purely in name, barely making it to church for the requisite christenings, marriages or funerals. Jurgis himself had probably only set foot in that little church a couple of times… and yet, Father B (to save me typing out his name each time) remembered him.

We walked in and found ourselves mid-church seats, neither of us being eager to attract attention. Jurgis hadn’t been in ages and I was out of my depth, not knowing what to do with all that ritual that everyone seemed to have been born knowing. I was just figuring out when to kneel, when to stand, when to open the little prayer book and flap around looking for the right words (often ending up on the wrong page and pretending I knew what I was saying) when the collection was taken up. Now I’m familiar with collections. All churches have them in one form or another. I’m even familiar with the ‘turn around and greet your neighbour’ bit. What I wasn’t prepared for was Father B himself. He swept down from his pulpit and stopped to chat with each member of the congregation. Yes, there were that ‘many’. He approached us and I prepared myself for the “Hello, nice to meet you.” What I got was more along the lines of “Faith! And it’s good to meet your future wife! You’ll be coming here for the wedding, won’t you?” Father B was an Irishman with a voice designed for cathedrals, not tiny churches with 20 occupants. Every face in the little church turned to watch his sheer pleasure at our impending nuptials we knew nothing about at the time.

That wasn’t the end of my experience of the dear Father. The sermon was yet to come. He stood, hands folded across the front of his chest, closed his eyes and swayed slightly… back and forth… back and forth. I thought he was preparing himself or offering some sort of internal blessing, but the entire sermon was delivered like that! I was so fascinated, I don’t remember a word of the sermon. Ok, that and the fact that it is now many many years ago.

Fast forward a time and a half. We went back to Father B’s tiny church after our engagement, perhaps to show him that his prophesying was indeed accurate. “Faith and you’ll surely be bringing the little ones here to be christened?” Uh huh. Definitely! We laughed all the way home.

On hindsight, we should have gotten married in that little church. I think our memories of our wedding would have been very different. As it was, we got married in a vast cathedral in town - a place not one of us enjoyed and came fraught with its own politics and issues. If I have any advice for anyone considering their nuptials it would be to find themselves a Father B and avoid the grandeur of vast halls. Sadly, we never saw him again, but he definitely left his mark on our memories.

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Life ‘n death

Image courtesy of Free Irish Photos

As spring makes its vibrant presence known, my mind, heart and soul is tuned into vibrant life. I celebrate life. All around me, the earth is awakening and shaking its feathers out. You can almost hear the tiny leaf buds bursting through the ground in search of the sun. I celebrate my own life too. My life is satisfying and each day that goes by, I’m grateful for new experiences and good health. I could go on, but I wanted to talk about death and no, this is not, in my opinion, a morbid subject.

A few people in my circle of friends and family have experienced death recently, either that of someone close to them or a beloved pet… perhaps even the death of a dream. It happens. It’s part of the cycle of life. The whole point of the ‘cycle’ is that it continues. We’re born, but we’re not born from nothing. As we live, life and death are part of our passage through time. When we die, however we choose to finally ‘go’, we return to the earth to once again nourish life.

We have a family joke that goes back for years where we vowed to donate HRM’s body to science (yes, it is possible - http://hta.gov.uk/index.cfm) when he goes. That should keep the scientists fascinated for a time, I’m sure. Death, to us, has never been a morbid or scary subject, though we do go through heartbreak when we lose someone close to us, but that is because we miss them dearly.

There are so many bewildering options for when a loved one dies - or oneself, if you’re doing some advanced preparation. We’ve been there, sadly saying goodbye to far too many who were close to us. Cremation, burial, a bewildering choice of coffins and procedures. Death, like much of life, has become terribly commercial. I can’t think of anything worse to put loved ones through if I were to go! There are good choices though…. Someone posted a link to an article, which got me looking into more articles, which got me reading (you know how it goes) about options and I have to tell you, I think I have found the perfect way to recycle and recreate myself… a tree! I’ve always said that when I die, I want to be planted without a coffin at the foot of a tree, but this is way better, or at the very least, just as good.

The Bios Urn - You get cremated and the ashes are put into a biodegradable pot along with the seed of a tree. The pot then gets planted, so your loved ones can tend the tree and watch it grow. Isn’t that perfect? The tree will absorb the nutrients from the ash, so I’d be part of the tree. This isn’t a dream of extending my life force, but a dream of being able to help nourish a living thing in my own death. That tree would then go on to provide a home and resting place for all the birds I’ve loved to watch. The tree will glory in each season, giving shelter… and possibly food and homes to animals. Even if the tree gets cut down, it’s not that bad. It will warm someone’s hearth, provide furniture or a part of a home, or possibly become the paper onto which a young soul could journal (or do maths - now that’s karma!) as they go through their own life’s journey.

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The forest speaks

 

~ ~ ~

There is a sound to the forest. It whispers to my soul. It speaks to me of an ancient earth nourishing the roots it holds, of birds chattering on gently swaying branches, each leaf telling me a story of a wisdom older than man. The endlessly flowing stream reminds me of the passage of time, carrying with it all the pains of the past, cleansing, purifying, healing. Rocks, older than time itself, encourage endurance and speak to me of staying strong and true to myself and my dreams.

~ ~ ~

I took a walk. We’ve had some rain, you see. This was the first dry, sunny day. I found unexpected rivers in our country lanes.

The views were all gorgeous!

 

I do love gorse! The gorse here is, to me, symbolic of gutsy endurance, flowering and bringing sunshine to every view right through the dull grey (and sometimes white) winter.

The country lane eventually dwindled into a bramble-filled track that also showed signs of rain and snow melt ‘rivers’.

Roads leading off into the distance have always appealed to me. When they’re in a forest, they’re all the more special!

I think I’ve found the spot I’d love to build a home!

The walk back was as lovely as the walk up.

Even the stones were pretty and fascinating. That stone was half the size of my palm and each black spot is a teeny tiny mushroomy fungus thing :)

All in all, it was a delightful walk and just what this body and soul needed!

Needless to say, a walk on the ‘wild side’, for me, would not have been complete without an ‘incident’. I decided to take a short cut across a water-logged field coming home. Bad idea. Up to the ankles in slimy mud was my lesson-of-the-day. Short cuts aren’t always the right way to go.

 

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2013

January 1, 2013. For some reason, the year sounds like something out of a science fiction movie out of my
childhood. It has a bit of an unreal ring to it. I honesty have no idea what this year will bring. Usually I have an idea, but somehow it eludes me right now. Morning might bring clarity.
We spent New Years Eve like we spent Christmas…quietly. Today was an endeavour in domestication, cleaning,  chopping wood and clearing brush. I drew up lists of what I want to plant in the new year.
A friend wished us wonderful new adventures. I think we may just take that on :) What I wish for us? Heady days of happiness, peace, kindness, friendship, laughter….did I say friendship? I wish the same for all those who fill my life!

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A ghost in the press

Funny how memories are set off. I was reading a book and a inconsequential conversation between two boys about the ‘ghost in the press’ caught the attention of long forgotten memories. At the first mention of the ‘press’, my mind went to printing, until logic suggested that, as they were in their bedroom, a clothes press was more appropriate.

What child doesn’t fantasise about monsters under the bed? I made a point of never having a foot or a hand over the edge of the bed just in case. I mean, you never know, right? I went through a phase of “if I can’t see them, they can’t see me” too, which started a lifelong habit of needing to be covered right up to my eyeballs. I still like to be completely covered - still afraid of the bogey-man? Perhaps, though I suspect the bogey-man has morphed into its adult form of a variety of nameless, faceless fears, but… it was the wardrobe that did it.

Many was the night I’d lie in bed staring at my dark-wood wardrobe, almost seeing it open and the skeleton hiding inside coming out to get me. It wasn’t always a skeleton. Some fears were far worse, some more insubstantial. Either way, the wardrobe was a horrifying element in the half-dark of my room.

Today, I wonder if the ‘skeletons in the cupboard’ talk of the adults around me weren’t at least partly to blame. The cupboard grew in my very vivid imagination to hold all manner of ills. I suspect there’s a little part of me… ok, perhaps not such a little part… that’s still somewhat afraid of what could come out of the wardrobe as soon as I let my guard down. I have no wardrobe in my current bedroom and the one I photographed is perfectly harmless… this wardrobe is in my mind - a dark, closed receptacle of nameless, faceless things that may or may not exist. Is it just me?

Naturally, if you had to ask me what I fear, I’d put my hands behind my back, lift my head and that same little girl will confidently say, “Nothing!” 

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Wordy Wednesday

I did consider doing a Wordless Wednesday, but, frankly, Wordless just isn’t me. I had an interesting photo to post, but then found that I had the need to explain the photo and talk about the day that surrounded it, however mundane that day may have been.

As the world is preparing for its ‘doom’, I decided to go and take a walk in the forest. I’d heard there was someone setting badger or fox traps and wanted to get rid of them. Ah… the peace of the forest. The quiet was tangible. Even my footsteps made no sound on the springy forest floor.

At this point in my walk, I was torn between the unending path ahead of me and the obviously man-made ‘structure’. We have debated back and forth what it was for and come to few useful conclusions. My guess was that someone was trying to dry those logs for firewood. I wonder who. It was an intriguing find. It definitely wasn’t there two days ago. This land is littered with some very interesting artifacts. I think I may well go for a photo walk tomorrow. You’d be surprised what you can find in a forest in the mountains!

Actually, I like the analogy of this scene. Life is presenting me with a puzzle right now and yet, I see ahead of me a beautiful path I am compelled to follow. It has no end. This is part of my journey.

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Oh Tannenbaum, Oh Tannenbaum…

I was all set to ignore the fact that Christmas was once again pounding the doors of civilization down, but then it got the battering ram out, crashed through our defences and invaded our carefully preserved un-Christmas.

In short, our host gifted us with a real live (or was live until recently anyway) Christmas tree. Now I don’t, for a start, do ‘live’ trees. My experience being that they don’t stay live for very long and end up being vacuum cleaner fodder. Aside from that, I definitely prefer seeing the trees ‘out there’ than in my lounge. Actually, for the past few years, I’ve been going to great lengths not to have a society-approved traditional tree anyway. Who the heck put those spikes on those branches??? I feel like I’ve just had 3 rounds in the ring with a porcupine!

Requesting humble forgiveness for the poor quality of the photo.The flash destroyed the look, but without the flash... eternal dark.

There now… festive look is done ‘n dusted… I have a pot of ham hocks on the stove that I’ll no doubt find a way to serve up for dinner and the fire is lit. I hope it stays lit. Yesterday’s fire did very nicely until late. A repeat performance would be a real treat.

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The Hermitage

Today, I truly feel like a farmer’s wife again. As I sit here, I have a pot of Hermit Soup (a name I’ve just given it… for fun) on the stove - to be served with buttery slices of crusty Killruddery cheese bread.

Jurgis is snoring in front of the fire, sinking ever lower into the couch. We have spent the dark afternoon time watching videos on permaculture planning and design, drawing up elaborate plans involving chickens, vegetables, fruit trees and forests. At this point, I’m relatively content.

It’s out second day at The Cottage in the Wicklow mountains. We woke up to what we thought was a thick frost layer this morning. It was, instead, thin, icy snow and it stayed. Needless to say, I slipped on an icy log. I consider the place now initiated into my stability. No harm was done, though my dignity suffered yet another blow.

I set up the compost bin today and frittered away 10 minutes picking up pine cones, which are now, hopefully, drying out nicely over the fire. If not, they look decorative(ish). Jurgis has started clearing the pine. That will be a major job. We’ll need to get some serious equipment in to clear the part we’ve demarcated for the veggies and fruit trees. Right now, cleaning and clearing is about as much as we can do… at least until we get to see the owner again. He was meant to arrive last night, then today… maybe tomorrow. Time will tell. I have an internet bone to pick with him *Needs Internet*. The cottage is warm. Barring a fairly serious plumbing issue that was meant to be sorted out today (I think the plumber got lost or something), we’re fairly comfortable. It’s a huge change from the ‘palace’, but has its own compensations.

So why hermitage? We’re about 4km away from the nearest village, Roundwood, which boasts a population of 800+ and 5 pubs. Yes, it’s like that. We’ve met one of the local population, a chap who came to drop the top halves of a few pines that were threatening to fall on the cottage. He was nice and is now a familiar face. We’re considering a walk into the village on the weekend to see what it’s like and perhaps meet a few locals.

Life, at this point, is pretty good. Now if I could just get online… I’m missing talking to my little girl.

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10

 

Numbers are a strange thing. I don’t deal well with numbers normally, except for a strange habit of counting absolutely everything in site and some things not in sight… oh and memorising telephone numbers.

A little background to the story…

We’re in the middle of a rather dramatic change - again. Whenever I’m faced with change, I tend to go into varying degrees of panic and anxiety. I consider myself to be practical and adaptable and I am… really. It’s just that some changes seem to be harder than others. This time, it means leaving behind a much-loved place, its people and the wonderful time we’ve had for a complete turnaround in lifestyle. Nothing new there really. We’ve made far more radical changes than this. I did, however, ask for a sign. What I got was signs… over and over.

The first time, I was going into the old dovecote to hang out some dish towels on the indoor rack that’s stored in there. Smack in the centre of the threshold, lying face up, was a shiny new 10c piece. I picked it up, thinking nothing of it at the time beyond that it was a peculiar place to find a coin. A couple of days later, I was going into one of the rooms off the old horse yard and, again, smack in the centre of the threshold was lying a shiny 10 cent piece, face up. This time it got my attention and I walked off pondering it a little. It went a little beyond the uncanny when I went into the kitchen later to yet again find, smack in the centre of the front of the basin where I was to wash salad greens… you guessed it… another 10 cent piece, lying face up. There’s a message there. From whom, I have no idea. Telling me what? Again, I have no idea… I can only guess. I looked up the number 10 in terms of numerology, but the coins? I’m very open to interpretations. Needless to say, I’m voting that it means that our fortunes are changing for the better ;)

So… having said all that… this is what I found:

 

NUMBER 10


The number 10/1 brings all sorts of new changes into your life, and there seems to be an element of luck within those energies.  Through this vibration you have the insight to recognize and understand the needs of humanity, and the ability to bring peace and harmony to all.

*
The number 10 relates to the Wheel of Life in the Tarot deck.  It is the first digit with the zero in the scale of vibrations and endows the individuals with extra vitality.  They may use this vitality to earn the crown of attainment and to maintain the symbol of wholeness.

Number 10 is the symbol of Love and Light.  It creates all that can be imagined and contains the code, image and ordain.  Image it and it shall be, ordain it and it will materialize.

The power of manifesting creative concepts into reality is inherent, but this power needs to be used with wisdom, since the power for absolute creation contains the polarity power for absolute destruction.  Self-discipline and infinite compassion must accompany the gift of the former in order to avoid the tragedy of the latter.

Number 10 is the symbol of ‘wholeness’  -  humanity 1 and God 0 in Unity -  the gift of power and protection.  People travelling the Day or Destiny number 10 are beginning new lessons in cycles of knowledge and great responsibility rests on these individuals.  Having reached this conversion point, they need to now use their strong willpower to undergo the discipline necessary to prepare for the Aquarian Age, where they will need to cope with new discoveries.  Having come through into this new energy they will then need to look at using their true leadership qualities if they are to live up to the life that they have chosen.

Number 10 is the symbol of ‘wholeness’  -  humanity 1 and God 0 in Unity -  the gift of power and protection.  People travelling the Day or Destiny number 10 are beginning new lessons in cycles of knowledge and great responsibility rests on these individuals.  Having reached this conversion point, they need to now use their strong willpower to undergo the discipline necessary to prepare for the Aquarian Age, where they will need to cope with new discoveries.  Having come through into this new energy they will then need to look at using their true leadership qualities if they are to live up to the life that they have chosen.
Number 10 is formed of the pillar and the circle.  It is both masculine and feminine, or Father/Mother principles.  Words keyed to the rhythm of 10 are created in a special sense.  They are productive and have the power of acquisition and attraction.  These qualities characterize the 10 person and he is seen as a centre of force whose influences are wide and pronounced.  This number responds to whatever Karmic reaction he experiences in life.  It may be good or evil, depending on whether he uses his power wisely in accordance with the dictates of Spirit, or yields to personal inclinations regardless of the promptings of the Higher self.  Whatever plans number 10 expresses himself upon, he is a person with power.

10 is the number from which all things come, and all must return.  It is considered the most occult of all Hebrew letters and is the fundamental and formative number of the Old Testament.  It intones the power of the manifested Universe and 10 is the pure white light of 1, and synthesizes all the colours of the spectrum.  It blends and harmonizes the tones of the 7 planes of being into a single rhythmic unity.

The Kabbalistic symbol of the 10 is the ‘Tree of Life’, with its 10 gleaming centres of life and power.  The Kabbalistic Tree is formed of the 10 centres or points of light through which the entire process of creation is given numerically.

The advanced individual who has 10 as his Destiny number fulfills his life more fruitfully by working towards peace and fellowship among the races and nations of the world.  His word is power and his presence, peace.

The Tarot symbol depicting this power is the Wheel of Fortune.  This person is always an old soul and is one who has had many lives on both the higher and lower degree and one who has learned how transitory are things of the earth alone.
10 signifies purification.

*In gratitude for information from http://numerology-thenumbersandtheirmeanings.blogspot.ie/2011/05/number-10.html

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Goodbyes are never easy

I think I have too many blog posts around with that sentiment. Some day, we’ll actually be in one place long enough to avoid having to say that. On the other hand, we are making good friends all over, people who find little niches in our hearts and get comfy there. We’re also not too far from Killruddery, so if we have a mind to, we can go back to visit. To put it mildly, Killruddery was a special place with very special people. We will miss it terribly.

In spite of the heartsore, we left with good ‘vibes’. The Thursday before we left, we went to dinner with Anthony and Fionnuala. It was a relaxed, informal affair where we chatted about our plans, The Cottage, plans for Killruddery and general waffle as conversations go. Friday was the start of the second weekend of the Christmas Fair, so we didn’t really get to speak at length with anyone. Fair time tends to be a crazy headless-chicken run-around for all staff. Saturday was spent in a futile attempt at packing, knowing all the while that there would be no time to pack on the Sunday. I did, however, manage to fit in a little milk tart making!

Sunday morning, I cleaned up while Jurgis chased deer and fed pigs. We had a lunch date with Lord and Lady Meath. Lunch with the Meaths was unusual, especially as we weren’t ‘regular’ staff. They were wonderful! We had a lovely roast beef dinner with wine. I think I have a new alcoholic passion…. ginger wine! Ooh, it was delicious! It reminded me very much of my old favourite cocktail, the ginger square. Of course, it doesn’t take much to get me to imbibe ginger in any form. We chatted about anything and everything, from deer fencing and pigs to trips along the Garden Route to saving tiger turd in Nepal. Warm, and definitely fond on our part, farewells were said and good wishes abounded before we rushed upstairs in the hopes of getting the roast done before our visitors were due.

We had Mirek and Larissa, our Polish and Russian friends, over for dinner, another wonderful couple to whom I owe a debt of friendship…. even if Mirek ate my mushrooms! I did a pork roast and served milk tart for dessert. We drank to everyone’s health with a fine bottle of pro seco bubbly that was given to Jurgis on his birthday. We’d kept the bottle to celebrate the arrival of his papers, but figured celebrating friendship was a grand occasion to open it. As usual with Mirek and Larissa, we laughed a lot in a variety of languages. It was a good evening. Though I paced the floors for hours afterwards, drifting between intense sadness, happiness and frustration over the still-unpacked goods, I knew all was well and would turn out fine.

Monday, all thoughts of ‘turn out fine’ were forgotten in my wailing and gnashing of teeth over cases that wouldn’t close. I went downstairs to say goodbye to Aislin and Cathrine. Gosh, I’ll miss those girls. Of course, we promised to keep in touch. Finally, the last suitcase umphed itself closed and was dragged downstairs. We came up by the kitchen stairs and left from the main entrance… I think that was a fine way to leave! I said goodbye to my portraits and thanked them for listening to my nightly waffles, joys and frustrations. Anthony and Fionnuala were to take us up to The Cottage in two cars, as they were going on a family trip into the mountains at the same time. Fionnuala very kindly packed us a ‘doggy bag’ of goodies, which, aside from being kind, turned out to be a wonderful thing. That night, we dined on reheated sausage rolls with Killruddery Christmas cake for dessert. Not bad for a first meal. Kindnesses and fond memories were recalled as we settled into our new home.

I drink a toast to friendships forged!

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The quiet inbetween

I’m often asked, now that the tourist season is pretty much over, what it’s like during the week. We have one more weekend to open to the public, then the only public will be here during special events and pre-arranged tours.

I’ll let the photos speak for themselves. Enjoy the absolute peace. It’s tangible!

Magical light

 

Mossy tree

 

Entrance to ‘the office’

 

‘The office’ where I work

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Good morning, Autumn!

A quilt of mist

covers frosty grass

as a blue sky blazes

overhead

I walk beneath

a fiery green bough

on paths of gold

and red

Diamond dew

sparkles on leaves

draped low

over the beds

 

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They sailed away for a year and a day…

We ‘set sail’ from Brazil a year ago on a mission of sheer unadulterated madness - according to our contemporaries anyway. We got a slew of comments ranging from the positive “Go for it!” type to the “Are you crazy?” to “How irresponsible”. I eventually stopped telling people about it just to stop listening to the naysayers. Call me an ostrich.

The contrast was beyond description! I was trying to look for images that represent each place. We went from this…

Sao Paulo epitomised everything I hated in a city…. the dirt, the litter, graffiti, pollution, vile smells, concrete. I ached for green, for softness. I would plant tufts of grass in planters in our tiled yard. This photo puts our city life into a nutshell, the very close proximity of neighbours, the concrete and our striving for green even there.

To this…

Wales… how can I even describe our impressions there? Unlimited beauty, open space, Grass! Air that was clean and pure. Even animal dung had a clean smell about it. We worked hard… very hard… but it was good and satisfying. I enjoyed the goats! We fell in love with Wales. What a beautiful place in every sense of the word.

Wales came to an abrupt and rather tragic end due to circumstances out of our control. In a bit of a panic - we hadn’t planned to move on so soon - we went to stay in Northampton at the centre where Tat used to work.

We met wonderful people and had the chance to relax and recoup… until relaxing became a chore. We weren’t used to it, but weren’t allowed to do anything. Luckily, there was a stunning nature reserve nearby where the hours could be whiled away pleasantly.

Oh… and we got to see our first Snow!!!

Of course, we couldn’t stay there forever. We were in the guest rooms and they had an event they were booked out for, so we were on the move again. Moving on was becoming a little scary. None of this was in the original plan. This was where old and dear friends stepped in. We were on our way to Hemel Hempstead.

Northampton had prepared us for being back ‘in town’, though we were very much on the outskirts right next to a nature reserve. Luckily, Hemel Hempstead was a pretty place. We had fun times with our friends who’d known us since Tat was just two bricks and a ticky high. It was a time of shared memories.

Towards the end of our visit, I started stressing again. I got very sick with a cough that wouldn’t let go. I got to a point where I literally cried to the heavens one day… “Where to next?” The answer came from New Zealand and we applied to a place in Ireland.

Our first steps on Irish soil after the ferry trip over… a very special moment! As I stood listening to that ocean, a deep sense of peace came over me.

Tir na Si (Land of the fairies) was a delight to the senses! Most of my work was in the tea room, but I snuck out whenever I could to spend time with my donkey friends. The animals were my favourite part of Tir na Si. Our hosts were lovely and we had a very comfy room. When not working, the farm was so nice to explore and relax on.

We were happy… but again, ‘fate’ stepped in. There was a mixup with our dates. Jurgis had mentioned the date of our return ticket that had to be changed (the booking system didn’t have a ticket date far enough in advance) and they misunderstood. Family was coming over from overseas and they needed the room we were in. We were sad to go, but our next ‘home’ was so exciting…

Killruddery… there is so much to this place that it needs numerous blogs of its own. Adjectives fail me here. We’re very privileged to be living in the main house and need to walk through the tour part (I call it the museum) to get to our apartment. It’s so funny how one drops to a whisper when entering that part of the house. Jurgis is in piggy heaven. I work in paradise. That’s our lives in  a nutshell right now. We’re hoping this is going to be long term(ish). We’re super comfortable, loving our work and the people here are beyond amazing.

In short, this year has been a hellava ride. Would I do it again? Absolutely! Would I do it differently? Absolutely! Am I sorry I did it? No… not in the least. There are things I miss about Brazil. I was thinking of my students tonight. I miss them. I miss a few personal things that got left behind and yes, I miss the comfy salary I had and having two computers (sharing a laptop has it’s challenges). There are things about Brazil itself that had wormed its way into my heart.

Each place we’ve been to since has a place in my heart too. We’ve learned some valuable lessons and made life-long friends along the way. We definitely have come off with many stories to share when we’re old and senile ;) Here’s to the next year or ten! Cheers!

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Sunday Memories

I was feeling a little nostalgic anyway, playing with Overenthusiastic-Odie….

I gots a stick, I has!

I miss having my own dogs around. Luckily, I have an abundance of dogs and other critters who make me smile here. I spent yesterday playing with Lupa, a rather goofy 7 month old German Shepherd.

I want to let go, so you can throw it, but tug-o-war is so much fun!

We don’t work weekends. Really. Honestly. Ok, sometimes. Thing is, farming’s like that. You’ve read ‘Animal Farm’, right? Today’s politics involved the chickens. You’ve met the existing chickens… Now meet the newbies!

These arrived here with warnings that they were wild and could fly and liked to sit in the trees. Um… ok… We clipped their wings, put them in the hen house and set about trying to make friends with them. A couple of weeks later, they no longer squeeze themselves into the corner to get away and they do come forward when greens are offered, but… they fly! They fly to the window sill with their clipped wings (to clarify - only one side, before anyone tells me we did it all wrong).
Today, we got another addition to the flock, Crocky’s sister, who looks a lot like that feather duster. She was put in with the other chickens by her now-ex-owner, only to be pecked on, so she was moved in with the frightened newbie group. We plan to try and put the whole lot with the old birds tomorrow. On Wednesday (or thereabouts), the new chicks should hatch. That’ll add another dimension to the whole drama. This should be an interesting week!
I’m now sitting here over my cup of dandelion and lemon balm tea with a wee drappie of honey. It’s delicious! I was feeling a little under the weather this past week. Hopefully this will give me the Oomph! that went missing.
I wanted to show Jurgis a video and was looking through my files with pictures of South Africa when we had a bit of a discussion about the location of a remembered landmark in our home town. That took us to Google Maps. I’d have lost a few kilos if I’d walked the distance we covered this afternoon :)
I’ve come to the conclusion that I had an idyllic childhood. How many children get to go to school in a school as full of character as this one. This is the old Albert Jackson Primary School. Its walls were solid stone and thick. It breathed history, but was bright and cheerful. It looked no different to the way it looks now (the building is protected by heritage laws), though it’s been many, many years since it held any children.

Albert Jackson had no playground of its own, so, at break time, we’d all line up and cross the road ‘crocodile’ fashion to the Donkin. Now can you imagine a nicer playground for school breaks? A view of the ocean, vast lawns, funky monuments and plenty of pigeons to absorb the lunch crumbs.

The Donkin is named after Sir Rufane Donkin, governor of Port Elizabeth in 1820, when the British settlers landed. The unusual pyramid next to the lighthouse is a monument to his wife. I thought the story to be really sweet:

“His life is also one of romance and undying love. He married Elizabeth Markham in Yorkshire under a traditional organised marriage which was the custom in those times for the social upper classes. But Sir Rufane Donkin truly fell in love with his beautiful young wife. In most cases the wives of high ranking military officials stayed at home while their husbands were abroad. However Elizabeth Donkin chose to be with her husband and travelled with him to India where she was to become seriously ill, and died in August 1818 after their first son George David was born.
The effect on Sir Rufane Donkin after her death was immense, and to such an extent was placed on leave from his post, however he was given the task of organising the 1820 Settlers in Port Elizabeth. He was officially the first governor of PE from the 6 June 1820 - 1821. His wife Elizabeth was buried in Meerut in India but her heart was embalmed at his request.
…… Love it is said is as strong as death! Sir Rufane Donkin built a memorial to his wife Elizabeth known as the Donkin Memorial atop a hill above the city centre and named the city, Port Elizabeth, in her memory. The Donkin Reserve is open to all in perpetuity according to his will.”
From The Port Elizabeth Times

Technorati Tags: memories,dogs,chickens,school,Albert Jackson,donkin,port elizabeth,sir rufane donkin

It takes all kinds

Meet Maeve…

She leaned up against me today, cat style. I had to grab for support. She almost toppled me! She was being affectionate. She loves a tickle behind the ears. She knows me.

I had finished my working day and was going back to harvest a leek or two to go with dinner. Close to the pigs, one of the moms stopped to chat. I was pointing out the pigs and was about to suggest she goes around the side to see them better when I saw an odd-coloured pig. I looked more carefully. There were children in the pig pen!

I raced up the side yelling to the mom to get her kids out of the pig pen. Two moms, actually. They’d let their little ones, no older than 5, I’d say, climb over the wood and diamond-mesh fence into the pens. About a foot or so away from the fence is the electric fence - two lengths of electrified white ‘ribbon’. So, apart from the fact that the kids could have been belted by the fence, there was the pigs themselves…

Maeve is friendly, but stroppy. Sophie is more laid back, but she has her 8 piglets in there and isn’t very tolerant of strangers. One day I went into the pen dressed differently (I didn’t have work clothes on) and she charged. Luckily, she realised who it was as she came closer. We’re talking serious pig tonnage here! Ever see a bull charge? Same thing, except on a set of very short, very powerful legs. The piglets are no longer tiny. They tend to run, en masse, to see what new food is heading their way.

What on earth was going through the minds of the two moms that they’d let their little girls in polka-dot skirts and tights climb the fence into the pig pen??? The mind boggles! We’re talking here about two hefty adult pigs plus 8 hefty porkers, a vast amount of mud and an electric fence. After yelling to get the kids out, I pointed out that the fence was there for a reason… to keep pigs and kids separate!

Still… what the heck? Really? I wonder if it’s the same mentality that gets kids injured at zoos and the poor animals get blamed.

Technorati Tags: pigs,children,zoo,animals,fences

Making friends with the dark

…0r at least being accepting of the dark.

I live about as close to paradise as one can get. Yes, there are things I’d love to improve our situation with, but otherwise, we’re in a good place, surrounded by lovely people. Still, there are times when I look out at the bright sunshine and all I see is the dark within me.

Art by Chris Spring 

The dark is heavy and impenetrable. It actually pushes that bright sunshine aside. Smiles become work. laughter is forced up from a memory of the feeling. I walk with my head bowed. “What’s wrong?” asked a colleague. “Nothing,” say I. “Where’s the bubbly, smiley Corrianne I’ve come to know?” she asked. “I shot her,” was my reply. I smiled at her. “She’ll be back tomorrow.” I hope.

You see, it gets comfortable in the dark. I’ve always loved the dark. I think, for me, it’s a time when the excess of stimuli that comes with the day is quietened. I have to be careful, though, that the dark doesn’t overtake me.

This dark is different… definitely not comfortable. It’s a time when I stare at beauty and I hurt. It’s a time when click through my friends online and I’m tempted to just close my accounts and cop out of it all. It’s a time when I sit, looking inward and what I see makes me cry. My thoughts are uncomfortable with sharp edges jabbing my mind.

I go off to cook dinner, not because I want to, but because it’s a requirement of relative normality. I put on some fighting music, something to stir the beast in me. Some songs make me cry over the onions (I knew there was a reason I like cooking with onions!) and some had me belting out defiantly against the world and all that ailed me.

Yes, tomorrow I’ll let the ‘other me’ back. I might even let her play a while.

Technorati Tags: depression,down,funk,music,mood

Retrospective

Last week just whizzed by. I tried to catch it and stall its rushing, but my efforts were in vain.  It was a busy week and, at the same time, a very quiet week.

Let me first introduce you to Crocky and his harem. Crocky is our highly temperamental feather duster…. sorry… silkie rooster.  We have a sign on the fence warning kids (especially the grown kind who have offspring) that he can be mean and has drawn blood on a few occasions. To date, we have no data on his attacks and can’t decide what makes him go for the jugular on some days, but not others.

His harem is delightful though. We have Rhode Island hens and Barnevelders. The one Barnevelder is currently broody and warming a nest of prospective feather-bundles. We have speculated at length what they’d end up looking like. A mix of Rhode Island or Barnevelder and a white silkie rooster who carries his brain on his beak? They’ll be interesting if nothing else!


Meet my glove’s nemesis…. mustard seed. The mustard is used here primarily as a green manure. We let it grow, then chop it straight into the soil where it was planted. Picking the seed was bad enough. It’s sticky and pulls at your hair (really tall plant). Then getting the seed off the stalks. Can you see the prickles? They’re little splinters that are out to get you. The mustard shredded a few pairs of gloves already. I’m no fan of the plant, but I guess it’s good.


Some wanted to know where I live. I have to be discreet here. We’re guests, after all. The driveway leads right up to the main house. The second-storey bay window is our day room. We look down on the driveway. If you have a moment, do find the first episode of “The Tudors” on Youtube. At the start of the episode, the horse comes galloping up that very same driveway! Yes, it was filmed here. “Camelot” was another that was filmed here. In fact, the list of films and TV shows that were filmed on this estate is pretty long.


Another view… in this case, the first floor (second, to Americans) bay window is our apartment.

Last night, we had our staff party at the Beach pub in Greystones. Ah, it was lovely! As per all drinking occasions, best friends were made and life-long bonds were forged (whether they’ll be remembered in cold daylight is another matter entirely *grins*). We drank, we sang, we danced, we yelled over the band and missed most of what was said (at least, I did). In short, we had loads of fun.

I love my job. I love where I live (not just the house… the place… the town… the region). I love the people. I love my life. It is good :)

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