Time for a Little Temper Tantrum

I like to think that I am a fairly well balanced, normal individual. I don't have any outrageously disgusting habits and my temperament is, usually, of the easy going variety. Nothing fazes me, most of the time.

But last Saturday, I shed the mantle of tolerance.

The Queen had asked if I would drop in and visit with the brother in law who was down to do his filial duty for the weekend. I suspect it wasn't out of concern for the brother in law that the request was made. Her own tolerance of this particular individual is a little strained, to say the least.

He has always been difficult. Laden down with baggage that he has never acknowledged, let alone dealt with, he storms through life with an enormous chip on each shoulder. His storming is greatly exacerbated by his overdependence on alcohol to see him through, what he perceives to be, difficult situations. One of these situations is his monthly visit at the weekend to care for his parents.

I arrived at 4pm intending to stay for an hour or so. He was slouched in front of the TV, beer in hand, glared up at me and snarled "What are you doing here?"

"Just passing by and I thought I'd come and see how you were" I said lightly.

He then proceeded to tell me that he didn't need people checking up on him and that he was very capable of caring for the old folks without any supervision.

"Where are they, by the way?" I enquired.

"Front room" he barked.

I went into the front room and found the Queen in an agitated state, the result of an earlier argument, and the main man drenched because "somebody" had neglected to enquire if he would like to go to the bathroom. Having done what was necessary, cajoled and placated Her Majesty, made the main man comfortable again, I then felt something snap in my brain. Anger seeped through every fibre of my being.

I went back into the other room and let him have it.

What did he do?

He picked up his phone, rang GB and told him he'd better come pick "her" up because "she" was having a temper tantrum.

This man doesn't know how lucky he is to be alive.

10 Reasons to Smile

1. Sunshine through the clouds.

2. Puppy chasing his tail.

3. Wind blowing, drying the laundry.

4. TV broken.

5. Repair man fixing my bicycle free of charge.

6. The sound of someone humming.

7. Walks on the beach, whatever the weather.

8. Finishing anything.

9. Postcards from afar.

10. December 1st.

Resonance

This piece of music takes me to the inner places of my ancestors, to places that I cannot remember.

Even without memory, my body responds to it on a cellular level, recognising some deep connection that defies my senses.

My rational mind would like to know why some musical pieces touch the core of one's being while others just drift past, unrecognised.

But my spirit doesn't care.

Its just happy to go along for the ride.

The Queen

The Queen is a mighty woman.

She was born in 1924 in a small town in rural Ireland. Her mother, who was only 19, died of a fever when the Princess was just 9 months old. Her father, being young and a little foolish, was at a loss as to what to do with his baby daughter. Enter the Queen's maternal grandmother, herself a formidable woman, and, he was off the parental hook. Away with him across the water to London where the streets were, supposedly, paved with gold. Neither sight nor sound of him for 10 years.

Roseanne put her heart and soul into rearing her grandaughter. Abject poverty was the norm on the street where they eked out a meagre existence. But she managed to see the little Princess through primary school and insisted that she continue on with her education so that she could, eventually, get a grand, steady, pensionable position working for the Government.

The Princess was an intelligent, good looking child. She grew to be an articulate, hardworking woman. She landed herself the prized government position and left her grandmother's home. For a life of freedom and a little wildness in a slightly larger town about 70 miles from where she grew up. She enjoyed being a grown up. Boyfriends and dances, bus trips to Dublin and bicycle rides around the countryside. And then she met himself. The tall, handsome army man who swept her off her feet. And out of the arms of the man she thought she loved.

When they married in 1953, she relinquished her tiny Princess tiara and readily accepted the heavy duty crown that was part and parcel of her new position. She moved into the role of Queen like a duck sliding into a pond.

She was, like most Queens, quite ignorant of housekeeping duties. The arrival of the royal offspring, all 8 of them, within 10 years, was, to say the least, a bit of an eye-opener for her. But being of the blue-blooded brigade, she rose to the challenge and loved and nurtured them beyond even her own expectations. She loved and ruled with an unquestionable passion. Her devotion demanded very little in return. On one royal occasion, himself and the princes and princesses forgot the importance of the Queen's birthday. Boiled eggs were served for the nightly repast, in silence. This ensured that the 2nd of October was never overlooked again. Her family was the reason for her existence. When death deprived her of one of her children she, temporarily, lost her will to go on. But time, as it does, softened that wound.

She worked hard at creating a home filled with love and laughter. The royal offspring blossomed under her care and eventually left the palace to seek out their own kingdoms. Himself retired and they filled their days with gardening, winemaking, reading and the occasional jaunt across the waters to strange, exotic lands. When himself had a stroke back in 1995 their lives changed, inevitably. Gradually, they became old and dependent. The Queen was not amused.

Being an intelligent Queen, she knows that she has been blessed with a good life. She knows that she has no real reason to complain. But it is difficult. She is heartbroken watching her life partner of 57 years lose his zest for life; she watches him battle with the words that are on the tip of his tongue but refuse to be spoken; she looks at him while he struggles to put one foot in front of the other, worrying in case he should fall. She lives in a constant state of fear.

Fear of life.

Fear of death.

Her bravery is a humbling reminder to me that that we are all vulnerable.

Long live the Queen.

Feeling no Pain ...

I had the best of intentions today to write a non-moaning post about the magnificence of being alive.

I got lead astray.

Delicious eats at a favourite hostelry, Milanos, accompanied by 2 bottles of Pinot Grigio, scintillating conversation, and the solving of the world's problems.

Now I'm home and feeling no pain.

Life is good.

So tis away to the bed with me.

I'll sleep to fight another day of Nabloblahblah.

Codhlamh samh!

Wordless Wednesday

One of the wettest places in the world.

The kingdom of Kerry.

The Offspring

Sometimes it frightens me.

The depth and strength of the feelings that my children can generate in me.

Especially when they are not around.

The photo above was taken at No. 1 daughter's wedding in London last August.

When I look at this picture, I recognise the people in it. I know that I love them dearly, that I would gladly die for them. They make me outrageously happy. They fill my soul.

And yet, part of me feels detached from them.

To the point of barely recognising our connectedness.

Is this the way its supposed to be?

I don't feel sad.

I'm just curious.