Empty Nest

Its been a while.

Tempus fugit etc.

I'm wondering what I'm doing back here. I'm also wondering why I stopped coming here in the first place.

Thats a lot of wondering. Or wandering even.

A lot has happened in the year that I've been wondering or wandering.

Two of the offspring have gone to the other side of the world to spread their wings and not a backward glance between them. There is a tiny voice inside of me that screams "don't go so far away" but it disappears into the air.

The last of the offspring, in his final year, watching his siblings fly, is champing at the bit to test his own wings.

I didn't ever think when I was in the throes of rearing children that they would eventually grow up and want to fly so very far away.

How blind was I?

The house is rattlingly empty.

I miss them.

I want to leap to the other side of Xmas so I don't feel anything remotely resembling loneliness.

What right have I to feel this way when I have two of the offspring coming?

None.

But I still feel like jumping.

Happy Days

Last year we had a quiet house. Just GB, myself and one of the offspring. The two peacocks off about their business, one in sunny Spain and the other residing with his lady love in the same city but it might as well have been on a different planet. There was no oonce-oonce music, no damp towels gathering mould under beds, no size 12's lying around waiting to be tumbled over, no dirty dishes growing mould beside the couch. Tasty edibles always available. It was very nice. And quiet.

But, now, they are back. The fruit of my loins, the reason for my existence for so many years, for various reasons, have returned to the nest. Oh joy of joys.

The damp towels are breeding. The bedrooms seldom see the light of day before noon. The oonce-oonce is a constant background rumble. The fridge is always empty. The lights are on all the time. The dog is ecstatic. The friends call constantly for entertainment and to help empty the aforementioned fridge. Late nights. Sore heads. These things, you might say are all part and parcel of family life. And you would be right.

But you know what drives me crazy?

The 27 odd socks that I counted today.

Spring

Funny how a seemingly innocuous, random, run-of-the mill visit to a medicine man can stop you in your tracks and turn everything slightly upside down, inside out and every which way but the way you expect it to be.

Today, as I closed the surgery door behind me, I watched my life passing me by as I waited for it to begin.

Auto-immune disorder. No cure. Live with it.

O.k.

Bring on the dancing girls, raise high the roof beams, throw off the winter woollies, smell the rain, shake off the hibernating cobwebs.

To hell with the to-do lists, I'm busy breathing.

Lizard Fatigue

I suspect that lizards really only come into their own when the sun shines. They don't much like the cold weather. Frost, snow and ice are like the kiss of death to some of them.

Credit to Mr. Newberry for his diagnostic skills.

Zoning Out

Today is the last day of November.

Tomorrow I don't have to post if I don't want to.

That's the way it should be.

Not that I didn't enjoy the month.

I did.

But having a low boredom threshold with myself and my wonderings, it'll be good to just visit and comment on other people's blogs instead of blathering on and on about me.

So, as and from tomorrow, I'm zoning out; off to wander around the blogs of visitors that I have shamelessly neglected for the duration of Nabloblahblah.

I'm looking forward to it.

Thanks for visiting!

Yesterday

The sun came out yesterday.

It was lovely.

The sky was blue with only a few fluffy clouds skittering about and the rain fell down just a couple of times.

Hysterical with the brightness of the day, we abandoned the usual, humdrum activites that occupy a Saturday and hightailed it down to the seaside.

We motored through the familiar landscape that was now, due to the bucketting down of the last 3 weeks, strangely unfamiliar. We made several detours around large turloughs that have been lying dormant for the last decade or so, waiting patiently for their chance to glisten.

We had the flaggy shore to ourselves; listening to the docile lapping of the water against the rocks, feeling the salty sea air sweeping the cobwebs out of our moisture-sodden minds, it was easy to be happy.

At 6pm we went to the exhibition. The invitation had arrived earlier in the week. He who would like to be obeyed, groaned. "Well, if you REALLY want to go ..."

He's not a great fan of the visual arts but he is quite tolerant.

Michael Gemmell was one of the artists. He's a quiet man with a colourful past.

It is difficult to do justice to the visceral wonder of the man's creativity. His work speaks for itself.

I'm not even going to try.

But every fibre of my being tingles with recognition.


art work: Flying Over by Michael Gemmell.

X-Rated

Blue-footed Boobies.

I didn't know that some of them had feet.


photo credit: www.ecs.soton.ac.uk