Unbearable Pain that I cannot Fix ..

Beloved No. 1 son rang me this morning at 10.30. He was crying. He was incoherent. He kept saying "Oh Mum, oh Mum, oh Mum ....."

And then he hung up.

This frightened me more than anything has ever frightened me before in my whole life.

I frantically dialled his number. No reply. I kept dialling until he answered.

He was still crying.

He told me one of his close friends had committed suicide last night.

There were no warning signs. His friend wasn't depressed. He had a close, loving relationship with his family. He had spent the last year studying for his Masters in Engineering. He played a soccer game with No. 1 son on Tuesday night. They won.

And now he is gone. Leaving behind such grief. For his parents. His family. His friends.

I wish I had answers. For my heartbroken boy.

But I don't.

A Little Slice of Heaven

Words cannot describe how wonderful it was to watch this man perform on Sunday night.

He's now 74 years old.

He's frail and tired looking.

But he hasn't lost it.

He was ABSOLUTELY MAGIC.

Windows, Workmen and WTF do I know?

They arrived last Tuesday.

The workmen.

Contracted to replace the manky, rotten, peeling, warped brown things that encase the escapes to the blue. Not before time, this renewal.

I made tea, lots of tea, 90,000 million cups of tea. In real man mugs. I even produced some passable repasts for their delectation. I deferred to their obvious superior knowledge, reluctantly, on numerous occasions. I was careful not to let them see me cringeing inwardly, as they, unceremoniously, tore out the old windows, ripped acres of plaster off the walls in the process, effed and blinded hilariously with each other, snorted and spat, smoked and coughed, cursed and swore. They were REAL men, after all. Honest to god, hardworking, salt of the earth, labouring craftsmen.

Sure.

One of these treasures of God's gift to women managed to secure himself an express seat to the Hot Place. If I have any say in the matter. In the process of removing the existing front door (with all the finesse of a dinosaur), this treasure of manhood managed to cut through the telephone wire. Completely. No phone. No Internet.

Not the end of the world, you might think. Accidents happen, you say.

I know all of this.

And, normally, I am quite stoical.

But.

Daughter No.2 went on holidays to France last Wednesday, for 6 days. She had, kind soul that she is, given me computer privileges for the duration. Oh, the plans I had! To catch up, to read and comment, to laugh and enjoy, and perhaps, even, blog myself! The exhilaration of it all!

And then, this cerebrally challenged gob-shite went and scuppered them all.

"Theres nothing we can do until next Monday, Missus".... yet another genius, of the male variety, from the phone company, assured me.

By Friday, I was quite calm and friendly again.

Today is Monday. They were due to finish today. I hovered, made tea, ooohed and aaahed appropriately, made more tea. But eventually had to leave at 10.45 for a dental appointment. "We'll be here til 2.30 Missus .... can't see us finishing before that". I arrived back at 1.30. House deserted, doors locked, windows shut. Keys to front and back door sitting, INSIDE the house, on the kitchen counter. I could see them. And me bursting for a small small. Not a hairy-assed, fag-smoking specimen of working manhood to be seen. One small window upstairs, slightly ajar, one manic phone call to GB.... "No, I don't have any of the new keys" .... one very severe warning to NOT EVEN ATTEMPT IT. Meanwhile, I am in dire straits. A kindly neighbour offered tea, sympathy and facilities. A short while later, GB arrives, toting ladder and macho attitude. Nearly made a eunuch of himself scrambling through the tiny window, real man that he is. And then couldn't figure out how to unlock new fangled locks on new doors. Stone Age Heros, so endearing.

More macho men arrived and fixed the phone line. We are reconnected. The reconnection fee will be included in our next bill.

"Huh?"

"Thems the rules, Missus"

I love when Life runs smoothly along.

Wordless Whatsit Wednesday

"Please wait, while we try to connect you .."

For the last 2 weeks I have been out of sorts. Not seriously. Generally, I have just felt like an alien residing in a less than familiar body. Normally, I am a disgustingly, healthy, energetic, enthusiastic, positive individual. But just over 2 weeks ago I sallied forth for my usual afternoon trot and tottered back feeling like I had just done 12 rounds with Mike Tyson. Crawling, miserably to the scratcher I muttered to anyone who cared to listen, "It'll be gone in the morning, its just a 24 hour thingy". Next day saw me a blithering mass of jelly, shivering and full of aches and pains, unable to summon up the enthusiasm to do anything other than moan piteously. "Its probably a virus" the vet cooed knowingly down the phone to me ... "Just treat the symptoms and get back to me if it persists for longer than 10 days". "10 days!!!!" my brain shrieked .... "doesn't he know I don't do SICK????". But bang on the button, the vet was right, on the 10th day it started to ease off. I felt human again. "Hmmm ... a walk by the river would be nice .... or perhaps I'll do a bit in the garden ... maybe, after I've washed the kitchen floor". I'm just kidding about the kitchen floor. I don't do kitchen floors.

Anyway, being forced to do as little as possible has its advantages. My brain, in feverish bursts of manic activity, had great fun tricking around with momentous topics that rarely see the light of day in the whole of my health.

No time. You see.

There is a God.

In the midst of the earth shattering ruminations on whether the earth is really round or whether if everybody was deaf, would there be such a thing as noise, came the usual suspects such as happiness, internal tickings, friendship, connecting, love, hate, ageing, children, important things, not-so-important things, time-wasters, imposters, physicality, spirituality, sadness. The devil making work for idle hands. Of all of these the one that kept cropping up was the feeling of connection.

On and off through the years, I have felt varying degrees of connectedness to myself, my family, friends, work colleagues, strangers, animals, plants and even, sometimes, inanimate objects. At times, too, there have been periods when the black dog was in full flight, growling and snarling, hackles raised, disconnecting me, daring me to acknowledge my own existence in the greater scheme of things. Daring me to acknowledge and accept my own responsibilities as a living, breathing organism. Daring me to believe, from the black hole of disconnectedness, that the only way out was through re-establishing the tenuous links. These tenuous links that constantly reflect back our own unique existence. The wave from the postman, the smile from a stranger, the enthusiastic tail-wagging from the neighbour's dog, the comment on a blog post. Little acts that reinforce the sensation of having a right to be here. They, in turn, encourage me to reach out, to smile and laugh, to be aware of others who maying be battling their own sooty canines, to have a lightness of being, to connect to all living creatures in my small corner. Really connect. This is the essence of my existence. Without it, what am I? What are any of us?

Life is short. Life is precious.

Carpe diem.


photo credit: www.mosaicsphere.com

Dinosaurs are Alive and Well ......

Up to the time of the great computer demise, I travelled around to all my favourite blogs via my favourites list at the side of my screen. It came as a slight surprise to me that these favourites won't come up on other computers. Most uncooperative of them. Not being the sharpest knife in the drawer, I am at a bit of a loss as to how to find all my favourites again.

Because I have been remiss in updating my lurking locations, I now find that I am fumbling around trying to remember where everyone is, what their blog address is and, not surprisingly, I'm failing miserably. So if I'm not visiting your site its because I cant find you. The frightening thing about all this is that I did a computer course that covered practically everything the normal joe soap needs to know about these dreaded machines. I passed with flying colours ... I even got a Distinction!??!!

All I can hope for is that the resurrector who is treating the dead machine can save my photos and hopefully bring the corpse back to life, if only for a short while, but he has warned that even if he can retrieve the pictures he may have to reformat the hard drive (whatever that means) and that I'll have to start from scratch again. Sigh.

My machine was less than 2 years old and yet everybody I spoke to about it assured me that it was practically obsolete.

What does that make me?

Barney?

Pretty, Dangerous Stuff ... Dust

Little did I know that my last post was to be so prophetic. Silence, indeed, has reigned supreme.

Did you ever get one of those days, weeks or even months where everything you touch turns to dust? Well, I've just spent the last 3 weeks trundling through what resembles a life, enveloped in a cloud of mishaps, misadventures and mini maelstroms. The halcyon days of early spring, the lightness of being on discovering bunches of bluebells where no bluebells bloomed before, the levity of spirit on seeing a newborn foal tottering shakily on spindly legs ... all disappearing into the vast blue yonder when placed in the reality of the dust bowl of Arizona which is my existence.

Beloved No. 2 son is due to sit his Leaving Cert. exam in June. This is his final exam, the results of which determine his further educational/life choices. His choices of college courses, his decision whether or not to attend college, all depend on this one exam. An unfair system, I know, but the only one we have. We refer to it affectionately as "The Great Big Summer Quiz". Unfortunately No. 2 son seems to be oblivious to the gravity of failing to pass this questionable test of his education and intelligence. His main concerns at the moment are his stomach and the amount and variety of foodstuffs that can be reasonably consumed by a supposedly, civilized member of society, his appearance ... mainly his hair, his mobile phone and sleeping 18 out of 24 hours of every day. He has brains, lots of them, but at the moment they seem to be located in his nether regions. His come-day-go-day, God send Sunday attitude is causing some splenic concern to the Master of the House. Who is going to throttle him in the not too distant future, I fear.

Dust rising.

Beloved No. 2 daughter - who has so kindly allowed me to use her laptop to pen this screed - is IN LOVE. Oh God Almighty. She is also up to her oxters in end of year projects, socialising events, hair disasters and "does my bum look big in these?" problems. She also tells us, most reassuringly, that "Of course, he's going to fail ... he hasn't opened a book yet!"

More dust rising.

Beloved No.1 son has recently moved back home. I love the bones of this boy but I fully understand why some birds throw the baby birds unceremoniously out of the nest.

Can't see for the dust.

Dust, dust and more dust. GB has recently gone and committed himself and myself to an expedition in July. The expedition I will warm to but the fact that he did this without asking my opinion is tantamount to a declaration of war. Hair and feathers flying.

And yet more dust.

My computer died. Suddenly. Taking ALL of my photos to the great IT vault in the sky. Yes, I know I should have stored them externally. I did intend to. Weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Lots and lots of dust.

And I haven't even mentioned the Palace.

Right now I have a chest infection and a sinus infection. Gross, green, hawking, coughing, headache, faceache, miserable.

Dust does that to you.