Being Demonstrative

My Brother's physical condition has deteriorated somewhat over the past month or so. He cannot turn himself in bed and needs assistance to do so now, so my "hands on" care every Thursday is now very much hands on care, so to speak.

I have no trouble helping my brother out physically, after all I have been a nurse for decades, but it is odd to cross those physical boundaries from time to time that have been in place ever since we were children.

My parents were not demonstrative people.My father's father was a bit of a cold fish who ruled his family with a bit of an iron fist, and my mother, although hailing from emotionally warm parents, was an anxious and depressive personality who found physical intimacy difficult to cope with

As a family we were "saved" my our maternal grandmother, who could of maintained all the emotional demands of a large secondary school without breaking into a sweat, and it is her legacy of physical closeness that I am witnessing today .

As small children, my grandmother used to play with our hair. It was a luxury that we all used to squabble over in order to be the first to receive this hands on treat. Today on her visits to my brother, my sister will sit and play with his hair, just like our gran used to do and the action is a simple, effective and innate kind of therapy that bridges some of the gaps caused by a disease that robs a person of almost everything.

Isn't it funny that we return to our childhood "happy places" when we need to?. Regression is a necessary safety blanket for most serious ills..and..I am just grateful that our grandmother ensured that we as her grandchildren were given those happy places to "tap into" when fate deals us a low blow.

To me this is another example of just how important good parenting is....I am sure that without my grandmother 's ability to share her affections so easily, I would have not developed the basic skills to be an effective nurse/animal hoarder...

bloody hell....the responsibility of parenthood is literally so awesome.....and the scary thing is........any one psychopath can be a parent...

Ok it's all been a little too heavy today and forgive me..I have blogged about similar subjects like this before , so I will leave you with a video showing the consequences of being just a little overly demonstrative... tee hee

enjoy and have a nice weekend

x

see Sister Janet's recent blog entry

Simplicity is best

Quite wonderful

Updated Stories

I am at my brother's house.....everything is silent except for the creepy "pitter patter" of rats in the ceiling space. Poison has been laid but there seems to be one or two hardly little buggers still alive up there........
It's all very Repulsion esque

Anyhow thought I would update you on a few previous story characters...sometimes I do rabbit on about this waif and that stray only never to refer to them again..so I thought I would take the opportunity to "catch up" so to speak....
Mind you perhaps this catch up camouflages the fact that I perhaps have not got anything that interesting to say

1. Beatrice

Remember the "lassie Come Home" story of Beatrice, the Rhode Island Red who suffered a stroke? Her struggle to get back to her coop at dusk even when partially paralysed, could have made even Jeremy Paxman weep, so against my better judgement I kept her, and set her up in a small broody box in view of all the hens on the field.
Well that was a couple of weeks ago, and against all odds Beatrice is still with us.
She still cannot walk properly, but is starting to stand by herself  albeit rather haphazardly and eats like the proverbial pig.
Disabled as she is, I am afraid she will always have to be separated from the other hens who will undoubtedly kill her if she returns.


2 The Dumped Geese (Tom, Elizabeth & Anon)

Bloody hell these three charity cases remain hard work, but after a good bath, some intensive feeding up and some strict behavioural therapy, the geese that were abandoned on the 29th of September have settled down finally onto a noisy but generally harmless family group.
The old gander still rants on a tad, so I have called him Tom . The goose, his mate ( the brown and white) looks an old girl who still retains some pluck so I have called her Elizabeth....the juvenile I have not named as he/she is destined for the pot if I am unable to re-home them


3 Phyllis

Remember Phyllis Diller?
The bald hysterical bantam that had been shagged and bullied almost to death?
Well as you can see, some of her feathers have returned and she is laying now, secure and fairly happy in her run with the laid back-as-a-piece-of-cardboard Jane.
Having said this her nerves still seem somewhat frazzled at times, which, I am sure, a long course of Valium would help with...yeap she still has a face only a mother could love.


4 Camilla

Camilla and the orphaned Badger way back in June

Now a fully grown Canada Goose, Camilla has left her shed mate, (the little orphan cockerel Badger) to finally join in with the field's resident geese in their own house.
She remains a gentle, doe eyed soul, who is not afraid to resort to her gosling day habit of taking corn from my hand, and is perhaps one of the most beautiful animals on the field.
Little Badger is doing very well also. After a little bit of fretting when Camilla finally realised that she was indeed a goose, he has been put in charge of his own hen house with 12 of his own hens to fuss over. Still very much a baby, Badger has not quite got into the habit of "covering" his girls just yet, preferring to spend his day following them around like a teenage saddo, but he is healthy, happy and will I am sure take over the running of the field when old Stanley becomes too old.


So there you have it, four success stories....c/o Jonney's farm.....

Rafle du Vel' d'Hiv

Recently I read an account of how over 13,000 Jews were arrested from their Paris homes in 1942. I found the story surprising because the arrests and subsequent internment of mainly women and children in the "Winter Velodrome (Vélodrome d'Hiver) was orchestrated and carried out by the French rather than the occupying Germans, much to the shame of modern day Parisians, and the French Government who apologised publicly for the atrocity in 1995.

  

Sarah's Key 

  is a film about an American journalist Julia, ( Kristin Scott Thomas) who is married to a Frenchman (Frédéric Pierrot ) and about to move into a Paris apartment owned by her husband’s family since 1942.

She discovers the flat once belonged to a Jewish family, and her researches reveal that a girl, Sarah (Mélusine Mayance), locked her little brother in a cupboard to evade the the French police and then did all she could to return to save him.

The film comprises the two stories, the modern day emotional journey of Julia and the terrible wartime drama of Sarah's family , which intertwine back and forth as the reporter unearths the eventual truth. This proves a slightly difficult fusion as the dramatic tension of Sarah's story far out weighs even Scott Thomas at her scene stealing best.

Having said that, Sarah's Key works very well indeed, it's a compelling, moving and at times harrowing watch that features not only another weighty performance by Scott Thomas, but also a crackingly mature turn by Mayance.  The cinematography by  Pascal Ridao with it's golden hues captures the terrible heat of the summer of '42 perfectly and one scene in particular ( when Sarah and her friend escape the Drancy internment camp and run through a field of wheat) is absolutely stunning.

Melusine Mayance (centre)

Its a worthy film and well worth seeing

8/10
As I walked out a woman behind me looked up,sighed loudly and summed it up
as she puffed "Bloody hell  !!!!!!!!!"

Living With a Doctor (of Philosophy)

Chris is bee keeping garb

The shadowy figure on this blog that is Chris has been working his butt off recently.

Pure academics are not employed for the obligatory 37.5 hours a week. They are employed to deliver results, and the results are research bids, academic papers  and brief cases crammed to the gunnells with incomprehensible (to me) ideas and theories.

Academics cannot switch off like the rest of us do after work, they work in creative spurts, they get up in the wee small hours to thrash out a problem and they remain focused and disciplined when deep down all they want to do is to is to lie in front of the fire watching trash tv.

I sometimes wish I could do a little more to make things easier for the man I live with who has a brain the size of a planet, but I know that I can get wrapped up in the "smaller" world of pigs trotters, hen's teeth and the presence of red mite in the turkey house rather than to appreciate the rather cut throat world of University life.

So at these times when stress inducing deadlines have been lined up in his diary  and nose to nipple video conferences are the format of the day..all I can do is to have a hot meal waiting for him when he eventually gets home to a warm cottage and make sure all that day to day "flotsam" is sorted out without bothering him

But I wont wear an apron

and I'll never say "Good day at the office dear?"

I'm not THAT nice
(believe me!)

Scones In Church

I  worked last night, and just about kept going until ten minutes ago, when the lure of coffee in a sunny window, won me over. I don't feel too guilty for sitting down....despite being watched from the sofa by two sets of interested eyes , willing me to take them out for another walk

Although I am not a churchgoer I am always happy to help out with Church activities and I remembered that I promised to take all of the Church tinned goods that were donated at the harvest festival down to the homeless shelter in Rhyl today. The weather has been terrible, wintery, windy and very wet this morning, and the down at heel part of Rhyl where the shelter is located couldn't have looked any more depressing.

 

The staff were friendly when I turned up and ever so grateful for the donation 

which they said was one of the most generous in the district. Funny that the church here in Trelawnyd is one of the smallest in the diocese.

When I got back to Trelawnyd, I delivered some eggs and briefly got sidetracked by Auntie Glad who had left her usual "obtuse- I have something for you" message on our answerphone. I called around to collect a batch of scones ( for some reason she hates stating on the answerphone that she has actually made me some scones, preferring to say that she had "an item" that needed to be  collected!)

I took the scones, and went to clean the Church as the weather improved a little.

With the sun streaming through the stained windows, it's a lovely place to relax in, so before I got stuck in with the hoover I sat on a pew and chomped my way through the bag of scones.

I don't think anyone would have minded.....

......I didn't leave any crumbs.............................................................

Sigh

The only good thing in Downton, Siohban Finnerhan as O'Brien

I know everyone seems to be blogging about the arrival of autumn, but when you live your life mostly wearing wellies, that sharp cold snap in the air, somewhat dominates your attention. The nights have drawn in, the wood burner has been lit and and dissapointmernt is in the air on Sunday nights as Downton Abbey has sadly morphed itself into a cheaply written daytime soap.

Autumn has arrived.

I hope it's not going to be another wet winter. Cold the animals cope with ease, cold and wet...they don't

Cold, wet days are cruel. 

Cold and wet days halt work on the allotment

Cold and wet days fill the cottage with muddy paw prints and damp

Cold and wet days empty the village 

Having said this, the arrival of ice and snow has it's own downside here in Trelawnyd.

Waterfeeders require ice clearing  at least three times a day and the animals need extra feed to fight the effects of the cold.

The berlingo does not cope well on icy roads and I am worried about getting  to my brother's house up in the sticks when even 4 x 4 s struggle with the conditions........

Last night the moon was shining brightly behind the churchyard trees. With the leaves almost gone from the branches , the sillolettes of the guinea fowl crowched firmly  against the wind could be clearly seen. Of all the animals, they alone have to face the winter elements without shelter. This will be their third Christmas alone in the Graveyard.

So, it's time to order some straw to insulate the pig hut and it's time to dig out Mrs Hopkin's mittens to wear out on the field.....
I hate winter

The guineas in last year's snow from left to right-Ivy Hughie and Alf

 

Betty's Last Hot Pot

Annie Walker (Doris Speed) and Betty Turpin ( Betty Driver)

 I am of a generation that grew up with Granada tv's "traditional" portrayal of the Northern Working Class Woman in twice weekly soap Coronation Street. 

Life in Weatherfield (aka Salford) at that time, remained drab, industrialised and parochial. The austerity of the 1950s was only a decade away, some houses still had an outside lav, and women who were old before their time still had to make do and mend.

Coronation Street of old was a cracker of a soap, and it was all the better for having the likes of Betty Driver ,a former 1940s big band singer, in a supporting role as the street's warm hearted, ham armed, motherly bosomed  bar lady Betty Turpin.

For me she embodied women of a certain age, who survived hardship and wartime with an offer of  a smile, a cup of tea and a piece of cake, and like John Wayne, Betty always looked as though she was playing her warm and big hearted self on screen, a thing the British nation loved her for.

Betty Driver 1920-2011