Sitting On The Porch with Tim and Apples Everywhere you look

 Blogging has its downsides for sure, 

But unexpected friendships are the upside for sure.

For a few years now I have a friend called Tim, 

His actual name is Mike but as I know a lot of Mikes and Micks , I thought using his name confusing 

Tim was a doctor, he’s straight, has a family, and has suffered from ill health from time to time.

He’s honest and genuine and emails me rather than commenting on the blog

And he’s my friend.

He lives in America and we share the same mindset on many things 

And I have a great affection for him. 

It’s sunny and slightly warm here today and I wish I had a porch with a couple of comfortable wicker Lloyd Loom chairs on it. 

Side by side with a small table of coffee cups and biscuits set in-between  

And we’d talk and sit the morning away together.

The hastily organised and named Apple Festival was a resounding success yesterday. I managed to get out of bed after two hours sleep and popped along to support it. 

Loosely based on harvest festival, apples and autumn the festival saw cider making , Apple pressing , Dave Wilson teaching archery on the stage ( mannequins with apples on their heads) yes there’s a theme here.

Lots of scrummy food to buy, ( apple crumbles etc)and from nowhere lots of local craft stalls 

Im really proud of the way that The Trelawnyd Community Association has rallied the troops this year. Together, we have raised enough money to start a re boot the Hall’s infrastructure as well as to pay for its upkeep and bills in an uncertain and cash strapped world.

It’s future looked bleak 

Now, like the TCA, the hall is thriving.

Btw, Patrick from the book club has been in touch again ( several times!), he seems very nice, chatty and witty. We have arranged to meet next weekend

I’m looking forward to it

A Lesson in Dying

 Some trolls keep thinking I’m asking for advice all of the time

I’m not

Going Gently is a journal for thoughts

It’s not a debating forum 

But thank you for the more constructive comments.

It’s Saturday morning and work is finished for two days, but as there is an accident on the A 55 the two trained staff coming on have been delayed which means we will have to stay until they arrive 

It’s the Apple Festival today in the Hall, an idea which came from nowhere, but I will need a sleep and the do starts at eleven, so I will miss it today. 

I don’t mind. Work has been busy

I’ve observed this before, but so many people get to a ripe old age nowadays without ever properly experiencing a death. The whole process is not understood, is feared and seldom talked about.

It needs to be talked about 

Myths need debunking

Fears need calming

The story of my last Ghost hen is a lesson in this need

“Some of the village children come down to the field to collect eggs. Today they came late which was lucky as I had failed to check the coops because I had been up to my brother's house for most of the day.
I dished out the obligatory enamel bowls and ten minutes later the kids darted back to the cottage to inform me that one of the hens was ill.
"I think you have a hen with asthma" the little boy informed me seriously
and he took me over to the pond to show me the breathless hen.

It was Ruth, the final ghost hen , who was gasping for breath.
The children squatted down on their haunches with interest and asked a whole load of questions as I sat down next to the hen.
"Why was she gasping? ....why was her head a dark colour?......why was her eyes shut?"
Initially I was not sure of just what to say to a couple of seven year olds, but I guessed that it was pretty much ok to tell them the truth gently and without any fuss.
So carefully I explained that the hen's heart was giving out and that she was not in any pain but she was dying, and that was why she was a strange colour and she was making an odd noise.
I also told them that she was an old hen and had lived over a year past the date. she was expected to die
The children nodded somberly and we watched the hen together for a while before they informed me that they were off home.
"will you bury her when she dies?" the boy asked before he went
"Yes I said" (I didn't have the heart to tell them that I would leave the body by the badger set in the next field)
"That's good!" he said.standing up.
By the time the kids had gone. I sat down next to Ruth and let her rest her straining head on my foot .
I didn't quite have the heart to pull her neck, and I am glad I didn't as moments later she died.”

Dates

 An evening invitation to the cinema next week has sort of changed into an unexpected date and I’m not quite sure how I feel about things.

True I bang on about being isolated and lonely but I seldom write that I want someone new in my life.

Have I actually got the mind space and the time for someone new?

I’m not so sure.

He’s texted me a lot after I didn’t turn up at book club

Which is flattering  enough, but really…. am I bothered enough at my age to start to negotiate  the rituals and and hard work dating requires?

I’m not sure.

I will go on the date with an open mind 

It will be interesting having a conversation away from a novel for a change 

It may be lovely

I’m just not sure

Self Care

Monday I spent a productive day in the library. Yesterday we covered Research, Ethics and personal development. And for the first time in a few weeks I felt prepared and part of things.

Today I caught up with jobs and took the Welsh for their haircuts, something they both generally like. At the groomers they can bark their heads off with impunity , like toddlers letting rip in the village toddler group. They always return home after the groomers, smelling sweet, wired and will crash and sleep for hours on their arrival back home.

I took advantage of that fact and drove to Chester . Yeap  Phad Thai noodles and a classic Spanish film The Devil’s Backbone 

Nothing fancy , but just what I needed

News

 Last night I binged watched Anne With An E , the latest and best version of the classic novel Anne Of Green Gables 

I loved the fact that much of the adult drama was an exploration of the relationship between ageing farmer bachelor Mathew ( R H Thompson) and his prickly elder sister Marilla ( Geraldine James) and how their dynamic changed by the arrival of pre teen Anne

This scene is magical, totally credible  and beautifully acted and oh so refreshing from insipid romance scenes in the likes of Downton Abbey.

One of the guys from my Chester LGBTQ+  book club has been texting me a few times when I was ill which surprised me, I’m catching up with him next week to see a movie

Tonight I’m meeting up with my friend Sue, ( she owns the ponies)I have known her for years and years and years but have never been out with her on a one to one. 

It’s about time 

So we are off to The Crown later

I still sound like a consumptive on steroids

Catch Up

Nineish and I’m in Colwyn Bay, coffee in hand.

I’m writing the blog and sipping coffee, in Bluebell 

Still full of enough mucus to fill an average walrus but physically miles better.

A few minutes away is where the Uni library is located

I intend to catch up with last weeks sick day there as well as practice my IT

The beach is a man made one and is quiet this morning

There is a autumn chill to the air…..

In Uni now, still coughing and spluttering so asked nice library lady if she could find me a private room for the day , which she did 

 

After Babet

I hardly slept last night, but finally after 5 am I eventually heard that sinus click in my head which told me my virus had turned and the badness was now streaming and the mucus loose.

My headache is gone and the weeks morbid fascination with feeling unwell is passing. 

I opened my bedroom windows wide and washed the bedclothes 

Babet has left behind a sunny morning which has aired the cottage from last weeks miasma 

I made strong coffee in the Mokka, hung the duvet on the field gate and watched the view of the hills Cefn Du and Moel Maenefa to the south East after I had washed the floorboards and poured the coffee sweetened by honey into my usual bucket cup,

It sounds dramatic, but it feels that illness has left the cottage

sick hen

 Yesterday and today I felt a little like that sad Muddy Coloured Hen 

Physically, I hadn’t turned the corner with this bloody virus and whereas I wanted to curl up in warm straw in a sweet smelling henhouse  ( a clean hen house has the nicest of smells and because hens exude heat are surprisingly warm at night) 

I made the mistake of going to work last night

I wasn’t firing on one cylinder let alone all and I had a family that needed me to take charge where

I needed someone to pick me up and rest me in the crook of their arm.

I’ve done that myself today and have not gone into work tonight.

The fire is lit, vicks rubbed again on the soles of my feet 

And I’ve made simple chicken and lentil soup with cheese grated on the top

Which I’ve not eaten

Off to bed soon with Miriam Margolyes new book smutty froth, that’s the content, not the title 

I’ve left this video of the muddy coloured hen just for Raymondo 

Just to show that she did improve