A Letter In The Post

 There is always something to be grateful for.

Last night as I was driving to work, I listened to an old friend’s personal podcast

A verbal letter to me from sunny Australia

A personal hello, to me in the Bluebell confessional 

In the dark and rain

A friendly voice in a dismal winter.

I have known Nia since her childhood. 

When we were both gauche, and products of our own little town.

We haven’t grown apart in forty years for our affection for each other remains.

We just don’t talk regularly.

So now Nia will send me a podcast message.

A chatty Kathy round Robin to match what she catches up on Going Gently.

Her family news in Australia, her thoughts and feelings and worries and triumphs 

Wrapped up in a verbal letter,

Like the ones we used to send

A million years ago.

Gemini

 I’m late with my nephew’s London visit gift. I’m pushing him to try for a revival of A Chorus Line at Saddler’s Wells, but we shall see. I also want to go to Buckingham Palace which opens July to September. That’s one for my sister Janet too, a birthday gift to both of us.

Some guys from work have invited me to see Cosi Fan Tutte by The Welsh National Opera in March

I’m going

Do you believe in star signs ? 

I never did.

But I do now as I enter my dotage.

I’m a typical Gemini 

I am Quick witted, and I miss nothing.

That’s a curse too sometimes

For I can tell you word for word of a conversation made and long forgotten by many, especially if I was hurt by it. 

My grandmother used to read tea leaves but I knew she could read people 

Some people can

Most cannot.

I am drawn by confidence, and warmth and brightness.

And manliness but not testosterone 

We are back to the hole in the jumper thing.

It’s the middle of the night and I’m having a stream of thoughts as I sit and read and type. 

It’s quiet tonight and we are babysitting rather that treating and medicating and comforting .

Everyone is having normal sleep.

And that’s how it should be

Sleep ..yes and I’m Including one of the magnificent Orme Billy goats here, who has sheltered from the blustery night, by sitting under the canopy of our reception .

Bits

 

Weaver, get your carers to bring you in a McDonald’s kitikat McFlurry, when they get a chance, bloody lovely.

I had one tonight on the way to work with a coffee and sat on the dark Promenade in Colwyn Bay listening to the sea as I ate it.

I’m on two nights and we’ve had no snow, even though it had been forecast. The hospice was grateful as covering me would have been difficult if I’d been snowed in. The parents of the local school children were pissed off as the school alongside 77 other ones in Flintshire had been closed as a precaution.

I’ve received four phone messages, one phone call, one audio message and a valentine’s card today.

The audio message was feedback for my skills practice from my tutor which was nice as it was positive. My first few have been a work in progress, shaving away all the bad habits I’ve employed over the years.

I can be “ too challenging” at times…..something which is common in Gemini men.

I’m working on it.

The Valentine card was from a blog reader and it was kind.

One message was from a beautiful Greek girl who used to work in the hospice. She now lives in Manchester and is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. She misses me. I used to make her laugh. I miss her too.

Funny I watched the Guns Of Navarone this afternoon. 

Didn’t Irene Papas have big eyebrows?

Just a thought

Manon

 Kenneth McMillian’s tale of unpleasant people acting unpleasantly in 18th Century Paris  comes into its own when the poet Des Grieux ( Reece Clarke ) dances with the dying love of his life Manon (Natalia Osipova) in the New Orlean Swamps.

I was wrung out by the end of it all. But I must say one other small scene made me more emotional , and that was when the Corps de Ballet , their hair shorn, their dresses in rags entered as one as they played the prisoners sent to New Orleans by ship. When they danced, with arms around each other, I felt overwhelmingly sad and incredibly moved.

A powerful and amazing bit of theatre by The Royal Opera House 

Calon Lân

 It’s old Trefor’s funeral next Wednesday . With the church now shut he’s had to wait for a slot in nearby Prestatyn, where his sister’s lived. I wonder if Calon Lán will be sung at his funeral? The hymn is often the first choice at funerals is as it means a “Pure Heart” in Welsh.

The above version has been set to different music, but remains powerful in its own right, a credit to the two young Welsh women singing it.

Thank You

Mary

Thank you Will who called today to check on a missing roof slate when he didn’t have to and to promising to sort it by the end of the week.

Thank you to Donna from Uni who checked up on me when the tutor told the class I was off sick.

Thank you to Trendy Carol’s Hubby, who looked after the dogs when he didn’t have to today.

Thank you to sister Janet who asked me to see Manon at the cinema tomorrow 

Thank you to Trendy Carol who kept Mary a few hours longer as she was asleep , like only older dogs sleep when they find a comfy corner.

Thank you for your blog comments and

Thank you whoever invented macaroni cheese 

Bloody lovely for a late tea after sleeping all day 

Both Sides Now

 Joni at the Grammys, was a lesson in respect and class. I watched it last night in tears and again this morning. 

I’m not 100% today, overnight my bladder has decided to play up and has put paid to college today. I’ve pushed the fluids, taken extra antibiotics and will return to bed. Trendy Carol’s hubby had already arranged to pick the dogs up and they lined up neatly ready to greet him as I was on the loo.

Last week I received a two page letter from the health board apologising that I was one of the thousands still awaiting review. 

We are All Just Walking Each Other Home

Emma Freud Pick of the week Radio 4

“ My final pick I the final moment of the award winning prison drama “This Thing of Darkness”
It’s a programe about the psychological impact that the act of murder has on teenagers who committed murder.
These are the closing thoughts from the psychologist running their prison therapy group
It’s the heinous act of murder taken not as good versus evil but viewed without judgement by an expert on the darkest workings of the human mind.

“I had a wise forensic colleague who had a particular interest in the way violent offenders changed their language of agency over time. As if they were filling in the missing colours of their personal narrative. He talked about a long staircase of acceptance; they climbed with small incremental steps, beginning with the first step of, “It wasn’t me”. And ending in a final step of taking responsibility by saying “I killed”.
Antony had got stuck on the first step.
Not helped by his mother, who so desperately wanted and needed to believe in him. I have seen many mothers like her, clinging fast to righteousness no matter what their children had done.
I do like the image of the staircase, but often what Ive seen, coming out of denial is so hard and so bad, it’s more like walking on the road to Calvary , a kind of excruciating stumble towards responsibility and redemption .
Not everyone gets there.
Therapists neither like me, judge nor fix those who travel this difficult path. Nor do we try to make them behave better
We just walk with them,
Whilst they do the work of accepting who they are.
We are their companions to the way, keeping them company on the journey.
I thinks that is the most we can ask of any of our fellows in times of suffering, to be with us.
I think of the great spiritual teacher Ram Dass saying

We are all just walking each other home