Blossom Time

Barely knowing what day it is, I'm measuring time passing by observing the changes on our walks.  As we have taken one of two routes every day since lockdown began,  I've watched the trees and bushes blossom in turn. First were the tiny white petals on the blackthorn way back before Easter and the egg yolk yellow of the gorse (or whin bush as we called it in Ireland). Then the glorious cherry blossom on trees in gardens we pass hung in pink or white clouds for a week or so before falling like confetti on the pavements.

 Last week it was the lilac, a huge bank of overgrown trees I never noticed before on an otherwise dull street. It's fading already. The scent last week was powerful; now it's all but gone and the pale purple flowers are going dry and brown.

Today is May Day and peak blossom time. The 'may' or hawthorn blossom is out - thick and heavy on the trees and also delicately scented. And, in the park, laburnum trees with luminous yellow drooping blossoms. And the sticky horse chestnut candles, creamy with hints of pink.  Beautiful even on this chilly showery day.

I slept late this morning, later than I ever have done in years, only getting up just before nine.  This was mainly due to being awake for bit at 4 am which isn't that unusual for me though usually I still get up around 7.  I read for a while 'Wolf Hall' my novel of choice for lockdown.  Thought I should tackle something substantial. I'd like to say I'm loving it but it's more admiration than enjoyment. Though parts are very good, there are too many characters to keep track of and my brain wasn't processing it this morning. I got to sleep again just as the birds were starting to sing.

Apart from a load of washing which has been rained on twice but should now be drying in the sun which has appeared, I have done very little today, my day 'off'  after some online teaching this week.  Just enjoyed the blossom on our dog walk and pottered about the house. Kate also helped me cover my grey roots with some 'Nice and Easy' Light Brown.  It looks ok but is really darker than the packet suggests and all my highlights have disappeared.  At least it'll look better for the Zoom quiz we are doing later on this evening. I find it a bit disturbing looking at myself on screen.

I'm updating this as I attempted to write a poem in sonnet form to celebrate the blossom.  It's not great and I'm almost too embarrassed to put it on here but feel that at least I've done something creative. Anyway here it is:

Blossom Time

Days drift by and time is marked in blossom.

Blackthorn flowers pure white and falls like snow.

Daisies litter grass, and dandelion suns

change to dotted spheres. The child says one o’

clock, two o’clock to tell the time right now

and blows in clouds its strange geometry.

Cherries, dressed in bridesmaid shades of pink, line

the city streets, dropping their confetti.

Now spring speeds all in a rush with richness:

Lilac’s scented stars in spears appear and fade

too soon; chestnut buds unfurl in sticky

cream tinged pink; white, heavy boughs of May.

Nature has no clocks, we need not hear their chime

But live life in the present:  blossom time.

Be careful what you wish for.......

One of our daily walks takes us across Chester Racecourse.  Plenty of space here. 

My life is usually busy. Although my teaching is officially 'part-time' I often find it fills many additional hours. And I have other regular commitments which I've chosen and enjoy - creative writing class, yoga, book club, Zumba, catching up with friends for lunch or coffee.   Then there's the stuff I don't really want to do - the washing of sheets, the sorting of the recycling, the unloading of the dishwasher... Sometimes I've wanted it all to stop, to have days when nothing is planned, nothing much happens, a bit like those lazy empty days between Christmas and New Year.

And now it has. Except, of course, for the stuff I don't want to do. I was quite looking forward to it in some ways.  I'd finally get the garden sorted.  I'd have the kind of neat and ordered house my sister-in-law has.  I'd change the beds regularly, and would vacuum every few days instead of ignoring the clumps of white dog hair which adorn our carpets.  The grout between the tiles would no longer be grubby. There'd be time for reading during the day; I'd walk the dog with Paul the permitted hour every day and get fitter; I'd watch all the Netflix series people had recommended; read the improving literature I'd never got round to....

But somehow it hasn't worked out that way.  Without a structure to the day I've found that time just melts away.  No need to set an alarm so I get up later, drifting about in my pjs until we take the dog out, the only thing I do regularly. Much time is wasted in reading all the coronavirus coverage from the BBC and the newspapers online.  And the attempt to create an neat and ordered house has failed.  I've wiped down kitchen worktops countless times every day, yet still mess persists. In this household with the addition of my daughter and her boyfriend who operate in a different time zone to us, there is always someone preparing food.

I've stopped the constant cleaning up now, and I've also stopped scrolling through news stories and watching the daily update at 5pm.  I watch one news broadcast a day - that's enough. I've also put back a bit of structure with new scheduled activities, discovering as many others have the joys of virtual meetings on Zoom.  So I am doing Zoom Zumba classes on Sunday and Thursday mornings and next week have Zoom book club.  We've been doing two weekly online pub quizzes, competing with family and friends.  Although I have cleaned out a few cupboards in the kitchen and disposed of items which were past their best several years ago,  I've given up any attempt at keeping the house neat and tidy. In general I've ditched the to do list. I do what I feel like doing and feel a bit better.

Next week I will be back 'at work', attempting online teaching.  It looks like Zoom is going to be used for that too. It will be interesting to see how that goes.

'History' by John Burnside and my response

One of the things that I've been doing for the last year when I haven't been blogging is teaching creative writing to a group of adults.  It's a WEA course I used to attend as a student.  When the tutor retired last year, I agreed to take over.  I felt a bit of a fraud, to be honest, as though I've been teaching writing all of my adult life to secondary school children, my own attempts at creative writing are pretty poor especially when compared with the previous tutor who has had work published in local magazines and plays performed in local theatres. Nevertheless, I took on the job as there was no one else keen at the time and I wanted the group to continue.  It's been quite a challenge but has been generally enjoyable.

The last course finished in March, but I'm keeping in touch with some of the group and suggesting some writing exercises we can do in lockdown.  Last week I shared the poem 'History' John Burnside which is actually one I teach on the 'A' Level course.  It's an interesting poem exploring all sorts of ideas about our relationship with the natural world and our reaction to world events at a personal level.  It was written in September 2001, i.e directly after the 9/11 bombings.  The speaker is on the beach with his family, including his toddler Lucas, flying a kite.  He is full of 'muffled dread' about the future and the poem tracks his reaction and thoughts in a kind of stream of consciousness.  He notices how his son is absorbed in the present moment, looking at the rock pools and 'puzzled by the pattern on a shell'.  The poet's message is not entirely clear but he seems to be suggesting that focussing on the moment and perhaps the beauty of the natural world as the child does is a way of responding to the chaos of the wider world.

This is the task I set the group:
Find something from the natural world in your home or garden, if you have access to it.  A flower, house plant, snail.  Look at it really closely, touch it, smell it. Use all your senses.  Then write a poem or a piece of prose based on the experience.

Here is my own brief attempt at a response.

Keeping Orchids

Someone has beheaded my precious orchid.  It sits on the window sill halfway up the stairs in a perfect spot - light but out of direct sunlight.  I have nurtured this orchid - an unpromising tangle of grey roots and dusty green leaves has been coaxed into flower again with a magic spray.  Fat buds are swelling from stems which have now sprawled in all directions, escaping garden centre's plastic confines.The flowers are pure perfection and last for ages with just the right amount of water.  Not to much, let it drain, never let them sit in water - I have learnt through my past mistakes 

But now one perfect blossom lies on the window sill, cut off in its prime by some careless curtain pulling. 

I cradle it in my hand and then place it a crystal liqueur glass, a wedding present never used in 34 years, but a perfect vase for my orchid.  I don't expect it to last.

One week later it is still nearly perfect.   There are five petals,  each white with intricate violet veining,  miniature trees with branches and twigs reaching upwards.  I touch the petals gently: they are surprisingly tough, yet soft and cool as cotton sheets. The two front petals are perfectly symmetrical and shaped like an artist's palette tipped with purple ink spreading in rivulets outwards.  Underneath these, three leaf shaped petals, similarly veined.  In the centre, a white column and three more smaller petals, tinged with yellow, surround what looks like a tiny insect.  The base petal protrudes and is tipped by a triangle and what look like tiny purple whiskers or an extravagant curled moustache. 

 A perfect orchid blossom. An unexpected gift, for I have stared at this beheaded bloom more intensely than those remaining on the plant.

I've done what John Burnside suggests in the poem and concentrated on my orchid and how beautiful it is.  But now it's 5 o'clock and time for the daily update so I'll leave it there...

Back to Blogging

It's a whole year since my last post but there's plenty of time now for a bit of a catch up and a blog revival.  This morning I was supposed to be flying to Palma with my daughter for a short break.  But, like everyone else in practically the whole world, I am at home.

This morning is beautiful - peaceful, sunny and I have a pleasant day ahead: a dog walk, bit of gardening, a Zoom Zumba class and the promise a supermarket delivery to fill our empty fridge. We have our daughter home from university and we are all currently well.  I'm getting used to the new routine and finding ways to cope, but it is tempting to keep checking for online news updates. As no one needs to leave the house for work and we've all been in lockdown for now for over two weeks, apart from very occasional visits to the shop and the permitted daily walk maintaining social distance,  we shouldn't be passing coronavirus to each other.  But I am still a bit fearful.  Should I disinfect the packaging when the shopping arrives as some of my friends and family are doing?  And what about that day when we walked the dog on the canal towpath and were not able to keep two metres apart from passing joggers without falling in the water?

And what right have I to be so fearful when a neighbour and fellow dog walker, who is a nurse at the local hospital, is working long hours helping those who have the virus?  Along with other neighbours we clapped for the NHS on Thursday evening and she thanked us in a post on the neighbourhood  group Facebook page.  I found this little painted stone by our front gate and discovered it had been left there by a little girl who lives nearby. I think she's the granddaughter of our nurse neighbour. Turns out that several of us have been given painted stones.  Good to see the community coming together more, both in this street and the rest of the country.

Introducing Booshka

Booska aged 8 weeks

Booska yesterday

In my last post,some time ago, I wrote about the sad loss of our lovely Irish terrier,  Ronan.  We knew that after he died we would eventually get another dog but I wasn't quite ready for the reality of having a puppy so it's been a bit of a shock.   Never one to delay, husband did some research and a lot of persuasion so we are now in possession of a Berger Blanc Suisse or a White Swiss Shepherd puppy - a girl (don't like calling her a bitch with all its negative connotations!).  This is a compromise - Paul wanted a German Shepherd; I find them a bit scary, remembering Flash, the fierce guard dog in our village petrol station when I was a child.  Swiss Shepherd Dogs are smaller and gentler says Paul, though she is already huge in my eyes and not that gentle when she races up the stairs to greet me in the morning biting my ankles to say hello. She is lovely but a lot of hard work - just like having a toddler around again. Yesterday, for example, she ate her breakfast too quickly, then vomited on the stairs; peed in the lounge; pinched a packet of butter from the kitchen worktop; chewed or attempted to chew any shoe or item of clothing left within her reach; and then managed to escape from the back garden in the dark. We are exhausted! And yes we have chosen another silly name for the dog.  Her full name is Babuska - like the Kate Bush song.  

I've not posted anything for ages.  I've not had much time but that's not really the reason.  I'm becoming less comfortable with the idea of documenting my life online for anyone to read.   But at the same time I like having this record  and enjoy looking back.  And there are a few members of my family and some blog friends I have made who like reading this. I'm wondering if it possible to limit the readership to people I choose. Does anyone know if it is possible to do this with an existing blog?

Sad News

I'm returning here to report some sad news.  Our lovely dog, Ronan, who has featured in the blog many times, died last week.  It was a big shock to the whole family as it happened quite suddenly - just over a week ago he was able to go for a walk with me yet a few days later he was too weak even to go out to the garden.  He had probably been ill for a while and was hiding it well, the vet said.  After a week of treatment for vomiting and lethargy, they found a mass on his liver so said there was nothing they could do and advised us to end his suffering.  It was a very hard day.

It is very quiet at home now.  Coming back to the house after being out is worst as we are so used to him greeting us at the door, his tail wagging.  We are also missing walking him, something which  felt like a chore at times but was part of our normal routine. And it's hard to go for a walk on our usual routes as we see other regular dog walkers we know by sight and say hello to and I can't face telling them. It's hard to make the transition from being a dog owner to not being one: I still find myself closing gates and doors to stop his escape and moving plates with leftovers out of reach unnecessarily.

Kate is back at university so we had to tell her the news on the telephone.  She is also terribly upset as she has grown up with Ronan. She was only 8 when he arrived in 2007.  Here she is not too long after we got him, helping to train him.  He was very good at sitting and giving you his paw but only if he knew he would get a treat. In some ways I was glad she wasn't at home when he became ill as she will have only good memories of his final weeks.  He was generally ok over the Christmas holidays and she had spent a lot of time playing with him and had him sitting beside her at the table as she was revising for the exam she had this week. 

Back in 2007, I had serious doubts about getting a dog.  I'd not had a dog as a child - we always had cats -  I knew it would be hard work and a big commitment.  It was, but I hadn't realised what joy a dog like Ronan would bring to our lives and what a good companion he would be.  He was with us for nearly 12 years and had a good life.  Still we will miss him so much.

Happy Christmas

A brief post to wish any remaining readers a Happy Christmas. I haven't blogged for a while as I have been busy researching and writing a kind of family history book.  It is now finished and I've posted it off to family members in this country and to the cousins we have found in Canada as a result of my research. I plan to return to blogging more frequently in the new year.  In the meantime, I hope you have a peaceful and relaxing Christmas.