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Wednesday 31 January 2018

I HATE THOSE TWO BY FIONA CUMMINGS

This time, it's not you two. but another two.

Some days I hate those two words. I dream of the day when I don’t read about them. When they never need to feature in my life. but then I remember that they are after all a part of me now, and hoping to God not, but they may be forever. It’s the not knowing whether they will be hanging over me for the rest of my life. Or, will I be free of those words one day and if so, when? It’s the waiting. I have waited my whole life those words have affected me, in so many ways. They have taken over my life. ruled my ways and twisted the knife so deep I’m scarred.

 

So, if those words were removed from my life, I still will have effects of them. Haunted, chased and caught, but will someone come along and free me?

 

I wonder some days if I will ever stop reading about them and if I will have time in my life left to enjoy the freedom, time which is racing to the line, faster than I wish for.

 

Those words? Retinitis Pigmentosa

RP

Rapid pain. RP, rusty pins. RP, ruining potential. RP, rotten pungent torturous agonising disease that has attached itself to me from birth.

 

How to get rid of it? Only a total stranger may have the answer, but so far, they are not sharing it with those who most days hate those two words! Retinitis Pigmentosa.

 

© Fiona Cummings

 

 

 

 

 

HEARTBREAK OF LOSING YOU BY FIONA CUMMINGS


HEARTBREAK OF LOSING YOU

BY FIONA CUMMINGS

I’m so lost in your words

Feeling the pain of your thoughts

The troubles you carry

Happiness you abort

The school of life you visited

But nothing was taught

Who knows your destiny

But now, you’re being chased by misery

You used to belong to me

And now you have gone it alone

Sleeping wherever

I don’t have an address

Or even a phone

It’s such a mess

Have you gone forever?

Will I ever hear your voice again?

Do you even know my pain?

Just to be able to hold your hand one more time

To know you are OK

Why did you have to go away?

 

© Fiona Cummings

 

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BY FIONA CUMMINGS


 Good afternoon Bloggets, gosh, it’s wild out there and so cold… OK winter, I’m done with you now, bring on the spring flowers and yolky skies. My Hub back tonight thankfully, though before he returns I hope the wind slows down for his transportation. Last night though my Son was home, I slept with the lamp on. I’m such a wimp. Obviously, I still can’t see with the light on, but I just feel better. Where did Waggatail sleep? Not in her bed like a good girl downstairs, but in her bed in Boy Wonders room. He felt sorry for her without the Little Fella. Haha. He said he woke up during the night and she was just standing there, staring at the wall. For ages… I said possibly she woke up and wasn’t sure where she was? I mean, we do that don’t we if we are used to sleeping somewhere else and we wake up in a strange environment, don’t we? Or, is that just me?

 

Well, what a strange day, after being blown to the shops and back really struggling with my hair covering my face looking as if I’m about to rob the shop with my new facial fashion, I was in the kitchen with my Son when suddenly he decided to be funny and play a very annoying song very loud and proceed to dance around the kitchen trying to get me to join in with his silly dance… (The Tea Towel Dance) very hygienic… that’s gone in the wash. Smile. When my doorbell rang playing the tune of (Midnight in Moscow) or, Moscow nights… so, the normal ten notes seemed to go on longer. Well, there I am with a glass clock in one hand, and a duster in the other slightly out of breath as my Son tried to get me to move faster than I wished to do at that time in the morning, whilst holding glass, well, hang on, at any time of the day actually, his moves were rather energetic… I placed the clock on the work top, duster next to it, ran as fast as a blind person can run with half opened doors as my Son slightly closed them to allow room for his morning activity of knocking out shapes in the kitchen… jumping over the dog bed that he’s brought from his room all in the space of knowing that one ring one person equals normally one running off back to his van and driving away with my parcel.

 

Well avoiding lethal dog toys and BW’s trainers which in themselves are the equivalent of a small coffee table. I got to the door. Rather out of breath as the thought of my dog food man driving  off wasn’t a  good one.

 

A very polite man stood there as I held out my arms to receive the dog food… oddly, not for a hug!!!

 

“Hello. I’m your taxi driver.””

Me, that’s very nice love, but I haven’t ordered one!””

Haha, well this man stayed on my doorstep for a while and the mystery was unfolded. All sorted but very strange. In so many ways. Ways that you wouldn’t understand unless you were inside of his head… oh, and mine.

 

Within seconds the bell went again. Still my Son playing this annoying song… this time he’d turned it up even louder. I could barely hear the doorbell. Was it my taxi driver back? Nope, this time it was the dog food delivery man and he announced that is who he was. So, I took the garage keys and opened the door for him to put the food directly in the garage. Locking the door, I blew back into my house. Oh, my, the noise in my house? My dog running around because someone was at the door to see her… obviously, that is the only reason I have a door, to allow people in to see her. Her bells ringing like the blooming bells of Notre dame, my Sons music of (BoomBoomBoom by the Vengaboys) I shall share that uplifting happy song at the end of this blog… and an annoying sound in the background I couldn’t quite hear what it was. Until I made my music sing to me in a lower sound. Well, it was Midnight in Moscow playing to me again… why? Who on earth was  at my door?

 

Running again to my door wishing I had pockets in my trousers to record my extra activities of the day from my iPhone health App… there was no one there. Or, was there? I said hello, as often no one answers they just stand there looking at me as if I’m not a full shilling, or a sandwich short of a picnic.

 

For my English students, a shilling is old money a former British coin and monetary unit equals to one twentieth of a pound/£ or, 12 pence!

 

Well, I had my dog food and I wasn’t expecting anyone else so again I closed the door only to hear the bell again. I unlocked the door again no voices and no way I was going to have a conversation on my doorstop with myself.

Again.

Closing the door, I hear my Son laughing in the background. Looking as if I had been dragged from a hedge backwards by an angry tiger on steroids, I not so calmly asked.

“What’s so funny Bozo?””

I often speak in loving tongue to my Son…

 

He replied. “Nice tune Mum…””

I said to him. “Take your finger off the box””

 Our doorbell is without wires and you just plug the box in the wall… Then I realised he was still in the kitchen and that isn’t where our plug to our bell is, so I went to the bell Son still laughing… well, what was going on? I went back to the door and pressed my bell, you know, to ring it? And have you know, it stopped… I really should go back out and see if it will ring again? Why it had a meltdown moment, I don’t know… Reason why I thought it was my Boy Wonder, is because he’s a prankster.

 

Last night Sham was on the scales trying to get weighed. She almost died when she saw her weight… she screamed in fear as if they were right, she would have put on a couple of stone and would have been about four stone overweight for her height. Then she shouted at Boy Wonder as he laughed… he got the scales out for her as for some reason she asked him to do so, he placed them on the floor and rather than leave go, without her seeing, he kept his fingers on them pushing them down. Hahahahahaha. Now that is so funny but Sham didn’t see the funny side.

 

Previous to that we all sat around our dining table and had a nice chat. I just love the dinner table. It means so much to me. The meaning of a table is one of faith thankfulness and family. Faith because we should always be grateful we have food on our table, be thankful for those around it and hopefully that will be our family even there are three of us with Hub BW and myself, and in the future, I hope to extend that family to grandchildren. The table is a focus point where people talk. Sometimes in this horrible world, it’s the only time we get chance to talk to our kids.

 

So, here is the link to that tune that is guaranteed to get your toes tapping. Just don’t dance with a glass clock in your hands. And, it wasn’t quite like this in our kitchen… but the sound was better quality, smile.

 

 

https://mashable.com/2017/06/06/vengaboys-street-party-cheltenham/#b_CPiRsBlaqj

   

Tuesday 30 January 2018

SLEEPY HEAD BY FIONA CUMMINGS


How quiet my house is without my Husband being here? He has called me so I know he’s OK, but gosh, I miss him. Even my Waggatail is so quiet. The kids are home but they are upstairs and apart from a few moments ago when they came to make some supper for themselves, they are so quiet. Unlike the other night when both of them were hyper. When Hub is home, there is always the TV on and he’s up and down especially after he received his Apple watch, which annoyingly keeps tabbing and banging on telling him to stand… He stands using vocals as well as the sounds of his slippers on the hard wood floor and every time Hub gets up, LF joins him and his little paws clicking along the wooden floor too which involves Waggatail then getting up to investigate what is going on… doors will be opened as Hub goes for a glass of water or some fruit and I eat more when he’s here oddly, so unlike Hubs water and fruit, I hear my crisp bag and my spoon as I stir my hot drink. Haha.

 

I feel for those who live like this every night. Gosh, it must get so lonely? I know I had it for a few weeks at a time when Hub used to work away, I really never want to go back to those days again.

 

I made home made Pizza’s tonight or dinner. I really enjoyed mine, but I do wonder if the amount of vegetables I put on BW’s was too much. I did pack them on but they were really nice…

 

Sham bought Boy Wonder a cute monkey, unlike the one she got him at the beginning of December which is enormous and would terrify me. This one is tiny and so fluffy.

 

Talking of fluffy, I paid about £13 for a toy for my Waggatail for Christmas. It’s so soft and fluffy, but once Waggatailed, twice needs a clean. It’s soggy then dries all spiky. So, into the washing machine on its own, such a brave teddy… and he survived. I only put him on a daily wash and then a quick dry to make him fluffy again for ten minutes in the drier and he came out almost dry but not quite so, I placed him on the radiator to finish off. Well, next think I learn is, Waggs wasn’t happy that BW had a toy monkey and she didn’t have her toy. So, she blooming found it and we heard her jumping onto the radiator as she’s a tiny Labrador. And took the teddy bear all wet and horrid again, so remind me please, why did I wash and dry him?

Well, I presume it’s a him…

 

I guess I should try to get some shut eye now, but I doubt there’s any chance of that…

I have an early start in the morning and I don’t like early. As for stupid time? I’m simply allergic.

 

Oh, my I have tried listening to those supposed sounds that make you relax and eventually sleep… from forest sounds to woodland ways to waves on the ocean. To me they all sound like they belong in the movie Psycho! How can anyone relax to that?   

 

Before I go some words.

There is someone right now you may know who has received some devastating news and they are not coping with it but they can’t tell anyone. Someone you know right now is nursing a loved one as they face their final moments of this life. there are people right now in the worst state possible to imagine, and no matter how bad you feel now, someone you know is feeling worse.

 

That doesn’t make your sad times easier, but to know you are not alone I hope is powerful to you. Some uplifting I hope, quotes.

They say todays pain is tomorrows power… Really? Well, I am stronger than I have ever been but I think I would rather be weak and not have had to go through pain… but if we have the worst pain, then we can cope next time with anything I guess.

 

Nobody’s perfect, we are all just one step up from the beast and one step down from the angels.

"I hope your pillow will be a fluffy cloud and the angels sing sweet lullabies. Know that the stars have come to wish you sweet dreams and the moonlight is there to guide you to that path of dreams.""
© Fiona Cummings

 

 

 

DIARY OF NO SURPRISE BY FIONA CUMMINGS


As I puffed up the pillows at Hubs side of the bed this morning, I felt a dreadful sadness as he won’t be putting his head there tonight. He’s away on business. It’s a reminiscent of days gone by when he used to travel but in those days, he could spend up to 17 days away. And, he was in different countries. Sometimes he would be in several countries during one journey away.

 

 He is travelling by train today, almost three hours journey, that’s after and before transport to the station and office where he needs to be. The Little Fella was off on his adventure. Hub said he is the most perfect dog for conferences and so on as he just lays there. Quite the opposite to what he does at home. That is a good guide dog though, he knows when he is at work and he know when he has his home time…. My Waggatail, always has her home time. Haha. I joke, on Saturday when we were out, she lay stillish all day, after her own naughty adventure getting there. Going back, she was fine, not so excited or anxious, not sure what it is with her. All I know is her tale never stops Wagging.

  

I wrote eleven poems last week for people requesting them for Valentines day. I’m surprised this day in age people bother with that. I loved it when I was a young girl as in those days, no one knew who sent the cards. It was always a huge mystery who sent you your cards. Trying to unravel the concealment of the handwriting in the card normally featuring two cuddling bears inside a heart with inky handwritten words inside silly rhymes, so very innocent in those days comparison to now days. Who was the person who sent it? Was the clue in the handwriting, or perhaps you would recognise a word that would be written in the verse, possibly a word they use a lot?

 

 There’s really no mystery in love now days is there? I mean, even the unborn children, we have to know the sex of the child… why? What about the pure excitement of not knowing until the birth? Whenever I ask younger people this question they always say, well it’s nice to know what colour to paint the bedroom or what clothes to buy. Oh, my goodness. That is the worst excuse I have ever heard in my life. and I don’t know who parents are trying to kid, me or themselves. It isn’t working with me. If there was another reason, then fine, but clothes and paint? Whatever happened to whites, yellows, lemons, creams pale green even pale blues? And, are baby ducklings not unisex, or pictures on wallpaper of teddy bears? Are they only meant for boys, or is that girls? My sons first paper had farm animals on lambs, piglet’s chickens and so on. His bedding matched and his clothes were white and the colours above, I mean, babies clothes only last a few weeks before they grow out of them. Then people can buy their dreadful navy blues and dark greys. Again, personal opinion, I like babies in baby colours not dressing as if they are going to the work house… hahaha. My young Bloggets will be outraged. Well OK, away from old Nanna Fi’s opinions but getting back to not being able to keep or expect a secret or surprise. Remember those old movies when people waited to hear the news the nurse or Doctor would come out, even the Father and announce

“It’s a boy!!!” or a girl.

 

An old classic comedy in the UK makes me laugh every time I see the same show. Del Boy comes out all tearful after his wife has given birth and announces to his old Grandfather and younger brother.

“It’s, a, it’s a’it’s an it’s a

Baby!!!”

Oh, my, maybe you had to be there watching it, but it still makes me laugh. Of course, it’s a baby, they wanted to know boy or girl…

 

The pure anticipation of waiting so long to know what you are having. The excitement. It’s all gone yet another part of life removed of emotions.

 

In our news today, a burglar has broken into a few houses over the past seven years thieving £1,000000 worth of items and the experts think he’s a professional soldier… Why? Because he knows he may come across more than one person as the mansions he’s breaking into, are huge and any room could have a person in, most probable at least one member of staff. So, they are saying the regular burglars are wary of people. He also has a gun. I just don’t understand you have a huge house an yet you don’t have security on it? Like gates, walls, security lighting, alarms and strong windows? And if you have all of that, possibly this is another reason why experts think this person may be ex-army.

 

I’m disgusted in a handful of students who have protested chanting that Churchill was a racist. If he was, then why did he not befriend Hitler? They have too much time on their hands.

 

Health

Vaping may increase cancer and heart disease a new study suggests.

How about an implant for the brain, a pacemaker that could cure Alzheimer’s?

 Just some headlines from Google news.

 

Well as the wind picks up I shall go outside to try to pin down everything that may wish to dance with the conditions. Talking of dancing, before I go, a funny story I was told by my good friend who has very poor sight. Recently he was at a party and he was a little tipsy so decided to dance. After he learned his moves on the dance floor had injured a couple of people, hahaha, he decided to take it easy. To his delight someone took his hand for a brief moment he liked the smell of her perfume so learning that his moves hadn’t been unrecognised, he lent in to the shadow before him who was much smaller than him. To say thank you for the opportunity to dance. As he felt her feathered hair against his cheek, he thought that was his lucky night.

 

After two dances, he learned that all wasn’t as he expected and Joanne, was in fact, John…

 

My friend took his small cane from his back pocket and click click unfolded it and left the dance floor as fast as an almost blind person can leave anywhere…

 

Oh, I love my friend, he and I have such laughs. Exchanging stories that sometimes we feel only those with sight problems will understand. And not all blind and partially sighted people are at the same stage in their vision loss or lacking in ability to have ever seen. So, we are rare. There are only a small selection of people who I know I can joke with in such a way.

 

OK must go now and then try to get my Wagga out as she is hyper… I have some items to post then I must go to the Doctors to pick up a prescription… in the wind, should prove to be of interest… my blind persons fog… x

 

 

 

Monday 29 January 2018

RP FILES BY FIONA CUMMINGS


Headlines to help vision are as follows.

 Patients cured of cataract using stem cells. Stem cells are the way to go. For cancer, heart problems and other conditions and diseases. Lenses were made from stem cells in this incidence.


 

I think France could win the race for a cure for blindness linked with RP. It’s a guess though, but I do wonder if treatment in America will prove to be too expensive. As for England, we were way ahead because for years we received donations from very kind American people but sadly when America gave the green card to research more into things like stem cells, everyone then turned their attentions to the US, of course they would, they live there, but, we were so far ahead I do wonder if we would have found a cure or at least treatment by now if donations had continued?

 

It’s very sad but it’s all about money.

China has come from nowhere to the front of the line, because they show less interest in my opinion of making sure treatment is safe. Sometimes I do wonder how much do we fuss with regards safety? And I always wonder why we have to start on poor animals for research and not directly to the people as in people who don’t deserve to live a full life I’m talking serious murderers. Controversial? Yes, but what punishment do they get other than some years in jail? I’m talking in England where we don’t have the death penalty or life meaning life… Life in our country isn’t life. Sometimes it’s well under twenty years.

 

Many slow years are spent researching on innocent animals starting small then larger animals. Eventually onto humans, but that can take so long. Waisted years.

 

A headline from France

French Biotech starts trials to restore sight in (ALL) types of Retinitis Pigmentosa.

Yes, all… For those who are unaware, the eye disease I have is called Retinitis Pigmentosa and there are so many types of RP.

All types of RP effect the retina. RP causes the retinal to stop working, and eventually die. RP is inherited. Caused by a fault in the genetics     passed down to you from a parent. This doesn’t mean your parent has to have RP, the gene is just carried. Ten generations can be skipped before it shows its ugly head again.

 

Symptoms of RP difficulty in seeing in a dark room or outside in dull sky’s and night time. For me I couldn’t see anything but shadow and street lights when I had sight. During the day, if I stood still, I could see perfectly well. So, clearly. Tiny print too. But put me in that dark room, even a room with poor light, and I was lost. In poor light I could see things like my hand in front of me or a person, but detailed features, forget it. And I couldn’t read unless the lighting was really good or natural daylight. Colours were very vibrant not a bother seeing them. But come the dark, it was hell for me. An yet now I’m blind, I walk outside in the dark without any trouble, isn’t that odd? How for so many years I struggled and now there is no option, I’m OK.

 

Other signs of RP, is loss of peripheral vision which means if you look straight ahead you can see but may miss what’s at your side, above, and ground level.

 

There are a few cases where by those with RP only can see around the sides quite the opposite to only seeing from the centre of your eyes. Those of you who have this kind of RP I’m told it’s rare. So, you have no vision straight ahead, your eyes only see around the edges.

Some other headlines with regards to treatment and research for RP and hope for sight are as follows.

jCyte reports results for phase 1-2

a clinical trial for retinal/cell treatment.

28 people were given the treatment and 22 of them had their second eye treated. Reports said they could see colours so much better, reading was clearer and colours they could see without difficulty. Even reports claimed that some people could see stars now.

 

Spark therapeutics ‘vision restoring RPE 65 gene, now, don’t ask me what that is and I don’t even know if that is the type of RP I have, but more news on them, we hear about most weeks.

 An injection has been given to a patient at the back of the eye.  A 29-year-old patient from Britain, is the first person to be treated with this virus.

There is loads to read on the link below.

 


 

I also heard that as a new parent to be, you can receive IVF to have the RP gene removed so your baby won’t be affected by this disease. That in itself is a breakthrough. Though I’m sure isn’t pleasant. But better than you having a baby with poor vision leading to possible no sight at all.

This link is amazing.


 

What will I be writing about in six months? Moreover, six years? I pray to God in six years, I will not be using my wonderful tech and software which enables me to be able to use a computer.

I hope I’m writing about a holiday I have been able to go on with my Husband. I hope I can tell you what my Grand baby looks like. I hope I can write stories about my plans to take my new born Grandchild places and tell you all about my Son’s wedding day.

 

I hope I’m writing about the inky sky, the silver stars, the amazing clouds, even a rainbow, I mean, what on earth does a rainbow look like? Even when I had what I regarded as good clear sight, I never saw enough to see a rainbow.

 

The spring lambs leaping in the countryside of England’s finest farmlands and to be able to see fish jumping from the rivers as the ripples chase them.

 

Butterflies, wow, I have only seen pictures of them as for birds? I saw a budgie when I was four and since then never. They didn’t stay still long enough for me to focus.

 

Driving? Now that will be a story. Getting in the driver’s seat? Wow, gosh, freedom at last from chains which prohibit me from daily life. just every day things that sighted people take for granted. To be able to open a letter without tech. now, don’t get me wrong, thank goodness for technology. Even a few years ago we didn’t have half what we have now. Thanks to the iPhone, life for us is very testing but possible. It takes a while, but once things are pressed and time has been taken, we can read parts of letters that come through our letterbox. Again, using an app called Tap Tap See, we can read what food we have pulled from the freezer, fridge and can cupboard. But oh, boy, it takes the patients of a saint.

 

Thank goodness for the iPhone and all the apps. But to receive that it costs us a fortune as well as the software to be able to read my lap top and type. I can touch type thankfully, all I need now is to know how to be able to read what I’m writing and I can do that thanks to software called Jaws at the cost of about £750 on top of my lap top costs and it doesn’t last forever. Every few years we need to change the software to keep up to date with the latest goings on.

 

To get by each day I think my Husband and I spend about £3000 per year, $4,281 more than we would if we could see.

 

I hope to be writing about going for job interviews and even better, getting a job. I also hope not to be with those awful raised lines we find on our skin after we have burned ourselves on the oven shelves like I did today.

 

I did an hour and a bit today of ironing, without burning myself which isn’t unheard of, as I would say I burned myself on average about once every few months. But, when I first went blind, oh, gosh, more like every week.

 

To be able to check dates on food, wow, that would be great. But what I do have is the best Husband I could ever wish for. I love him forever and a day and I know he feels the same. For that I am grateful. And I will be grateful if only treatment for my eye disease would hurry up…

 

We have to have hope. Without it, we have existence with regards our lack of sight.

 Thank you to all those who are donating to help research into Retinitis Pigmentosa. Your kindness is our future.

 

 

 

Saturday 27 January 2018

FOREVER FRIENDS BY FIONA CUMMINGS


With the bitter wind beating against my face, my long hair looking as if it hadn’t seen a brush in a while, the rain started to fall and off we went to the train station to travel to our friend’s house!

 

I had about two hours sleep. Stressed to bits. Shamrock, my Sons girlfriend lost her handbag in town. New one she got for Christmas along with her purse, keys to her house and car, her driving licence and her work keys were all inside her bag.

 

She came home, my Son went back into town, he also got her bike to ride around at two this morning, to try to trace where it could be. He was ill with stress about it. Her? “Not bovvered.””

  

Anyway, today, she got it back. Everything. She said, she knew she would get it back. I doubt any lessons have been learned as her Dad even kindly gave the person who handed it over, £20 for doing such a kind deed.

 

When we arrived at the station, we were told we had to be on platform 11. Then after getting there, we were told to go to platform 9. Then just before our train was due which was ten minutes late, an assistant came to us and told us she would take us to platform 5 as that was the latest news. I really don’t know what is going on with our trains right now.

 

My Waggatail was a total pain. She ate a spilled bag of crisps. She then apparently went for an half eaten sausage role and finally a chunk of crispy doughnut for dessert.

 Part of the journey, she walked on her back legs with her two front legs in mid-air as she was delighting a crowd of people.

It certainly didn’t help as the people oo’ood and ah’dahd her. If my Wags thinks she is going to get a fuss or attention, she will forget she is being a guide dog and enjoy all the love that will be given to her.

 

People could see I was trying to work her and could see I was getting stressed but did they stop talking to her and stroking her telling me what beautiful ears she has? Honestly, I felt like saying, she’s not Little Red Riding hood love.

 

The train was lovely and warm. We had a cup of coffee that was, warm. But far from lovely, in fact, not sure if it was coffee.

It was really quiet though, to my delight. Time to get off. Waggatail ate her way down the isle and pleased the people as she performed like a circus animal.

She’s really great on the train. She lays down probably exhausted by the entertainment she provides beforehand. Getting off the train, she jumps off and is fine doing that. Well our friends Like, and Hanz met us and off we went to our day with old school pals. A great day just not long enough.

 

We exchanged stories, laughed and even had a tune on the guitar from the Like man. Trix kindly provided food and then it was time to do the journey again in reverse.

 

Again, the train was quiet. Fantastic. And at the other end, it wasn’t noisy at all. Home and ready for a good night’s sleep. Let’s just hope it happens.

 

To my South African Mama, I ate nuts today… When we got home. I have listened to you and at some cashew nuts. As for eggs? My friend served quiche… as for the treadmill? Sorry I failed. My Husband is now on it and it’s almost 11 pm. It’s too cold and too late.

 

OK, on that note, be happy, safe, warm and at peace. With love and finally one of the most beautiful qualities of true friendship, is to understand and be understood. The most valuable antiques, are dear old friends

 

 

Friday 26 January 2018

NANCY'S STORIES


Words from my friend Nancy. So sorry if this is difficult for you to see. I have been told it’s light grey writing on a white background. If so again, please let me know as obviously I can’t see this I use a screen reader.

4

 I love Sundays on the homestead. For me it is a time to contemplate the week behind me, gather my stories and spend the day with nurturing projects

in my kitchen. So, after feeding the hordes of hungries, scooping the poop from the doggies and walking the poop patrol in the door yard, I gravitate toward

the kitchen to start my daily doings. And, today on the agenda is bread and medicine…. By six a.m., I’ve got my dough mixed, beat and rising. Three rises

then it will be ready to bake and the warm smells in my kitchen will make my mouth water…there is nothing on this green earth better than warm bread and

real butter…. As this goodness is going through its first rise, I pull down a variety of herbs I will be working with today. I am making Transition Time

Oxymel…a delicious blend of dandelion root, nettle and astragalus root…mixed with apple cider vinegar and later, honey which will end up being a sweet

daily addition to help with digestion and immunity…. I love that I can create these medicines for my family and friends. Secondly, I am making a Lemon-Rose

Bite and Sting Soother, a blend of Lemon balm, rose petals, calendula flowers and witch hazel…this will come in handy come spring when the tera dactyls

and buzzing bees bite… Lastly there will be tinctures steeping in vodka, Catnip, Chamomile, Lavender, Eleuthero and Astragalus, all providing nourishing

medicine for the various ailments of the body…. It amazes me that I am gifted this knowledge. It amazes me that I can look to the earth for what I need

to keep my family healthy. I think in these times of convenience we tend to forget how fulfilling these simple tasks can be. Baking bread, making medicine,

caring for our animals…all nourishing activities that balance the mind, spirit and body. Living simply is not always easy. Visit me on a frigid winter

morning, where my breath puffs out in frozen mist and you’d see toes and fingers that are cold, boots that are wet as I tromp through the snow for my morning

breakfast and to slog through the daily chores. But ask me on a Sunday such as this if I regret one moment of my lifestyle here on the hill and I’d give

you a big HECK NO! I am doing and living the life I love, hardships, struggles, joys and laughter, and making medicine and bread….

 

5

 

And, I woke to a throbbing and painful toe. I woke with the remnants of yesterday’s headache still lingering. I woke to a salmon tinged sky, a few dark

clouds but the promise of a warmer day. I woke to the sound of the prisoners rattling tin cups against the bars of their coop demanding breakfast. Would

I be facing a riot this morning? We’ll see. Let’s start with the throbbing toe...and the headache. Yesterday I woke with a headache…just a slight one but

enough to cause me to lie down mid-morning, close the curtains and close my eyes in hopes it would go away. Resting lightly, I could hear all the little

creaks and groans that are normal for this log cabin. I soaked into a doze, my headache sliding back gently and my body sighing into the couch. The dogs,

Sadie, Lucy and Tara-belle were quietly dozing on the floor. Just as my body and mind started to slip into that zen state of dozing I heard it. The gnawing

and chewing of our resident mouse. Jumping up off of the couch, I flew to the kitchen sink and opened the cupboards…not thinking I’d catch the fuzzy little

mischief maker but rather hoping to scare it enough to get it to stop eating my house. With three dogs crowding me, I moved bottles of cleaning supplies,

a mound of bags, and various other items we collect under the sink. That is when all hell broke loose in my kitchen…dogs, the cat, the mouse and me in

the middle. For whatever reason, this fuzzy little critter decided to run out of the cabinet and right onto my stockinged foot…I screamed, the dogs (all

three of them) pounced and the cat let out a howl that would rival any mountain lion on this planet. Sadie was the first one to bite at the mouse…which

was now frozen in fear on top of my foot…she missed the mouse but not my foot. Yelling, I shoved her away and kicked the mouse from its death grip on my

foot…it went flying against the cabinet door and came to rest on the floor in front of me. Tara-belle lunged, stepping on my foot, driving her nail deep

into my toe…the ring toe…next to the pinkie toe…and the little piggy will now never make it to market…as it was gushing blood. And this human was screeching. The

mouse was skittering…the cat was howling and Lucy, quick as a flash, grabbed the fuzzy mouse in her jaws and thought she was going to have mouse for breakfast….

I yelled…Lucy dropped the mouse and Tara and Sadie made a mad dash to get it…and I made a mad dash to keep them from getting it…and there is blood now

spattered on the kitchen floor…and the mouse…well it lay in a fuzzy little heap, curled in on itself… Beating the dogs off I checked it for a heartbeat…and

felt a tiny little quickening in its chest. I thumped it gently to see if it would move. I nudged it…. poked it…to no avail. It was alive but frozen in

terror. Grabbing my oven mitts…I gently picked it up…meanwhile I have three dogs crowding my legs, jumping on me and snapping their jaws…I was not impressed

with their rude behaviour and told them so…sending each of them to their corners…Leaving bloody footprints across the floor I carried this poor fuzzy little

dude out to the woodshed and placed his/her little body on top of a piece of wood. My hubby won’t be impressed…. but hey, I cannot just kill this poor little

dude/dudette…. So that is why my toe is throbbing this morning…and my first chore this morning will be to take a walk out to the woodshed and see if this

fuzzy little mischief maker has made it through the night.

(an update. Next day, the mouse was gone, so, Nancy says either it got away, or a creature had a midnight snack.)

6

(This is one of her best)

And, well in light of my 39th Anniversary yesterday I feel it would be remiss of me not to write an Ode to my husband. And really ladies and gents, just to peck about him. As you all have learned, we live here a simple life on this homestead…and there are times when he and I just have to get right down to it when tackling a problem. And our problem on this day was the wood stove. Not really a problem but more of one of those maintenance duties that neither of us like to have to do. Now before I begin, for all you gents that may be reading this, ladies too, I am not hubby or man bashing…although there are times when I seriously have thought of bashing hubby with a two by four for pissing me off. Why? Because my husband has the patience of a toddler! And when we have to work together on a project, the two-year-old in him comes roaring its bratty little head. And in turn, this turns me into a complete and utter mad woman! He does know how to push my buttons, no surprise after thirty nine years together.
I was in the middle of beating down the bread dough when he decided that the woodstove chimney pipe needed cleaning. Mind you, I have my hands covered in dough. I look up.

‘Really?’ Him: Yeah, might as well get it done. Me: You don’t see that I am busy right? Him: I got this. You don’t need to help. Me: Shaking my head and grinning. ‘Okay. Whatever.” Now cleaning the chimney pipe is a two man job. Always has been, always will be. The pipe itself is awkward and heavy, slippery to hold. When taking it down, I will usually grab one end while he grabs the other so that all the creosote from the inside doesn’t come spilling out onto the living room carpet. Because that mess is a bitch to clean up. So, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach I watch as he man wrestles this 10 foot long pipe out of the ceiling. The words coming from his mouth make me laugh…this is the two years old rearing its bratty head. Wiping my hands on a towel and throwing my dough back into the bowl, I walk over to lend a hand. Him: I got this! Me: The fudge you do! Him: You’re in my way! Me: Shut up already! Stop being grumpy. Fine! Do it yourself a*** hole! Stepping back, I watch as he pulls the pipe slowly from the ceiling…just knowing what is going to happen next…and sure as my name is Nancy, it did. The pipe came crashing down…filled with black ash and creosote, covering my living room carpet and sending up a cloud of nasty ash dust that covered everything within a three foot vicinity including my bread dough.  Me: Nice going dickwad!
Him: It slipped out of my grip. Me: Well???? If you’d have just let me help, not been so impatient, we might have gotten through this with minimal damage…now you can clean up this fudging mess!  Him: Don’t worry, I will! After I get this pipe cleaned!  Now I know his idea of cleaning and my idea of cleaning are about as far off as the north and south pole. And my bread, well that is a total loss. And my temper, I can feel it starting to rise like the sun on a hot summer morning. Me: Ya know what? Don’t fudging worry about it…I’ll take care of it! At this point he can hear the edginess in my voice.  Me: You are so fudging pig headed…Gosh I really, really, really dislike you right now! My temper is winding up and I can feel a bad one coming on. Him: Honey, get a grip…it’s just a little ash..no biggie…. Me: Frothing at the mouth and growling like a banshee…. glancing on the table to see if any weapons are handy and within reach. Him: Help me carry this outside will ya?

Angrily I grab the other end of the stove pipe which has already dumped its contents onto my floor…and leading the way, we take it outside to finish douching it out. I can hear him behind me chuckling. ‘What the fudge is so funny?’ I snap over my shoulder. Him: You look a mess…you’ve got chunks of ash in your hair. Me: I so hate you right now! Throwing down my end of the pipe I left him on his own….D.I.V.O.R.C.E!!!!!! Yes my friends…thirty nine long and happy years!

 

7

And, You have all read about my handsome, cantankerous, bad boy of the barn yard, Mr. Peckerhead. Now this rooster was once meant for the stew pot, freezer

camp, roaster but to be honest this Warden does not have the heart to follow through with her threats so thus he lives a happy life as the protector for

his girls and the nemesis to his keeper. And this is okay for it keeps his and my life interesting as we do our daily dance of existence…him trying to

stay alive and one step ahead of me, and me trying to keep myself from getting maimed by this handsome dude. So, on this day, when the bad ass of the barn

yard got his ass handed to him by the Little Nasties, I can honestly admit I was more than a little tickled. Normally I keep the prisoners separated…the

ducks in their own pen and the Rooster and Chickens in theirs. But today the mountain of poop needed to be chiseled from the icy pile and removed. And

in doing so the prison warden, me, haphazardly left access for Mr. Peckerhead to get into the same pen as the Little Nasties. And all hell broke loose!

And the gang fight began! Fluffy, feathery criminals circling each other, throwing taunts and posturing. Shivs came out from under fluffy feathered wings

and the dance of survival ensued. The Little Nasties, beasty in their own right, circled the Bad Boy who was warily growling and puffing himself up to

appear larger and more menacing. Amidst the squawks and growls and angry quacks I hurried to get into the outside pen to break up what would more than

likely turn into bloodletting. As I struggled with the outer, metal door, I saw Mr. Peckerhead backed into a corner by the two Nasties. I yelled as I fought

with the door. These Nasty little babes would rip my handsome boy apart given half a chance. His eyes met mine through the chicken wire fence. I could

see he would not go down without a good fight. I could also see that he would go down. He knew it, I knew it. One of the Nasties had her beak latched onto

Mr. Peckerheads throat…and he was using his claws and spurs trying to get her off…the other Nasty was biting at his butt, pulling feathers out by the beak

full. And the damn frozen door would still not open for me to get in and break up the fight. It was going to be a massacre if I didn’t get them off of

him soon. Squawking, growls and quacks greeted me as I finally waded in knee deep, throwing punches, kicking and threatening the stew pot for all involved

in this prison riot…..one of the Nasties bit me as I pried her beak from Mr. Peckerhead’s throat…the other Nasty attacked me from behind…it was survival

of the fittest amidst the duck poop, frozen swimming pool and food dishes…and I was determined that Peckerhead and I would survive. Grabbing him up, I

backed slowly out of the duck pen, my eyes trained on the two Nasties should they decide to refresh their attack…Mr. Peckerhead, his eyes filled with shame

that these two tough broads got the best of him. He had tail feathers missing, neck feathers missing and one eye was beginning to swell shut. As I carried

him back to his coop I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the little Bad Boy. And I couldn’t help but chuckle as to how fast the Little Nasties had taken

the wind from his over inflated ego….and handed him his ass in return…and the lesson learned here I think is that no matter how bad ass you think you are…there

is always someone out there that is bigger and badder than you. And my Peckerhead learned this lesson by having his ass handed to him on a platter by two

very pretty and normally docile duckies.

 

8

And, this morning is a gift, the type of gift that makes me grateful that I am alive and as I sit in the darkness on my front porch, I watch the fog roll

across the expanse, I sink blissfully into the unusually warm temps. We have a kiss of spring in the middle of January and this homesteader is not complaining….

With the cold and stormy weather of late, there has not been much activity outside or in the coop so this morning, before the light has even risen I walk

through the murky fog, mist coating my face and my boots sinking into the soft ground where the snow has melted and there is dirt under my feet. Lamp in

hand I listen as the Little chicken Mafia, the Little Nasties and Peckerhead stir about. Grabbing my pitch fork, I am happy to be able to tackle the mountain

of poop and wet hay which has thawed over the past few days…. Am I insane to be this happy about cleaning out the coop? To be stinking of duck and chicken

poop? Oh, hell yeah and only another homesteader would understand this joy. Opening the door, I am greeted by squawks, clucks and quacks…even Peckerhead

is in a good mood this morning as he crows loudly from the roost above. My feet sink into the soggy mess of hay and poop as I deliver the prisoners their

breakfast and collect my own…5 fresh eggs await my eager hands as I gently move the girls out of my way. It is still dark but I leave the coop door open

for fresh air as I dig in and start scooping up soggy hay, soggy poop and God knows what else that had previously been frozen in a hill the size of a mountain

inside of the little prisoner’s house….it is a wonder they haven’t gathered together, hired a lawyer and thrown a class action lawsuit against me for these

miserable living conditions…but I explain to them every day that I am doing the best I can. After loading the wheel barrow full several times, I dump it

in my compost pile…awwwww…black gold for my garden come spring. Forgetting to close the door, I hear Peckerhead coming up behind me…and turn quickly. He

is loose and it is dark. Man! Giving chase, I run him through the door yard, around the trees and over snow piles…a rooster loose in the dark is asking

for predator trouble. ‘Get over here you little Flucker!’ I yell as I hot foot it behind him and him staying always one step ahead of me. I am swearing,

I am sweating but mostly I am worried that my handsome little beast will take off into the dark woods and become a meal for some hungry animal…damn these

early morning calisthenics….. Finally catching him, I deposit him back into the coop…we are both breathing hard and he is now glaring at me…. I think I

ruined his good mood. Shrugging it off I inhale deeply the sweet smell of fresh hay as I lay a thick bedding for all of the prisoners…. this work makes

me feel good, makes me feel whole. Yes, the cold makes things so much harder on the homestead, but when the warmth with its fleeting gift surprises me,

I can’t help but remember and give thanks for what I have.

© Nancy Broadly

And I hope there will be many more stories. Also, I have a link to one of her books please check it out. She is pure talent.