Dreams (but not of Sunflowers)

Ah Sunflower, 

Ah Sunflower, weary of time,

Who countest the steps of the sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;

Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves, and aspire
Where my Sunflower wishes to go!

William Blake

https://poemanalysis.com/william-blake/ah-sun-flower/

Is this another expression of longing for the lost paradise?  We cannot go back, but it does lie before us, earthwide.

Whether there will be any snow this winter remains to be seen.  The sunflowers were meant to be a contrast, a bit of sunshine in the snowy midwinter - but sometimes the days seem quite Springlike and a picture of deep snow would actually have provided more of a contrast this midwinter.

An odd thing.  I have discovered the difference between making garlic bread in Saudi Arabia and making it here.  The reason for my suddenly making this earth-shaking discovery is that while I made garlic bread all the time in Saudi as we entertained a lot, I haven't made it for ages.  Anyway, I made a freezer full over the holidays and found that while in Planet Expat the butter was always lovely and soft, easily mashed with the garlic, and easily spread, here, in the UK in midWinter, the butter simply did not soften and I had to put it on in chunks.

However, it came out hot, crispy and buttery and it did taste good - and was very popular. The visiting dog enjoyed a piece too - just as our lovely Shadow always used to. At least - I imagine she would have enjoyed it, had anyone, say her Auntie Sue, slipped her a slice under the table...

When I managed to get off to sleep last night I dreamt about D.B.Cooper - the mysterious hijacker, who may, or may not have escaped with a lot of money after parachuting out of a plane.  

No-one even knows who he was, to this day.  Why I should have dreamt about him I do not know. I didn't even know I remembered his name. It keeps my two remaining brain cells at full stretch remembering my own name these days.

And my dream offered no answer to the puzzle of who he was and what happened.  But I hope he is OK wherever he is.   But it is hard to imagine that he would have survived that parachute jump.

Once we had a Mailbox

 

ODE TO MY MAILBOX

by me

Oh Aramco Mail Box numbered no more

I’m not very pleased with you for

There’s nothing here again for me

Except for The Sun, delivered free

And the usual request for a sub

From the Dhahran Expats Camera Club.

Once I had a mailbox... but alas I do not see a brilliant bestseller, a la Karen Blixen (who famously once had a farm in Africa), arising from that beginning. I had to leave the actual numbers out, as someone else will be using that number now.

The poem tells me this was written in our early expat years - the days of Bruce and the Camera Club. We kept the same mailbox throughout of course, while living in many different houses. The photo is of the sprinkler going in one of our gardens, our last garden but one I think. Col did take a photo of our Aramco mailbox as an entry for a Club competition, set by Bruce, but I can't find it, so I have settled for this.

The Sun is The Arabian Sun, not the Rupert Murdoch one. My mother used to write every week with news from home. Letters were so important in those pre-cyberspace years (when dinosaurs ruled the earth).

It is still oddly warm for the time of year. And John, in our Monday Zoom Session, said that Sydney is very hot even for their time of year - midSummer.

Our expat life, all 25 years of it, is fading far into the past now. But it was quite an experience - travelling to parts of the world I never expected to see, being able to visit my bro and his family in Oz many times, and being scudded by Saddam Hussein. I could have missed out on the latter experience happily of course.

At the moment I am wrestling with my two thirds written short story, The Sands of Mars. I have a big plot problem that has to be resolved and then its pretty much finished - just the refining work to do.

It is not Sci-fi - far from it. It is set firmly on the Planet Earth. This is the planet on which I hope Captain Butterfly, me, all our family and friends - and you, my blog readers - will live happily ever after.

Snow Haiku (No Snow Haiku)

This is a Snow Bunting, photographed by Captain Butterfly, of course - as there is no snow, as yet. Not down here on the coast anyway.

Winter Haiku
by Basho

Come, let’s go
Snow-viewing
Till we’re buried.

Awake at night—
The sound of the water jar
Cracking in the cold

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/1690423/snow


Can I do

a new Haiku or will I rue

trying to?

Answer. No, I can't. I am glad I had a go though.  One day I may be able to get it right.  Or maybe, if I am in the Paradise earth, will I be able to have poetry lessons from Basho himself?!

It is still much too warm for the time of year. Thursday was like a sunny day in early Spring  We do actually need some proper cold weather as it kills of a lot of bugs, plus snow is a great way of irrigating the ground and filling the reservoirs.  It also looks so beautiful too.  My snow haiku would be trying to express that moment when you wake up on the morning and everything is quiet and white. It is one of those moments when you can feel the holiness of the world.

Thursday was a very difficult day.   It was very stormy, rocking the parked car as I waited for Col who was posting the 2026 calendars.  I had a long session with the Audiologist. The problem is my ears, not the hearing aids, alas.  My hearing has been stable for the last 5 years, but has suddenly taken a sharp turn for the worse - for no apparent reason other than old age. New hearing aids are on order, to be ready next year - and I am to make an appointment with my GP in  the new year too. Then we trekked through wind and rain to Specsavers where I chose new frames and ordered my new glasses, which I will also pick up in the new year.

The pair that will make me look just like Kate Moss have not been invented yet. But I am always hopeful.

I Sold a Book!!

 

It turns out I did sell a book at the York Book Fair!  Hurray!!  I rushed through to the kitchen on Tuesday morning to where Captain Butterfly was flying the coffee machine, to tell him of my triumph.  How are we going to celebrate? What will we spend the money on?  The champagne is on me.

"We could have a winegum", he suggested.  But, realistically, I think it will have to be half each.  However, I am so pleased.

The book sold was Disraeli Hall, which is a thriller (I hope) based around the two houses of my childhood - with a mysterious death having occurred at the dark at the foot of the second staircase of the Hall itself (which is bigged-up from my Granny's rambling old Nabbs Cottage).

There is also a possibility that some of us Fantastic authors will have some EBook sales too, as a lot of people asked about them - and they are all available in that format.

Penny's blog about it - with some great photos - and a useful tip for all train travellers - is here:

https://medium.com/weeds-wildflowers/york-book-fair-2025-200bae07b3f7

We had our family Zoom session on Monday morning, after my usual Zoom with local friends.  John lives in Sydney, so we were talking about the recent attack on Bondi Beach.  He said that it was a very hot day, so the beach was even more crowded than usual, which may have been why there was such a tragically high casualty rate.

The "increasing of lawlessness" is being seen everywhere. And it will help so much if we know that this is the darkest hour before the dawn. And it will be such a wonderful dawn when it comes.

And how important it is that we read, understand, and stay in harmony with the perfect advice in Psalm 37 as Satan's system goads us and turns us against each other as never before.

The Egg and I and Me

 

This charming photo of a Pheasant's egg (from the Captain's Gallery) is because I was re-reading the biography of Betty McDonald, the author of The Egg and I.  We (my family) loved The Egg, as did millions of people worldwide.  We went on to read all her books.  So I was fascinated to learn more about her from the Wellman book.   

Her first husband, the husband of The Egg had a sad end.  But it was a very unhappy marriage. And the brutality of most animal husbandry is very evident.

Betty comes to hate hens "with a vengeance, especially the chicks".  She writes that the dear fluffy little babies are stupid, smell and peck each other's eyes out, require constant feeding and watering and are hell-bent on killing themselves by drowning  in the water fountains, or coming down with diseases.

I am no way getting at Betty in what I say next - the attitude was everywhere - still is - we are no better now - and I am sure she was basically a kind person.   But what a harsh and selfish attitude we have had, and still have, alas, towards the animal creation.

If you have seen a mother hen with her chickens you will know how carefully she looks after them, and teaches them.  To hatch hundreds of tiny chicks without mothers and to jam them into a sort of battery farm and expect them to thrive, to look after each other, and to hate them for not being able to do so is rather like taking hundreds of toddlers away from their mothers, jamming them in a vast nursery, throwing some food in twice a day, and expecting them to cope. And hating them when they do not.

The animal creation has suffered so much because of our selfishness.  And also the callous attitude promoted by "the world" .  One of the many many wonderful things I look forward to in the restored earthly paradise is that we will be able to care tenderly and unselfishly for the animal creation - and will find much joy in doing so.

Christmas cards and letters have started to arrive, and while I no longer send Christmas cards and birthday cards, I do like to respond to each one. It is a good way to keep in touch.  That is one of my projects for the weekend - to make a start on that - and also to do my studying and attend the meeting.

Captain Butterfly rang from The Field on Saturday to tell me he had found a Marcus Aurelius silver denarius, in good condition!  And this is a find he can bring home so I look forward to seeing it.  Assuming he makes it back from the Outer Planets (judging by the time his alarm went off) safely.  The older I get, the more fragile life seems, the more precious it seems, and the more I worry about him.

He and Marcus A made it back, thank God. And maybe I can get a pic of the coin itself for one of my blogs.

Storm Bram

 

In honour of Storm Bram, I have found a stormy shot from Col's photo gallery. I searched for a storm poem, and was reminded of this, the beginning of the poem Porphyria's Lover by Robert Browning:

The rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:

https://poemanalysis.com/poems-about/storm/

The storm is a metaphor for the turmoil going on in the speaker's mind, and its lethal consequences, as yet another woman is killed by her partner.

If I could write a storm poem, what would it be?  Something that conveyed the wonderful energy of the wind and the waves - and one with no ladies being murdered in it.

Storm Bram was busy vexing The English Channel Tuesday afternoon and evening, but all seemed calm on Wednesday morning, as I started this blog. The sea was just mildly irritated, rippling a bit.  It is a privilege to be able to look out over the sea every day - and I must remind myself of that when I find myself getting a bit down.  Old age is both wonderful - and tough, because of the deterioration.

And now my ears, or my hearing aids, or both, are playing up, along with this extra medical complication for which I am awaiting a scan...  what next?  Best not to think about it I guess.

Thursday morning Captain B left very early - as usual - to join the Lads in the Distant Field.  And I tried to at least get something done.  Did the washing, made a - wait for it - another apple crumble (still the Captain's favourite dessert).  And I made a tray of marmalade muffins to top up the freezer, and celebrate my new hand mixer.  

I did make it to the Kingdom Hall, but because of this problem with my original ears or my hearing aid ears, I couldn't really hear much.  I have an appointment with the Audiologist next week and will just have to hope that she can help.  It's all very worrying. Is it my ears? Is it my hearing aids? And if it's them and they have to be sent back to the factory, when will I get them back, given the dreaded Xmas/New Year holidays are coming up?

It is not nearly as cold as it should be for December.

Jersey Tiger

Nobody did Buy My Books at the York Book Fair.  So I am reduced to hoping that somewhere, someone is reading (and enjoying) a shoplifted copy.  Apparently a German lady did stop and look at The Umbrellas of Hamelin, attracted by the title no doubt, which I do think is a good one.  But, as she may have found out from a quick read, the title story is not set in Hamelin  - the reference is to the Pied Piper, who lured children away.  In my story, it is not children the Piper is luring, it is middle-aged ladies. I was middle-aged when I wrote it.  

They are being lured by a very dangerous art installation. Or is it dangerous?  You will have to read it to find out.

Some of my fellow Fantastic authors did sell though, so that is the good news.  And those who bought their books will be in for a treat. And the Fantastic Board Game, Gorgon's Loch, did well too.

We chose a Jersey Tiger moth to end our 2025 Calendar in a blaze of colour.  Lovely moth, lovely name.  What thought and care and love Jehovah put into the earthly creation - as did Jesus, who worked alongside his Father as a master worker.

We have had some real stormy weather - wonderful waves on The Channel - and its raining Sunday morning as I start this blog.  I had to Zoom to the Kingdom Hall, and what a lovely meeting it was.  The public talk is one that I wish every single person in the world could have listened to.  At least I know that millions of us, the children of Adam, did hear it. 

I had thought, after my medical epic last week, that I could hope for a medical-issue free week... ha... once one is past one's sell by date, it seems there is no such thing.  I had to ask for a GP appointment, was seen on the same day, which I am grateful for (very) but also alarmed by, and I am now set for another scan.  Plus my powerful med arrives this week, the one that has to be signed for and refrigerated.

What a drain I feel I am on the NHS. And for sure if we lived in the world that the Theory of Evolution tells us we do, why?  Of what evolutionary use am I now?  

But, if what Genesis tells us about our origins is true, as I believe,  then I can still have an important work to do  - and hope to be getting on with it today.  And I certainly do not think "Well, I have had a good innings, my threescore years and ten then some, and I am ready to go", because I am not ready.  Not only do I not want to leave Captain Butterfly, but the older I get, the more fascinating and interesting the gift of life seems.  I want us to be together in the earthly paradise, to meet all those who are woken from the dreamless sleep of death - and to be there beyond the Thousand Years to see what wonderful things Jehovah has in store for us then.

Please Buy our Books

 

 

I had hoped to make two trays of marmalade muffins for the brothers and sisters working on the Kingdom Hall this week, but somehow it did not happen.  Not only am I failing - having just had an intensive medical week involving a new med - but my hand mixer broke down as well, and I ran out of muffin cases. 

It was not old age in the mixer's case. We only bought it two years ago!

I did manage to make one batch, hopefully OK, and was able to send some store-bought biscuits to go along with it.  Biscuits in the English, not the American, sense.

On a more cheerful note, when the Captain rang from one of his outings he said how lovely the cake in his lunch box was.  "It seems to get better and better".  And, yes, it was the carrot cake, and it does get more tasty for keeping, and I made it weeks ago. It was then portioned and frozen for use as needed.

Got a card from Lilian and her sister Elaine this week. And also one from Peter - the husband of my friend Anne Marie.  I still miss her. I would have loved to share my books with her. She found the only short story she read - The Ecclesall Witch Project - very funny.  Its not in Umbrellas though, as it wouldn't make sense unless you know Ecclesall woods in Sheffield and the impossibility of getting lost in their dark fastness. Even I couldn't get myself lost in there.

Which does give me a chance to put my PleaseBuyMyBooks hat on and mention that my books, along with those of the other Fantastic Book authors will be on sale at the York Book Fair today, should any of you, my dear blogreaders, happen to find yourself in the vicinity.

Mr and Mrs Captain Butterfly on their Balcony

 

We made this little selfie video a couple of weeks ago at the request of the Canada Branch of the Butterfly diaspora. Greetings for Malcolm came in from as far as NZ.  You can hear the Channel softly roaring in the background.  Now if we had done it this week you would not have been able to hear anything but the Channel. There is a storm on - wonderful waves outside our window.

All that power, all that energy.  And how I could do with some of it.  I failed yet again to get myself to the meeting on Sunday morning in person.  I need to re-think and re-strategise.

In the meantime, I am so grateful for the Zoom provision.

It means I can not only attend the meetings, but take part in them too.  As can all of us who are housebound, or intermittently housebound.

It is comforting that we are so carefully provided for  - a reminder that Jehovah cares for all his people.

Tuesday was the first of my three medical things this week. We drove to a local hospital through sun and rain alternating - no rainbow seen though - and saw young Dr.Ali. She is very sweet and is trying her best to help. She has suggested an intensification of one of my meds and will see me again in 6 months. She will also speak to Rheumatology, who I see on Friday. I have another local doctor's visit to accomplish tomorrow, as does Captain B.

Dr. Ali was wearing lovely shoes, both smart and comfortable, as befits a very pretty and hardworking lady.  My shoes can only be sensible these days, alas, but I can still admire a stylish shoe.