The Dreams of Old Age

 

Are these the dreams of old age? Or just dreams?  I recently dreamt about my childhood home, which appears as 5 Disraeli Crescent in my books. And on Tuesday night my dreams ended with me sorting out breakfast for my mum-in-law Eileen, who was staying in a kind of B&B that did remind me of somewhere but the dream faded too quickly for me to work it out.

I know I was heading back to the dining room/kitchens as she wanted more butter on the strange collection of things on her plate, although they already had loads of butter on them. And she wanted more banana bread.  I remember being surprised that she liked banana bread and woke up wondering why I hadn't made her some.  I have two very good recipes.

Its too late now by the way, as Eileen died many years ago. I only meet her in the occasional dream.

So I put "banana" into the search engine of Col's photo gallery, and it came up with a lot of rather dazzling photos of Banana Reef in the Maldives (from our travelling years), so I thought, why not?

Last night my dreams were about the past too, but they have faded away so quickly I can't remember even a glimpse of which bit of the past turned up.  It surprises me how little I think and dream about our 25 years in the Middle East, years which gave us so much. But clearly what happens when we are young impresses itself much more deeply into our memory.

We are sitting out regularly on our balcony at night now, with a glass of Captain B's homemade wine for him and decaff coffee for me. Though lately I have been having a glass of wine too - but try to ration that to twice a week. The weather has stayed coldish overall and this morning it is grey and cloudy.  I love it all. The beauty of Green and Sea never fails.  And our balcony flowers are splendid.

Could we ever get tired of the creation?  It changes constantly and can be so heartbreakingly lovely.  Well, I hope that the Captain and I will be enjoying our evening glass of wine/cup of coffee/ together a thousand years from now, a million years from now.  I hope we will all "inherit the earth" as Jesus promised, and live forever upon it.

When I think of all I have already learnt in just... well... a lot more than 39 years lets say... in fact, double it, and...  it's hard to believe given the Captain and I were a young married couple just yesterday... to get back to my point, when I think of all I have learnt in my 70 plus plus plus years, I wonder what it will be like to look back from the vantage point of 1,000 years and think of what I have learnt then!   

THE KIDNAPPING OF MRS CAPTAIN BUTTERFLY!!!!

To quote Beachcomber, who, after his startling headline:  FORTY HORSES WEDGED UP CHIMNEY!!!!, simply wrote "The story to fit this sensational  headline has not turned up yet", I will also say that the story to fit my sensational blog headline has not turned up yet. 

And hopefully it never will.  But what made me think of it is that the Captain and I just started watching a new series (well, new to us), on one of those App thingummies we have on our TV. It stars Trevor Eve and John Hannah, which is what made us think it might be worth a watch.

It stars Trevor as a sort of hostage negotiator - it's called Kidnap and Ransom (I think).  It's compelling and scary - if implausible.

So I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had Col been a high-flying exec when we worked in the Middle East, and I had been kidnapped - and the call came.

Kidnapper:  (sinister)  "We have your wife.  The price is a million dollars."

Captain B: (indignant) "A million dollars!  I'm not taking her back for less than 2 million, mate! And I want it in used notes." (slams phone down).

The Kidnapping of Mrs Captain B would have been a very short TV series.

The photo is of the young Mrs. Captain on one of our Cornish holidays with the Merrits - so long ago.

Well, me and my shoes made it to the doctors on Friday - paid for it, painwise, on Saturday though.

Col was at home Saturday and Sunday - most unusual, and, with a lot of help from Pen we sorted out a very short Youtube video presentation for Waiting for Gordo.

After some thought, I decided to read the dedication, as it involves the word Shoal (the short video we have chosen as a background is one of a Maldivian shoal taken by Captain B in his diving days) and then the small preface which appears under the title the book had originally - Small Island.  If Fantastic Books approves it, then in time it will appear on Youtube and maybe I will sell a book or two. Who knows?

I hope to be able to blog it soon.

The Lamb

 

Guardian Pick

60

Rheumatoid Arthritis is agony. It isn't 'oh my dad has a twinge of that in his thumb', it's an auto immune disease that includes pain so extreme that the touch of a sheet can make you shout, and flu-like fatigue. The meds are often toxic with severe side effects. There is no cure, just management. It causes lung and heart disease (as I discovered last year, needing emergency heart surgery after 15 years with RA). It's quite well known that cold damp weather can trigger it but not many people know that heatwaves are also a powerful trigger. So yes, here's another group of people who have a very bad time in the heat. (Apologies to anyone recently diagnosed, this isn't meant to scare. Push for help, many hospitals now favour early intervention with the powerful meds. Accept them if possible).

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2026/may/29/people-disabilities-heatwaves-uncomfortable-safe-climate-crisis#comment-174763135

I found this comment under a Guardian article and was sad at how accurate it is, as clearly the writer is going through it.  I have had rheumatoid arthritis since my late thirties, though it took a while to diagnose, as the family kind we have is apparently sero-negative (I hope I have the term right). They do now have a test to diagnose it.  It was a doctor in the A & E Department of our company hospital in Dhahran who first told me it was arthritis. I had been rushed in by ambulance, I was paralysed down my right side and they thought I had a stroke.  The Saudi doctor took one look at me and said "You have arthritis", and referred me to Rheumatology.  Where I still attend -  just a different hospital now.

Interesting and worrying about it causing lung and heart disease, as both my mother and her mother - severely arthritic - died of heart attacks. And I have had a pulmonary embolism.  At the moment my immune system is mounting a vicious attack on my skin, which is painful but not lethal - yet...

Well, I wondered about what photo could head this rather dismal medical blog and decided to put "lamb" into the search engine in Col's photo gallery.  I was thinking of the promise of perfect health in the restored earthly paradise and me (hopefully there) gambolling about like a Spring lamb. But what came up was The Lamb Pub. So I have used that.

The pic probably suggest more Drowning ones Sorrows than Gambolling about, but as it is a pretty pub - a popular spot for lunch - and a nice photo of a happy place - it might cheer this blog up a bit.

The pigeons have left the balcony and hopefully found themselves a nest site elsewhere.  Springwatch, fascinating as ever, is showing us so many nests this year - but also so many tragedies that go along with them, as nature is still "red in tooth and claw", and will be until God's Kingdom is ruling over the whole earth, restoring the peaceful and perfect balance of Eden worldwide.

Me and my foot have to get to the docs for yet another blood test this morning, hopefully not arriving shoeless - and Col has a visit with the FLO (Finds Liaison Officer to us civilians) at the Museum later.

The Common Spotted Orchid

We chose a Common Spotted Orchid as our calendar picture for June -  a COMMON Spotted Orchid.  Hyacinth Bucket - sorry Bouquet  - would not have given our calendar house room this year.

Saturday was a very stormy day, wonderful waves, Sunday was sunny but not warm.  I pixellated myself to the Kingdom Hall on Sunday morning, even though Col was at home - no detecting, on either Saturday or Sunday!  

He would have been able to help me dress and chauffeur me, but my right foot was so swollen and painful I could hardly walk, let alone get it into a shoe. It was a comforting meeting, reminding us that we can be strong and endure IF we rely on Jehovah to give us the strength.

And this is a phrase from the public talk I want to hold on to.  The speaker pointed out that whatever problems and stresses we are going through, it is "only a single page in our life story".

Yes.  If we inherit the earth, and live forever upon it, and are to be joyful forever, it does put whatever we are going through now into its right perspective.  Our lives, even at best, are so short now, so quickly gone. 

Col was a bee of busyness making his chutney, which he does about once a year.  As I have probably said before, when he made it in Saudi, we could go out and pick fresh dates to go in it.  Which was not something I had ever expected to be doing.

A pair of pigeons are trying to build a nest in the downpipe on our balcony - which will be a disaster if we don't stop them.  Col has filled it up with wire again, and we had the balcony door open for a while to deter them.  They clearly need to find somewhere soon, and I can only hope they will.

Oh for the time when God's Kingdom is ruling over the earth and we can help all the little creatures on it to find safe and secure nests in which to bring up their families.  There will be such happiness in being able to care for the earthly creation properly.

Cut Grass Lies Frail

 

CUT GRASS

by Philip Larkin

Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death

It dies in the white hours
Of young-leafed June
With chestnut flowers,
With hedges snowlike strewn,

White lilac bowed,
Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace,
And that high-builded cloud
Moving at summer's pace.

https://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poems/short/june


I think it has to be a Philip Larkin poem for June - as it expresses both beauty and sadness.  

Our Bible study on Wednesday morning went well, and my gallant chauffeur picked me up from the Kingdom Hall Thursday night and we drove back home into a wonderful sunset.  He is also a valet these days as I can't get myself dressed to Kingdom Hall standards without his help.

Of course I saw the sunset through a veil of black spots and something like a small knot of hair - effects left by my cataract operation. But it was beautiful nonetheless.

Poor Col spent Friday trying to get the insurance on my car renewed - not that I will be driving again, but he has decided to keep it and use it for the moment. It proved immensely difficult finding a human being he could actually talk to. And my main achievement of the day was making a carrot cake for the freezer. And that takes it out of me to an alarming extent these days.
I still find myself wanting to write limericks:
There was a young man of Dhahran
Who drove out to sea in his van
It was foolish of him
as he could not swim
and neither, it seems, could his van.

My (no longer) young man (no longer) of Dhahran is having loads of visitors to his balcony moth hotel at the moment He will soon be checking them out - into the rain this morning.

Him Basil Fawlty - me Sybil.

 

Flowers for Henry Nowak

These are some flowers for Henry. As I feel I must note the tragedy that has befallen young Henry Nowak and his family - a tragedy that has been filling the media. Why all this publicity given that, horribly, knife crime seems to have become almost routine on our streets, and given that "the increase of lawlessness" is earthwide? All over the world precious people are being slaughtered as if they were of no value.

But this happened just down the coast from us. And it is the contrast in the way young Henry was treated, and the way the murderer was treated by the forces of law and order that is so startling, so upsetting.

He was dying on the pavement, choking on his own blood, and the Police handcuffed, arrested and cautioned him. He was shown no kindness, no courtesy - and given no help.

But I will leave the rest to his very dignified father, Mark Nowak. Speaking after the court case which has jailed the murderer of his son, he said "justice alone is not enough", adding that the way his son was treated, compared to Digwa, was "unbearable".

"Let me be absolutely clear - we hold Vickrum Digwa solely and 100 per cent responsible for the brutal murder of our son," the father said. "But Henry should not have died on the streets of Southampton in police custody. The way he was treated was inhumane and degrading."

'His murderer, however, was afforded decency. He was believed. He was not handcuffed when arrested. He was not handcuffed when transported to the police station. As far as we understand, he was never handcuffed at all."

It is, as his father said, unbearable. And it all happened just down the road from here. So it is both heartbreaking and frightening.

In shining contrast the law of our loving Creator, Jehovah, is perfect and impartial. He has one standard for all, and knows, loves and values every one of his subjects. And he has taught us what a serious thing it is to take a human life.

God's word really is a beacon of light shining in a cruel and unjust world system. Please can it draw more and more of us to our loving Creator.

And I hope that once the whole earth is at peace under the loving rule of the Kingdom of God, the heavenly government, for whose coming Jesus taught us to pray, Jehovah will wake young Henry from the dreamless sleep of death and he will be reunited with his family. I hope that for so many more of us, the human family, too.

So I will end with this beautiful promise from the Book of Isaiah:

Your dead will live...

Awake and shout joyfully,

You residents in the dust!

For your dew is as the dew of the morning,

And the earth will let those powerless in death come to life.

Two Poems

 

These are two more poems I have blogged before, but I want to keep sharing them..

I found them both in Hand Luggage - a quirky anthology by John Bayley.  And they could not be more different.

The first is A War by Randall Jarrell.  Its context is World War 2, and it is tragically topical.  The way he inverts the expression: "You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs" gives the familiar saying startling effect.  The poet knew only too well what he was talking about as he was in the US Airforce at the time.

A WAR

by Randall Jarrell

There set out slowly, for a Different World.

At four, on winter mornings, different legs...

You can't break eggs without making an omelette

 - That's what they tell the eggs.

The "different legs" suggests to me how many young men have been sacrificed to the gods of war - relays of them.  As they are being sacrificed to this day, and will be I guess until God's Kingdom is ruling over the earth.

The other poem I wanted to share is a gentle parody of Thomas Hardy (whose poems I love): 

A Luncheon (Thomas Hardy entertains the Prince of Wales)

by Max Beerbohm

Lift latch, step in, be welcome, Sir,
Albeit to see you I'm unglad
And your face is fraught with a deathly shyness
Bleaching what pink it may have had,
Come in, come in, Your Royal Highness.

Beautiful weather? — Sir, that's true,
Though the farmers are casting rueful looks
At tilth's and pasture's dearth of spryness. —
Yes, Sir, I've written several books. —
A little more chicken, Your Royal Highness?

Lift latch, step out, your car is there,
To bear you hence from this antient vale.
We are both of us aged by our strange brief nighness,
But each of us lives to tell the tale.
Farewell, farewell, Your Royal Highness.

https://www.poetrynook.com/poem/luncheon

As John Bayley says in his intro to the poem, Hardy would probably have appreciated it too.  I hope so anyway.

How creative Jehovah made us to be.  But we are made in his image, and he is "the Grand Creator".  And damaged though we all are at the moment, we can still be very creative.  We need to be I think.  And  I have chosen one of Col's photos of a grand creation, the Swallowtail butterfly, to head this blog.  It was taken on one of his trips to Corfu.

It is lovelier than the most expensive Tiffany jewel, and has finer engineering than our latest computer system.  Doesn't it tell us of its Grand Creator as clearly as if it spoke?

I managed to get to the Kingdom Hall by person, not pixel, on Thursday, thanks to my gallant chauffeur and valet Captain Butterfly.  Two more blood tests on Friday - horrendously bruised arm, not the fault of the nurse, but due to the state of me. It was still very hot, but we drove to the Post Office and I managed to stock up on the little cards that I am using in my witnessing, and Col went and got some more bread and some strawberries from Waitrose. I simply could not make it the few steps to  Waitrose to go with him, which I am trying not to get too depressed about.

When we came back from the shops there was a cool breeze coming off the sea which was so welcome.

Another June approaches rapidly... how grateful I am to be here still.  

We had a special morning at the Kingdom Hall yesterday - I had to attend by Zoom as Col was off with the detectorist lads.  When I have digested a few points I will probably blog them.