not pink, not purple nor even lilac

What color is your soul painted? Red Your soul is painted the color red, which embodies the characteristics of love, strength, physical energy, sex, passion, courage, protection, excitement, speed, leadership, power, danger, and respect. Red is the color of the element Fire, and is associated with blood, life and death, birth, volcanoes, and intense emotions. Click Here to Take This Quiz

Quizzes and Personality Tests

another human

today i felt a definite urge to see another human, one of those two legged, upright walking, opposing thumb endowed, garbage producing critters. last saturday, i took a ride into girvan to do a bit of shopping and that was the last time i had come across another of my own kind. of course the postman braves the farm road every day except sundays, thing is, he moves with the speed of summer lightning... even in winter. the mail usually lands on the mat long before my wakey wakey time..

this afternoon, late, i made the big decision... a drive into the village. my chocolate hankerings were growing, not smart to ignore those for too long, chocolate lust... once out of control is an awesome, ugly occurrence.

plus i had two letters which needed posting. the north ayrshire council keeps sending me forms to fill in, i had advised them i was moving house at least a month in advance of my move. it does appear though that they will not really be satisfied until i have filled out all their forms in triplicate.
scottish gas had actually sent me a reimbursement cheque for just over a hundred pounds...yay. trouble was they had made it out to Mr E Ailermann...hmmmm. Strangely enough the letter had my correct name, as did the envelope...there was even an attached note stating that i should contact them if the name on the cheque was incorrect. makes you wonder, what about that wonderful new invention...the uh..telephone. bloody hell!

so...i had plenty of reasons to venture into the village and experience....other people.the A77, whilst not being the widest road in the world, is always in tip top condition as it is the road which carries the ferry traffic from stranraer. the ferries arrive from belfast,northern ireland and disgorge passenger cars and huge road ferries.they nearly all travel north, heading towards glasgow. so, i crest the hill and wind my way down towards the village, the view is spectacular, the sea, grey and angry and the coastline looks dangerous and desolate in the rain dark. as i hit the flats on the approach to ballantrae, i meet up with the ferry traffic...which is always fun...
today...it was even more fun, every time one of the big haulage trucks drew level with me, whoosh...what felt like tons of water would be displaced and come cascading down over me and my car! just for a moment, everything goes grey, the windscreen wipers are not able to cope and the outside world disappears from view. luckily, the road is flat and straight, had i had curves and bends to deal with...

anyway, i arrived safely in the village, posted my letters, bought the new tv magazine, a pack of three incredibly gooey, wonderfully chocolaty cakes and a quality street big green triangle to feed my chocolate need. i interacted with the two girls who run the local shop and crossed paths with one vaguely familiar woman and two total strangers. it was enough...i was ready to return home, back to the sheep, the owl, the fox, the rabbits, the deer, the hares and the robin...no really, they are all there somewhere... not that i see them that often, the sheep are pretty obvious of course and the robin is fairly easy to spot this time of the year. the wild ones though, they tend to keep themselves to themselves, occasionally, the force is with me, the magic works and i glimpse them, going about their lives. those are the moments of wonder, when i am honoured to be privy to their secret lives.

how warm is my water

what is it with humanity and hot water?

standing in the shower this morning, deliciously hot water streaming over my shoulders....and i wondered....

back home when it was really hot and the pool water temperature rose above 30 degrees ...
well, yeah, i might be tempted in for a bit of a dip. but generally, i am not excited by the thought of submerging my body into water that is less than really warm.

a nice long soak in a hot tub, very comforting, very relaxing. a body could spend quite a while in a bath of nice hot water.given enough uninterrupted bath time, a body could possibly come up with the question...which would lead to an answer...

a quick shower with those hot needles of water pounding on my back. tempting to tarry ... why, what is the fascination with warm water. do we remember in some small, sub conscious corner of our brain....
do we recall our womb time, surrounded by warm waters, nourished, happy and totally secure?

no wonder humanity was less than interested in personal hygiene, way back when...
very little pleasure to be found wallowing in a cold and muddy pond. i mean, what if neanderthal man had enjoyed access to warm water...

we might well be looking at a completely different scenario, a weird and wonderful world where sweet smelling neanderthals still run the show.

normality

normality
a place i have no wish to visit
i love the seesaw of my psyche
for every low i must endure
i am granted in return
a time of ecstasy
when the world is crisp, defined
i see what others miss
and nothing is impossible

for every tear i shed
for every long dark night
for the times my heart grows cold
and my mind
exists in some gray limbo
in equal part i gain
emotions ripe and full
explosive in their joyfulness
and passion beyond asking

All materials Copyright © 2004-2007 by Eryll Oellermann

sinister intentions

writing, or perhaps my way of writing is rather slapdash! i possess none of the discipline, the dedication, required to write consistently.

something, someone ...grabs my attention, my mind creaks into gear and i merely follow my thought pattern. if i am not near my computer and i find my thoughts interesting enough, i will jot them down. well, if i can find pen and paper to jot them down with.these pieces of paper, notebooks, envelopes are then forgotten. the next time i pack my nomadic tent to move on ... there they are, all over the place, in winter coat pockets, the side pouch of a suitcase or tucked away in a drawer ... many drawers actually, i tend to operate my life without a filing system. of course, i value my thoughts and i pack these oddments away safely, to be found the next time i move on.

the poems, come with their own agenda. they start in my head and they grow. they run up and down and round and round. there is no ignoring them, they are louder than i am...
to rid myself of them and to keep a certain level of sanity, i have to write them down and they seldom leave me in peace until such time as i have them safe and sound, typed into my computer and filed according to .... whatever. i then hop over to my soundfooting website and record them there as well.

poetry wise i have had a fairly peaceful time the past six months...

since my cancer episode, the chemo and the hormonal treatment, which hurled me...rather unkindly into menopause, i have endured some tiresome depressions.luckily for me, the greyness is caused by a chemical imbalance and i respond ... gleefully...to a chemical correction. however, occasionally, due perhaps to ... "who the hell knows"... i fall off the happy wagon and require an increased chemical dose to keep me functioning

now there must be a certain truth in the old saying that a poet thrives on misery. increase my dose of happy pills enough and the poetic words grind to a halt. my mind grows calm and restful, the rhythm of the words fades and i lose the frantic need to write, to share, to communicate. (omg! i am obviously as crazy as a large portion of humanity).
these past six months, i have been prescribed an increased dose and my poetic brain has been hibernating. now however...i am back to my normal dose and my normal miserable self... the word music is once more tapping in my brain.
truth to tell, i miss the word craziness when it is absent. i am grown used to the thrust and parry of my poetic thoughts. there is a certain loneliness, a missing, in the chemically induced silence.

so.... where was i going with this anyway...oh yeah, today's title "sinister intentions".
last night, having enjoyed a savannah (incredible south african cider, now available, on the rare occasion in the uk..."it is dry but you can drink it")..or two, i was struck by a brilliant idea for a blog. unfortunately, the hour was late and i was weary...
i would leave myself a reminder for the morrow. i opened a new page and typed in 'sinister'. what the dickens does that mean? absolutely nothing to me i'm afraid.
the only word which comes to mind is intentions and 'sinister intentions'...
my memory comes up with a great big zero, zilch...
i'm sure freud would have made sense of it...probably some sinister clue to my deep, dark inner intentions in there.

so i have the title but the blog is gone. instead we have a bit of an incongruous ramble through my thought process. there is nothing new in all the world...

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving ... a holiday, a celebration i respect enough to use a capital letter!

i can't say i was ignorant about thanksgiving, we (the rest of the world) grow up on american movies and television programmes. i just never gave the whole concept much thought, until i met herself and began to learn and admire "the american way".

back home and here in the uk, john and jane public seem to have embraced the idea of halloween. ghosts and ghoulies, pumpkins and costumes, trick or treating. as yet i see little evidence of decorating the home for the festivities but ... it will come.

so... how come we don't adopt Thanksgiving, a much more family oriented celebration. we already know how to do turkey, perhaps we should remember how to be thankful. personally, i think it is a great idea for the family to gather, to share their gratitude for the good things life has offered. a day off work is excellent and eating too much is always a pleasure..

there are so many times we feel gratitude, so many folk whose presence in our lives is an undeniable blessing. so much beauty, so much humour... even our tears are evidence of the blessed ability to love.

today, Thanksgiving day, i allow my mind to wander down the path of memory. i remember the good and beautiful times of my life, the wonderful loving human beings who have enriched my existence and i give thanks. i am so thankful for the variety and versatility of my life, for my strong body and good health. my bountiful appreciation for the family i was born into, my mom and dad, my sisters and brother...
for the family manfred and i grew... our beloved children, their loving partners and my incredible, most excellent, bodacious grand children

thank you america for this day of Thanksgiving!

village life

village life is ...
such a pleasure ...

yesterday i needed to make an appointment with the village doctors in order to renew my prescription. phoned at approximately 9.30 ...

receptionist, inquiring politely "would 3.10 suit you?"

me, "yeah great, what date?" long suffering...

receptionist, surprised "this afternoon!"

can't beat country living, obviously all the country folk in these parts are so healthy, relaxed and stress free that they seldom require the services of the local gp's.
i might also add ... by the time i was through with my doctor/patient chat ... my new prescription was made up and waiting for me at the pharmacy window. the village is not big enough to support a separate pharmacy and meds are dispensed by the medical centre.
Scottish NHS... bloody fantastic!

popped in at the village store for milk, bumped into a girl i once worked with. overjoyed to see me, they are short staffed and desperate, how would i like to work twelve hours a week. been back two weeks and had two job offers! unfortunately, both in "care", and i was determined i would never work in care again.
i just fall in love with all my old folks, too much empathy, too much heart ache. they are really in need by the time we are called and they tend to pop off with alarming regularity. so i swore to myself, no more, definitely no care work.two job offers in two weeks...

methinks perhaps the universe is whispering in my ear ...

twelve hours a week would not be so bad, still plenty of time to set up my reflexology practice ...

black slugs and mud

two things about the effects of winter on my small patch of the planet.

1# the black slugs disappear.

2# most everything turns to mud.

truth to tell...i can survive without the black slug. i have some vague interest as to exactly where said slugs disappear. nothing too deep mind, nowhere near enough interest/concern for me to open a book or google "black slugs ayrshire". i accept their absence as a serendipitous gift from the universe.

the mud, now that is a whole different story. we have 'the farm" we have 'the road" and come wintertime we have 'the mud".
the farm is beautiful, the road is not, it was obviously engineered to keep people out! when the weather is good, the road is rocky ... in more ways than one. it has hairpin bends, steep inclines, cattle grids and potholes...plenty of potholes.
when there is rain there is mud, in the slightly warmer season this would be, lesser summer mud. not the greater winter mud, deep,glutinous, the end product of the rain ridden winter months. the cattle churn the road up, the tractors bringing winter feed, churn the road up. and then... we needed a fuel delivery







This is a picture of a mud churning, road ripping...destroyer of an oil delivery truck!
see the blue sky...ah i remember that...photo lifted from the son's web site...photo obviously taken at a more clement time of the year.

fact...
fuel truck is too big and too heavy for small farm road. never the less, when fuel is ordered...the truck arrives. in summer the damage to the road is minimal, in winter we have a whole different story.
oil delivery on thursday.
friday i have to make the journey from farm to A77...twice. interesting...
the mud is the reason i have my 4x4, we sometimes need to leave, sometimes we feel called to return. so... i drive slowly and carefully, in a low gear, just keep going...very important, don't stop. How come nobody entrusted the sheep with this small nugget of wisdom? the local sheep, love the middle of the road. an approaching car means panic! run from one side of the road to the other, try never to leave the road until the over excited human and their transporter have had to come to a dead stop. he he ba ba see the vehicle slip and slide. i always thought sheep were kinda dumb, i am now beginning to wonder...

a matter of memory

the creeping cold is triumphant, warmth withdraws, abashed ...unable to withstand the onslaught of shortened days and arctic winds.
my african blood questions...
my mind turns to thoughts of once upon a time...
of home, the beating sun, the smell of dust and raindrops big as pound coins.

single story houses with wide flung windows encouraging the air to dance throughout. midday curtains drawn to keep the questing sun at bay. the thwop, thwop of slowly turning ceiling fans.
the evenings when the dark draws in, embracing the heat of the day. music of the night, the evensong of the cicada and ever present hum of mosquitoes on their blood quest...

the mozzies...hell's teeth i had almost forgotten the mozzies! avaricious, blood sucking little bastards.

man i love scotland... will someone please turn up the central heating...

the shooting

ok...i seem to have lost the urge to write about love and passion and pain, so where does that leave me...
a poet without anxt...

perhaps i could tell you about the brace of pheasant ... except a brace means two and there were actually five. five pheasants hanging from the plant holder hook by the back door. dead birds, very dead birds.

the neighbour had left them there, a gift, a sharing of the bountiful harvest of the shooting season. we are expected to eat these birds?

i may have been born, many, many long years ago on a dusty farm on top of a mountain in southern africa... but that was it ... i grew up in the towns and cities of the province formerly known as natal, now known by the much more romantic name... the kingdom of kwazulu or if one is trying really hard to be diplomatic kwazulu natal.

one buys meat from a butcher, it comes cleaned and sliced and diced... no way does it have a head and feathers. man, i purely lost my appetite.

the daughter-in-law is made of sterner stuff, she comes from a family of game rangers and hunters. "if you eat meat, you should be prepared to kill it and clean it!" yeah right... i dunno, suddenly vegetarianism is looking like an option for me.
daughter in law wrapped up warm, picked up the pheasants and headed off to the byre... where she plucked, cleaned and jointed said birds, producing...well...it looks just like bird from a butcher.

ah farm life, we now have a pile of highly prized scots pheasant in our freezer. will i partake of this delicacy? hell..i don't know, i saw those pheasants with their feathers on, they looked just like the kamikaze pheasants which so delight in leaping in front of my rav on missions suicidal.

remembrance sunday

remembrance sunday, poppy day, a red poppy on every jacket to remember those fallen in battle. never to glorify war but to remind us that there can be no winners when lives are lost and families weep.

i do not often attend church, somewhere along my path, organized religion lost it's enchantment for me. i grew weary of hearing why 'we' were right and all others wrong and in need of salvation.

so ... sunday morning, i sleep in, or i read, if the weather is pleasant i enjoy the great outdoors. i find plenty to praise and much to be grateful for. my middle child, my eldest son,however, is a youth worker, a singer in the choir, a guitar player in the church band, a preacher whenever the powers that be call on him.

"ma" he said, "it's poppy sunday, why don't you come along with us. i always remember grampa on remembrance sunday ... he didn't fall in battle but he was there, taken at tobruk..."
yeah well...manipulation tends to run in our genes.

so off we went, down the bumpy farm road, slipping slightly through the muddy patches, turn left onto the a77 and follow your nose into the village. heart already rejoicing because of the sheer beauty of the day.

the church was warm, always a plus. in south africa in the winter some of our churches are so cold...well, talk about the frozen chosen. the scouts were there, flags aloft, also representatives of the coast guard in their uniforms. the service was short and sweet, plenty of hymn singing...we even got to sing the first verse of "god save the queen" towards the end of the service. coming from a republic... i do so enjoy having a queen and all the pomp and ceremony that comes with the monarchy. one elderly lady, sitting up on the balcony ... fainted. luckily the village doctor and nurse were both at the service and rushed to her aid.

now comes the fun part, we congregate in front of the church, police cars draw up and close off the a77! four pipers take their places and lead the marching scouts forward, followed by the rest of us, on foot, to the local war memorial. och aye, the skirling of the pipes, a body needs only a wee drap of scots blood to thrill to their wail!

the sun was shining, the wind was damn cold, i could have done with a warm coat. the sheer delight of following those kilted fellows... more than made up for freezing my arse off. we reached the memorial, we stood below while the minister and the wreath bearers climbed the hill to the monument. prayers were said, the poppy wreaths laid, the lead piper played the lament and then we all marched back to the church in the wake of the wonderful wail of the bagpipes.

man...what a fun way to spend my sunday morning, i think perhaps i will enjoy life in this small village, where everyone knows everyone....

time to share

10th november ...the mann would have turned 66 today. manfred died just over a month before his 61st birthday. during the last months of his life our local hospice were assisting us and when the mann started to lose the use of his legs (very frustrating for action mann)they suggested he keep a memory/thought book.
i found the note book after he died, he wrote what he wrote in the month before his death.these words are one of my most precious gifts, his thoughts, his final message of love to the people in his life.
the mann was a modern day hero, he never gave up. he endured terrible pain and remained unfailingly cheerful. always a smile, a joke, a thumbs up! he never...not once...whined or bitched or said "why me?".
manfred died at home, holding tight to my hand ... just the way he wanted ...

thought/memory box

Manfred Walter Oellermann

Thursday 12/09/02
South Africa needs an enema.

Monday 16/09/02
I don't like branded religion. Why must I subscribe to any one particular slant/view that happened to suit someone at some stage in history. I would rather look out for/listen and find the relevant/meaningful stuff of life through experience with those close to me and my own devices.

Friday 20/09/02
Listen to the messages of life, they are all around us. Sometimes at high volume. The answers are there - we must just open ourselves up to them.

Saturday 21/09/02
Remember everything happens for a purpose, often this is not clear to us. Could it be that we cannot always see the whole picture? The size picture that we see is probably proportionate to our relevant size in the greater scheme of things - smaller than a speck of dust.

Sunday 22/09/02
Moenie paniek - alles sal rectum! (again and again and again!) Re-channel your panic into something useful that will give you the solution you seek. To do this you have to first relax so that you can recognize the object of your panic - then deal with it in a logical way. You have to practice this - sometimes the panic was actually a waste of time and should not have existed. The trick is to actually have a look behind your back and elsewhere before anyone realizes it was there in the first place and get rid of it.

Tuesday 24/09/02
Few people can be happy unless they hate some other person, nation or creed.This is why so often we can become perplexed by "why is there a problem". Take Ireland and all the people that have died there in the name (apparently) of religion. Why? - same God! If he is the God of love then why are we allowing this to happen. But this is not new - go back as far as you like in almost any direction - the inquisition - horrific torture and death in the name of religion, Christianity etc, etc.
Racism - nothing new here. this will be here forever. Are we not going about this the wrong way? This is how we are - we are all racists. Rather than try to change what is a basic part of each and every person and to deny what we are - we should embrace our differences and deal with how we can love and live together in harmony, despite the differences. Accept it as part of life and not sweep it under the carpet, thereby denying a part of ourselves that will always be there.
Deal with the differences, Focus on what we have in common, treat no one group differently to the next. Tall order! - but a road we need to travel. Concentrate on issues that promote nationhood - NOT the changing of street and place names - what does this achieve - except some selfish urges of vested interest groups. Achieving only more hate, animosity etc, etc.

Wednesday 25/09/02
A gift much greater than life.
This is the gift of a soul mate. The understanding that exists between two souls, unwritten, unexplained, yet so deep and often uncannily unexplainable and accurate, it can leave you breathless. Love that is automatically there and can be counted and relied upon, unconditionally, day after day.
The love for my soul mate is without question - sometimes, most times words are not necessary. We know each others' thoughts, likes and dislikes - when something is appropriate or not.
It is a truly magical thing.

25/09/02
What is love?
My perception of what love is has changed dramatically over a long period of time.
From a sort of selfish "give me some and I'll give you some" variety, or a "what's in it for me" type to the other real kind. Of course there is romantic love, love for family, earning "brownie points" love etc etc. Then there is the kind that's different. Hard to put your finger on - like that for a soul mate - it's there before you know it exists - no questions asked, unconditional, compassionate, giving not expecting anything back. At the end of the day love is what it is all about - because after all - what is here for us on this planet? Nothing but dusty stuff. Take love away - what is left? I can do without it, so can you. No soul mate, no family, no love - who needs stuff? Cars, houses, things - meaningless.

oh really! who would have imagined...

thanks to cap'n dyke lesbian pirate queen for the lead to this interesting questionnaire. important question is... is all revealed or not?

moi! manipulative???
yeah right, like a melting marshmallow...
trend setter, hmmm, quite fancy that one...wonder what kind of trends we're talking here.
bit ambiguous in my communications..well... i dunno...

check this out!

i was so relieved to find this service
i am sure most everyone will need their services at some stage...so...check them out!

heaven's gate

how fortunate i am
to live at heaven's gate
where ayrshire's green hills
tumble from their lofty heights
cascading downwards to the sea
each cove a new delight
the shore front pebbled with random colours
the small stones washed smooth
by time and water
grey and black volcanic rock
rises from the sea,pointing skywards,
jagged, sharp as razors
age old sentinels
the coastal guardians
when tide allows their access
sea birds will perch there
wings outspread, drying in the breeze
how fortunate i am
to live at heaven's gate
a sea protected, calm
waves gentle lapping
where ducks and swans swim
the ocean their own pond
the flat green fields
between the hills and sea
decorated with great rocks
fallen from the hills
now moss covered with time
here graze the ayrshire cattle
white sheep with black faces
great white bulls
with huge shoulders, bodies well muscled
the dairy herds, with young calfs
still nudging hungry
the gentle bullocks,great soft eyes
and endless curiosity
how fortunate i am
to live at heaven's gate
where the setting sun
turns the sea to liquid fire
blinding with light, dazzling the eye
the craig looms, surrounded
by a fiery, burning ocean
as the sun falls away beyond the horizon
darkness takes the place of light
soon illuminated with a thousand stars
the moon hangs low and golden bright
lighting the world of darkness
white bob tailed rabbits emerge
from gorse hidden burrows
long eared hares box in play
always listening, ever ready to run
the lone red fox moves silent
low against the ground, ready for the hunt
i hear the whisper of great wings in the silence
the white faced owl sweeps past
great eyes searching the dark countryside
how fortunate am i

All materials Copyright © 2004-2007 by Eryll Oellermann

it is done

it is done....

i am once more ensconced in the room under the eaves in the stone built farm cottage.

saturday the day of 'the move' dawned clear and dry and stayed that way. what can i say ... the weather gods love a nomad!
my earthly possessions are on a tarp and under a tarp, taking up one small corner of the very large (and in the winter months), damp byre. a byre being a more romantic word for a barn for cows! remind me to write about the byre one day...the place has a life of it's own.

i will eventually be moving into my very own mobile home, just not quite yet.
whilst my beloved children were attempting to reposition said van with a 4x4 ...said van journeyed off the hard standing upon which said van sits. said van now sits mired in the mud (this is scotland!) where she awaits the arrival of a tractor to haul her back to... from whence she came. then there are the small yet kind of important details... a water connection, an electricity connection and a septic tank connection."all things come to those who wait"
myself, i am in no particular hurry, winter waits impatient and the house is warm.

our water supply is drawn from our very own, almost famous well, prepare to be amazed and impressed and visit here...

the water is...hmmm...interesting, it changes colour depending on the season. we only drink it boiled or filtered. it is sweet tasting and uncontaminated by man and his chemical cavorting.

farm life, village life... an abundance of the everyday to encounter and experience.

a bacon butty?

yesterday i took a special trip to tesco, to buy newspapers. i was after the really thick ones, not to read but to wrap around ... stuff. yeah well, what can i say, moving costs.

the herald, obviously news for the more intellectual ... not one of those easily held efforts. nope, none of that, an old fashioned, impossible to read on the train type newspaper. perfect for the wrapping of larger items....

so...i was wrapping, not reading ... the nomad is focused ... an article happened to catch my eye. even when focused i am always up for a spot of procrastination and this was cancer related. since my battle with the big C (see 'surviving breast cancer' - 2nd july 2007) i am always on the look out for new and fun ways to defeat the dastardly disease.
the following were the page 4 headlines ... i did mention it was a really big newspaper....

"Diet Warning"

"The new cancer dangers in your fridge"

Processed meat banned...and questions raised over fruit and vegetables"

"It is clear you should eat fruit and vegetables"

"The risk factors" "Watchlist"

"Experts examine 7000 separate studies"

so...don't eat this, do eat that (well maybe, perhaps, just a little, results still pending).
exercise is good for you...well 'they' always have agreed on that one.
quite frankly the list of ..."don't let this pass your lips" is so long...i actually began to worry as to how my poor body would survive ... a girl's gotta eat ...right?

fortunately 'they' have the answer to that, 'they' want us thin and i'm talking really thin here, not just "not fat". recommendation...lower end of healthy body mass scale. hmmm...
last time i weighed in anywhere near that figure...
damn, difficulty remembering that far back.

alcohol...no, not really...good for your heart but a risk as far as cancer is concerned.

we live in an era of information saturation...aren't we lucky...

anyone for a bacon butty?