'she'

the heat has gone, the mist has rolled down from the hilltops
and cradles the village in an embrace of almost invisibility.

my (oh so green... not!)ground source heating system is feeling
bitchy. i will call her 'she' as only the female could be as
difficult and cantankerous as 'she'!
'she' has decided that heating the water above 28 degrees
(centigrade)is unnecessary. needless to say, i disagree!
i even went so far as to read the very thick instruction book,
desperation can make me do crazy things ...
i delved deep into the psyche of 'she', i studied her bodily
parts, i touched, i caressed ... 'she' was totally unimpressed
by my attentions!

ja, no, well fine as we would say back in the good old RSA!
that was yesterday, the mist rolled back, the sun came out
and today is definitely beer drinking weather. however, 'she'
is still not playing nicely.

with some extra attention i managed to persuade 'her' to heat
up to 32 degrees. the difference between 28 and 32 degrees...
when it comes to standing in a shower at either of these
temperatures ... there is no friggin' appreciable difference!
the water is too damn cold!!

i was unable to put in a complaint yesterday as i was up in
saltcoats. liam had an appointment in glasgow with his
neurologist and i was seconded to take care of child collection
and after school tending for the other four ;-)

today having taken a very quick shower i was off to inform my
landlady of the dire straights afoot. hmmm ...
she says she will arrange for an appropriate technician to call
but reminded me that the firm that services 'her' is in some far
flung scottish town, hah!
i remarked sweetly, with perhaps just the tiniest hint of sarcasm
in my voice ...

"no rush belinda, i am more than happy to take cold showers in
an attempt to toughen up my body for my cruise of the fjords."
what's the bet i am still showering cold tomorrow!

the naked garden

my blog friend mike s from maine sent me this some days ago. just too good not to share. thanks mike!




Lawns & God

GOD: St. Francis, you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there in the USA? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistle and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect, no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long lasting blossoms attracts butterflies, honeybees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colours by now. But all I see are these green rectangles.

ST. FRANCIS: It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers weeds and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.

GOD: Grass? But it's so boring. It's not colourful. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees, only grubs and sod worms. It's temperamental with temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.

GOD: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.

ST. FRANCIS: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it, sometimes twice a week.



GOD: They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?

ST. FRANCIS: Not exactly Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.

GOD: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?

ST. FRANCIS: No, sir -- just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.

GOD: Now, let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will grow. And when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?

ST. FRANCIS: Yes, sir.

GOD: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.

ST. FRANCIS: You aren't going to believe this, Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.



GOD: What nonsense. At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stoke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves form compost to enhance the soil. It's a natural circle of life.

ST. FRANCIS: You'd better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.



GOD: No. What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter and to keep the soil moist and loose?

ST. FRANCIS: After throwing away the leaves, they go out and buy something which they call mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.



GOD: And where do they get this mulch?

ST. FRANCIS: They cut down trees and grind them up to make the mulch.

GOD: Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. St. Catherine, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?

ST. CATHERINE: Dumb and Dumber, Lord. It's a real stupid movie about ...

GOD: Never mind, I think I just heard the whole story from St. Francis.

fancy foot work

today i revisited my orthopaedic consultant. the mri shows
no problems other than the still broken second metatarsal
on the left foot.

i have a choice ... do nothing.

my foot has been broken for the past year and for the last
four months or so ... well,
i have learned to live with it, the swelling has almost
completely gone and as long as i tread warily, i am
experiencing very little pain.

so, do nothing, or ...

have an op, which would involve taking bone from
the pelvic area and making a bone dowel to join
the two ends together ... a dowel joint! heh!



having endured more than my fair share of hospitalization,
my first reaction was ... say what! do nothing please,
thank you!

but then again...
with my foot as it is, my life style is kind of limited.
i can't run or exercise vigorously. driving the car
makes my foot ache.when i get cramp or stretch my foot
in my sleep ..well...
pain tends to wake one, even from the deepest sleep!

i sat in the doc's office, my mind doing wheel spins. do
nothing or an op and six weeks in plaster. hmmmm!

eventually my sixty year old brain made the grown up decision.
i signed the consent form and the mighty nhs's pre op exercise
swung into action. every part of me was prodded, poked and
checked. it was fast and efficient - i am finally impressed.
i was also a little nervous, this was too fast. when were they
thinking of operating?
when in doubt ask!

me, in slightly strained and panic stricken voice ...
"ummm, about when will this op take place?"

pre-op nurse ...
"well ... the list is quite long, probably not before the
beginning of september ... eight to twelve weeks, unless ...
the consultant has a gap."

i exhale and feel my tensed muscles relax, okay dokay,
i can handle september.the efficiency with which my pre op
was handled had me worried.not a problem though, merely
another case of nhs hurry up and wait!

creation, random thoughts and other imponderables

as a child, bed time was an entrance into
the world of the mind. waiting in the dark
for sleep to claim me, my mind would wander,
i might became one of the "famous five", travelling
in a caravan, high adventure. i admired george,
the tom boyish, girl creation of the author
enid blyton. strangely enough "the secret seven"
never held the same fascination for me!
george might well have been my first crush ...

nope, incorrect recollection! my first girl crush was
my very first teacher when i started school,at
age four(before i could read).

bedtime was this dark, safe place where i learned
to travel with my mind.

for many years, i gave attention to god and the
size of the universe. to the begining of creation.
all things begin, all things end...
god created the earth.
who or what created the creator?
we have our world, our universe.
what was there before ...
nothingness? what is nothingness?
what lies beyond?
if all things end, what lies beyond the end?
hmmm ...

as i approached puberty, i decided that some questions
might have answers way beyond our mortal understanding.
it occured to my young mind that if i continued to
dwell on these questions ...
i might go insane!
some mysteries are beyond solving. some questions beyond
answers.
and anyway, my hormones were fluctuating, there were
more pressing matters on my mind.

so where was i going with all this...
well, i am on my second reading of eckhart tolle's
"a new earth". now there is a man who has given a thought
or two to a thing or two! he always challenges me! reading
eckhart requires concentration and consideration. i will
probably read and reread his work until my eyes no longer see.

i think i have always pretty much understood that "i" was
neither my body, my beautiful mind nor my somewhat chaotic
thought process.
i understood the indestructible essence of energy,
the possibility of an immortal soul, the undeniable
existence of racial memory and the unfortunate proclivity
of man to pass our pain from generation to generation.
mr tolle just says it all so beautifully!
he reminds me that i am more ...

cricket

i don't like cricket ...






i love it!

too hot for guinness

the long days are with us
the summer sun beating
the roses in bloom
no more central heating

the rain has forgotten
that ayrshire is home
hied off with the wind
leaving us all alone

with blue skies and sunshine
we suddenly find
our white skins are reddish
we really don't mind

a freckle or two
is a small price to pay
for sitting outside
in the heat of the day

the ground's drying up
the mud's turned to dust
the birds are all singing
with summer time lust

no beef roast and three veg
the kitchen's too hot
it's time to cook outside
with midges to swat



it's too hot for guinness
but great for light beer
a bottle of lager
all icy and clear



can't sleep at night
cause i'm tossing and turning
i'm all hot and sweaty
the pillow is burning

the sun hardly sleeps
just a few hours at night
my crack of dawn wakings
brought on by the light

woke up this morning
what was it i heard
it wasn't a plane
and for sure not a bird

the sound of rain falling
soft, warm, scottish rain
all's well in south ayrshire
it's cloudy again



Copyright © 2004-2009 by Eryll Oellermann

greek verbs

god manfred, why?
i miss you still
i phone the birthday boy
turned thirty four
can you believe it?
grown now into a man
but still the sweet son
there, inside, untouched
vulnerable and protective
we talk, of greek verbs
and a celebratory
full scottish breakfast
i put the phone back
in the cradle by the window
my throat constricts
hot tears burn behind my eyelids
god manfred, why?
because he has no father
for me to pass the phone to
no dad to listen
with knowledge to the questions
that men must surely need
to share at times
or do the welling tears
betray my own aloneness


Copyright © 2009 by Eryll Oellermann

soul touching

some days are so perfect ...

they are a prayer.