Happy Thanksgiving, Amricah!

I will try to refrain from saying anything unAmerican today, in honour, sorry, honor, of the holiday.
I had not really forgotten but when chatting to a Californian friend at crack of dawn today, she, about to retire to bed reminded me that when she woke up, it would be Thanksgiving. The lovely Susan had just had a day off from her cold-calling job, because nothing enrages Americans more than a call, the day before Thanksgiving, when they are all, every last one, rushing about like blue-arsed flies, trying to get all their preparations done, asking them whether they might be interested in some life insurance, or whatever it is that she is pushing.
I have to admit, I've never asked her what it is that she sells, or attempts to sell, but she is a good talker. She can talk the hind leg off a donkey. Fact. When I finally got off the instant Messenger, I had to check. They were still both there.
We discussed thanking one's lucky stars - well, what else can you discuss, the day before? She isn't well off, has NO insurance, pension, husband, partner, children, so we were searching around. Life is tough in the US of A for people in her position...no, no, I am not starting, a promise is a promise.
But - I'm just saying....... we had to think a while.
When I wake up it will be "Buy Nothing Day" - or is that over there? Anyway, I went shopping today, bought bus tickets and groceries, so I won't need to tomorrow.
But unfortunately, I may not get the chance to do anything much tomorrow, because I have a summons to appear in court. I'm really hoping that I don't have to spend all day sitting there at the courthouse, waiting for a case that will almost certainly be adjourned. Tonight I watched "Bleak House", in preparation, but I learnt nothing from this particular episode about the ways of the Law. I will be truly Thankful tomorrow evening, when this travail is, at least temporarily, over.

Result!

I felt so blue yesterday and demanded a favour, in an unintendedly peremptory way, of another blogger - and he responded so sweetly, and even roped in his wife too - and another blogger chipped in, pretty soon I had a good few images to cheer me up. Thanks, guys, I needed that.

I made the effort and walked out into the frosty morning and stared into the rusty heart of a chrysanthemum. It sits beside the variegated leaves of my mystery plant, looking dazzlingly out of place on such a cold day. I'm glad to see it fending for itself, because there's not much I can do for it. I found the mystery plant in the middle of a huge pot of black bamboo; I didn't expect it to survive being ripped out last month and stuck unceremoniously into the flower bed, but it seems unperturbed. It may be a lavatera, or some kind of Mallow, but its soft variegated leaves are lovely right now; I hope it doesn't get frosted over what we have been told will be a cold winter.

blogophobia

not able to blog right now, owing to an attack of depression, which will pass, when I can find the time to get a bit more exercise and spend time staring at the few flowers in my garden. Instead of that, I'm stuck trying to complete three essays simultaneously. This isn't education, but I don't know what it is....

No rest for the wicked

Or is it 'peace'? I am so glad to report that we have had our first 24-hour period without rain for, oooh weeks, I think and I am happy because today, Sunday, I have to go and meet my cohort in Dublin and walk around, listen and look. I think the talk is about ethnic identity, which should be interesting, considering the changes Dublin has been through in the last 15 years, during which time I have been privileged enough to be here. On a crisp day like this, it is no hardship to travel 15 miles to listen to someone impart his wisdom/knowledge/opinion.
The last time we did this, on a Saturday about a month ago, our group were pelted with various matter-(stones, batteries, firework sticks) - from a group of hooligans from Sherriff Street,-(no harm done, but could have been nasty if the battery had hit my head instead of my foot) but today I am hoping for a more genteel reception. That particular group of Dublin lads would have been distinctly homegrown: I can imagine them enjoying/ creating the sort of mayhem that has occurred in Paris with a very different ethnic group, with a different agenda.
Gotta go, possums....

Now where was I?

....When I was interrupted yesterday, I was in mid-rant combining a feeling of nostalgia with a righteous anger about a feeling that the country in which I was born, has been co-opted by a cabal who have created a police state.
I believed that Britain was democratic, more so than the other countries I visited over the years.
Until Maggie the Hen, the first of the Big Liars. Then I swore that I would never return to live in England until she was gone. When she was finally defenestrated, it still got no better. When Blair was elected, I considered coming back, but the timing wasn't good for me or my children's education.
A year or 2 down the line, I was glad of that. Since then, I have watched in horror as conditions of democracy and freedom have deteriorated.
I feel for England; when will an intelligent liberal (note small 'l'; I love it that American politicians instinctively distrust the word) step foward into the yawning breach that is the state of British politics?

Nostalgie de ma vie

I miss England, although not when I read about Tony Blair; I miss Australia except when I read about their would-be immigrants stranded on barren islands; I miss America when I think about my friends and sailing on the Bay (but not when I think of the Bush tribe); I miss Japan when it's raining and India when it's not....... there's my mood

Too tired

I used to sleep like a log for 9-10 hours a night and find it hard to stay up past one and worse to get out of bed in the morning.
Something happened to change all that; I blame it on the kids. Since I had them, I just CANNOT lie in bed at all in the morning and find it almost impossible to get to bed early. So..... I'm always tired.
If I stay up extra late there's no way to make up the sleep, because I always wake up by 6 o'clock. Oh God, is this what getting old is about?
I envy people who don't have much to do, but I can't stop rushing about all day.
It's now dark when I leave the house and often, already dark when I get home. This is not right; I hate it when I can't see my garden at least once a day. My bulbs are drowning and I haven't been able to drain their pots.
oh yes, Winter is here, all right, I've got that SAD feeling again and there is nothing to be done about it.
Except put my head down, work hardand TRY to go to bed earlier, really, really, really I promise myself.....

We are an entity

Now I have actual, well - virtual - commenters, I feel I have a real blog; I am a blogger. Tony tells me that I am an entity, so it must be true, although it makes me feel like a bit of protoplasmic goo, whooshed up from the Other Side by a fraudulent medium.
What is more, I've already offended someone: Violet, had my first bit of spam: it took a while for me to work it out - and written a few posts without really trying or having very much to say.
God, I'm good...

Wet weather blues

It isn't considered news that it rains in Ireland, but in the years I've lived here I have felt it doesn't rain as much as drizzle fairly regularly.
These last couple of weeks have been a little trying, however, since it has rained every day and most nights, not torrentially, except for a couple of very short bursts, but relentless moisture falling from the sky every day.
Yesterday, I was enjoying temporarily clear skies, when it bagan dripping from an apparently clear sky, followed by rain overnight and drizzle today. Yes, this is the pattern and I'm not sad to be occupied indoors, writing yet another essay: Irish landscapes, moist Claudean efforts mainly.

gang agley

I'm not sure if that's how one should spell agley, but it's the 'best laid plans' sort of thing....
why , oh, why do long-established bloggers, whom I have enjoyed reading for a longish time, suddenly start to try their hands at soft porn?
Why, I whine pathetically, does Humanist Zinnia try to retell her life in a softcore format, instead of those rather sweet funeral stories she used to regale us with?
Now Gert is at it, like a rabbit, with Placido Domingo her unknowing co-star. It's enough to put me right off my muesli.
Who will be next, I wonder? Will Tony will cease his meanderings about words he has found in the dictionary and arcane texts he has found online and begin Mills and Boon style drivel? Oh, Tony, don't do it!

blahblah bloglog

Now why didn't I call it this? Maybe I'll figure it out by and by, get this colour thing organised, change the template or at least get a few things straight.
I am so glad the wretched Hallowe'en, so called, is over. Been suffering ridiculous explosions, stinking bonfires of rubbish for a month. Now all that is left is the detritus of dozens of small and large bonfires and unburnt garbage piled among the wet leaves.
All saints, Toussaint, I'm ready for ya! I worked hard on an essay all 3 days of the holiday and now I'm taking it a little easier, reading in a more leisurely way this week, pacing myself for the next onslaught.

O what a feeling!

No idea what I am doing ---all I wanted to do was create an entity so that I could post a comment on Tony's blog. Why do some bloggers insist on all this? Must be to discourage the lurkers, although I've never seen the problem with lurkers.
I haven't the time to do my own blog. Now I can't even remember my own name, let alone the name I was finally granted to use when dozens of others had been rejected.
What was the password? and what was the comment I was trying to make, which is stuck in limbo somewhere....