Zoning Out

Today is the last day of November.

Tomorrow I don't have to post if I don't want to.

That's the way it should be.

Not that I didn't enjoy the month.

I did.

But having a low boredom threshold with myself and my wonderings, it'll be good to just visit and comment on other people's blogs instead of blathering on and on about me.

So, as and from tomorrow, I'm zoning out; off to wander around the blogs of visitors that I have shamelessly neglected for the duration of Nabloblahblah.

I'm looking forward to it.

Thanks for visiting!

Yesterday

The sun came out yesterday.

It was lovely.

The sky was blue with only a few fluffy clouds skittering about and the rain fell down just a couple of times.

Hysterical with the brightness of the day, we abandoned the usual, humdrum activites that occupy a Saturday and hightailed it down to the seaside.

We motored through the familiar landscape that was now, due to the bucketting down of the last 3 weeks, strangely unfamiliar. We made several detours around large turloughs that have been lying dormant for the last decade or so, waiting patiently for their chance to glisten.

We had the flaggy shore to ourselves; listening to the docile lapping of the water against the rocks, feeling the salty sea air sweeping the cobwebs out of our moisture-sodden minds, it was easy to be happy.

At 6pm we went to the exhibition. The invitation had arrived earlier in the week. He who would like to be obeyed, groaned. "Well, if you REALLY want to go ..."

He's not a great fan of the visual arts but he is quite tolerant.

Michael Gemmell was one of the artists. He's a quiet man with a colourful past.

It is difficult to do justice to the visceral wonder of the man's creativity. His work speaks for itself.

I'm not even going to try.

But every fibre of my being tingles with recognition.


art work: Flying Over by Michael Gemmell.

X-Rated

Blue-footed Boobies.

I didn't know that some of them had feet.


photo credit: www.ecs.soton.ac.uk

The Wanderer

For 27 years I have filled a Xmas sock for her.

But not this year.

Because now she is wandering far from sockland.

On August 19th last, herself and her main man packed their rucksacks, waved goodbye to their safe lives and ventured forth to travel the world. They bravely took themselves out of impending settledom, gathered their nerve and flew to adventure.

So far, they have rattled their bones in Mexico, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Panama, Colombia, Ecuador and are now languishing in Peru.

She is the first born. A good girl. Responsible, hardworking, loving and caring. And careful.

This was a big decision for her.

I'll miss her dreadfully but I wouldn't wish her here for all the tea in China.

Victory Verse for Molly

5 more posts and then it is done
Nabloblahblah will have run its run
Will I be sad, will I be down?
Will I be wearing a worried frown?

I think, dear reader, that the answer is no
For inspiration has hit an all-time low
Me marbles are rattling, me eyes are bloodshot
The hour has arrived to take to the cot.

25 long nights have seen me toil
Mumbling and fumbling with the midnight oil
I should have said this, I should have said that
Conundrums, indeed, they'd baffle a cat.

For as you may know, I promised the Molly
That once again, I would, indulge in this folly
Posting and blathering for the month of November
Was 2007 that hard to remember?

But, Molly my dear, the plan has succeeded!
The kick in the pants, that was very much needed
Has taken me back to the pleasures of reading
The blogs of the many, so worthy of heeding.

So when the days of November are nowt but a dream
And my life has returned to its normal regime
I'll be writing less often but reading much more
Having all of the pleasure and none of the chore!



image credit: daledamos.blogspot.com

Wordless Wednesday

No. 2 son, temporarily residing in Barcelona, thinks that I have one of these growing in the back garden.

Umbrella Season

Its been raining here for the last 3 weeks.

Non-stop.

One gets weary of the constant wetness.

The sudden drenching of the feet as one decides to dash across the grass thinking one has feathers powering one's shoes. The decision to air the body after one brief glimpse of brightness behind the clouds only to be deluged upon 200 metres from the dryness of the house. The water levels rising, at an alarming rate, in the mighty river Shannon which flows nearby, too close for comfort. There haven't been floods like this for 100 years, the weather people tell us.

We haven't had to evacuate yet but we are on "alert". The weather forecast for the next week is "more of the same". All around this small green island, people are being evacuated from their homes. News reports carry pictures of young families being hoisted to safety on to army lorries, old people being piggy-backed from their homes on the backs of kindly neighbours, farmers weeping at the sight of their fertile fields being transformed into lakes of bankruptcy. Business people looking on in disbelief as their stock floats away on the torrents streaming through their premises. Emergency services stretched to capacity and beyond.

It is unbelievable.

But one just worries about the wetness of it all.

Sometimes, one thinks that one might be better served to be a realist rather than an optimist.



photo credit: www.gettyimages.com