tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72203442024-03-08T03:10:49.141+00:00The Saturnyne's Loungeblah blah blah blah!The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.comBlogger210125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-7802891409945014832016-01-29T16:35:00.000+00:002016-01-29T17:03:41.365+00:00dark rooms I found this in my drafts... first it was about one person, then another... now it's about several people. All people. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><em><strong>What do you do, when you have given everything to try and heal someone of their grief and sadness and they scorn your efforts in the end and begin to blame you for their woes?<br /><br />What do you do when this person is dear to you? When you have been there for them through death and joy and pain? When they tell you how sad they are, then in the next breath that there is nothing wrong with them and even begin to accuse you of making them ill?<br /><br />What do you do in the quiet moments when you are left with too much time to think, when you hear them keening in grief in all your waking hours and in your dreams, too. Yet find them completely happy without you and getting on with their life and leaving you far behind them? When they had held you to your promise never to abandon them, then abandon you instead?<br /><br />When your own time seems far shorter than you had imagined it to be and you want resolution and to see them one last time, for you both to know that there is still a bond of love between you. For them to see you as you are and you to see them as you imagine they are... and they... are completely without empathy? What do you do when faced with that? When you know there is something wrong inside them, but fear at the last that you are making it worse?<br /><br />The Pumpkin would say there are people in her care who completely reject that they are ill in any way and that i should not take this so personally. That my friend cannot be help'd by me without a great deal of anguish on my part. And even then, still cannot be help'd. That i should let go of this.<br /><br />I am not very good on abandoning people. I would rather die than leave someone behind, without trying everything. I have tried everything. There are only empty rooms here now, that i pace to and fro between, anxiety creasing my brow.<br /><br />I would just like it all to stop now. I have forgotten how to be happy.</strong></em></span>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-34942218130952461582015-02-07T03:05:00.000+00:002015-02-07T03:05:06.057+00:00The Wood LousePottering around making supper this evening, I perceived a small smudge moving across the carpet and smiled. A wood louse. The first i'd seen in months. I bent and gently picked it up and for a few seconds we examined each other cautiously. I've never picked up one of these creatures before Stella. Often i'd see one and just flatten it, a little fearfully. I am not overly fond of things with more than four legs at the best of times. I didn't even know they were crustaceans and lived in family groups before she showed me, with a look of delight and love on her face, one day, and a wood louse running over her fingers.<br /><br />"Hello" I said. "I'm Paul. Pleased to meet you".<br />
<br />
"Hello. I'm Onis" It replied, waving it's little tentacles timorously. (Yet I like to think, with a hope of friendship, also)<br />
<br />
"What are you doing inside? Don't you need a nice damp place to go to?"<br />
<br />
"I got lost, looking for food for my village". It sounded so forlorn! "I've been wandering around your caves for hours! Can you help me get home, please?"<br />
<br />
"But of course. Come with me". And I carried my new friend outside and found the dampest bit of ground I could, and placed the little creature carefully down in the centre.<br />
<br />
"Thank you very much!" It said, quivering happily. "I thought you were going to squish or eat me! Everyone says it's a dangerous lot of caves to enter. No-one from my village has ever come out of there alive before".<br />
<br />
"Well, I can't promise your safe passage every time, but I will keep a look out for you and your people if they ever get into trouble in my caves again."<br />
<br />
"Thank you!" it uttered and made to set off back to it's little crustacean village, presumably somewhere in the nearby rotting pile of logs, the paused and looked back.<br />
<br />
"So you don't hate my people any more?"<br />
<br />
"No".<br />
<br />
"But why is that?"<br />
<br />
"Because someone showed me a different way of seeing the world".<br />
<br />
"Oh! They must be a very great leader in your giant caves. Give them the gratitude of crustacean everywhere, If you be so kind".<br />
<br />
"I will. If I ever see them again. And they are great. Probably a Tzaddikim, even. Godspeed you home, little Onis".<br />
<br />
And with that, I came in out of the cold and sat in the warmth, watching the fire and eating a biscuit or 3 for a while.<br />
<br />
The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-48309399957538856672015-01-03T03:50:00.002+00:002015-01-31T00:43:03.307+00:00As the new year arrives and varying illnesses takes me, I withdraw further and further from all contact. For this I am sorry. Sorry that I might miss days and days of people's company. Of kindness and laughter. Of knocks upon the door and smiling faces.These are transactions impossible to put into any books when payments are due and accounts settled.<br />
<br />
If I can, I will mark my days with journeys upon the roads and byways between the stones I love. The Dove stones and Lad Law. Cludders Slack and the Gorple road where the falcons fly. The valley of my faeries and gods and beloved ash trees- I had such a strange journey there in the snow at dusk.. turning to look behind me on the journey home, it seemed as though my path was lit with tiny flickering stars like fireflies. I may have cried. I think the valley likes me. Places where love found me. Where sky and stone meet. I have a mind to lie upon my round stone where I heard a song and watch the skies roil above me over Widdop reservoir like I did on Christmas morning.<br />
<br />
I laughed with friends and relatives on New Year's Eve. Even danced a little and I don't dance in public. It felt good. But it's like this:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Wants </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone <br />
However the sky grows dark with invitation cards <br />
However we follow the printed directions of sex <br />
However the family is photographed under the flagstaff <br />
Beyond all this, the wish to be alone.<br />
<br />
Beneath it all, desire of oblivion runs: <br />
Despite the artful tensions of the calendar, <br />
The life insurance, the tabled fertility rites <br />
The costly aversion of the eyes from death--- <br />
Beneath it all, desire of oblivion runs. <br />
<br />
-Philip Larkin<br />
<br />
If I talk to you, it means I can and want to. If I don't, it just means i'm being quiet and am in pain but still want to. I'm always in pain these days. It's uncomfortable to admit it. My back is a livid red scar that always stings. My spine is broken. Other things, too. But perhaps some things heal in time. I wish I felt close to some/any of you. It seems to be a fault in my personality. Whatever you think, if you've entered my life, I remember. I remember you all, if not your actual names. Like the beautiful young girl in the music library one April afternoon. Telling her how much I hated that bloody Dylan album, and the curiosity of the Alan Parsons Project and laughing about the person in front of us in the queue. I forget what she said, but I always remembered her smile and the way the shafts on sunlight fell on her hair and even the dust motes and the way they just hung there in the light around her. So long ago now. I had fewer scars. I bled less.<br />
<br />
One of the best days I ever had I my life was at a bar on New Years Eve... I remember looking around at all the people I loved. Practically everyone I cared about under the roof of the Mechanics. I remember thinking it would never ever be as good as this again and in my mind I could see all the dominoes falling and the whole totality of our lives was spread about around me for a moment. The only person I couldn't see was me. But oracles never can see themselves, hah. Good night. <br />
<br />
S.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-72000169467280531262014-11-01T03:23:00.004+00:002014-11-29T16:54:36.440+00:00I Mauwg Your Snauwg<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINw3lAE7RNhgxUDkpY4EbeNPO0sosXfJqxvtiqafA6KjBSHHpRwkB4xut3awAIUbJH8TMNH_xTx4hkIH2Sw7i8-qa9tm6Ejs3587PPMKMvUKKyKi63GWmB1MVWpihy-A68pwq/s1600/the_sock_dragon_by_lyntonlevengood-d473gd8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINw3lAE7RNhgxUDkpY4EbeNPO0sosXfJqxvtiqafA6KjBSHHpRwkB4xut3awAIUbJH8TMNH_xTx4hkIH2Sw7i8-qa9tm6Ejs3587PPMKMvUKKyKi63GWmB1MVWpihy-A68pwq/s1600/the_sock_dragon_by_lyntonlevengood-d473gd8.jpg" height="226" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Captain Malarkey of the City Guard finished his pipe, and stood wearily in his tiny room. "I'm too old for this" he thought, (though he was barely 30) "The creature isn't a threat to anyone. It's too old and too sad and it's eyes are too kind and this is just plain wrong. I feel like i'm executing a friend". None of his men liked this, either, many had guarded it over the weeks, afraid and stabbing it painfully with pikes at first, but it had borne it all without complaint or the legendary ferocity for which these creatures were renowned. It had merely turned it's jewelled gaze towards it's captors and they, all to the last man wilted before it's compassionate and sad eyes. Some even sat and wept on the ground right there and then. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"it was like he knew my little girl was ill, and he was loving her and me through his eyes, and he was telling me she would be well again" said Guardsman Damo. "I don't like this one bit". They all knew what he meant. Even the stern Captain was ruffled. He looked at the six worn and faded furry toys sitting on his mantle that Guardsman Damo had rescued from the burning. "Well, i couldn't just let them fry, sir. One of 'em had my name!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On the nights when the wind turned to the East, the beast would stir restlessly and turn its snout and over the days, they perceived, through listening to it's deep voice, that it was telling them a story.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Captain Malarkey mused on this and his first encounters with the beast as he stepped out towards the morning sun and the crowds and royalty who would cheer him and his men on as they rid the realm of this monstrous threat. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There had been a spate of robberies thoughout the kingdom. THe target, specifically toyshops. The thief had somehow managed in the dead of night... to remove the front of the shops with some force and stolen, even more specifically... plush toys. Only plush toys. The only clue was an intense roar of wind experienced by witnesses nearby before and after the raids and a strange green disc left in the wall at one crime scene, presumably in a too hasty getaway. The thefts were treated as a joke, until one day, the Emperors grandson's birthday party was ruined by 3 separate robberies in one night in the royal city. Stealing many of the cute toys meant for the young royal. This was too much! They sent for their best scryers and trackers and even the kings own investigator sorcerers and eventually after much "Umm-ing" and "Aaa-ing" and examining of the green disc, located the thief in a large cave in the midddle of a deep wood. A forest drake. Not an especially large species, but sharp of talon and teeth and with a breath of fire and acid. The people were afraid. Dragons were fearsome foes. The stuff of legends. Many heroes had perished fighting them in the past, and they had long believed that none now were left in the world. But the emperor's own family had been slighted! Something had to be done! This monster needed to be taught a lesson that one cannot just rob a kingdom's rulers with impunity! Dragon or no!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eventually, a small army lay siege to the woods and the cave therein, led by the emperor himself, riding upon a magnificent white stallion and clad in the finest and most expensive armor in all the kingdom. Heralds rode forth, with trumpets towards the cave mouth and ordered the occupant to surrender to the justice of the Emperor. Bravely, they called, but they all trembled and quaked within their armour. A dragon in wrath could eat them swiftly, like so many aperitifs on a baking tray.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Many songs were commissioned by the Emperor and the lords concerning the battle of the Ashwood and the heroic deeds done that day, but all the soldiers and nobility there really remembered was a timorous snout poking from the great cave mouth and a pair of deep blue eyes and a rather shy and weary voice that said. "Ok, i surrender" and that once the dragons wings were bound and it was subdued with mighty chains, the Emperor himself rode up in his pomp and struck it on it's sensitive nose with his riding crop.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Ouch" said the dragon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Lead us to your treasure hoard, pathetic creature!" ordered the Emperor, his eyes gleaming with greed, for all knew that dragons had rich hoards for beds, and the emperor knew that such a hoard would fund his latest empire expansions upon his neighbours lands. So the dragon led them to his hoard.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Is this some kind of jest?" cried the Emperor, and then his heralds, to add weight to his outrage... for the thefts were now explained, but curiously, no one had ever heard of a dragon with a plush hoard before. He seemed especially fond of furry otter types, for these were prominently placed near one end, where presumably he could gently lay his horned and gnarly head upon his claws and gaze at them adoringly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"It's my hoard!" said the dragon proudly, smiling. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"do you take me for a fool?" screamed the Emperor, incensed. "Men, search for the REAL hoard, and... and.... burn this ridiculous thing!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Please don't" whispered the dragon, a great tear rolling down his snout, and unable to stop them. "My otters..." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But they burnt it anyway, and led him, chained and uncomfortable and in pain and bloodied from the occasional spear that pierced it's sides, back to their great city in triumph to execute him in public and to show their enemies that not even a dragon could withstand the mighty Emperor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> -------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He stopped by the great cage they had imprisoned the creature in and spoke quietly to it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"It's nearly time, Dragon" He said, and "Thank you" he added, unsure of himself. and then, "I'm so sorry about this".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"It's okay" the dragon smiled "i am very tired and it has been a long journey and not all deeds are evil, though they might seem so on the day"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Will you tell me a story? The one you told my men last night?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yes" said the dragon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> -----------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Once upon a time there were two dragons who were very much in love, and they were called Mauwger and Snauwger and for a while, they seemed the happiest dragons in all creation. And so blissful and generous was their love, that the very land where they lived seemed to glow and thrive with life and love and happiness. Mauwger was the male, and he was a gentle and shy forest drake of the Northern Marches where the lands were cool and temperate. He liked few things better than sitting by the river and fishing and singing and humming to himself. He lived in a cool, mossy cave surrounded by many ash trees, which were his favourite, and all the creatures of the forest would gather outside to listen to his dragony tales, for he was a vegetarian dragon and would eat only roots and leaves and the fruts of the forest and they loved him and his warm, kind voice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Ah", i hear you say, "But why then did he fish?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He fished for his beautiful mate, Snauwger, who was one of the few things he liked better than all of the above... She was a fierce fire drake of the great deserts, and lived in the next valley deep inside an old, old volcano, for she was very partial to the warmth. Her hoard was a little more traditional than his, being made of many jewels from many countries. Every morning, Mauwger would court her, ever so gently and politely, by bringing her fresh fish and dragon fruit (and how fortuitous for a dragon to have a fruit named after it!) to eat, leaving them by the side of the entrance before stepping discreetly away, and she would snuffle over them suspiciously, growling, before eating all the fish in one go and half the dragon fruit. She would leave the other half for him, sometimes stabbing the insides to a squishy pulp with one talon, because she knew he liked them like that. Then she would invite him inside and they would make delightful dragony love. Giggling and play-fighting. Oh, they were happy times. You should have heard her sing. It was the finest of voices. Oftimes she would climb a great rock and her songs would soar to the heavens in joy and love. Sometimes he would sit nearby, gazing adoringly at his love and ever so happy. The happiest of happy dragons in the whole world, surely! For this place was where he first heard her sing and where his heart was captured. To him it was sacred and wonderful.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I Mauwg your Snauwg" He would roar.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I Snauwg your Mauwg" she would roar back, sometimes trying to bite his ear playfully. But they were not true mates, yet. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So it occurred to Mauwger one night, looking lovingly upon her sleeping form, that he would ask a favour of a great smith, who owed him for a deed done long ago... and he asked him to craft a Dragon Ring in the old style. And the ring would be made of silver and bronze (gold, they both regarded as gaudy) and be in the shape of two dragons entwining, one with fire opals for eyes, symbolizing her, the other with deep blue opals of distant lands, for him. And so the ring was made and Mauwger vowed to give it to Snauwger at the height of the midwinter festival, on Christmas morning itself... (yes of course dragons celebrate Christmas, but it was different back in the old days before all this God nonsense).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But sadly, there was darkness in the heart of their love, for Snauwger was a jealous and anxious dragon, and past betrayals weighed heavy on her, and Mauwger had many friends that she mistrusted, and her mistrust gnawed away at her heart, and so she said things to hurt him, and snapped at him when he brought his fish and fruits and he retreated, unsure of himself and wondered what he might do. He loved his friends, but he loved her most of all. Sometimes at night, alone in his cave, he would take out his special ring and gazing at it anxiously, wondered if waiting until Christmas was too long. He was a dragon set in his ways, though, and changing plans did not come easy to him, so he brooded dreadfully and waited and hoped that she would see him truly and remember that his love was only for her. Christmas would be the day! They would sing and dance together and she would open his present beneath a Christmas tree! He smiled excitedly. He had never had a proper Christmas tree in all his life. Snauwger had promised him one this year. It would be special! Yes, Christmas would be the day. And afterwards, they would find a nice big cave together and finally live as one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One morning, bringing his fish and dragon fruits dutifully to the cave, he became aware of the silence. It was a new thing to him and he was suddenly scared.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Snauwger!?" He cried, abandoning all caution. "Oh my Snauwger!" And he ran around and around in the dark volcano heart until exhaustion and despair took him. She was gone. And he did not know where. He roamed many and many a mile, asking if any had seen her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Have you seen my love? He cried</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Not i", said the wind upon the hilltops</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Not i" said the ever solemn stones of the mountains and crags</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Not i" said the green wood, and among them, the ashes, his friends, were troubled, for they sensed the pain in his mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">One day, after a long journey, he took the ring he had crafted for his mate, and stood upon her rock as the sun as setting, and holding it clumsily in his claws, he flung it far away from him across the hillside. As it fell, the sunlight caught it and held it in it's light for the briefest of seconds before it sank beneath the waves of pale yellow grass. And when he turned back towards his home, the kindly ashes wept, for they knew he had lost some precious part of himself with that ring. He was no longer the Mauwger. He retreated to his cave and his hoard of plushies and slept, holding the ones she had woven for him, the otters, named Flimflam, Damo, Dom, Ben, Mikey and Jon tightly in his curled claws. And there he slept in sorrow for many a long year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> ------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Is that a true story?" said the captain at last. And he daubed the dragons eyes as best he could with his cloak, for the dragon had begun to weep quietly at the end the tale telling</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And the dragon looked up towards the east, and then back at him, and nodded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Dragon, was the Mauwger in the story.... was it you?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And the dragon looked at the ground and said nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Dragon, it is customary among my people to offer a last request. Is there anything i might offer you?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And the dragon smiled at him, and leant in close and whispered in his ear.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Ok, that's a peculiar one. But i have become very fond of you, Dragon and this whole thing weighs heavy on my heart. I've known murderers and killers in my time, and you get a feel for them, and you, I think have killed never once in your entire life, lest in accident. You are the most gentlest creature i have ever met". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"We all were. But humans tried to steal our treasure so we retaliated, sometimes. And you killed us".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"i shall carry out your request. come. It is time to go."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And so they walked out together, to the crowds and the cruel Emperor, and the fate of a dragon who had lost everything and had only a life to give in the end. And from his high seat above the crowd, even the Emperor was not ummoved, for he too had come in secret to the dragon and listened to his tales of love and loss and it was only pride and desire to keep his people subdued and happy, that stopped him showing mercy. It was said, though, that the dragon's death changed this once cruel emperor, and ever after, he would bow his head when entering that place and his people who had once feared him, began slowly to love him. No longer did he wage war. No more were his people oppressed and sometimes even starving. Instead, he built hospitals and libraries and kept his people fed and watered and the realm prospered. Even the neighbouring realms began to respect him, and if not loving, became very cordial and appreciative, for they too felt his prosperity spreading outwards like a wave. And all this through a not very large, and slightly portly dragon with a fondness for plush otters. No one knows what became of the dragon's body, but i have heard since, that they returned it to his cave, where they buried it respectfully, with an otter plushy tribute guard of 6 stationed around to keep him comfort in his long sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And what of the dragons last request?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well some days afterwards, posters began to appear throughout the city, and spread to the furthest reaches even, of that vast empire (some say it was the Emperor himself who funded this) . And on those posters, was a smiling portly green dragon, with a claw in the air, like a thumbs-up gesture, and beneath him, writ large, the words "I Mauwg your Snauwg"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And the people wondered what it meant. "Ridiculous!" said some. "Pretty neat!" said others, usually the young, but all agreed, even begrudgingly, that the dragons smile was very kind, and after a while, the words on the posters began to appear in the people's language as a term of endearment or a greeting, and always meant kindly. They seemed almost magical in the way they calmed a tense situation, or brought loving smiles between couples and friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But the Captain was troubled. Many years had passed and the young captain had become a trusted and much appreciated general by the new Emperor, yet still the dragons last day weighed heavy on his heart and the words on the posters often crept into his dreams and he would awake with tears streaming down his cheeks and his wife would hold him in the dark until he slept again. Quietly, over the years, Captan Malarkey, as he rose through the ranks, would send forth messengers to the furthest corners of the empire and beyond. Always looking for sign of a fire drake. And always returning with no news, or not returning at all. Until one day, a ragged , half dead looking scout by the name of Desmond, brought news.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"General! General! I have found her!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That night, Malarkey left the city quietly and alone and headed East. A backpack upon his shoulder and a stout walking staff in his hands, and in a waterproof case in the backpack, one of the famous dragon posters that had covertly brought so much gentle peace to his people. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Many months passed and many dangerous perils did he face upon the road, until he stood before a small cave in the fierce desert heat of the land of Lop. Steams and vapours arose from within. He paused there a moment at the edge of darkness and the unknown. Then stepped inside purposefully, the case in his hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We cannot be sure of what happened afterwards, and Malarkey himself never spoke of it. But the people of the desert speak of a terrible roar of anguish and of rushing wind heading far off into the West some time later. And the people of the Ashwood where Mauwger's cave lay, reported similar, only with terrible loud crashings and screams that lasted many days.. They fled the wood and none dared to return to see their cause. It is said thata golden glow can be seen from the depths of the Ashwood at night, and that Snauwger sleeps there now in Mauwger's cave, watching over the body of her mate that she loved, but could not bear to be with while alive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Some time later, Malarkey returned to the city and his family. And taking his wife and children in his arms, he laughed joyfully. amidst their hugs and sighs of relief at his safe homecoming.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I Mauwg your Snauwg!" he cried. "I love you. From my heart to yours. With all that i am". At last he understood.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And that is my story. It is mine alone and may mean little to you, but it means everything to me, for i too was a dragon once, for a little while. If you have enjoyed reading it, i am grateful that it could touch you. If you have wept, then maybe you have understood a little more of what love is, and maybe i have, too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">S.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">PS: Not sure where i found the sock dragon, but if you are the creator, then you have my thanks and drop me a message so i can give you props</span>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-84656755665349049512012-10-29T22:52:00.002+00:002012-10-29T22:52:35.574+00:00The End Of The YearHalloween isn't about ghosts and goblins and ghouls. It's about welcoming your ancestors and departed relatives and loved ones into this world and keeping the unwanted "others" out. It's the ONE day of the year that you can make peace with the past and wrongs you have given and suffered. It's the one day of the year when you can tell a dead person that you love them and be sure that they are listening. It's the day when the dead time begins. When the world falls asleep and the boundaries between the waking world and... other places are thinnest...<br />
<br />
Sometimes, if you're lucky, you can hear them reply, too. So light your pumpkins as landing strips to guide the special dead into your homes and ward the darker spirits away. This is a day as important as Longest Night.<br />
<br />
So, to my ancestors on the coast of Cornwall and in Keswick and further north in Scotland... i bid a deep affectionate welcome. And the best greeting of all i save for my father. <br />
<br />
The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-25067218445336908632012-10-11T07:00:00.002+01:002012-10-11T07:00:18.068+01:00September 2012. DawnAcross the cold fields at dawn, scattering sheep as i sought my view in the morning mists, i saw a white shape lying on the floor in the distance. <br />
<br />
She was sleeping i hoped, but no. Her rest, i quickly discerned. was endless as i approached her. No breathing. That was the first thing i looked for. Other details became apparent; the single rigid and pink nipple, wrinkled and darkening at the tip. The missing eyes- no doubt a tasty morsel for a crow. The tired way she lay. I could see no obvious injuries, aside from the eyes. Perhaps she died of old age and this was her time. Looking about me, i saw two lambs watching me. Was this their mother? Were they hungry? I wondered sadly if they still sought milk from those teats.<br />
<br />
It is never easy to confront a death. Either in a human or animal. Tweo weeks ago, i heard my neighbours dog being hit by a car and crying. Looking out of the window, i saw her half sitting on the ground, yelping, and two yong girls from the car leant down, picked her up and brought her to my neighbours door. The yelping stopped then. And i cried for a little Jack Russell terrier called Patch. <br />
<br />
But here's the rub: I am guided. In these woods and valleys with the little river running near my home. I couldn't tell you who guides me. God or angels or the faeries of this area. (Yes i believe in the faeries. They leave me little gifts to find, i think. Their home is in the dark and shadowy Thursden Valley upstream.... and today, as i clumsily and noisily made my way through trackless bracken, dense and clinging, i found two eggs.<br />
<br />
Two eggs. They looked like hens eggs. And out of all the wide expanse of woodland to choose. The chicken or whatever it was, had laid them right in front of my path. A metre left or right and i would have missed them. And it reminded me of this poem by Philip Larkin<br />
<br />
<strong>The Explosion</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
On the day of the explosion<br />Shadows pointed towards the pithead:<br />In thesun the slagheap slept.<br /><br />Down the lane came men in pitboots<br />Coughing oath-edged talk and pipe-smoke<br />Shouldering off the freshened silence.<br /><br />One chased after rabbits; lost them;<br />Came back with a nest of lark's eggs;<br />Showed them; lodged them in the grasses.<br /><br />So they passed in beards and moleskins<br />Fathers brothers nicknames laughter<br />Through the tall gates standing open.<br /><br />At noon there came a tremor; cows<br />Stopped chewing for a second; sun<br />Scarfed as in a heat-haze dimmed.<br /><br />The dead go on before us they<br />Are sitting in God's house in comfort<br />We shall see them face to face--<br /><br />plian as lettering in the chapels<br />It was said and for a second<br />Wives saw men of the explosion<br /><br />Larger than in life they managed--<br />Gold as on a coin or walking<br />Somehow from the sun towards them<br /><br />One showing the eggs unbroken. <br />
<div class="poet">
Philip Larkin :</div>
<div class="poet">
</div>
<div class="poet">
And i remembered that Larkin was using the eggs as they had been used a million times before, symbolically, to show that life goes on. That it continues. And i thought about the video i made for m father. Left on youtube. Half an hour of meandering that he never saw. but it was circular and perfect in its way. Beginning in the rich life of the local woodland and ending at the Church and graveyard of St James, where he married my mother. I made the video for him and for Ruth, who lost her mother, too. I doubt she'll ever see it, but those who care to look will find it.</div>
<div class="poet">
</div>
<div class="poet">
And the message for me? Don't give up. I think that's what it said. "Life goes on. So live". I'll do my best. Thank you, spirits or whatever you are.</div>
<div class="poet">
</div>
<div class="poet">
S.</div>
The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-44186308042286813762012-09-28T01:34:00.003+01:002014-11-29T16:33:47.753+00:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ixz0r-d3oz8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">(<em>prayer</em>)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Hello Sir. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Thank you for the many kind people in my life and the happinesses i've had at times and for a best friend who i love dearly, yet feel a burden and a weight to at times. I often ask myself, by the way "am I the best she can do? Really?" and wonder if you could perhaps send someone better her way?). but i was wondering if you could do me one small favour. I am deeply troubled by another.... You see I miss the girl. How foolish. Foolish. Foolish. Foolish. But i miss her. Out of all my friends she was the only one who sat and talked with him at length after his stroke, and he liked that. I think he liked her too at the time. I dread to think what he'd say about the mess that happened since. But i still remember looking at him smiling and chatting away to this girl. That made me happy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">There is nothing to be done. no-one to be saved. No-one to be understood. No love to be found. Just blind misunderstanding. I've been so angry at her words, for months and i cannot stand it. I hate every part of myself for feeling like this. Anger is so wrong for me.. I am lost and bewildered. It's like a knife torn quickly across the mind and it bleeds and bleeds and bleeds. I ache to be done with it all. My body is weary. My mind is weary. Let me go. Let it all end.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">amen.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-81871725056907447852012-08-08T05:39:00.001+01:002012-08-08T05:40:23.688+01:00"Once was a lover with a silver voice. Said she could grow accustomed to my face..."<br />
<br />
To you, if you should ever come by here one day. I loved you as truly and as simply as a person could love another. No artifice in my designs. No motive at all, save to give you all that i might. To lift you up higher than i could reach with my own hands. <br />
<br />
You never seemed to understand me. I wish i knew why. Always reading darkness into my words where none existed. Now both our lives are that much poorer for you having walked away. I watch you from afar. I see the patterns you create that shape your life for years to come and i am so frustrated for you. You can be so much more than this. You can find so much more and i hurt and hurt and hurt to see you grow distant and beyond my ability to help lift you up. You used to make me smile so.<br />
<br />
You will never know lasting peace or tranquility until you confront the demons that rage within you. I thought i could help. But i cannot. In the end a person can only be helped if they want to be.<br />
<br />
I miss you. I don't know why. You made me cry as much as laugh, but i tried to see beyond the rages to the inner you. I thought there was a beauty in there.<br />
<br />
I hope you are well when you see this. Perhaps i will be long gone by then. Perhaps you won't even remember me and i'll be a half-remembered ghost. Nothing much of any consequence.<br />
<br />
S.<br />
<br />The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-35970766237294837752011-06-13T02:02:00.011+01:002011-07-05T16:37:00.255+01:00Cerulean Blue<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUUdD8xqZ6zXD6arauyG_g08AyqFNmzxQBd2m50BSZjm6CI8hIb7iCTD4kdbPwg5CGSSGw7_I8OypPoEOyU-oAlmABLE96Yoe5hAr_PagpyRFPD95sFIOtpVOHrsaBCe67nd4i/s1600/Cerulean%252520Cross%2525206.jpg"><img style="width: 400px; height: 400px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617535162182858770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUUdD8xqZ6zXD6arauyG_g08AyqFNmzxQBd2m50BSZjm6CI8hIb7iCTD4kdbPwg5CGSSGw7_I8OypPoEOyU-oAlmABLE96Yoe5hAr_PagpyRFPD95sFIOtpVOHrsaBCe67nd4i/s400/Cerulean%252520Cross%2525206.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">And so, a year on, and what have i learnt? What do i remember?<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">I've learnt, that no matter how closely we surround ourselves with friends... it doesn't compensate for not having love in your life. That no matter how hard you can try to pull away from the bad things in your past, they are still there, sending jarring echoes and ripples into the present, and for some people, those things will always cloud how they perceive you. I've learnt that it's when you're at your worst, that you will find your truest friends. You might never have met them, save via words on a computer screen, but oft, a message will slip into your inbox asking how you are and telling you that someone, somewhere, does indeed care about your wellbeing. Sometimes it makes you want to sit in a heap and cry. Because they are there and you are here. And you are still alone in the morning hours.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">And what do i remember? I remember the hospice nurse knocking on my bedroom door with the words, calm, yet urgent "Paul. Your father's dying. Please come quickly". And so i enter the room, in a tumble of limbs caught in trailing clothing, no time to feel self-conscious in front of strangers and stopping suddenly in the achingly weighted atmosphere. He looks so small on his side. I haven't seen him lying on his side in over 5 years. They have made him comfortable and his breathing is deep and so very, very slow. No more morphine drips or cries of pain. I am almost too late. I whisper in his ear "I love you Dad. Thank you. Goodbye." and kiss him gently on his forehead. One more breath. Then another. Then a body lying there. That intangible thing that makes us unique has departed, i know not where. Heaven (he was worthy enough, aye) or other worlds beyond our ken. Leaving a collection of molecules that will now slowly unravel and disperse, given time... that two men will put in a sturdy black bag and carry unceremoniously down the steep stairs. I cannot watch.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-size:130%;">Yet the thing i remember most about the day is the lady in the sandwich shop just an hour later. Relatives and friends had quickly gathered to offer condolences and i volunteered to get food for everyone. And i'm sitting there, waiting for my order, looking outwards and upwards at the blue sky through the window, when i hear her voice behind me.</span></div><div> </div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she says. </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">And i half turn my head to look back at her, grateful for the sunglasses that hide my eyes.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">And i smile.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">And it's the best smile in the world.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">And then i turn back to the cerulean sky to lose myself again.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">"Yes. Yes it is".<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">(Several months later, my best friend is staying with me, and she tells me one evening, that she had snuck into my mum's and dad's room, where he died "to see if he was ok" and she tells me that the room felt so peaceful and free of pain and that she had spoken to him. Not in a silly spiritualist way or crazy madwoman way, but as a person who cares deeply for her friend and with great simplicity. She hesitates before telling me that she thinks he spoke back, like a voice in her head.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">"He said Not to worry. And that everything was going to be ok".</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">I believe her. Sometimes that's all i believe.</span></div></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhP3TNqly99O6r6r5PBf3kcy93iU_pTsrTbQt1zTvuko09IxForfBLHt_Scsrdwx6IaM5ZwPRMVM3uVJMT0O-Ug-Vdb6Ngok0W5gIq1ji9wXJB38JVKjq4F0BKkTtUT1T8sVHS/s1600/sky-.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 399px; height: 400px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617535425980086850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhP3TNqly99O6r6r5PBf3kcy93iU_pTsrTbQt1zTvuko09IxForfBLHt_Scsrdwx6IaM5ZwPRMVM3uVJMT0O-Ug-Vdb6Ngok0W5gIq1ji9wXJB38JVKjq4F0BKkTtUT1T8sVHS/s400/sky-.jpg" /></a>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-89157005354509971292011-02-08T03:45:00.007+00:002011-02-08T04:13:51.707+00:00Conversations With Mai Pumpkin (extracts from the past 6 months)<span style="font-size:130%;">Numero une</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">"Oh go on"</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;">"Ah HAHA ha!"</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">*snicker* </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">"Am waitin'....</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">"Give me some voice...</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;">"Hehe"</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">"Don't cackle" </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">*barely suppressed restraint*</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;">"Hehe"</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">"hah hah hah hah...</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">"go on, you're goin' liiive..."</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;">*snicker*</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">*snicker*</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">"We're all listening' to you now... yeeeeeeeers" </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">*coaxing voice*</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cccccc;">"Mmm-wanna know what yer saying!</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">*Short pause*</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6600;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><span style="color:#ff6600;">"Death To Mary Poppins!!!"</span></span><br /></span><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Numero Deux</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#cccccc;">"Salad is like ninja"<br /><br /></span><span style="color:#ff6600;">"What? That's the most ridiculous thing i've ever heard! Are you actually telling me that salad sits hiding on a hillside in the tall grass looking at it's prey through binoculars, stealthily biding its time for assassination?"</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">"It's subtle, isn't it? Who would believe...?"</span></span>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-19040546604346998352011-02-08T03:37:00.000+00:002011-02-08T03:44:36.366+00:00A Priest With Bagpipes?! Outrageous!!!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOT55Bk2_jfRPfiXyblcfImIhZ_CNGCZNgDqi1VAppxFBxXpScrUM4eSoMjvrplQTsMM1cRL3_KJ_roRWYRPrCGTkBofVwQ61HZU5nLZ01ohQ1ykiF8QHFIFc5TXvszV4MZtC/s1600/IMG_1214.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571158934135080786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOT55Bk2_jfRPfiXyblcfImIhZ_CNGCZNgDqi1VAppxFBxXpScrUM4eSoMjvrplQTsMM1cRL3_KJ_roRWYRPrCGTkBofVwQ61HZU5nLZ01ohQ1ykiF8QHFIFc5TXvszV4MZtC/s400/IMG_1214.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">And then there was a wedding. I only caught one reasonably good picture on my phone camera and here it is! May Carl and Ruth have a wonderful life together.<br /><br />It was worth it to see Carl dancing what I can only loosely describe as an embarrassed chicken scrabbling in a farmyard. In a suit. Still, you've got to admire his "pluck" eh, readers?<br /><br />(Readers are allowed to groan inwardly at this point)<br /><br />Oh yeah and the priest guy played them out of the church on his bagpipes. A wonderful caterwaul of surprise and horror.<br /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">This post was originally created at 07/08/10</span></div>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-46564359833170686512010-10-30T16:15:00.001+01:002010-10-30T16:16:36.439+01:00FacebookIf anyone wants to add me on Facebook, my alias is Opal Luna Saturnyne<br /><br />That's in the meantime... i'm still gonna start updating this damned blog that i love...<br /><br />S.xThe Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-27974344325726883582010-07-22T03:58:00.007+01:002010-10-05T01:10:40.096+01:00Loose Ends<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC2oW_eEbYREy15Eq7wHhqtMm3evLQ_4JOhyphenhyphenHAkmZYr3k1Rnja0Lzn4BTUv4vjVS4uaW91JLA8oSj1GdZy-ktrbh9vXE-FIKnGKT1gNVnjo_6ca5kIa5iuXKtua7rEBX0AS0ox/s1600/IMG_1050.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496560533984233042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC2oW_eEbYREy15Eq7wHhqtMm3evLQ_4JOhyphenhyphenHAkmZYr3k1Rnja0Lzn4BTUv4vjVS4uaW91JLA8oSj1GdZy-ktrbh9vXE-FIKnGKT1gNVnjo_6ca5kIa5iuXKtua7rEBX0AS0ox/s400/IMG_1050.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The next day they came for your things. Two gentlemen from supplies, looking like George and Lennie from Steinbecks' novel. All the disability equipment that they loaned you after your stroke, plus the stinking plastic coated medical mattress to help prevent bed sores that you died upon. Giving up the commode and the bath-lift was easy. As was the little table with wheels and the strangely handled cutting knife that you never once used. Other things, too, unimportant in your life as in your death.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">It was the walking stick that broke me. All my pragmatism and inherited practicalities shattered when i held it in my hands. The smooth worn handle that i gripped tightly in my fingers as yours once did, and the strong metal shaft ending cleverly in tripod feet for balance. This was your lifeline for even getting into the kitchen. It served you well.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">And now i had to let it go and serve another person with needs just as great. All i could do was place it beside your empty chair and take the picture to keep safely and remind me of you. When i try really hard i can see you sitting there, smiling at mum and me and my dumbass big brother (it's ok, i can call him that. He knows i say it with affection). I cry a lot at small things these days, it seems.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">We talked about getting rid of that chair and its accompanying sofa the other day and i was dismayed. But then i suddenly realized-this wasn't really your chair. It was just the one best able to suit your needs when you became half paralyzed. More an open prison, really. And i smiled, then. <em>Your</em> chair sits where it always has done. Beside the window, next to the telly. Mum sits there now. Me too, sometimes, when she goes to bed...</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">I think about you a lot. I miss you.</span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">S.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">PS: England played rubbish. You'd have been glad not to see them.</span></div>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-22904032511662722032010-06-17T01:21:00.029+01:002010-07-22T04:49:28.268+01:00My Father Part 2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4aKogG_t7VvPidOOWG71OKtil6VVeaJzQmlo_BiSMkMXAqo99HR9BMHxuzTRmGK2gYrLPu-NkvfJwuVLyG7B2XZM5ztkGx5B9RRJzoz-ltG829pCjbST-a1loGWJ7asMIrNUE/s1600/IMG_0884.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483559370717917570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4aKogG_t7VvPidOOWG71OKtil6VVeaJzQmlo_BiSMkMXAqo99HR9BMHxuzTRmGK2gYrLPu-NkvfJwuVLyG7B2XZM5ztkGx5B9RRJzoz-ltG829pCjbST-a1loGWJ7asMIrNUE/s400/IMG_0884.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">And so he came home.<br /><br />This gentle, kind man, not very tall, shorter still with illness and exhaustion. Broken by bad luck or who knows what unkind trick of fate. He didn't deserve this end. But then who does? Long days of pain and to see his own mortality falling from him along with all his dignity. He immediately went into shutdown. Those eyes which had smiled conspiringly at my brother and i telling him silly jokes or fooling around for him, even when the rest of his face had not....Now put shutters up against the world. Keeping us all out...except for the woman he'd loved and remained true to all his life. He couldn't face us any more. Still generous, he didn't want us to see what Hell was like. He couldn't hope to hide it all from <em>her</em>, though.<br /><br />He lay in bed, in pain and depressed and responded only to my mum, so tired, who snapped and chided him mercilessly- she the military officer and he the private in their last stand together. Fighting tooth and nail and morphine to keep the enemy-not at bay- they both knew their doom was approaching- No, the battle here was to make sure the enemy bloody well <em>earned</em> the privilege to take him. (I think he'd like that soldierly analogy if he was reading this). Before sleep yesterday, my mum takes his hand in hers and says to me gently with reddened eyes, </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">"I've told him he can go". </span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">(And so at last, the enemy halts the assault and, silently gathers in solemn salute and carries the fallen away through the lines with great reverence and honour. The captain falls to the ground, exhausted, and weeps alone. Wounded in many places where she tried to shield her beloved troops from harm. Friend and foe; Their faces all etched with the same grief now the battle is over. Holding onto each other fleetingly and we the living are left to wonder what on earth we are fighting for.)<br /><br />And there were moments i was so <em>proud</em> of him. My father was never a tall man, but his heart and friendship and kindness were mighty enough to floor kings and queens. Our old family doctor, long since retired, came to see him one day... and my father true to himself and his warmth got his blow in first "Hello Doctor Ali. How've you bin keepin'?" Poor Doctor Ali stood no chance. I wanted to give him a hug so badly afterwards.<br /><br />He's so poorly now. The cancer in his stomach and other organs have taken their toll. On him and all of us others who sit there with him. I don't know how my mum will manage when all this is done. her entire reason for living is to see him through to the end. Almost her entire life, she has been dedicated to loving him. Fighting him. Laughing with him. Comforting him. The last days have been torment that no words can describe.<br /><br />From the despair of my mother and i trying to hold his tired body up while we clean his soilings before he falls back into them, knowing that every second on his feet is torture to his fragile body, to the electric doorbell he rang so little at first, then so much at the end. My mother must have climbed mount Everest- twice- in response to that bell. Even now i hear it chiming ghostly in quiet moments and turn my head at echoes of the past days. Sometimes i remember his voice too, lost and afraid, calling "Sylvia!" (<em>her</em> name.)</span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"><div><br />"Get me up and then get me back down again" are the other words he utters most now and the ones that will stay with me for the rest of my life.. Yesterday was the worst day, i think.... he fell out of bed... and we unable to do anything, had to call the ambulance and wait helplessly watching his stress and mounting anxiety until they arrived.... the call operator saying they regarded it as a "non-emergency" and it could take them an hour to arrive...<br /><br />I think this is his last day. If it is, he will die one day short of the 50th wedding anniversary that he and mum had so long looked forward to. His pain is horror to watch, his stoicism and bravery of these past few months only now becoming apparent. He even resisted taking his morphine for a few hours, the other night; Always unwilling to be a bother to people. And the nurses... the courage and dedication of our nurses is... everything you could want from in a nurse and more. District nurses, Pendle Hospice nurses, Macmillan nurses... they've all been so kind, and a shoulder to lean on.<br />One of the Hospice nurses has stayed with us this evening. Another will be here again tomorrow if he somehow, miraculously, makes it that far. I'm so glad she's here. It won't be long now. He flails weakly, looking at last for the way out and stares at a fixed point on the ceiling talking to persons unseen. </div><div>"Come on. Come on."</div><div><em>T</em><em>hey</em> are there too, i think. Those who have gone before. Come to gather him in like pathfinders in the dark... and i remember a story my mother used to tell me about <em>his</em> father and the night <em>he</em> died:<br /><br />"Your Dad went over to Padiham in a taxi and while he was gone, all the lights in the living room started popping and flickering and going out. I was scared half to death..."<br />This evening, the light in my room suddenly flickers and glows and pops with a life of its own... i swear it sways from time to time. I don't find it frightening though, but i have never seen a lightbulb behave so oddly before. Somehow it's reassuring.<br /><br />His body is on the brink, and so is he. I struggle to watch as he cries in pain. This good man dying. The price of his soul worth less than a cab fare. Or a blue ambulance light.<br /><br />"Get me up. And then get me back down again".<br /><br />Our ancestors hear him and they will.<br />I pray they guide him with all their love.<br /><br />S.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">*edit* He died this morning. The time was 11:20am. Twelve hours and forty minutes away from their golden anniversary. We held his hands and kissed him goodbye and his breaths became longer and fewer, until he finally was able to leave. My mother has lost her man. Her voice, kind and gentle and unbearably sad:</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;">"Goodbye, Love"</span></div>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-28604664365036241912010-06-12T20:24:00.011+01:002010-06-30T03:27:02.865+01:00For Jill<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoffGAHWSbdREWrHie47xGVSL2gdahEshJSOW4TtXXE7y89EOyN8hCeW_4eX3QsW0VgKRQFyGwsrtqZ3y55uHWcAZb6EvehyphenhyphenR-fmJ5pBgfVUhREqy9hXqSKeH0kOUcWDN3GA-r/s1600/photo.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 218px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482134205340807266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoffGAHWSbdREWrHie47xGVSL2gdahEshJSOW4TtXXE7y89EOyN8hCeW_4eX3QsW0VgKRQFyGwsrtqZ3y55uHWcAZb6EvehyphenhyphenR-fmJ5pBgfVUhREqy9hXqSKeH0kOUcWDN3GA-r/s400/photo.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">I have neither sat with you in quiet conversation, a glass of wine to hand; nor eaten from your table the finest foods you and your partner might prepare.<br /><br />I have not laughed with you at the foolishness of the world, nor gazed admiringly out of your window at your beautiful garden blossoming with small lives. Or made a snowman with you, nor delighted, eyes grinning, at a rainbow arcing across a thundery sky together.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I have not sat with you looking through picture scrapbooks at all your childrens growing pains and pleasures, neither listened with quiet understanding as you spoke to your dolls, carefully arranging them on their chair. Nor held your hand in the last days of your difficult life, vainly willing and praying that my touch might somehow give miracles and either heal you or just ease yours and my own fathers suffering (though pray i did, every night before sleep. Offering myself to God, for a miracle. Any miracle)<br /><br />I have not ever told you how much i feel humbled by your tenacity and bravery and your willingness to reach out towards new goals in spite of everything that life has throw at you. Nor expressed the admiration in your fierce protection of those you love. And i knew how much you loved them. And even when you did not trust me or my motives i could not help but love you all the more for that.<br /><br />I have never met you, or spoken to you or sent letters in their many forms to you in praise and honour and affection as i have so many times wished. Feeling foolish for even wanting to, now foolish for never trying to reach out just the once.<br /><br />I have never met you, but you live on in pictures and the memories of friends and your children; the thoughts and words and actions of your youngest daughter who described you with such love and honest, unaffected simplicity to me so many times will always remind me of you. I will smile and some days i will shed tears too when we talk about you. You would be so proud of her courage and compassion and the joy she brings into peoples lives.<br /><br />I have never met you, and my life is less richer for that. You died this morning and i found myself weeping for a stranger as if she were a dear friend.<br /><br />I love you. It does not seem strange to me. May you be at peace.<br /><br />Paul.</span></div>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-66208716527084862192010-06-10T03:14:00.003+01:002010-10-08T23:21:45.722+01:00My Father (part 1)<span style="font-size:130%;">It began, i suppose, a couple of days before their usual May holiday to Cyprus. but in truth, it must have begun a long time, many many months before that. There were no signs. He had been sick two days before they went out, but was fine on the day of departure.<br /><br />It continued with a scared phone call from my Mum two days before their return.<br /><br />"Paul, your dads been taken to the hospital. He started vommiting blood..."<br /><br />We thought it was the Warfarin tablets he was taking, causing an adverse reaction because he had a bug or stomach upset. Little did we realize what they were reacting to, or the very serious nature of what the medical teams in the Cyprus hospital were going to discover.<br /><br />And then they came home. My parents. Exhausted far beyond their means to endure. My fathers skin already looking yellow. We put him to bed immediately. My mother, somehow dregging every last resource of energy she could muster to get things done before she too pulled herself into bed beside the man she had loved for over 50 years. I still marvel at how much she has given to get here.<br /><br />Somewhere, between stepping through the front door and slumber, she was able to hand me the hospital report below:<br /><br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAq_QWwrg8MJR71m95zXe_UGB6NlKOzLCQUow__kbmZjoPBx79m2_R8k19Kdi4gwUBPp9D8DyXQt-qqPq9JCM0R1aM_e6-spix3Kfn-fxU8R6y7dXb6qbc0zJt-4D8dJqcbKbv/s1600/IMG_0907a.JPG"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482818589737737170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAq_QWwrg8MJR71m95zXe_UGB6NlKOzLCQUow__kbmZjoPBx79m2_R8k19Kdi4gwUBPp9D8DyXQt-qqPq9JCM0R1aM_e6-spix3Kfn-fxU8R6y7dXb6qbc0zJt-4D8dJqcbKbv/s400/IMG_0907a.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMhoS4vzTH7krfJln0avZmdCHxaSxOsYZd5qfgdc9PZ343mbpxNeW09LgMzGJNiF5cB9gLskfSY7S9XJoIaFzAjv8GfhGIVmqZj3-Af9YWhfY4dX4mV7JnRshxZHUEPizYiu_/s1600/IMG_0908.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482818852847463778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMhoS4vzTH7krfJln0avZmdCHxaSxOsYZd5qfgdc9PZ343mbpxNeW09LgMzGJNiF5cB9gLskfSY7S9XJoIaFzAjv8GfhGIVmqZj3-Af9YWhfY4dX4mV7JnRshxZHUEPizYiu_/s400/IMG_0908.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />It's the last paragraph that i return to over and over again. The one that burns irrevocably in my mind and threatens to tear grief howling from my throat- a physical/mental rupturing of every part of my body. You can't know it until you've been there.<br /><br />My father. My father has come home to die. </span>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-25545600447218130432010-04-28T05:09:00.003+01:002010-06-13T11:02:00.215+01:00Why?There is no justice or grace in the world.<br /><br />S.The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-39231281494547952092010-02-17T04:07:00.005+00:002010-02-17T04:16:42.358+00:00Erl King's and other winter stories...With the snow we had recently i was able to take this picture of a tree that had fascinated me for years, but whose green leaves and darker ivy was not photogenic<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljbMoQuA2GYr0S9me7xV4PTPvW5_YFHZpuYtHVkd0kA0H1zZEYkxlt2ZTTc9-yknfC6lD04jXuobMnC3r60Wb6qamX1jlDkCJQvDIqmvpucXAPpdfazeoysJ7dseTeWhA61Pa/s1600-h/DSC00415a.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 300px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439060111444402674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljbMoQuA2GYr0S9me7xV4PTPvW5_YFHZpuYtHVkd0kA0H1zZEYkxlt2ZTTc9-yknfC6lD04jXuobMnC3r60Wb6qamX1jlDkCJQvDIqmvpucXAPpdfazeoysJ7dseTeWhA61Pa/s400/DSC00415a.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br />And here's a pic i like for the patterns in the branches...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zi5IZ1L-AROSRrP9WZbfW8ly58eNvqdBdUtRncLPonXnVrFGQkXn20qKUK8bU0evvfCJOGWHqvkn8uSdchGYz-m2i0tt8wjHaiDtuePPaGqc3yl1ouzMmaKh5H0Z1uknZfAv/s1600-h/DSC00409a.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 300px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439060817627486290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zi5IZ1L-AROSRrP9WZbfW8ly58eNvqdBdUtRncLPonXnVrFGQkXn20qKUK8bU0evvfCJOGWHqvkn8uSdchGYz-m2i0tt8wjHaiDtuePPaGqc3yl1ouzMmaKh5H0Z1uknZfAv/s400/DSC00409a.jpg" /></a>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-1677872574646678472009-08-09T08:01:00.013+01:002009-12-15T05:35:23.212+00:00Why God Fearing Americans Should Fear The NHS<span style="font-size:130%;">"I say bartender chap, when i ordered a stiff drink, i wasn't expecting to be handed one you could plant a bleedin' flag in!"<br /><br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">Nurse 1: "Tee hee"</span><br /><br />The Saturnyne adopting best leer: "Do you come here often, daaahlin'?"<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffffff;"><span style="color:#cccccc;">Nurse 2 thinking quickly: "Every</span> day"</span><br /><br />The Saturnyne: "Sooo. You actually want me to swallow this radio-active jizz, do you?"<br /><br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">Nurse 2: "No, we want you to swallow this bicarbonate of soda, so you'll feel decidedly gassy and bloated, <em>then </em>swallow the radio-active jizz, which is incidentally the product of elephants. Gay elephants. And hopefully you'll acquire a taste for being gay and all things manly, or possibly elephantly because that is the secret agenda of the UK National Health Service, which we hope to export to the poor unknowing redneck fools of the USA and turn the entire population queer! And possibly commie at the same time. At the very least, men will like gay elephants more, for sure! BwaHAAAHAHaaahahaaaaa!"</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">Nurse 1: "And while you're swallowing our gay jizz, we'll be standing behind this lead proof screen, and irradiating the shit out of your body with x-rays to give you cancer, because you don't look nearly gay enough for our liking."</span><br /><br />The Saturnyne: "Ni-iice. Should be piss-easy, then." </span><br /><p><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ffcc99;">(Time passes)<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">Nurses 1 and 2: "Mr Saturnyne? Mr Saturnyne? Are you feeling ok? You looked like you were going to faint there for a moment. Are you ready to take a sip of your Barium Meal?</span><br /><br />The Saturnyne: "Wha? Uh? Oh right... you didn't say anything about elephants just then, did you, lovely nurse persons? Also... "meal"? Buckets of elephant jizz is a meal now?"<br /><br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">Nurses look at each other bemused: "Er no. We're ready to take your x-ray when you are, Mr Saturnyne"</span><br /><br />The Saturnyne: "Right then. Yummy. Bottoms up".<br /><br /><span style="color:#cccccc;">Nurses quietly to themselves: "BwaHAAAHAHaaahahaaaaa! Our evil plan is working. He sounds gay already"</span><br /><br /><br />So you see, America... the NHS is an evil commie conspiracy to turn all the men of your country into gay, commie loving, surrender monkeys. Who possibly eat cheese. Gay cheese. Resist now, while you have breath in your body! Resist!!!<br /><br />And last month, they had me deep-throating a long tube with a camera on, into my stomach. And you wouldn't believe the amount of gas <em>that</em> causes! Tip: if youever find yourselves undergoing this procedure you should definitely concentrate on breathing... otherwise you'll be having 15 minutes of near panic with a tube inside you that could cause damage if you try and pull it out... even worse if you suddenly wonder if you're being indoctrinated into Dorothy Friendship!<br /><br />Next up: The anal probe! I shall resist on your behalf, My American friends! Wish me luck!<br /><br />S.</span></p><p>PS: Oh, and the hospital gowns!- i forgot to mention how "sexy" and backless they are. I praise the day Mr CK started making his saucy boxers, or i'd have been standing there, flashing unromantic y-fronts, and hairy calves, with just my South Park socks to give me comfort in an awkward situation... to slightly quote that nice Mr Wodehouse "While not exactly being disgruntled, he was quite a long way from being gruntled"</p>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-46077199474026453572009-06-17T04:29:00.015+01:002009-06-27T13:34:36.572+01:00Supermarket Songs and Stories<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Jbdw0SevGqyY-gwWM7xUGekuiTr_443TjIEtT5If4_lZ6dQWdIVHHP1Iejf91RFYKrK4jTwL0LlwkHxZWca-Rwp1wl-NyHZVak_vUTUx6_eil-XD2EKGEWAfE8Ms9_EGg2D8/s1600-h/DSC00276.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351984779846751186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Jbdw0SevGqyY-gwWM7xUGekuiTr_443TjIEtT5If4_lZ6dQWdIVHHP1Iejf91RFYKrK4jTwL0LlwkHxZWca-Rwp1wl-NyHZVak_vUTUx6_eil-XD2EKGEWAfE8Ms9_EGg2D8/s400/DSC00276.JPG" /></a><br /><div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Some things never change, or change so slowly and subtly that we may live all our lives without seeing that our parents faces are not so radiant and joyful as they once were, but instead lined and careworn and tired from a lifetime of troubles, or the tiny seed we planted all of 30 summers ago, has grown proud and tall with many roots and branches, leaves and twigs. Swaying and bending to the masterful wind, it harbours a whole mini-ecosystem of it's own within the wider world. Often we only notice it when it is broken and thrown to the ground, usually by human vandals. Or disease takes it and withers. I suspect humanity has an inadvertent uncaring hand in that, too. Or you can blame God if you want, but i have it on good knowledge that God gave us free will and is probably wondering why we're wasting it all on shopping and indolence.<br /><br />Some things never change. Take Harle Syke, where i was born and live. Perched on a tall hill overlooking the town of Burnley, on a clear day you can see halfway to Manchester. If you venture to the top of the hill and Haggate, you can see Nelson and perhaps Colne too, and stretching for mile upon mile eastwards, the bleak and beautiful moors that divide Lancashire and Yorkshire.<br /><br />Every day, the sun rises from behind the hill and moorland, and sets far, far to the west beyond Crown Point. The milkman delivers at 5:30 in the morning, the postman a few hours later. The blackbird sings from the telegraph pole, the starling mimics from the rooftops and the hoary old rooks leave their roost in pairs on their long days of foraging to return as the sun sets. The road through the centre of Harle Syke has now been there for centuries and may well last for a couple more... except perhaps not. As i muse on this blog posting, i think how much my large cotton-mill village <em>has</em> changed over the past 30 years.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">As a child, i watched the green fields between the village and Burnley be eaten up by twisting, turning mazes of housing. We're now to all intents and purposes, a suburb. The thrumming cotton mill's have grown silent with their many proud chimneys reduced to two. Neither of which are in use any more, save as memento's of the past. The things which make the place a community are dwindling fast. I remember at least two bakeries, 2 newsagents, 2 butchers, 2 chip shops, 3 grocers, 1 greengrocer, 1 off-license, a haberdashery, 2 hair-dressers, a post office, a bank, a bookmakers, an ironmongers, 2 butchers, a chemist and 3 very exciting sweet shops selling a variety of kayli (you know, the flavoured sugar/sherbert stuff) and goodness knows what else in glass jars, but it all seemed yummy to eat (and well, they <em>seemed</em> to be sweet shops... as a child you don't really look at the other stuff much.)</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Then the super-markets came... and out of town shopping. Things designed to make lives convenient and easy. From the local Spar shop which tries to sell everything to the 3 great super-markets that have enclosed Burnley in a vice-like death-grip.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Harle Syke now has, 1 butcher, 2 hair-dressers, 1 newsagent, 1 chip shop, 1 chemist and a sandwich shop, oh and a kebab/curry shop which i never visit as i'm not a big fan of Indian cuisine alas, with everything else being hoovered up by The Spar. All the little shops with their bustling shoppers passing the time and getting to know one another have long since gone. There's no reason to walk down certain streets now, and no need to meet people. I don't know hardly any of the people on my street any more. They get out of their front door and jump into their cars and they're gone. If you're lucky, you might get a wave and a hello.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Harle Syke feels like a macrocosm of Burnley, which is suffering the same malady that blights the rest of my country. </span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Super-markets. </span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Since a Tesco's opened near the bus station, the town centre has been trapped within a Bermuda Triangle of doom (Tesco's, Sainsbury's and Asda) for the small shop-keep. The recession and rules on smoking in bars plus the violence of the mememe youth generation will make it like a ghost town within the next decade i think. And everyone's too apathetic to try and stop it.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Everywhere i look ,there are To-Let signs up on shops, and the new ones are quickly fleeced into receivership or bankruptcy by landlords pushing rents through the roof, even in the midst of recession. Or by lack of customers... fine products won't save you here. The Super-Markets want to sell everything.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Even Woolworths, which is at the very centre of our town has died.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Late one evening in February, i had cause to be walking from here to there behind the back of the shopping precinct. There's a kind of underground car park there, that touches the back of Woolworths.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">I stopped a moment and listened to the tannoy that plays music all night long, and it seemed to me as i stood there, that i heard the echoing ghost voices of all the dead shops and the once-mighty Woolworth's store, hearking back to happier days when people once bought their wares and filled the town with life and warmth. Hopeful and sad all at once. I'm not sure of the song... but i think i would have liked it to be the one i link below.</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">I turned away and for the first time in my life, wished that i lived anywhere else in the universe, than this town and this country that unravels and twists slowly into a parody of itself and feels like a prison. One we all entered willingly into.</span></div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6DXiyaR5OaIHxpKACw3JSqk2sJUtBwGmAXYs6JtlEuR2MowfNtnjyJTpsdDELm40ZI52GWB7l50PajbL5ShvhvVdt9GkKmssJp8SUtTkCPuWU_zt5CK5lOIpzpOPdKK7Std4/s1600-h/DSC00275.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350745431115562018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6DXiyaR5OaIHxpKACw3JSqk2sJUtBwGmAXYs6JtlEuR2MowfNtnjyJTpsdDELm40ZI52GWB7l50PajbL5ShvhvVdt9GkKmssJp8SUtTkCPuWU_zt5CK5lOIpzpOPdKK7Std4/s400/DSC00275.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Mb3iPP-tHdA&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Mb3iPP-tHdA&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-21258635398613036732009-05-09T07:06:00.015+01:002009-05-28T13:54:39.641+01:00Blue, Birthday, Bath. Spider, Sleeping and Sound. Blue and Fluffy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmmkpw6cNVsP7wbmuJchodU4lvRiMZqEaM8OALjL34qmf9R1otbyOtl4wcIbkg8nB8mHc7AKSHdZv05ng3R3WtHviuCwfcBTm2NPpulxoDfMZlPHJAvXo8rN6LVc3bsMOdo69/s1600-h/DSC00297a.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340268604317223602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmmkpw6cNVsP7wbmuJchodU4lvRiMZqEaM8OALjL34qmf9R1otbyOtl4wcIbkg8nB8mHc7AKSHdZv05ng3R3WtHviuCwfcBTm2NPpulxoDfMZlPHJAvXo8rN6LVc3bsMOdo69/s400/DSC00297a.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">I celebrated my Nth birthday recently... gah!</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">It started nicely with a rescue of a tiny spider i found in my bath. Usually any insects venturing into my bathroom are taking their lives in their... um... Pincers? Claws? Leggy things? And indeed i did make a preliminary assault on it with a hopefully quick clean drowning... but alas it evaded the swirling waters in a mad panic... and seeing that, i paused and felt a twinge of guilt at my attempted murder. The guilt increased as the poor wee thing then sat seemingly resigned to it's fate in the centre of the killzone...</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">"No!" i suddenly decided in a Groundhog Day moment. "No! No creature shall die in my general vicinity on this day while i can help it! (although i reserve the right to genocide if anything lands on my food or disturbs me during those tender private moments of human life)"</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">Which was a bit of a pisser as i'd planned to go and kill loads of stuff today. Ah well...</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">So i got all anglic on its ass, threw it into a cup, gave it a free ride to the outdoors, threw it out of the cup and then tottered sleepily back indoors all beatific and smug with myself to await the milkman before zipping off to bed. It's a goood day!</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">But then the bastard milkman decided to be on holiday, leaving his milk-round in the hands of lesser mortals.... who then, deliberately -deliberately, i say!- and with great malice, then decided to leave the <strong><em>wrong kind of milk. </em></strong>I know what you're thinking. you're thinking "how dare they?!?! String them up! I shall write to my MP forthwith and have them hung on poor Mr The Saturnyne's behalf before the day is out!"</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">Gah!</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">Troubled with my now less-than-saintly thoughts, i still managed to start my cameras sky project before going miserably to bed with added thoughts of a quality-milk-free birthday.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">Only to be awakened 2 hours later by some bastard on a fork-lift truck vrooming around and picking things up... all fucking day long! Which was very unsporting of him. I let him know the extent of my anger by waving my fist through the curtains at him while shoving the pillow over my head with the other hand.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">Well, that's my day completely fucked. Was meant to go out to a friends in the evening, but such is my tiredness by 4pm, that i fall utterly asleep and don't wake up until 6pm the next day.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:180%;color:#66cccc;">Double-Gah!!!</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#66cccc;">Anyway.... above is the birthday pic i took for my sky project (this one from my camera-phone)... am aiming for subtle, with the drama being in the viewers own eye.<br /><br />but then again, skies have a way of showing you things. Below is a sky pic i sent to da Pumpkin, taken on the morning of her birthday. I think i shall do this with all my friends from now on.<br /></span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzvVWjm94GkykU0p6FtHAo5PK4DDazXpLajcZKOS-zbfuWJfbJUUFC2YRhpLSVbyszwQNa2Q1DW7iGo1pmbexjv57KynoO5eakX29uvzP0Zhz0_YjCy7pgD7LPdeHo8Xu8i2kY/s1600-h/DSC00290b.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340273997476379746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzvVWjm94GkykU0p6FtHAo5PK4DDazXpLajcZKOS-zbfuWJfbJUUFC2YRhpLSVbyszwQNa2Q1DW7iGo1pmbexjv57KynoO5eakX29uvzP0Zhz0_YjCy7pgD7LPdeHo8Xu8i2kY/s400/DSC00290b.jpg" /></a></div>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-59101838746472821402009-02-05T22:03:00.002+00:002009-04-18T02:45:42.319+01:002 Dreams<span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Dream 1.</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"There's no-one makes steak pie as good as your Mum"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And he smiled broadly and with pride.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">My mum is an indifferent cook with most things. Took me years to cultivate her to the many culiniary delights of herbs, and even now she is practically a fascist in the kitchen with things like the poor garlic, exterminating it ruthlessly from any recipes that might benefit from a dash of its flavour.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">It was a dream, but it's exactly the kind of thing my dad says in real life, and as i reflect on his words, the love shines forth from them. There<em> is</em> truth however, in what my dad says, even though he would say it with fanatical loyalty about most of her cooking. You don't stay married for 50 years and more without <em>some</em> kind of fanaticism.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Anyway, she was fine, indeed awesome, with buns and pastries, although she sadly no longer has the inclination to make such things. I do miss her pancakes, too.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And her steak pies <em>are</em> good. <em>Very</em> good!</span><br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Dream 2:</span></strong><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">On the main road that runs through Harle Syke. I walked. My peace was disturbed by the blast of two fighter jets flying overhead. Something urgent about them made me keep my eyes to the sky. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Then the rather large passenger jet flew over. It had a broken back and squeezed fuselage, like a giant hand had been gripping it tightly. It was obviously in trouble. Like a great bird in pain trying to get back to roost before nightfall.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The plane vanished above the rooftops, fate unknown, and swiftly followed by one of those twin bladed military choppers flying at incredible speed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">As i watched the chinook, i started to become aware of a scream like a howling wind, and turning once more in the direction from where all the other aircraft had come i was shocked to see another large passenger jet flying less that a hundred feet above the rooftops.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"Christ, that's low!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And then i am silent. My jaw dropping. The plane has no wings- they've been torn off! It's dying. I don't even register the possibility of people inside, it's just a great beast falling to death.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">One second later, it has crashed in a scream of tortured metal against stone and glass into a row of houses on the main road. Fiery red shrapnel hurtles in all directions. It's loud and hot and terrifying. I dive behind a wall and pray.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And then i wake up. A look of horror on my face- Bastard dreams, i wish they'd eff off for a bit. It's like bloody kids hanging around on the corner, waiting until you turn your back, before throwing god-knows-what at you. I once had an egg chucked at me from a speeding car one late night after carousing round the local bars. Nowadays, they probably throw grenades or rotting foetuses. maan, they really upped the ante!</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Discerning readers of this blog will automatically make (probably) astute guesses as to what these dreams mean. If indeed, they mean anything at all. For those of a less Sherlock inclination or just a bit lazy, i will relate a brief conversation i had with Da Pumpkin about the second one.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff9900;">"What do you think it signifies, Plebby?"</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"The 2 planes are metaphors for the worries i feel about my mum and dad and their impending deaths."</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff9900;">"Oh. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff9900;">Do you ever ask a question, and then quickly wish you hadn't?"</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">"All the time, my Shining Sun of Gourdness. All the time."</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">S.x</span>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-64784987652236864202009-01-24T04:05:00.010+00:002009-03-26T17:38:01.291+00:00Kitchens and Other Sorrows<span style="font-size:130%;">She's only a tiny woman. No more than 5 feet high at the most on a good day. And today, watching her slicing peppers for the evening meal, one shoulder hanging lower than the other and her face creased in wrinkles from pain and depression, i know that my mother is a long way from having a good day.<br /><br />Arthiritis and a badly failing hip are just two of the signs that my mother is getting old. Other things i see creeping up on her. The terraced home that she took pride in keeping spotless for over 60 years, has little by little, been getting slowly just a little more unkempt... things that i lazily took for granted would magically clean themselves while i slept, are slowly revealing my mothers failings both to her and me.<br /><br />In the other room, either glued to his armchair, or the commode beside it, my stroke-cursed father can only watch the world go by with frustration and despair. The box, with it's cheesy afternoon detective programmes and light entertainment offers the only distractons to his paralysis. At the slightest emotion on the actors faces, his own face melts into tears.<br /><br />"You big soft sod" we say to him, embarrassed for him. And my mother laughs. If you turn and look at her, though, she's crying softly too. This is her man still, you see. They neither of them thought that their lives would come to this. A constant erosion of all their self-respect and dignity. Quicker than a tidal cliff, but not slow enough to keep one blissfully untroubled at night.<br /><br />"We've all got to go in the end" my mum says quietly, determinedly cutting the veg with the bluntest knife in the kitchen. I gave up years ago trying to point out the useful practicalities of sharper utensils, amongst many other things. You just can't tell people what to do. Never could. We are set in our ways like granite. Only more permeable, like sandstone. Sometimes it needs a tectonic shift to open our eyes and ears.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">.<br />I know though. I know, even though they don't say it. My mum and dad are afraid. Afraid of death, and afraid of all the things left undone in their lives. Most of all afraid of how <em>we</em>, the living will manage without them, once they're gone. I know they worry about me a lot. but there is diamond in these bones and eyes of mine and diamond is an enduring mineral, y'know.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />I'll manage. I might cry. But i'll manage to get by somehow.<br /><br />"When i get a quiet moment to myself, i often think about my mum and dad. Sometimes i talk to them like they are in the room with me, waiting. It's been such a long time since i saw them now, especially my mum. I miss them.... will be good to see them again".<br /><br />And from my memory, comes words from a young woman, written on the back of a seaside postcard over 50 years ago to <em>her man</em>, away so long overseas fighting in a forgotten war. Giving him hope and keeping some for herself.<br /><br />"It won't be long now, my love, before we are together again"<br /><br />I think I'll manage. I might cry. But i'll manage to get by somehow.<br /><br />S.x</span>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-25821614326907138592009-01-20T16:51:00.004+00:002009-01-20T20:58:07.446+00:00Forty Four<span style="font-size:130%;">Dear Sir</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">When all the poetic rhetoric is done. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">When all the fine speeches are crafted, then read out with a grace lacking in your thuggish simian predecessor. </span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">When a million people have hung breathless on your every word, intoxicated for the almost Messiah-like hopes you have instilled in them..</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">(And that's just a few of the citizens who will be there with you in this sunny winter day)</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">When the world too pauses just for a second, watching their television sets and listening to their radio's. Some with more cynicism than hope. After all... we practically <em>have</em> seen it all before, if you think about it long enough.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Remember that you're just a man. Whatever you do now, can probably just as easily be undone by the 45th or a million other variables. In a thousand years, no-one will remember much about you anyway. Just do your best. Do as little damage as possible, if nothing else.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">(And i... for my part will remember our Albions 72th... and the adulation and hope <em><strong>he</strong></em> brought with him... only to see all those hopes dashed and a country and it's democracy shattered upon the wheels and cogs of money and greed. <em><strong>My</strong></em> country is fucked. <em><strong>You</strong></em> have a much bigger responsibility, and the world awaits your arrival. Godspeed.</span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">S.</span>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7220344.post-71808202895185188742008-12-26T07:01:00.003+00:002008-12-26T07:16:58.868+00:00Aww Eartha... your timing was perfect. As usual<span style="font-size:130%;">I first saw Eartha Kitt about 20 years ago as a teenager and i thought out loud "Eww! Horror!"<br /><br />She didn't look... quite the prettiest woman in the world, and her stage show seemed... so quiche!<br /><br />(Yes, new expression)<br /><br />But then i heard Santa Baby, for the first time, about eight years ago. And just swooned out loud. And saw the young person she was. Thought "Phwoarr!" And decided i could forgive her anything after that.<br /><br />So i found a picture of the young Eartha, not the old, and am amused that it is a Norwegian magazine cover. Hello to my very few secret blog readers in Norwayyy!<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiPMrYS0y05DWWQYKvfRnj_uavIFIhDKqBlPX7h1ZxQ57-dEWbWRNco0y74LJ2H30NRlpoyyBTaFkqUMm5NgIaznO_ZWL05sWFpe0B-CByO6NUbIdA9WqPE-Qox_nD-O-zzFem/s1600-h/eartha_kittcover.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283994039567902354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 299px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiPMrYS0y05DWWQYKvfRnj_uavIFIhDKqBlPX7h1ZxQ57-dEWbWRNco0y74LJ2H30NRlpoyyBTaFkqUMm5NgIaznO_ZWL05sWFpe0B-CByO6NUbIdA9WqPE-Qox_nD-O-zzFem/s400/eartha_kittcover.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><br />That song is oozing lust and pash! What an awesome woman!<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sFfxIA952Bw&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sFfxIA952Bw&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />S.x</span>The Saturnynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09175020361276758627noreply@blogger.com3