Grannymar

Friend (F): Did you not go out tobogganing?

Me (M): LOL! I went ice skating instead. Snow is for young people, I was out for 30 mins today and an hour on 29th Dec.

(F): You won’t break any records with that!

(M): I don’t want to break anything.

(F): I Don’t blame you.

(M): I stood at the front door several times in the last week and my chest felt it was in a vice, it was not good I can tell you.

(F): Did you go out in the car today?

(M): A friend drove me. It is still very icy here.

(F): A toyboy????

(M): Not this time.

(F): Aaaw!

(M): My little neighbour has a bad chest infection and her water pipes are frozen. I took her down a large jug of water.

(F): Did you hear we’re facing water shortages here in Dublin?

(M): Nothing surprises me any more.

(F): Due to silly people running taps to stop pipes freezing plus breaks in water pipes!

(M): My sister has frozen water pipes – it is outside the house somewhere.

(F): Water pressure has been reduced around Dublin to conserve supply.

(M): Our water pressure is always reduced automatically in the winter months.

(F): We’ve lost internet connection here tonight.

(M): Remember how life was when we were young?

(F): I grew up in old house with no central heating only open fires.

(M): We have become so attached to the internet and central heating, how did we manage years ago? RTE 1 Television [only one station] - from 6pm to midnight or a radio the size of a wardrobe.  No mobile phones or computers, sitting round an open fire with our fronts scorched and our backs frozen! Shins covered in abc’s.  If you went out to get more coal, someone stole your warm seat!

(F): I remember it well. We had stone hot jars too for bedtime, jaysus, it makes me feel ancient! We had to put them in beds to stop them (beds) getting damp.

(M): Yeah, those days were awful. Frost on the inside of the windows, you got dressed to get into bed and then undressed and dressed again under the bedclothes in the morning! Oh! I remember not wanting to sit on the loo seat because it was so cold!

(F): ROFLOL!

(M): Stop laughing, it was no joke.

(F): You are telling me!  I still perch on one cheek sometimes ‘cos of the cold!

(M): I became a dab hand at sitting on my knickers.

(F): I dare you put that in a blog post.

(M): I will too! In the morning.

The moral of the story is never dare me to do something!

From the moment I wake up in the morning to the time I try to sleep at night, my eyes are working non stop acting like a camcorder. Everything I look at is then sent to my brain (do I really have one?) for processing and storage much like on a DVD.

Our eyes are a very complex part of our bodies and nature has provided many features which protect the eyes. The eyebrows are the strips of hair above your eyes which prevent sweat from running into them. Eyelashes help keep the eye clean by collecting small dirt and dust particles floating through the air. The eyelashes also protect the eye from the sun’s and other light’s glare. The eyelids sweep dirt from the surface of the eye. The eyelid also protects the eye from injury. Tears are sterile drops of clean water which constantly bathe the front of the eye, keeping it clean and moist.

Did you know…..

Most people blink every 2-10 seconds.

Each time you blink, you shut your eyes for 0.3 seconds, which means your eyes are closed at least 30 minutes a day just from blinking.

If you only had one eye, everything would appear two-dimensional. (This does not work just by closing one eye.)

Owls can see a mouse moving over 150 feet away with light no brighter than a candle. The reason cat’s and dog’s eyes glow at night is because of silver mirrors in the back of their eyes called the tapetum. This makes it easier for them to see at night.

An ostrich has eyes that are two inches across. Each eye weighs more than the brain. A chameleon’s eyes can look in opposite directions at the same time.

A newborn baby sees the world upside down because it takes some time for the baby’s brain to learn to turn the picture right-side up.

One in every twelve males is colour blind.

You must learn that it is OK to be sad.

The Sad is not to be ashamed of.

The Sad is a part of life.

But it is to be a ladder to greater things, not a stone that is thrown at you and makes you fall.

You must take The Sad and let it grow you.

You must climb up.

You must let pain make you stronger and wiser.

The Sad is not your enemy unless you let it attach to you and choke you, and pull you down.

You must feel The Sad before you can leave it behind you.

Everything happens for a reason, it is true.

But that does not mean you cannot have The Sad, for a time.

~ Tomás, Hailey’s Mr Happy.

This week I cried.

I cried for three reasons.

Perhaps I should rethink watching videos.

This first video made me cry because it might be me tomorrow.  OR it might be you!  [Give it time (Approx. 85 minutes) - Directed and Produced by Shari Cookson and Nick Doob].  If you don’t want to watch all of it there is an article to accompany it.

http://www.hbo.com/alzheimers/memory-loss-tapes.html

Thank you wise web woman for drawing my attention to it.

*o*o*o*o*

The second time I cried was when I watched this video on Will Knott’s blog.  Will explained:

Michael O’Brien, former councillor and Mayor of Clonmel attended the RTÉ programme Questions and Answers on 25 May 2009 and, after Minister Noel Dempsey, the sponsoring minister of the Ryan Commission report in to Child Abuse allegations spoke, Mr O’Brien spoke to the minister and to the panel.

If you have any difficulty with local accent a transcript can be found here

Below is an extract I wrote in reply to an email I received during the week on the topic of abuse:

Here in Ireland and indeed the UK we are knee deep in articles about, and as a result of, this weeks report from the Commission to Inquire Into Child Abuse.  For so many it is an opportunity to now openly and for the first time accept and talk about what happened to them in childhood.

In 1996 the Congregation of the Sisters of Mercy, a Roman Catholic religious order, apologized unconditionally for the ”physical and emotional trauma” its nuns inflicted on children raised in its orphanages and schools.

I attended one of their day schools in Dublin for five years.  It was new.  They called it a College in order to charge greater fees.  I was a slow learner, a fact I constantly admit to.  On a daily basis I was caned, belittled, invited to remove my shoes and socks to use my toes for counting!  I was told I was stupid and would N-E-V-E-R make anything of myself.  I was extremely thin (6st 12ozs by the time I reached 21!) and this was remarked upon regularly in class, it was considered a cause for amusement.

The report this week does not cover abuse by diocesan clergy who are not members of a religious order, that is separate and yet to come.

If that was not enough we were regularly bellowed at from the pulpit with threats of ‘Hellfire and Damnation’!

Alas, the past week has upset me as I think of those whose lives were ruined; and for myself I feel the pull of the dark clouds dragging me back to the darkness of those early years.

Is it any wonder that Ireland is known as a nation of Alcoholics!

I did know some excellent Catholic Clergy but you could count them on one hand.

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The third time I cried was for a very different reason, they were tears of laughter

Patricia, buxom blonde and alter ego of Paddy Anglican will be aided by an item belonging to Grannymar and once the day is over, and the item freshly laundered, it will be auctioned for charity.  So start counting your pennies…

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Recently we had a discussion about bugs, flies and mosquitoes.  Several of you suggested solutions to deal with these little pests.

The next morning while sitting up in bed with my constant companion (the radio), the following line from ‘Thought for the Day’, caught my attention and I just had to share it with you.

“If you think you are too small to be effective,

You have never been to bed with a mosquito!”

~ Rev Roy Jenkins

He was sitting silently on the floor with his legs crossed, right outside the apartment door. He had been there for hours. I could see him through the peephole. The doorbell had stopped buzzing about 9pm. How did he get into the building? The front door from the street opened by a buzzer system or a tenant’s key. I had no phone buzz to ask admittance, somebody must have held the door open and allowed him through.

It was not the first time.

He was there a week previously and rang the bell at fifteen minute intervals before finally leaving at about midnight. Tonight he looked like he was there to stay. I hoped one of the other tenants would venture out into the hall on their way to or from the laundry room in the basement. Nobody stirred. The building was always very quiet it was one of the things that appealed to me about the apartment. I seldom saw my neighbours. We were all out at work every day. Our contracts did not allow for loud music and baths were forbidden after 10.30pm on a week night, in case the running and emptying water disturbed our neighbours on the other floors. There was no restriction about early morning bathing.

The building was four floors high with the owner having his office and living quarters in the pent house. The Janitor lived in the basement and we also had laundry and drying rooms down there. On each of the three floors between these two were four apartments. Mine was on the first floor up at the back of the building so there was no way of knowing if I was at home other than by pressing the buzzer. The large windows in my living room, bedroom and bathroom faced the back garden and there was no access from the street.

I was home early and it was still daylight when he arrived and rang the bell on my inner front door. The only other person to ring that internal bell was the Janitor. I didn’t have the radio switched on and there was no need for lights. I was writing letters to my family and friends back in Ireland so the place was silent. The carpet swallowed any sound from my stocking feet as I approached the door to look through the peephole. There was no way I would open that door!

When darkness fell I refrained from switching on any lights so as not to draw attention to the fact I was there. I had no telephone and we had no mobiles in the early seventies, so without going outside I had no way of calling for assistance. Once I stayed inside there was no danger. Staying calm I got into bed.

I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep! I counted sheep. It didn’t work. I named my 657 thousand cousins and was still wide awake. I looked through the peephole and he was still there and not sleeping either.

I poured myself a stiff drink and planned what I would do in the morning. In the morning! What was I talking about? It was already dawn. The drink relaxed me and my head grew heavy, I must have dozed off.

I woke with a jump! It was the sound of the door to the stairwell closing that woke me. I went to look through the peephole once more and to my great relief the intruder had gone!

My problem was I knew who he was.

His wife worked with me, we got on well together and I really liked her. She had invited me to join them for dinner a month previously. At the time I had no car, there was no need for one since I was within walking distance of work. The wife drove me to her home straight from work and at the end of an enjoyable evening the husband offered to drop me back to my apartment. Accepting the lift, I thought nothing of it, I had lifts before from other friends and there was no problem. That night things were different. The husband once in the car and a safe distance away from his home, made advances that were way beyond the bounds of decency. I threatened to report him to the police and got out of the car as fast as I could. I ran all the way home and thankfully he didn’t follow me.

That was the longest and loneliest night of my life. I felt dirty and damaged. I broke the house rules and ran a bath. No amount of bathing would wash those memories from my brain. I didn’t go to the police. I was in a foreign country, a guest at this man’s home, a passenger in his car, we had drink taken and it was my word against his. He was a married man and back then women were not really believed in such situations.

So now I had decisions to make. I dressed for work and prepared what I would say. It was not easy telling my colleague what her husband was doing. She was not surprised or shocked, but aware that he was out the night before and on several other nights recently. It turns out they had problems in the past and they were surfacing once more. She called for medical help and he was admitted to the psychiatric ward of the local hospital. From then on, much as I tried to leave those dark events behind me, my job lost its lustre so I handed in my notice and made arrangements to return to Ireland.

Slowly and with time the memories faded and I was able to live a normal life. Good friends, love and laughter returned and life was worth living once more.

Ramana Rajgopaul from Ramana’s Musings, has recently taken to reading and commenting on my blog posts.  I had tip-toed through his musings on many an occasion since I discovered him at Paddy Bloggit’s.  Ramana lives in Pune, India, with his wife, son and father. A multi-generational family.

In a recent post: The Empty Nest Syndrome. Ramana spoke about how he and his wife Urmeela went through the empty nest syndrome on three separate occasions. I found this surprising since they like me, he has only one child.  I realise that in India, adult children living with parents and grand parents is still quite prevalent and family ties are very strong.

No matter where you live or how many children you have; love, energy, time, heart ache, pride, and worry all go into the caring and nurturing of each individual child. The best gift we can hope to give any child is to raise them with love and self worth, teach them to have respect both for themselves and for their fellow man, while also teaching them to stand on their own two feet independently of their parents.  If we achieve that then all the time invested is worthwhile.

It is a nice feeling to have my daughter home when she WANTS to be here and wants to spend time with me rather than because she NEEDS to be, or worse still because I NEED her to be here with me.

I commented on Ramana’s post thus:

I try not to think about empty nests.
My mother died in 1996 at the age of 82, it was ten weeks after a stroke. Since she lived over 100 miles away from me I had problems spending time with her. My husband was ill with cancer at the time. Six weeks after my mother’s death my daughter (one and only) left home for University in Scotland and her dad died a year and a half later.
My home has been quiet since then; it feels like the heart has gone out of it. My daughter visits when ever she can but she has a husband of her own now, a job and home to run. I have been known to say ‘I gave her life and not a life sentence of caring for me!’
I am not a lonely person and make the best of whatever life throws my way. With the internet and blogging the outside world comes in to me. I am so fortunate.

Ramana replied:

@Grannymar, That is a very poignant comment. I wonder if you could consider expanding your last paragraph in one of your posts. I too differentiate between loneliness and solitude. I look forward to every possible occasion when I can have some solitude. I too use the internet and blogging to connect with the outside world.

‘I am not a lonely person and make the best of whatever life throws my way. With the internet and blogging the outside world comes in to me. I am so fortunate.‘

There were four people already living in the house when I first showed my face to the world.  My father, mother and two older brothers, within two years we were six and numbers increased until we were eight in total.  Added to this was a multitude of relations that covered several generations from both sides of the family who came for rest or recuperation.  My mother was a Master Caregiver.  This care she gave to everyone without stinting or the help of my father.  He saw his role in life as the breadwinner, and once he produced the money to pay for food, clothing and household bills then he was free to rest and read.

We children provided help and there was always plenty to do.  Reading and resting were not in my lexicon back then.  With so many people in the house and visitors coming and going, it was difficult to find a quiet spot for reflection.  I often longed to have a place of my own with no interruption.

My move to Germany in the early 70’s gave me that space and I loved coming home to a quiet apartment where I could hear myself think and not fall over half a dozen pair’s of feet every time I entered a room.  I really grew during that time.  I learned to really budget with nobody to borrow from when funds were low.  We had no mobile phones or PCs then and a letter took nearly five days to reach home.  If I had a problem I had to find my own way to deal with it.  I worked with and learned from people of many different cultures, creeds and languages.

When I returned home to live in Ireland, three of my brothers were married and living in homes of their own.  The house was a little quieter and I had time to rebuild a social life and travel.  After a few years I met Jack and we married within the year.  My move to Co Antrim was not easy.  It was the height of the troubles and I was a ‘stranger’ moving into this town!  The natives were very wary of me and my southern accent. It was more difficult to make friends.  I way young and in love and made the best of my life.  I have outlived the people who were horrible to me and eventually make some friends.

My health issues of the past six years prevent me from working. There are times when I am unable to go out or feel at risk both to myself and to others driving my car, on such days the Internet and blogging are my salvation.  The world comes in to me! Blogging has allowed me to meet virtually and personally the most amazing group of diverse people of all ages & persuasions stretched across the globe.

Did you know you were good for my health?

Follow all the people who follow me on Twitter but….

There are only so many hours in a day.

I have a real life.

I need to cook and clean

I need to move, take exercise and rest my eyes from the computer screen

I have a blog to maintain and feed

So my solution is: If I don’t already know you, or your blog, or at least three people on your list of followers, then sorry not this time!

Learn about Facebook…

Again it is time consuming. I think had I realised what it was like at the beginning I might never have joined in the first place.

It is one thing to accept somebody as a friend, but when every single request requires opening yet another application – not my thing at all. I am not being rude but Facebook BORES me!

Be a Judge for the Irish Blog Awards…

I thought about it last year. I thought about it again this year but…

If on the off chance I am nominated, and there are practically no categories that I would fit neatly into, then it would rule me out of judging those. I have to admit that some of the categories I know little or nothing about, for example, technology, business and music, so they are out.

Then we have colour – that was the final straw for my decision to stay away. The blogs themselves are the problem. Black and some coloured backgrounds are a major problem for me to read. Today I opened a blog for the first time and I am sure the content was fascinating, but I was straining my eyes and the print was ghosting! I was unable to find where to comment to even inform the author of my difficulty because the print was so feint.

What is the point in going to the trouble of setting up and running a blog if people cannot read it?

I want to play my part, I owe it for all the fun I have had these past couple of years, but I would have Damien’s head turned, saying I cant’t see this one, or I know nothing about that subject…

OK I am no longer a youngling, and I do have a cataract forming in one eye, but I can still see and my eyes were tested recently and my glasses are fine!

I suppose I could offer an hour on the desk on the big night!

Over the past few days Steph wrote about the perils of drinking and driving. Alas the total number of road deaths in the south of Ireland for 2008 has now reached 276. All the TV and newspaper advertising is geared towards not drinking if you are going to drive a car.

Yesterday the Gardaí named three teenagers killed in a road crash in Tipperary on New Years Eve. They were young men aged 14, 16 and 17 all from the County. Two others, a 15-year-old boy and a 16 year-old-girl, were injured. They remain in a serious condition in hospital in Limerick. The five teenagers were travelling in a car at around 7.30pm near Nenagh. Gardaí said the crash happened when the car left the road, mounted a ditch and hit a tree.  The report did not say who the driver was. The oldest of the group was 17 years old and that is the legal age to learn to drive. This all made me think…..

Most young learner drivers practice in small low powered cars. They are, or should be accompanied by a qualified driver. The process involves learning the rules of the road, how to read road signs, speed limits and using the manual controls of the vehicle. So you learn how to signal, Parallel Park, reverse and three point turns and most important how to make an emergency stop. All this is very laudable and grand. Even when the person sits the test there are only two people in the car – the tester and the testee.

At no point that I am aware of, does the Highway Code cover driving a car full of giggling passengers. Does it tell you how the extra weight of passengers in the back seats or a heavy load in the boot can affect how a car moves when brakes are applied or when going around a bend? I think that part of the learning process should take place in a simulator that covers all weather and load conditions. Pilots use these type of simulators as part of their training so why not road drivers. Are there not more road deaths world wide than aircraft fatalities?

Here in Northern Ireland once a person has passed a written test and a practical one they graduate from ‘L’ plates to ‘R’ plates for six months. The ‘R’ is for restricted driving. With ‘R’ plates the driver may drive unaccompanied but must not exceed 45 miles per hour on any road. It may not prevent all deaths but it does help.

It is enough to bring on a bout of SAD!

First of all we heard it on RTE

Then The King confirms it

It is spreading like the plague so be careful or before you know it, we will reach the point of no return. So what is my fevered mumbling all about? Have you not guessed?

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Christmas is Cancelled

Now I’ve said it! That young whipper-snapper at Dec’s Rambling spells it out in no uncertain terms, go read it!

Hang on! Hang on!

Before you go galloping off, spare a thought for The Queen of England with that enormous house with 775 rooms to heat. I think she is finding it tough at the moment.

Would you agree?

UPDATE: A comment added on 11th August 2009 from Andy McKinna tells me he did this picture for b3ta.com.  Thanks Andy!