What’s a mystery from your own life that you’ve never solved?
Now this is a question with a million answers. I am fairly certain the resolution of many of my mysteries will always be just out of reach. I have been the oldest family member in my known family for more than 30 years. Giving me a big bag of family mysteries. Then there are the workplace mysteries. Why did certain things go the way they did? Then there are the domestic mysteries, those are often the least interesting and yet the most pressing.
As an avid ponderer I think mysteries are either a superpower or the essential fuel of the craft of pondering.
If I eradicated all my mysteries what would I do all day?
I prefer the latin word for ponder.
Somehow it gives pondering, or indeed mystery solving more importance.
Beltane the fiery and traditional welcome to Summer. Celebrated on 30th of April or the 1st of May, May Day.
Maybe Lola was feeling the beat of Pagan drums through her paws yesterday when she was feeling so excited about being out and about in the fresh air.
Beltane was the traditional time for putting livestock out to summer pastures. Lola is the closest thing to livestock we have.
Since Hugo died our dog-walking life has taken a different pattern. Hugo favoured walks and adventure over all things. Lola prefers bed and sleeping over all things.
Until yesterday I would never have noticed her excitement at being out on a particular day. Because Hugo was excited to be out every day.
Dogs just like children give me parental guilt. Am I a good enough and effective parent for them to thrive and be happy.
I was a parent to children long before I was a dog mum. I wish it had been the other way round. But life is life and a constant learning experience.
This morning Lola has reverted to bed Lola. Beltane is done for her.
People have asked for my organic dog poo processing recipe . So here goes with that.
We have been dog owners for 13 years . Most of that time we were city- based with either a small garden or, as now, a small yard. For a while we lived in the countryside and this method worked well there too.
A long time ago I had friends with two big dogs and a large garden who long before the internet buried a bottomless compost bin 1/3 into the ground in an area out of the way. When their dogs did a poo in the garden it was popped in the bin with tea leaves and coffee grounds from the kitchen. Worms and other creatures who chomp on unthinkable things found their way into the bin. There was never a smell and the bin seemed to settle at about 2/3 full
Our small London garden could not have housed such a big item, but we experimented with a terracotta rhubarb forcer. The same organic magic happened. Just poo, tea leaves and coffee grounds. Our Rhubarb forcers also seem to settle at 2/3 full
In both cases our friends dogs and our dogs were not habitual pooers in the garden . This system works for dog bathroom emergencies. It might well work for larger quantities. I see no reason why it wouldn’t .
The only time the system needs to be disturbed is when moving house or relocating the Rhubarb Forcers.*
The first time I moved the Rhubarb Forcers was because of a house move. I approached the job with trepidation but ultimately all was well . We had stopped using them 3 months before. Collecting our garden dog waste in poo bags and delivering them to poo bins that the council provided on the streets.
Trepidation was completely unnecessary. The compost created was almost perfect. Fine, light brown compost, no smell. Had I been presenting a gardening programme I would have romantically run my fingers through it in the style of the opening scenes of Gladiator, as Maximus runs his fingers through ears of corn. The only minor problem was that some t-bag bags did not seem to be biodegradable but as we always split them it was easy enough to pick them out. We decided to only use actual tea leaves and coffee grounds in future.
One rhubarb forcer per dog seems perfect. When one is nearly full we put a lid on it and open the other for business. Allowing rain and sunshine in.
The other two times I have had to move the Rhubarb Forcers the results have been the same. Lovely compost.
*Rhubarb Forcers are bottomless terracotta pots
Enough of poo . Now for miraculous results.
Two Rhubarb Forcers, a palm tree and a black gumtree.
Hidden under our rogue Pampas Grass was this palm tree and to a degree the mid to lower levels of the gumtree. Now the Pampas has had serious remedial cutting-back the almost unbelievable growth of the palm tree has been revealed. He was certainly on Death Row for the last 5 years but 2 years ago I moved the Rhubarb Forcers very close to where he was planted. Last year he did not do much that I noticed but under cover of far too much Pampas Grass he has made a ridiculous achievement of growth. I wonder if the Pampas and the Black Gum are also benefitting from the close proximity of dog and coffee organic matter. Who could begin to guess, but now we are down to just one dog I wonder if supply and demand may be a problem..
And so onto the second inconsequential recipe.
There is an element of squabbling in one of the organisations I work for. Not a life or death issue but troublesome to those involved and troubling to those on the sidelines. Intervention might be needed and then again it might not.
My father and grandfather were both rural men at heart but whose career choices forced them to manage other humans. Other humans are complex creatures with foibles and opinions or views on how life should be.
Intervention is sometimes needed but timing is everything.
My grandad would reassure my dad that , ” Sometimes people need to be left to stew in their own juice for a bit”
My dad would say the same thing to me in the early stages of my career.
I have no idea if this was just familial advice or East Anglian wisdom passed down.
But I do find that allowing squabbling humans some time, “Stewing in their own juice” is a very effective recipe for some types of conflict resolution.
Two recipes on a Wednesday that may never be needed. Until they are.
Janner must have told Argyle there were rich pickings in our yard and that scaling the expensive fence extension that we built was a world of wonder .
Argyle researched her great escape earlier in the week.
What Janner had failed to mention to Argyle, was Lola.
I can’t add much to fill a whole blog. Lola buried her face in Argyle’s ample bottom. Our neighbour came round to collect his chicken and not much more can be done. Our wall extender is as high as it can be legally. Only the climbing plants can ‘accidentally’ increase the defensive barrier. Only steroids would make them grow faster.
The sun and a hill are not on our side.The sun arcs across the sea to the south of our East/ West yard. All the tender young shoots of the climbing plants turn their faces to the sun and grow towards our neighbours yard. Delicious nibbles for adventurous chickens have been available since early April. On the chicken side our eight foot wall/fence combo is only about 4 feet high. The massive 18 inch,thick stone wall is an easy chicken hop from their much higher ground level. It was also an easy bunny hop but the large lop eared Dutch rabbit that hopped avoided capture by our dogs and made good its escape across our subterranean garage and was never seen again.
Only yesterday I was congratulating myself that the wall extension and climbing plants were at last providing greater privacy in our yard. The secondary consideration beyond livestock control. Pride came before chicken invasion.
I sense a sketch might make this all the more understandable. Top to bottom our yard probably drops about 10 to 12 feet.
Looking South from our French Windows. Chicken not to scale.
Life on our Peninsula has been compromised by a block of flats at a road pinch point being declared unsafe. Residents of this block and surrounding buildings have been evacuated and roads are closed. Dreadful for all those people whose homes are compromised.
There is a complex one way road system in place to protect everyone from the potential risk of this building falling down.
Everyone on the Peninsula has had to alter plans. I was so successful at changing my Monday plans that I thought it was a Tuesday. So yesterday I cracked on early with my day doing my Wednesday jobs only realising I was a whole day early when one destination was closed.
Having returned home using the complex current arrangements for roads, I relaxed until a call from my Tuesday appointment at 11 am reminded me where I should be on Tuesday. By midday I was on track for Tuesday jobs on Tuesday. By midday today, Wednesday, I am on track for all Wednesday jobs for the second time this week.
All minor stuff really compared to all those people who are out of their homes but strange how a wrinkle in normal life can disrupt thought processes.
But today is also World Earth Day, not just any old Wednesday. Wherever we are the Earth is our shared experience. I am extremely lucky that my current normal day at the office looks like this.
Yesterday I was seeking some quiet perfection at the Tennis Club. Quiet perfection was not available. The club was overrun by feral children and some minor but sensible rules were being broken. But as I left, this beautiful Calla Arum Lily caught my eye.
On top of the feral children and minor rule breaking there had also been some mansplaining, which can irritate the tits off most women.
So not only was I not particularly relaxed but I was mentally very flat chested.
The day was not lost though, I discovered a new- to-me word.
In fact, as luck would have it, the father of some of the feral children had adopted a braggadocious tone when I remonstrated with one of the children who was climbing on the roof of the clubhouse.
” Oh don’t worry about that” he said braggadociously.
“They do far more dangerous things elsewhere”
Perfection
Perfection is not always what you seek but what is delivered to you.
I suspect my face may have not hidden all of my thoughts on his comment.
Moments later he offered me a cold slice of his left over Pizza.
Another greige day and an early morning soaking for me and Lola.
Greige weather and chores/ domestic admin does not a wholly exciting day make.
A series of rearranged appointments gave me a schedule that a Kardashian might be proud of. Kardashians exist in the periphery of my knowledge base. I am sure they are many interesting things but High Maintenance Women would be #1 in my fact list about then.
Yesterday all my chores required me to be entirely present.
Mindful of my speed awareness course* last week I knew that only optimal time management could enable me to be in the right place at the right time for the three time sensitive appointments of the day.
The first one was already on rocky ground after the early morning soaking which required a change of clothes.
*By identifying the cause of my speeding as squeezing too much into a day.
Let me be honest, a manicure, lung function tests and a haircut all within a 6 mile radius are not exactly the stuff of great jeopardy. But I really dislike being late or missing appointments.
I imagine a Kardashian might have a driver and a PA who could mitigate the rush involved with a cluster of appointments.
Mine just clustered, and until last week and a hundred pounds fine, I wouldn’t have worried over much.
As it happened all went like clockwork.
But I was somewhat late for the lung function test. 50 years late!
Digital record keeping and Digital native medical staff have everything actually at their finger tips.
Analogue records are a little more archaic.
In asking who prescribed my Asthma inhaler you might expect a fairly swift response. But I was trawling the names of a lifetime of G.P’s.
The selection of timescale tick boxes also didn’t stretch to 50 years .
Most importantly though I didn’t speed to catch up.
But there is something in common with my asthma diagnosis and last weeks Speed awareness course. It was also 50 years since I have actually read the Highway code.
I have a bit of catching up to do. Within the speed limit of course.
Yesterday did not go to plan, our proposed destination was packed with holiday makers and festival goers squeezing the last moments out of the school Easter Holidays.
Luckily a chance conversation with a patient earlier in the week took us to a nearby beach that was much quieter.But also deeply surreal as the sea had turned the colour of red wine and was stormily bubbling like a cauldren. An earlier clifffall had turned the sea into a mass of red water with pink surf. If staring out to sea is mesmeric at the best of times then yesterday it was 10 times more spellbinding.
Nothing felt quite as it should. Funny how a colour change was quite so discombobulating. Especially when the sun was shining brightly.
It was however freezing. Even water like wine could not keep us long on the beach but even the Otter river estuary kept up the other worldliness. Particularly the remnants of old Lime Kilns tumbling into or being isolated by the flow of the river.
Possibly the most bonkers tulips we have ever grown. A squirming and outrageous cousin to the prim creatures of my still life studies.
In a week where Spring has tentatively sprung these tulips have been slow to reveal their quirk.
But every phase has kept me interested. I realise these tulips would not be to everyone’s taste but I love their unpredictability and resilience. They have survived the wettest winter on record on Stonehouse Peninsular. They are slightly Rhubarbian in colour which also pleases me. In a fantasy planting scheme they could peek out through early rhubarb leaves.
Not in their current location however as the Parrot Tulips are growing in a prime spot on our street for larger dogs to wee on them. These are strictly look but don’t touch blooms.
The blog I should have written yesterday. I have been an urban bad person, driving 24mph in a 20mph zone. Unknowingly until a brown letter dropped through my door. £100 fine and either mandatory attendance at a Speed Awareness Course or 2 points on my licence.
I accepted the course either on-line or in person. On-line bookings were not being accepted so I opted to attend a city hotel 5 miles away. The booking that appeared when I clicked Plymouth, was a remote golf club in Launceston, a small Cornish town more than an hour away.
And then the chicken story of yesterday got in the way. The ear worm of The Janner Song became my in car entertainment as I drove through miles of beautiful Cornish Countryside in glorious sunshine.
West Country accents shift and change as the geography of Devon and Cornwall change.
As I sat in the front of the classroom I could easily pick up the distinctive Plymouth accent from quite a few course attenders who, like me had been relocated ” down Cornwall”
Every time a “Proper Job” Plymothian spoke my head played a few seconds of the Janner Song.
Well, in England’s South West is the
county that’s best,
full of rolling green hills and a coast
that’s been blessed.
And inside of the Sound lie the three
Plymouth towns,
where everyone’s known as a Janner.
Janners, Janners,
down in Plymouth we’re all known as
Janners.
And our own footballteam Plymouth Argyle
supreme
are the finest this beautiful county has
seen.
Every player of every nationality,
when they pull the green they’re all
Janners.
Janners, Janners,
down in Plymouth we’re all known as
Janners.
So, there was our song, we didn’t keep you
too long,
now you all know just one word of
West-Country slang.
And while there’s meat on me bones, I hope
I’ll always be known
as a typical Plymouth grown Janner.
Janners, Janners,
down in Plymouth we’re all known as
Janners.
Janners, Janners,
down in Plymouth we’re all known as
Janners.
The Janner Song by the Sensational Baret Brothers.
I blame the chickens.
There was an irony to attending a speed awareness course in deepest Cornwall when, for many of us, our misdeeds took place within Jannerland City Limits.
These were two of the roads I drove down to get home.
Not a chance of reoffending.
Cornwall Road on the South Bank of the Thames, London
theoldmortuary.design 