(Well, if we’re including everything…. here’s the girls again)
“Only two ways to live life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” – Albert Einstein
You’re a miracle too, Mairead.
hens
Hit the nail… not the thumb!
(Love my little empty frame)
I was hanging some picture frames on the kitchen wall yesterday. I think it took me two hours but the time flew and my mind wandered to thoughts of “noticing what’s right“, again. Putting my attention on what’s wrong is like hitting my thumb with a hammer…. when what I want to do is hit the nail.
(Some of my finished wall… Look Nolene it’s your painting!)
We’ve all had the experience of hammering a nail into a wall. When I was being shown first by my Mum or my Dad, I can imagine I was hyper excited to get the hammer into my hands. It looked so easy and such fun, whacking a bit of metal and making loads of noise. I held the nail in one hand and the hammer in the other and took a big swing… and hit my thumb!
(Hit the nail, hit the nail!)
From that moment on it was no longer fun… I watched my thumb like a hawk and each time I aimed for the nail I was looking at my thumb. Of course I hit it again. After that first lesson it took me a while to go back to hammering a nail and it never seemed as much fun….
(Hen picture… Look Ciara it’s the charity shop frame!)
Put your attention on the nail – the thing you want to hit! That might be good grades, or good health. It might be a life purpose or employment. It might be a holiday or friendship or even peace. If you continuously worry (i.e. think about) the opposite – bad grades, ill-health, lack of purpose, unemployment, no holiday, no friends, war – then that’s what you’re aiming for.
You don’t want that do you? Mairead.
Princess Affreca and my new hens.
(We travelled the peninsula and the lough)
We went to Northern Ireland for the weekend to visit friends (Hi Naomi and Liam!) They were excellent travel guides and packed a lot in – including a picnic. I’ve grabbed a map from Wikipedia to show you where we went. Even though it’s only three hours away from our house I had never been to this part of Ireland and it is truly beautiful. Our friends live less than thirty minutes from Belfast but we didn’t visit the city… this time.
We began Saturday morning in a pottery for a breakfast of scones and coffee! Yes, I know how great! There were plain scones and fruit scones and rhubarb scones and another type of scones, possibly almond, all yummy. It was here I spotted my new hens. Yes I have hens. It was a difficult decision but… I bought a cereal bowl with hens on it and a plate with a cockerel.
Then we set off to visit Grey Abbey a Cistercian abbey in the town of Greyabbey. The abbey was founded in 1193 by a princess called Affreca, her father was King of the Isle of Man. She was married to John de Courcy who ruled most of this area at the time. Anyway, she had a rough sea crossing from the Isle of Man and set up the abbey in thanks for a safe landing. On the way in we met Stephen, the guide to the Physic Garden, so he gave us a quick tour. I thought this might be something to do with mind reading but no… it’s to do with healing.
There were lots of gardens at the abbey which were mainly tended to by the lay monks. As well as orchards and kitchen gardens there would have been the physic or medicinal garden. Stephen was very informative and funny and I now recognise some herbs from my own garden that I thought were weeds! By the way, if your roses are bothered by green-fly, then Calendula (also good for liver problems, insect and snake bites) attracts hoverfly who in turn eat green-fly. If you become overrun with hoverfly then let me know and I can give you Stephens’s number. After the garden we had a look at the abbey and the interpretative center.
(Calendula, English Marigold, loved by hoverflies)
More from Grey Abbey tomorrow, Mairead.
A Town of Runners – beautiful.
(Remembering my girls)
Last night we went to see a beautiful movie – A Town of Runners. It was set in Ethiopia, in a small town called Bekoji. There was only a dirt road from the town so it has stayed small. The story is told by a boy who works in his grandmother’s small shop. The one thing that is not small about the town is the number of successful runners that have come from here. When the movie was completed in 2011, there had been eight olympic gold medal winners, ten world records and thirty-two world championships won by people from Bekoji. Not small at all.
(The path to our dreams is not always straight)
The movie is about two friends Hawii and Alemi. Hawii loved winning races and was happiest when she was first and Alemi was second…. She was fourteen when she said this and her honesty was touching, she loved when her friend did well, but there was only one winner and Hawii wanted to win.
(Broad Beans)
Then there was the coach. The man who trained those successful athletics was called coach throughout the movie so I had to look up his name, Sentayehu Eshetu. He trains the children in this town and continues to train them until an athletics club from a big town picks them for their team. That’s the dream, to get chosen, just like the young Irish boys wanting to be picked for their favourite English football club. He smiles a lot, he is very respectful and the runners love him. He is on their side. He also has rules. At one point he has them pulling weeds and clearing grass from their running track – a red clay circle in a field with a shed for coach’s office. There is sadness in the movie also when the dream becomes difficult for Hawii.
(Water… we complain about rain but we need the water)
This movie shifted my outdated perceptions of Ethiopia. My memories of Live Aid in the eighties and the images of famine had drawn a detached, far away, not-my-world, picture that I held as true. Watching A Town of Runners I felt a connection to these girls, to their hard-working parents, their grandparents, to their coach. When they were clearing the weeds from the track I was remembering my weeds. When Hawii’s grandmother was worried about Hawii, I was remembering being worried about my children. When Alemi’s father was harvesting a vegetable crop, I recognised it as broad beans and was remembering my time in the wilderness. When a hen scratched in the red clay, I remembered my girls – the hens.
Movies can do that, shift your perceptions. Mairead.
Hens are great teachers… listen to a hen today.
(The menu)
It’s very early in the morning as I write from our hotel in Swansea. I seem to have jet lag without crossing a time zone, probably the traffic noises, the pillow and the light peeping in around the curtain. We had dinner last night at an American Italian chain called Frankie and Benny’s. There were old black and white pictures all over the walls and on the menu of the original Frankie and Benny, who will be turning in their graves if they ever find out. It was an imitation of an Italian run American diner.
(The deals)
Our server worked hard entertaining us like an American server would and I was bothered when I realised we had no change to tip him. I left some euro. In this country the euro is fake money and next to useless, but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it? Except I was thinking, “I have to give him a tip.”
(Hello real hen)
All this reminded me of my hair and the hens (most things remind me of the hens :)) How we humans imitate something (or someone) we think is great when all along there’s something great right under our hat. Sometimes we do the imitation so well we don’t even realise we’re doing it. We straighten our hair, we curl our hair, we comb-over our hair, we dress in a certain way, we act in a certain way, we step into a certain role and we pretend it’s us… We’re fooling no one and anyway the real us might just be a little more attractive.
(Hens get tired too and need to rest a leg)
The hens walk their own funny walk. They hug no one they don’t want to hug. They go to bed when they want to and they ignore all unwanted interaction. I’m on the hunt this morning for a hen-experience! An ordinary real Welsh cafe for my breakfast. One where my table might be a bit sticky to touch, might not be the same colour as all the rest, may even have a wonky leg… but the person serving me is real… and possibly a little cranky. And I’ll be paying attention to what it is I find attractive about that!
Be your own cranky self, Mairead.
Ode to the girls….
(Contentment – even with green hair)
I’m back home now and I’m hen-less and egg-less. Will go to the supermarket later for the eggs but we won’t be getting hens. Some people and animals come into your life for just a short time and then they leave. But not before passing on a message or a lesson. What I can remember best from the hens is their one step after the other approach to life…… Sure they were cautious, but once the danger (usually me) passed by or stopped and backed away, then they continued one step after the other.
(Take the next step)
Another thing about the hens, they did their own foraging. Each day I presented them with a shovelful of feed and some “treats” but that wasn’t all they ate. They spent a lot of their time scratched around for tasty worms and insects. They could have so easily sat back and eaten the food provided but they took nourishment into their own hands, they maintained their independence and probably their good health.
(Celebrate the mistake)
Although I let them out in the mornings (or in the afternoon if I wanted an egg) I didn’t put them back in their pen, they went back in themselves, in their own time. I locked the gate when I found them tucked up together in their house. And the eggs… whenever possible they left their eggs in a place of their choosing, where I never found them.
(Find the beauty)
They remind me of Dr. Viktor Frankl who wrote Man’s Search for Meaning having survived life in a concentration camp. Everything can be taken from a man or a woman but one thing: the last of human freedoms to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way. Viktor E. Frankl.
He could easily have included hens, Mairead.
Cats, one mouse, a fox and two hens – it all ends well… oh, not for the mouse.
(Our favourite position on the sofa)
I was sitting on the sofa this morning writing when I heard one of the cats meowing. It was a plaintive meow. As both the garden door and the secret cat window were open I ignored him, but he increased the volume and the other two cats who had been asleep beside me on the sofa shot out through the door. As this is a little odd I put down my laptop and followed. There standing on the threshold was the third cat with a mouthful of mouse. I have no idea how he managed to meow with his mouth full but fair dues to him. I had been warned that there might be a few gifts brought into the house so I reacted fast and shut the door (and closed the secret window too.) I like my gifts covered in chocolate or made from inanimate materials.
(Isn’t she beautiful?)
When the coast was clear (of cats and mice) I went outside to consider the weather. I like to walk when it’s dry but I’ll also give it a go in a slight drizzle. There was no rain and it was a little warmer outside than in so, decision made. But first…. I checked on the hens. We are developing quite a close relationship, me and the hens, it’s mainly one-sided but I have patience and hope to win them over before I leave. The only reason I was checking was that I saw what I thought was a fox yesterday afternoon in the garden. Don’t foxes only come out at dusk? He ran off through the fence and I found the hens happily pecking in another part of the garden. After that I went out to check them more often and even locked them in early last night… just in case.
(A little treasure)
Then when I got up this morning I considered leaving them in their pen but because I had locked them up early and I could see them waiting, looking in the direction of the house anticipating their freedom – I chickened out…. and opened the pen. It seemed cruel to keep them in when I wasn’t completely sure there was danger. So there I was checking them again… but I couldn’t find them. I searched every bit of the garden, no hens. Panic started to set in and I searched again for signs of a crime scene (feathers and fluids). Fortunately, nothing. Before yesterday I had no fear for the hens and never stopped to notice where they went during the day. I tried to remember where I used to see them but it was always in different places coming into view just as I rounded a corner. Not today.
(I didn’t get a picture of the fox but this is a deer I saw later… that orange colour, that’s the deer)
How was I going to tell their humans? How was I going to cope with the emotional fallout – mine, I mean. Then I remembered my goto person with hen experience and I called Denis. He was very reassuring, mentioned hiding places in the garden and fence-hoping for possible juicy worms outside the property. He suggested garden search first followed by road to neighbour’s house search, followed by boundary search while wearing wellingtons, rain coat and employing a special hen call – CHuck, chuck, chuck, chuck. So, I got dressed up and had hardly reached the greenhouse when I met the girls rounding a corner. Oh the joy! I cheered and ran towards them hoping for a hug… they stopped in mid step, one leg raised… I stopped. They stared…. with a look I interpreted as Wait right there, we’re only here because you called, what have you got for us?
(Safe)
So I ran back to the kitchen and gathered what I thought would be treats for hens and laid them out in the grass in front of the girls. Not sure if my obvious loving demonstrations are causing stress in our relationship or possibly they don’t like sunflower seeds, carrots and porridge because they didn’t eat my offering, they just kept staring at me.
I am so happy but I think I’ll keep them locked up, Mairead.
Who let the hens out?
(The girls)
I woke late this morning because I’d had a very disgruntled feline visitor during the night who needed to get outside urgently (at least that’s what I think he was saying) at 3.45am. It may take me a few more days to understand the routine. I’m out of sync with the hens too, I forgot that they won’t lay eggs unless I leave them in their pen until noon but I let them out at seven yesterday morning. When I arrived here on Monday there was a lovely warm brown egg waiting for me. I know I could have bought eggs in Tesco when I was gathering supplies but the thought that I could be eating my own (well.. not exactly my own..) produce was enough to stop me. Now I want to make pancakes so I’m going to need another egg. I have a feeling that the hens like getting out early so I’ll have to be strong and think of pancakes.
(Are these edible?)
When I did wake this morning the sun was shining – yea! I was beginning to think there would be non-stop rain for my entire visit. Last night I was cold enough to light the stove and grey enough to watch the TV. I’m glad to report that I have not been sucked back to TV-land (was there always so many ads?) in fact I think I might be frightened away from it altogether. Between the (bad) nine o clock news and half a scary story about a con man in America I was feeling very nervous climbing the stairs to bed.
(Is there a con man around that corner?)
Fortunately, I’ve been reading Stop Thinking and Start Living by Richard Carlson so I went to bed and slept. Actually that book is very interesting, it talks about how we are constantly thinking and we don’t even realise it. It’s like we’re listening to a radio station in our head. Unfortunately it’s a station full of bad news and cutting remarks… about me (or you – if it’s in your head!) It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t continue the thought and add to it, with more bad news or meanness towards ourselves. The solution? Notice the thought and let it go. For example, last night I might have had the thought, it’s very scary being here alone when there are so many con men around. So as soon as I realise I’m thinking this I pause and choose to think of something else, something useful to be thinking while I’m alone. Like, I’ll read my nice book about a woman reading her dead friend’s journal! (It’s called The Unfinished Work of Elizabeth D by Nichole Bernier and I’m really enjoying it.) Thinking is very useful but not when it scares and saddens us.
Think something nice about yourself, Mairead.
Travel stories 