As stated in previous entry, Sylvia Boiling (sylviam4000 on AOL) passed away on 2 May 2008. Her journal was deleted with all other AOL journals on 31 October 2008. Only a few snippets remain on the Net. In memory of Sylvia, I have copied the three entries I managed to retrieve.
Sylvia, rest in peace.
31 March 2006
Fresh Shoots From The Earth & New Beginnings
Oh Dear!.........what can the matter be?
I deleted me "Jottings"........oh what a Saturday!
Sitting here blindly.........without any spectacles;
(They were hidin' in one of the bathroom receptacles);
Bored out of me brain..........what brain you may ask?
Decided in me wisdom to get on wiv a task:
If I deleted an odd entry, with lots of rubbishy pics,
I'd gain FTP space - for "Jottings from the Sticks".
Squintin' at edit buttons - nose to the screen,
Suddenly I realised and let out a scream!!
The entry deleted, along wiv journal as well;
This was the ultimate AOL hell!
Had ter blame someone - I can't be that daft?
If I hadn't a cried - I think I'd 'ave laughed.
Just as everyfing was looking far less than rosy,
'Twas then I thought of - "Ye Olde English Posy".
Although this is a new journal, I'm still the same old me, and would like Ye Olde English Posy, to remain on much the same lines as my dear departed "Jottings". Welcome back folks.
Where's Spring? I took the above pic [deleted, ADB] Tuesday morning, on a little jaunt around the country lanes. It was a biting wind and trying to snow as I got back into the car. The lack of fresh green shoots and early Spring flowers, has turned March into a dreary drudge. Roll on April, Easter, and hopefully that rare phenomenon, a few warm sunny days. When that happens, housework will become a swear word here, and I'll take off with the camera to capture Nature's awakening.
My Posy for Mother's Day
There's a lovely custom inmy village, dating back many years: All the mums and grandmums in the parish receive a small posy, which are arranged by members of the church congregation.
Changes are afoot, which I'm very anxious about. Caring for hubby has finally taken too much of a toll on my own health. On Wednesday I made the difficult decision to ask for help, and to hand over some of the responsibilty, of hubby's care, to others. I will always remain his carer, wouldn't have it any other way; but the situation here must change - for both our sakes. I don't know what those changes will involve, until a meeting has been set up with the appropriate people. It's very hard letting go, but I truly have no choice.
The Spring comes in with all her hues and smells,
In freshness breathing over hills and dells;
O'er woods where May her gorgeous drapery flings,
And meads washed fragrant by their laughing springs.
Fresh are new opened flowers, untouched and free
From the bold rifling of the amorous bee.
The happy time of singing birds has come,
And Love's lone pilgrimage now finds a home.
Among the mossy oaks now coos the dove,
And the horse crow finds softer notes for love.
The foxes play around their dens, and bark
In joy's excess, mid woodland shadows dark.
The flowers join lips below; the leaves above;
And every sound that meets the ear is Love.
John Clare (1793-1864)
Thank you for calling in, the welcome mat will be left at the door. Take care folks, keep well and be happy.
11 April 2006
It was early morning, around 7am, when glancing out of the window, I witnessed a delightful sight: A family of Greenfinches, fluttering in the still bare boughs of my apple tree. It's raw, snow has fallen in the past few days, hail storms wreaked havoc and Jack Frost has been keeping a nightly vigil. Despite the weather, this happy, colourful, little band of Greenfinches were enjoying a family outing. The first fledglings of the year.
Often I had gone this way before:
But now it seemed I never could be
And never had been anywhere else;
'Twas home, one nationality
We had, I and the birds that sang,
(from Home by Edward Thomas 1878-1917)
Back to the subject of hail storms, we drove into an horrendous one on Sunday. Only minutes before, we had been parked on the verge of a delightful and scenic country lane. Sunshine poured into the car, as we sat and ate our lunch of sandwiches and bananas, washed down with a cup of strong coffee; followed by a welcome cigarette and a read of the local rag. It had been so relaxing, but it was time to hit the road home. Looking into the interior mirror, as I pulled away, the sky behind us had turned to the colour of ink. Just a couple miles on, the inky skies caught up with us and the heavens opened. As huge hailstones smashed into the car, we heard what sounded like a gunshot......a large hailstone had cracked the car windscreen! I'm still waiting for Autoglass to come and fix it, they were coming today, but it's been raining cats and dogs and the car is on the driveway. It needs to be dry, when the new windscreen is put in, otherwise the glue doesn't set and the new screen would likely blow out!
The bluebells with the grasses mingle;
But soon their azure will be scrolled,
Upon the primrose cloth-of-gold.
Yes, those are early lady-smocks,
The children crumple in their frocks,
And carry many a zig-zag mile,
O'er meadow, footpath, gate and stile;
To stick in pots and jugs to dress
Their cottage sills and lattices.....
(from A Defence of English Spring by Robert Bridges (1844-1930)
Updates from the geriatric ward:
Hubby is much improved, his confusion less (probably 'cause I aint bin nagging 'im so much!) Me? I be ready for the knackers yard: Still have that dratted bursa on me elbow and since this mornin' I be 'aving a job standing and walking - I got pain in me groin and leg. Sore lumps under me arm are nothing to the pain in me neck though; given to me by folks who were going to wave wands and actually get me some 'elp and support wiv hubby. Looks like I be back to square one, as they 'ave done nothing, 'cept chops about it and push the whole issue back onto my shoulders. The National Health Service be a disgrace to the Nation. The local Mental Health Team seem to be giving 'emselves a permanent holiday - trouble at the mill, so I bin informed. No support at all for hubby now, so it seems.
Our daughter's turned up trumps though. She's coming over on a reg'lar basis to change bed linen and keep the upstairs cleaned. I'm so thankful to her, but feel guilty, 'aving to admit I can't cope with the physical work. If I was a dog they 'ud put me down and give everyone a break; as I aint, yer'll 'ave ter put up wiv me moans and groans occasionally. Promise not to lose me humour though - am takin that ter 'eaven wiv me, when the time comes. 'Ere's me epitaph, for those of you who haven't read it afore: "Here lies a poet, no blood in 'er veins; Please? - cover the grave, whenever it rains!"
Time to go and check the "minced beef special", that's simmering on the hob; put the kettle on for a cuppa and stop hubby's snoring! Take care folks, thanks for dropping in; there's always a welcome on the mat and time for a natter at my place.
20 May 2006
Think of the beauty that nature empowers:
Carpets of bluebells under green leafy bowers,
Clumps of wild primrose from thickets they peep,
The wonder of snowdrops when nature's asleep.
Down by the river, as a swan glides along,
Hear the sweet music of a nightingales song;
Catch sight of a fallow deer, as it is stood,
On tracks made by badgers, deep in the wood.
Banks of sweet violets where rabbits abound;
A coppice of hazel where nuts can be found.
Meadows of cowslips and daisies in Spring;
Autumn the mushrooms in a fairy-like ring.
Hedges of elderflower, hawthorn and rose;
Later the blackberries, crab apples and sloes.
Spruce, pine and fir in their evergreen cloak;
Trees of horse chestnut, beech, lime and oak.
Homes for the slow worm beneath a big log;
Dewponds of lillies with pads for the frog.
Heartsease and heather are the butterflies seat,
There's a world full of magic - just under your feet.
(C) Copyright Sylvia Boiling 2006