Middling is a really a none word.

“How are you feeling?” “Middling”

What does that tell you? That a person is breathing but they cut their hand off, maybe too extreme, that you are working today but the bubonic plague symptoms have just begun.

There is my problem: my imagination!

It gets gross now –

I am on my eighth laxative in twenty fours hours, I have no compunction or desire to visit the facilities, the pain is tolerable supine but exponentials on vertical arrangement. My imagination is barred from wondering where all my spare sewage is going.

I am not hungry or thirsty and haven’t been since Thursday night. I have been force feeding linseeds in yoghurt, licorice, prunes and grapes.

In fairness – when she blows. she really will!

I have spent the last couple of months getting myself healthy, I have been on nicotine inhibiting tablets for eight weeks and with the odd relapse am doing okay – MIDDLING!!!!

which for me means I am not smoking BUT if pushed would happily murder someone, walk across broken glass, dive into a fire and climb Everest to smoke one now this minute.

at the same time completed my therapy assignment and got given a clean bill of mental health by the only being that counts – and I am EPIC! 

so wtf am I lay in bed again, I have spent years fighting to get me out of bed each day, some days it was an intergalatic warfare council that got me out, on other days just a mere “Will I won’t I”


now when I should be able to leap out of bed, I go get physically sick again.

I don’t do freaking sick, actually I don’t do any kind of sick. The last time I was at the doctors (apart from nicotine tabs – see above) was to get sick notes for my broken bone two years ago.


I am being productive, completed a study and homework of John of the Ladder, took the dictation off my phone and have raw lyrics to work with, did some background research for a series hand painted abstract( of course) postcards and discovering the most vital part of the process is choosing the weather to send them – being watercolours!

But how am I doing?


Fair to weathering


all right

joyous – all ways full of joy

Psalm 71:8 My mouth is filled with your praise declaring your splendour all day long


not sure what started me writing this but Lucy Jordan didn’t help. Sh*t* poem w/eva

sometimes you want it for the person more than they do – profoundly written by someone not me. most profound thing I said today “oh well”. I wrote a ‘supersize’ piece at Joe’s today, I preferred yesterday’s southern belles but shucks I’m a romantic – see =>>>>>>



she couldn’t go to rehab the cat needed to be fed

she’d go next week when the sky would be blue

when the delicate hues of green

could be seen among the trees

and the baby smiled silently in the crib

she couldn’t start the treatment cos she’d bought that piece of steak

she’d start on the first when the rabbits jump in threes

when the number she was waiting for

leapt out the frying pan

and the puppy licked the bone contentedly

she realised she’d never get well or get clean

listening to Marianne Faithful whilst dusting empty bottles

she slumped into the chair as she

dived into further depression

and more bottles that were empty cried quietly for her

she was a dirty little maggot so the neighbours said last week

to all the journos and anyone who’d listen

dead for days with no way

of telling cos she smelt rotten anyways

and the baby, cat and pup died too

linnet innit

I have had so many projects in progress, I have been finding time to study quite difficult. The use of time, in my life, has shifted a little; I have chords and scales to learn on guitar and keyboard, there is music theory to remember (remember how useless I was at it first time around)

All the time my saxophone smiles at me sardonically, I shrug back at it because I still don’t have enough breath to vibrate the reed for an appropriate length of time.

Study is a term I use for ‘Faith &Worship’, the other studies – music, creative writing and vocal training are all secondary to that. Tertiary again are all the art studies I’m doing and then after all that there are the random theology courses I do for fun and the learning as I go along rebuilding the house.

So imagine my chagrin on my six mile walk on Monday I see my red birds. Last year on a Sunday afternoon driving back from service I would see these wee red birds briefly, always briefly flitting into the trees about a mile away by Leary’s farm.  After a few weeks I was up at my foster dad’s and he insisted on being brought out to the spot. Of course my birds disappeared, never to be seen in that place again.

I was half way into my walk, as the crow flies half a mile from my home (note: the term home for the house I live in)  but three miles in either direction with an uphill. Then to compound it, they were doing silage in a field half a mile down. So ran home (which I am not allowed to do ) collected Séan, the van, the zoom lens and the Nikon and dive back over with a coffee – to settle down for some serious twittering (original meaning) Got the shots of the silage – so many it can be animated.


Surprise, surprise, Séan, did not want to hang around for a bird (give him a year or two) so we went home.  Then we all got sick.

On Thursday I still needed to be close enough to home but had bogroll just in case. I went off to photograph Scartaglen starting with my birds. They were not there but I discovered some really pretty bits in Scart.

A really freaky, weird, funny, could only happen to me event occurred on my travels. Up on the road between Ballintourrig and Gneeveguilla there is a wee boreen that eventually goes to the drive of Jack the Block and from there by foot I can walk home (there is a bar and a huge padlock that stops me driving) so I thought I’d drive along the boreen and look at Pa’s new extension (and get jealous except there are four new builds up there and I couldn’t work it out) Waved to Mr F, fairly sure he didn’t know me and then there was a jeep.


The jeep was parked in the middle and a guy was behind it. I stopped as you do when you can’t get past and waited. He walked off (see photo) and then at least eight people of all ages and sizes (like the Beverly Hillbillies) all dived into the jeep and reversed half a mile. It was one of those moments I should’ve continued to photo but I got shy.

Eventually I went back to my bird place and took photos of the linnet and the bird whose song goes tweet tweet tirrup tirrup. I still think there is another red bird unaccounted for but it is better for me to walk than to drive, especially a six mile circle that begins and ends at home.



A few years ago my boss and I discovered we liked reading HP, every time a new one came out we had a nerdy chat about how we thought it was going to tell out in the end.

Because we knew there was an END.

JK Rowlands had explained from the off that she was writing HP till he was old enough to age out of the school system, Standard boarding school fayre if you’re from England and brought up by Mallory Towers and St.Clare’s.


Things change when you become adult:

money that you have to earn and never seem to have enough of.

relationships – oh so simple when talking about a chaste kiss at the end of a disco. Totally complicated by being grown-up, living in a permissive society, complicated by marriage, by seperation, by divorce, by children, by no children, by in-laws, by couple friends and non couple friends. The list is endless,

parents – roles change as children grow up, roles reverse as parents age.

food – as children sweets and snacks make way for healthy food choices in adulthood.

So I totally get why she didn’t want to pursue writing past the Deathly Hallows – oh yeah

One more tiny little thing – it all gets a bit boring.

Boring might not be the right word, peaceful, comfortable, mediocre, sameness. Even if you are a wizarding prodigy, the astonishment at seeing “lens reparo” must diminish with time.

HP’s childhood ended and so did the books. The films followed, of course moviemakers are more marketing and greed savvy than authors and managed to make more films than books.


in twenty years time or in two hundred years time. Some one is going to write the prequel and numerous sequels. How can I be so sure?

“Mr Darcy Takes A Wife”, “And Another Thing,” and now the whole Bourne thing. Robert Ludlum died in 2001, five novels with his name as author have been published since his death, nine sequels to books and seven Bourne books have been published.

Conversely some writings remain as current as if they were written yesterday. The Bible cannot have a prequel because there was nothing before it: Genesis 1:1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

 He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. Rev 21:6

Those film makers and marketeers, they want more of the sme, the same banality, the same sameness.


The Bible is timeless, words written thousands of years ago still speak to us in a language we understand. I couldn’t go to tea with Mrs Bennett comfortably but I could sit on the side of a dusty road and listen to the teachings of Jesus. Philip Pullman among others have written fictionalised accounts of the Bible. There is no sequel or prequel to be written on this earth of the Bible and yet it has all the words we will ever need.

cluttery flutter

Flat on my back again, sick. I hate, really do not like, detest being sick. I am not a sickly fragile flower, about to crumble at any time (not physically anywho!) and yet since I took steps two months ago to be healthier I keep finding myself flattened.

A bug arrived in my house on Monday morning, flooring Sean.

Tuesday evening Séan was afflicted at both ends.

Wednesday morning I was pre-syncope at my writing so retired to a supine position.

Physical sickness floors us and then if we are healthy we recover and get back to normal.

I have been decluttering my emails, letting go of some rubbish, some hurt, some happiness. Flitting in the ether, they are all gone..

In a drawer in my room I have a pile of old letters. Some full of rubbish, some full of hurt, some full of happiness. These physical remnants of my life I keep.

It is so easy to press delete on a computer, poof, gone but to put my great-great-aunts’ missives in the bin, that feels like a part of their history is gone.

One of these aunts was pioneer in the area of domestic abuse as we call it now or kicking the sh*t out of a wife or child as they called it then.

My great-uncle got an honour from QE2 for his coverage of the “moors murders”

Another aunt got one of those honours for her services to teaching.

They have a history, that will pass into the ether after me, no one else is remembering them.

So should I just let go of them?

A wise woman I know says

 “we should be like birds – only carry what we need”

A friend of mine was told by her pastor to declutter her life, oh he didn’t just say it to her he said it to the congregation. Being a good flock they went home and decluttered then visited each others homes and took their clutter. – Not exactly what he had in mind.

So after virtually decluttering I think I might do some physical decluttering when I can stand straight.


Visiting the T.A.R.D.I.S.



Isn’t it amazing how quickly we adapt. I was chatting with an eighty eight year old today who after lots of encouragement from family has just put down two years as a computer owner and Skype user. He was telling me how he couldn’t cope now without it. We adapt to our environment, we learn quickly the rules of that environment and we conform.

Lemon, last night said, ” aitch. eeee, double hockey sticks” and it took me a good few seconds to translate into my language. She said ‘hell’. I was more surprised by her spelling it out than by the many times a day I hear the word in Kerry, maybe it’s the rain.

It got me thinking and I used the tardis mind for this so it might go a bit tangentially at times:

Why can’t we say hell?

Is it superstition – like when people jinx or knock on wood or cross themselves or cross their fingers or don’t walk under a ladder or like black cats or don’t like black cats (can never remember)

Does hell exist? Well if heaven exists and by faith I believe that to be true although how it exists I don’t know then it is logical that hell exists too. Again no idea what form except it isn’t going to be a hot place like Lanzarote or a sauna or a steam room or a Bikram yoga room. It isn’t going to be pleasantly warm. I suspect that even a hot flush (and they are quite uncomfortable) do not give us a foretaste of hell. And I don’t have to think of it because I am not going, I have been given that assurance.

Why is hell a swear word? My grandmother used to say heck and sugar. But isn’t the avoidance of the word by substitution the same as saying the word because a thought process has taken place to use the substitute.

I said “bollocks” in church on Sunday. There was no other word I could think of that would convey the desperation I felt at a situation that I was in and totally out of my depth. I don’t normally swear and so logic – I don’t normally swear in church. If I was a person who f’d and blinded outside of church I would continue to do so inside. It’s a building.

I don’t use the words “God”, “Jesus” or “Christ” in any way except reverently and it is surprising to me therefore how many people do use God’s name in a derogatory fashion. The word “Geez” or “Jeez” could come from Gee Whizz but I think it is probably a shortened Jesus.

Is there a difference between swearing and blaspheming? One of my children does swear. He swears and blasphemes all day and all night long. I haven’t stayed up to listen but I suspect he swears in his sleep. We have talked about it for many years and he always has an answer. He has learned that it is unacceptable in certain situations like at school but he swears and blasphemes everywhere else including church.

Hell cannot be a word associated with blaspheming as it is the opposite so it should be the word we are allowed to use when we hurt ourselves, or need to use an expletive. The first time it is mentioned in the Bible is

Deuteronomy 32:22 (KJV)

 For a fire is kindled in mine anger, and shall burn unto the lowest hell, and shall consume the earth with her increase, and set on fire the foundations of the mountains.

Interestingly hell is used in the NIV from Matthew onward. The Old Testament translation uses other terms like the realm of the dead.


1 : a place where souls are believed to survive after death
2 : the place or state of punishment for the wicked after death : the home of evil spirits
3 : a place or condition of misery or wickedness
4 : a place or state of great confusion, disorder, or destruction HAVOCPANDEMONIUM
5 : something that causes torment; especially : a severe scolding 


1 SKY 1 — usually used in plural
2 often capitalized : the dwelling place of God and of the blessed dead
3 : a place or condition of complete happiness 

These are examples from a children’a dictionary, not sure the first definition of hell would be enough to explain it.

Do children even get the concept of hell now that movies and games are so explicit in their violence and torture. As human beings did we know innately that torture would hurt. Are there certain things we have always avoided without being told? Do we only learn from experience?

After thinking about this for some time I am left wondering what other people think. My opinion is I would rather hear someone say hell than O M ….


And then this got me thinking about other people’s concepts of heaven. Like I don’t know and don’t need to know. Some people want to know if their relative will be there, will there be animals, will there be birds, what food, what drink. It is like they are going on a nature ramble with a picnic. A common conversation thread goes something like this:

“If (such and such) is not in heaven I don’t want to go.” 

“What will we do all day in heaven?”

I am more shocked by such statements by mature Christians than by all the swearing and blaspheming a child can do. Like (why am I using like to start a sentence?) isn’t it dissing God if we put codecils on what we want in or out of heaven. 


five minute testimony, well that’s a poser isn’t it.

How has the transforming Lord transformed me.

I talk sometimes about the restoration or rebuilding as terms for the transforming love of Christ.

Being self sufficient for most of my life meant that it took time for me to leave the dark entirely.

The dark was comfortable in that it was what I knew, it was all I knew bar Blue’s light and that was tainted by Harry.

When you are in the dark like a mushroom you expect more manure to be shovelled on top of you because it always has been shovelled and always will.

So if you lose your job, lose your house, lose your spouse, become addicted to gambling, H, scnapps or porn, be abused, abuse, be violent, be depressed, have phobias, are physically ill, have psychosomatic symptoms, have self harm thoughts, act out self harm. It is all just more manure on your mushroom self.

And it is what you know, it was what I knew.

When my children got diagnosed, my family members were pleased it was me with them because I could cope with that.

Well of course I could cope with having two gorgeous loving and lovely children who needed me to be a parent. That is being a parent isn’t it? Offering unconditional love no matter what.

Well the no matter what has come to bite me.

The biggest belly laugh I have had for a good while happened during a serious sharing session when I admitted someone had threatened to burn my house down. The two of burst of laughing because at that moment and for a good while I had hated my house and what better way to move than if it was razed, not by me – (arson – gave that up as a child) Typically though I had been healed of hating my house and had no wish for it to be burned.

In recent times I have had crockery thrown at me, sometimes with stuff in it. Questions arise at times like this, and this is what I mean by everyone’s normal is different:

“If I allow the plate to hit me it will hurt but I won’t need to replace the glass in the door”

“Do I deserve the plate to hit me?”

“Will I buy plastic plates? there are nice picnic ones around at the moment.”

“Will I react?”

“How do I react?”

“What would be an acceptable reaction?”

Because of the transforming love of Christ, many of these questions are now dismissed immediately. The plastic plates suggestion remains. Six months ago I had 8 pasta bowls, now I have three.

Five minute testimony – what one person can find a simple question to ask, can create many answers, all true.

But how much true can people handle?

How much true am I willing to share?

I did the whole becoming a Christian wrong. I started going to church. Met all these “good” people and kept quiet. I wasn’t introduced to church by a friend. I wasn’t brought to church. I just turned up one Sunday, on my own. No matter how simple a church professes to be there are rituals to be learned, when to sit, when to stand, in some cases when to kneel. All these things took time. Extempore praying, corporate intercessory praying, chatting between segments – all things that took time to assimilate. There is still loads I don’t understand, the whole communion thing, why no agape meals. I’m not the only one, last year one of the congregation found out they were attending a protestant church!

Start of.


I started going to church in 2007, I walked in on my own and could have got offended within a week or so, I didn’t know the rules. I didn’t know you had to ask Jesus into your life. I thought you went to church. End of. So I did it all wrong. But “church” makes it hard. “Church” people make it hard. Speak in tongues, don’t speak in tongues, speak in tongues in private, don’t wear jeans, don’t swear (well don’t get caught), don’t drink, don’t smoke, show love to friends and enemies but not gay people. Then there is the list of things we are to be: patient, kind, self controlled etc. I saw people really struggle with these and they were proper Christians. And there was hugging (brrrrr!!!!)


So then I did the whole becoming a follower of Christ right (possibly). I ignored “church” and “church rules” and “good” people. I got down and dirty with my Lord, He met me at my point of pain and healed me. Now He did freak me out and I couldn’t accept full healing because it was too crazy, too good, too wonderful but what I took and what I was given was amazing.

After a time I asked for full healing and what a rush. I mean I thought my mind had opened exponentially before, I called it “T.A.R.D.I.S.” mind. My mind, my heart, my legs, I have so much energy, to write, to create, to read, to walk, to run (not allowed), to find creative ways of dealing with issues, to pray tons and sing loads, to praise and worship and love. So hugging – yeah I get that now-(ish) And after last week have stopped digging my heels in, though I accept I might do it again. He has drenched me in mercy – who’d want someone like me? He has doused me in grace and most amazingly for someone like, for so long unloveable and unloved, He has soaked me in love and he threw away my rule book, giving me a simple set of rules, love and go and giving me the fruits of the Spirit that come naturally. I never knew that. I am a new creation and I am His.


End of.

but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength;
    they will fly up on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not be tired;
    they will walk and not be weary. Isaiah 40:31 CEB