The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood and I
Took the one less travelled by
And that has made all the difference.

So long its been!   I came across this one today after too many years.  How many ways are there to say I have always loved this?  

I'm sorry its so close to a couple of what I hesitate to call  my own poems.   I'm taking refuge in the fact that I still can't read my own stuff...

And yes rather surprisingly and nearing the end I think I can honestly soy I took the path less travelled by.

Blessings may you always find refuge in the words

Hot!

A wonderful couple of days and the gardener came today making it perfect.   I had to go to town this afternoon I met a relative but we didn't stop, for some reason not every bar and restaurant here has air conditioning and it was so hot!

I was worried too that I might miss the gardener Trixie had managed to evade me and I was concerned she would be stuck if the gardener started mowing the lawn before I returned.   I was anxious to make sure the lawn was mowed after two wet weeks some of the nettles were almost knee high.  It looks good now, not perfect I'm not sure it ever could look perfect or that I would like it if it did.

Trixie was fine she rushed inside as soon as I opened the door.   My relative had wanted to meet me later for a drink in a cool climate but I ratted I wanted to spend some quality time in the garden with the dogs and cats and the gardener is back tomorrow to spray stuff so the animals will be trapped inside until he has finished.

A nice, comfortable day I so hope the weather lasts.

She Wants You to Know

She didn't cry, not a bit.  
Sure it may have been a trick of the breeze bruising and stinging wherever it touched

She may have stared and well who wouldn't?  But cry?
No not her.  Sure the sun had been glaring on a silver perishing frost

She may have rubbed her face and why not?
She do think the midges are early this year and see they do get through the tiniest cracks and ice can burn like a boiling pot.

She didn't cry, true she stared why wouldn't she it was such a shock.
Who treats anything like that.   Her gaze may have fled from this one or that,
and the sun and the wind hit her eyes like a slap.

She didn't cry.  And sure they're all dead, there's not one could be rescued not one could be fed.  
Its not  that she cares and its not on her mind, life plays its small tricks and the wind makes you blind.

She didn't cry.  Not even a sigh.  The glare of the night played tricks with the light and  what she wants you to know is that she didn't cry.

Did I mention?

 I shop wherever I see what I want to buy and where there is hardly if any queue.  I cannot abide queues or the brats that scream blue murder while mum chats to some stranger in the bloody queue.

I buy what I want with never so much as a glance at an advert for anything.   Special offers are irrelevant unless its something I was going to buy anyway and there is no bloody queue.

I'll go to the beach but only if there's no one else on it.  I don't mind dogs on the beach I would rather clear their poo than some lazy low life two legged creatures detritus.  I'm nice to strangers I never notice them.

If any of ye were dying of thirst in a desert I'm sure you know I'd watch and patiently wait not for the corpse I'm sure I've no use for the bones of others but for the certainty and the amusement.

Eat shit...

Like!

http://theartofanimation.tumblr.com/post/54777132940/tristan-elwell

 love this.

Four in the Morning

I was comfortable enough, sitting reading, ploughing through some old stuff, commenting occasionally on some new.  At about 4am I  was disturbed by Jezzie who seems to have developed the habit of going at that time every morning which is the main reason people can rely upon me to know when day breaks.   Ollie is no help he only has to get the hint of a chance in the garden and he's off yapping at the door.

I let them both out and stood watching the sun rise over the mountains it was as it always is beautiful, clean and slightly misty.   This time though there was a slight difference,   I was struck by something in the air it was full of a beautiful smell, fresh, kinda flowery, kinda delicate.  I love that smell.

I've never noticed it before, I don't know where it came from or why I noticed it today, all who know me know that I'm usually up at 4am its not unusual for me to open the door and stroll in the garden as I wait for the dogs.  It doesn't really matter where it came from its enough to know it was there and it was beautiful.

Witchcraft

Doesn’t require faith or belief in any gods they are a distraction from the reality of nature based magic, as though nature isn't good enough for some people they have to dress it up in the fiction of ancient writings.

Perhaps the truth is it isn’t Witchcraft they respect its money and fiction pays better.  Buy another apple, dear…

Twilight Frolic

It was when I was about to draw the curtains before letting the dogs out for an evening run.  I looked out of my window  and saw her,  she was skipping, literally skipping along the top of my garden wall.    I had to stop to watch the pleasure she was taking in the twilight, anyway I had to wait I couldn't possibly let the dogs out they would have gone nuts.

The dogs have very specific ideas about what is their territory it includes the fields either side, behind, and across the road from our house.    It definitely includes the road and the old barn which is where this happy and so relaxed lady was headed her long black tail swishing in the breeze.

She is beautiful white with patches of black and that long black tail.   She has babies in the barn and that was where she was headed on this, balmy lazy evening.  She jumped down from the wall,  crossed the road and disappeared into the long grass.

I went out later, a brief stroll before locking up for the night, and as I very quietly passed the barn I just happened to drop some cat food on the ledge.  It was an accident!  Anyone could have done it……

What's in a Name?

There appears to be a little misunderstanding abroad.  It seems some think I may dislike one person more than another or others.  Hmm.  I can't decide if that means someone actually believes, actually thinks there are some I like more than others?

Part of me feels like one of those women who regularly mentally paint the ceilings of every room in the house, know precisely how many roses there are on the bedroom wall, and the exact time a spiders web appears in the crevices, and yet she is assumed by her partner to be happy and contented.

Then again when someone deliberately chooses a name to draw attention to him/herself and acts like some sort of pocket pitbull, that person is inviting attack.

I have come to the conclusion that I was deliberately led to the site and deliberately misled about the sites ownership and management to the extent that I almost volunteered to contribute only some sixth sense held me back.  We are talking about a conspiracy dating back five years, five years of abuse and misuse.  How they laughed.

Now? well they're not laughing are they, and my acting is not only every bit as good as theirs its better, and all whilst maintaining enough warmth and humanity to reach out to one who is sick and give him my assurance that he is safe for the duration of his illness.    If some thought that included a blank cheque for them they were and are wrong.

Passive aggressive? How wrong is it possible to be, well there is wrong and there is catastrophic error.

Toying

With an idea.   I think I may do something with all the posts about the animals perhaps create a new blog, add pictures, or something.   I think I've spent the last while spending too much time stressing about other things, they will come together in due course.

Time maybe to get back to that to reflect upon the quiet, peaceful passage of time in my rural home.  Not that its so quiet anymore as for peaceful?  Huh!   Not the point!  I digress and I mustn't.  I must concentrate and see where I am.

---

I think the reason these attacks get to me so easily is that they're not isolated one offs from some anonymous idiot.   Each one is just the latest in a very long list, an additional strain. 

Ursula

Sometime after I was mugged  I was walking past a jobcentre near my home.  I had never been into a jobcentre, never even stopped to look at a window of one.  This time for no particular reason I did.  I saw an ad, walked in and went straight up to a woman at a desk.  She was not the only one there she was not the only one free to talk.

I explained I had seen an ad in the window, she looked for it and then found another nearby.   She looked at that one, looked at me and said.  "I have an instinct about these things".   She made an appointment for me and that very day off I went to my first ever local job interview.   I had never worked locally before either.

I got the job and the very first day the owners father said to me "Are you going to cast a spell on us?"   I stared at him, what on earth!   He showed me a magazine and in it was an article about a Witch who had been hung in 1582.

That job was the best one I ever had, my life changed.  I kept my home which had been in danger of repossession and moved swiftly onward and upward.  Tax my eldest cat and a book case are all I have left of that job I cherish them both.

When I left I introduced a relative to my job there and the same happened.  

I've never checked if the murdered Witch was an ancestor of mine.  The names the same, the area is where we come from.   Who knows...

Direct Debit Electric

So its been a frustrating kind of a day so far.  It began in a less than auspicious way.  I remembered I hadn't rung the electricity people.  Its about the time of year when I like to do that because although the bitter sting of winter has gone the previous quarter will have seen some cold nights made bearable by the warmth of some radiators so whilst this bill is not the most serious it is perhaps the most underestimated.

Anyway I remembered I hadn't rung them to delay the payment.  I like to extend the period over three months if I can it just makes me feel better d'ye see.   Its my little rebellion and who can afford a big rebellion its the electric!  I rang them and after a wait of no more than about ten minutes I got through to someone and do you know what he said?   HE SAID THEY HAD ALREADY TAKEN MY PAYMENT!   The bastards had put the direct debit through early!

I call that bad form, it feels like robbery.  Alright the money was there but its my money!   Its almost like being robbed.   Obviously I will remember this when next I burn an offering the invoice will be among the cinders scattered to the winds....I feel abused, denied my little yearly rebellion.   I don't wanna hear that its my own fault these tacks on the sole of my skip through life are always my fault.  It doesn't make me feel better to know that.

---

Mind I did see something that made me laugh a lot.  Nothing to do with this post but shades of my youth bigods!  So funny...

The Wordsmith (With apologies to all poets)

He hid in his garret
Working into the night
Afraid of the daylight
Not equipped for the fight

Daylight she came
With a rush of fresh air
Scattering the papers
The wordsmith hid there

Into the air the words flew with a rush
Out of the window in a blistering gush
The sun she beckoned as she danced on the sill
Please join the dance it waits for you still

The wordsmith he looked as his secrets laid bare
And wondered whatever had kept him so occupied there
He opened the door with one shivering bound
And found all he had sought in the heart of the crowd.

Week End

So as I said previously I cancelled the trip I was supposed to take, did the absolute minimum for Solstice and today at about, it must have been lunchtime, I cancelled dinner.  I told myself I would go out later but I changed my mind, again and decided to cook whatever I could find here.

Huh!   I put the kettle on and blew the electric in the kitchen.  Not a problem I have another kettle.   I put it on.   The squeaky clean new kettle worked so I was relatively pleased, relative because todays alternative would have been a glass of wine.  I drank my coffee, decided I would like another walked into the kitchen put the new kettle on again and, blew the electric in the kitchen, again.

Now I have to decide when to call the electrician, tomorrow is winning and in the meantime I'm reduced to boiling water on the stove.  Time for that glass of wine, dinner might be a sandwich, or not.

So that's the solstice gone, two kettles gone, the super moon on its way.   I know I'm stressing but what difference does knowing make? 

Nagging

I'm going out soon but this time I can't just shut down and walk away, there's something that's been bothering me for a while its reflected in some of the posts here.   I'm discovering its not enough to vent a little I want the thing said and done.

There is no way to be sure of where or even when the Craft started, possibly it began when people realised they could help someone who had been injured hunting, and that thought leads inevitably to the thought that someone would have been better at helping than others.  Someone would have noticed a particular berry, leaf or root made people sick, they would also have noticed that others made people who were sick better.

The knowledge would have been valuable it would set the holder apart and above the rest and so, perhaps, the Craft began.   What we know for sure is that it predates Grecian, Roman or any other ideology.   It also bears strong resemblance to what was practiced in every other country.   The Craft predates hieroglyphs and writing wasn't even a gleam in the tribal eye.   All the Gods, and most deities etc are the result of folktales in almost every country.  From cave drawings upward, the existence of Gods and most deities is both unproven and unprovable.

For me the Deities are Earth, Water, Wind and Fire in whichever order you please.   The Goddess is represented by the Moon, God by the Sun.  The power to deal with them is within not without.   If it helps some to call upon a Goddess or God that is up to them the God and Goddess will answer or not regardless of what name they are called.

I dislike intensely the continual spinning a line that I've seen in so many places, what's wrong  could it be the less Gods/Goddesses there are the less saleable Paganism is?

I've seen begging!   And hate is too small a word to describe what I feel...

Piss Off..

So cocky, so cool,

They broke every rule
And laughed aloud
At the thought of the fool
Who though she sympathised
Made it quite clear
They were risking her vengeance
With each careless leer
For the fool by tradition
Is no idiot or clown
But  the  crafty survivor of 
Many a kings frown.
Piss off…

A Thought

Walking in daylight

Hating the feel of it

Wanting the night

The warmth and depth of it

Walking in daylight

Afraid of the glare

Longing for peace

In the hold of the night

The unbending unbreakable strength of it

Walking in daylight

Don't look at the light

Cover your eyes with dark glasses

Wait for the night

The seductive wanton caress of it.

Bitten

I've been.  Me!   By Pippa!   I'm having a hard time getting my head around it.  The wretched cat bit me!   Not a scratch, a bite.  It drew blood!

I was trying to get a knot out of her coat.  She is a longhaired cat, well longish hair, and she hates being groomed so you kind of have to grab your moment.   Regrettably she is also the most feral of my cats, she likes nothing more than to be out and about and can often be found lurking in the barn across the road.  Slut.

She caught my left index finger in her teeth and bit!   I'm still getting over it and if she thinks she's getting any breakfast from me she is in for a shock.......She can dine on the chunk she took out of my finger

Some Days

You just don't feel like it.  Its the Summer Solstice and I'm trying to be all eager and enthusiastic.   I am.....But I'm not up for it, maybe later if I get around to preparing the altar and I might not.   I cancelled a trip and alright I know I was likely going to do that anyway.  I don't like flying,  I don't like leaving the animals and I don't like pretending I'm not worried about them when I do.

Today I feel angry and a strong resentment toward something I know not what, worse I don't care what!   I have a temper that doesn't bother with such trivialities...Who the fuck cares.

The Craft has Growing Pains?

There's no need for such angst is it contrived...Its surely very odd.  What am I saying of course its contrived its also irritating.  Language police now?  Of course they have always been a pedantic, superior gang of gobshites.  

Their attitude is kind of 'who does it hurt'.    Like they don't know?   They're not up to their hairy eyes in their last little error of judgement?   Perhaps they hope it will trend on twitter, how nice for them, but that requires a victim and that would be trying,  that would be very trying particularly if I thought the victim was too young to fully understand the gangs sadism...

The Craft is old it will survive whether someone puts Christian in front of it or not.   The many and growing types will also thrive as people lose faith in what are now traditional religions and either turn to the old ways or create a new variation of them.  What's there to get heated about.  Its a good thing surely?

My own belief is in one God and one Goddess but as surely everyone knows the Gods may manifest themselves in any way or form they choose, their power comes from us...  Nothing to do with Wicca I believe in God and the Goddess. regardless if what anyone else believes...

There are now so many different kinds of Witches:  Hedge Witch, Kitchen Witch, Traditional Witch, Village Witch and however many more.   I like to think I'm a bit of all of them, definitely kitchen I might as well put my altar in the kitchen and have done with it.   I suspect someone well known for his genius may have thought I was lying when I said my altar is a wooden table...Need I say its possible to have more than one table...Surely those who think they know me know I would be unlikely to show my altar to those I distrust.

It seems to me a very youthful way of looking at the Craft a kind of attempt to categorise and specialise it.  I'm not sure about that I think as a Witch grows in experience s/he will do and use whatever feels necessary and will not be held back by any particular branch, may not even notice the diversion.   I am however positive that fancy grimoires, however lovingly, painstakingly and even artistically written, don't make a witch.   Arguably its the opposite makes the Witch...

DNA

So the good news is that the US Supreme Court threw out the demand by some pharmaceutical company or other, they're all the same after all, to patent human DNA.   The bad news is, there is always some, that this does not seem to have attracted the wide media attention I think it deserves.

It would have been interesting if the US had allowed the patent I wonder if the rest of the world would have said 'fuck off' or the equivalent in diplomatic terms, but you know I doubt it.  The world would have hummed and harred and done nothing to prevent such an appalling and incredible act.

I also wonder if the judgement means there will now be less research and that does worry me.

Forget me Nots

It began as a reaction to a wee mistake with buttercups.  I encouraged a few, really barely a handful, to grow and they did, they are everywhere, and very pretty too.Behind the trees along the boundary they are waist high and I love them.  I do.

I just don't want the same little accident to happen again.   This time I went out to find the pink thingies I don't know the name, when I get around to it I will look it up, but its not important I like them anyway.   I don't want them all over everywhere however so this time I found a nice healthy looking plant and put it in a flowerpot, nothing fancy an ordinary pot that anyone might have in the shed.   The attempt to plant something in the old toilet brush holder did not work well.....

So far so good, and I have now turned my attention to Forget Me Nots.  I love them, who would not love a tiny flower with such a wonderful name.   I have put it into another pot and it too is doing well.   I'm looking forward to their proliferation.

Sunday

Been having fun with music and poetry, and trying not to be furious with myself for forgetting the potatoes.  Not over or under cooked you understand, not cooked at all because eejit here forgot to buy them.  I've got two, two whole potatoes and I'm cooking for me so two whole potatoes is not bad.   Its about what I eat, but the thing is do ye see that I can't cook for one.

I'm not used to it nor are the dogs who are used to having everything I don't eat.  Usually, well often, I go out on Sunday afternoon, early evening or whatever time and I have lunch/dinner out.  I may do that today but I know I won't enjoy it.  I will only be doing it because I forgot the potatoes and that is not a good enough reason.

Blessings if you pass this way may you never forget the vegetables.

Street Cred

She's good...

Source:    http://iruntheinternet.com/04060

There's a Queue

Its the little things they don’t tell you.   So you have an elderly cat and she doesn't always, hardly ever, want to go out, obviously you invest in a litter tray and place it in an inconspicuous part of the bathroom so far so good.

Hmm, then you have a couple of rainy days and its colder and the other two cats, did I mention I have three?  Hmm, decide they are fair weather cats and you end up sharing the bathroom with three (3!) cats and 3 litter trays and you can hardly get in the fucking door.

I Capricorn with Help from Aquarius Hmm

cronetalk

I reblogged because I love this and I've brought it here for the same reason although some might call it ‘spinning a line’ or even ‘hustling’.  I don't give a fuck let those who live in glass houses be very careful where they throw their pebbles.

The thing and its educational is that we don't change.  We age, mature of course but the core that which makes us ‘us’ remains.

CAPRICORN - The Passionate Lover (December 22 to January 19)
Love to bust. Nice. Sassy. Intelligent. Sexy. Grouchy at times and annoying to some. Lazy and love to take it easy, but when they find a job or something they like to do they put their all into it. Proud, understanding and sweet. Irresistible. Loves being in long relationships. Great talker. Always gets what he or she wants. Cool. Loves to win against other signs in sports, especially Gemini’s. Likes to cook but would rather go out
To eat at good restaurants. Extremely fun. Loves to joke. Smart. 24 years of bad luck if you do not forward.

It occurs to me, I'm quick, that some might think I believe this is a flattering representation of my personality.   Ahem!   Hardly but no horoscope of mine would be entirely Capricorn anyway there would be considerable input from Aquarius:

AQUARIUS - Does It in the Water (January 20 to February 18)
Trustworthy. Attractive. Great kisser. One of a kind. Loves being in long-term relationships. Tries hard. Will take on any project. Proud of themselves in whatever they do. Messy and unorganized. Procrastinators. Great lovers, when they’re not sleeping. Extreme thinkers. Loves their pets usually more than their family. Can be VERY irritating to others when they try to explain or tell a story. Unpredictable. Will exceed your expectations. Not a fighter, but will knock your lights out. 2 years of bad luck if you do not forward.

What you do is you take the best most attractive elements from both signs and call them me

Stress

I have a thing with keys.  I couldn't find the key it wasn't where it should be which was a) in the lock or b) in the egg bowl.   I looked at the lock I looked at the egg bowl, several times.  I moved every egg out and put every damn egg back.   It wasn't there.  Now I do know that I have had a slight problem with keys before but this time the problem was both less and more.  I was in the house I wanted to go out, nay, I had to go out.  I had opened the door from the kitchen into the garden it being a lovely day why not?   Why not indeed.  Now I wanted to lock the door and I couldn't find the damn key.

I prowled around the house looking for where I might have put the key if I had, somehow, forgotten to put it down when I opened the door.  You know instead of putting it in the egg bowl I carried it into whichever room I went into next and for eg. absentmindedly dropped it down the toilet and flushed it  away into the nightmare septic tank that lives at the back of the garden kind of opposite the ring forte no wonder the fae get pissed off.

Its nothing to do with me the septic tank has been there for decades and the ring forte for a thousand years or so and anyway its not like there isn't a hundred foot or more between them.

Aaanyoldhow I got bored with running aimlessly from room to room I went back into the kitchen calling upon every deity I could think of including st Anthony to help me find the blessed key.  And there it was in the egg bowl.  Trueforye.

Kind of. Like. Funny

Its kind of funny
Its written down
Hard
All about cats
Scary cats
So scary
Like she never saw a dog
Sometimes it feels
Hard

Like beyond fury
Beyond pain
Cos she’s not the victim
No not her
She’s the villain
All shrew and rage
Hard.

Its kind of funny
A rage of age
A cry for youth
Pain
So laugh
You broke so much of  her
Its kind of funny

Stiletto

I was reminded of an incident way back when I was very young, couldn't have been more than about fourteen.  Average I think would probably describe me then, very shy, slightly taller maybe, curlier hair, slim figure  but average.  One thing might have made me a bit different I had a temper I still do.

I can't remember how it happened one moment I'd swear we were walking the next I had my shoe in my hand and I smacked him on the head with the stiletto heel.  I cut his head I remember that.  Nasty little creep his name was Jimmy I remember that too.

I also remember his mother turned up to complain to my mother, can you believe that!  But she did, luckily and unusually, in those days parents always sided with each other,  this time my  mum wasn't interested.   I was barely a teenager she'd prefer it if I never went out but if I did I had strict instructions not to let a male get anywhere near me.

She gave Jimmys mum very short shrift but as soon as they'd gone she had a right go at me and I was stuck in doors for days.

Funny how things slip your mind only to spring right back as though let off a leash.  The days of my youth -  A true story.

Formula

I love to read.  I generally read whatever comes my way whatever the subject or author but for some time I've been concerned or maybe afraid is the right word I think the days of really great writers and storytellers may be gone for good.

Some authors have always written to a formula obviously there is a huge market for that and that's the problem there is so much money in writing to formula and of course everyone wants to write a successful book and once they write one to keep on doing it, that it looks to me as though originality is being lost as new writers strive to be 'like' A or B.

Are we so lazy we no longer look for new ideas?  New ways of saying something and I say that as someone who has found to her cost that experimentation  can get you exactly the wrong kind of attention and that without much of an audience.

Its said that there are about six original story lines and from those six all fiction evolves, maybe, but I think that its only relatively recently that we have become stuck in the groove of writing in a style that is very much the same as every other writer.

I don't know if this makes sense I do firmly believe that the best book ever written ended up in the bin because publishers wouldn't take a chance and I think that has become the same for all of us: authors write to formula and almost all of us read to formula.   I can't decide which is worse.

Note to Self

If its not in your own interest to try to interpret gibberish - don’t try…

Woody the Dog Caught!

woodythedog:

Stuck. Help.

===

Olly was stuck between the bed and the window he had somehow managed to move the bed and this is exactly what he looked like but one forepaw was also stuck.

He cried

Woody looks so much like Olly and his problem was so similar to my boys (see below) that obviously I had to say something! I should also have said that my poor Olly had no more than the size of his body between the bed, him and the wall...Poor baby.....

Burgers

I've been thinking about them for a while. It seems like quite a long while. I know I can get them in town and I know I could go to Castlebar to get some. I don't trust the beef. No getting away from it I don't trust the beef, but I wanted one so I did.

It didn't take too many days before I began thinking of making my own to be sure I hadn't made them for a couple of years but its like falling off a log anyone can do it. The big benefit of making your own is you can stand in the nice local butchers and watch him cut the steak into mince. I liked the idea so that's what I did. Here is the menu for Jamie Oliver Beef burgers I have to say they tasted very nice. I've frozen some for another day.

I had salad and white wine, not red. I wanted chilled and summery.

Original recipe from Jamie Oliver: 30 minute meals

Ingredients:

250g beef mince
½ small red onion
2 med egg
25g breadcrumbs
¼ tsp chilli pwder
¼ tsp ground cumin ½ tsp Dijon mustard
½ tsp dried oregano
25g parmesan cheese
Olive oil
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Method:
1. If barbequing, make sure the barbeque is nice and hot before cooking

2. Peel the onion, slice off a few rings to go in the buns then blitz the rest until finely chopped. Leave the onion in the processor / tip into a large mixing bowl if doing by hand.

3. Separate the egg and add the yolk to the the onion along with the chilli, powder, cumin, oregano, breadcrumbs and mustard.

4. Finely grate the parmesan into the mixture and mix

5. Tip mixture into a separate bowl, add the mince and season well.

6. Time to get your hands dirty! Mix the mixture with your hands until properly combined

7. Divide mince into even sized balls (whichever size you like) and pat into burger shapes. Place on a clean oiled tray, cover with clingfilm and leave in fridge for 5 minutes to firm

8. Meanwhile turn your griddle pan on to a high heat. Drizzle burgers with a little olive oil, season then add to the griddle pan or barbeque and cook for about 10 minutes – more if you like them well done (ruined) or less if you prefer them rare (the best way!)

9. Serve in a bun with whichever burger condiments you choose. Personally I think these burgers taste so good and are so juicy you don’t need lots of extras in the bun, just a bit of onion and some relish if you must!

Speghetti

Speghetti Bolognese easy, right..

I had visitors and being a rare and beautiful day in Ireland I thought we could maybe loll about in the garden even eat out there if the evening stayed warm.

I prepared the bolognese no problem. I do a nice bolognese and that’s the hard bit, the actual inspiration goes into the bolognese I mean anyone can throw speghetti into a pot, right.

Next I did a light salad side dish. No first course. Its a thing I don’t like first courses. A nice light salad on a bed of green and the guests could help themselves.

I was all ready, smiling, dressed, happy as a pig in shit I was. I decided to put the kettle on boil the water for the speghetti and I put the stove on with the speghetti so the water would not go off the boil as I poured it over the speghetti and into the pot.


So far so good and then I wandered into the garden to make sure the sun was still shining, the wind wasn’t too bad and that generally speaking nature was behaving itself.

You see I didn’t want to cook, if that’s the right word, the speghetti until my friends arrived speghetti doesn’t take long and it takes even less time to spoil. I just wanted it to be ready.

I was chatting to my dogs warning them of the consequences of sitting under the table and pawing laps and the fate worse than death that would await them if they tried to pinch anything off the table.

I returned to the kitchen and that is when I noticed it. The smell of burned speghetti is unmistakable.

The friends arrived walking into the kitchen started laughing. I shooed them into the garden, gave them a glass of wine and collapsed in a heap of laughter and fury. And no that is not a picture of my speghetti mine was worse than that. It was a kind of hard spiky stuff on the bottom of the pot. Fortunately I had another pot and more speghetti.

The meal was great the conversation very relaxed and if imo it was centred on speghetti well that’s speghetti bolognese for ye.

It would help if I could spell Spaghetti wouldn't it. I'm not going to change it serve me right and shows the mood I was in.....

A New Thing.

So it started off alright there was an email from someone who wanted to add me to his contacts, I said yes. Now that in itself is unusual I'm nervous of connections but this was his own name, presumably, his company I held dealt with them and I thought where's the harm.

Eejit! How often have I thought that? Aanyoldhow I decided to leave it sure I can't spend a lifetime or what remains of this one, rejecting all contact and I thought it would be safe enough. The result is I now have this whole profile thingy and it doesn't appear to give a 'retired' option so its for working people only? So I shouldn't be there. Or what?

I have acquired some contacts. I don't know them except one and if I ever catch up with him he's a smear on the carpet. I don't mind exactly. I just wasn't expecting it d'ye see. Of course I know I should have the same thing has happened every time and I really do mean every time. How the fuck is that?

The answer is me, I sussed it out, instead of going over everything as though it were a contract, which they all are, I ticked everything in a hurry and before I knew it the site had sent out I don't know how many invitations. Ok so its my own fault I get that. I do. The good news is I think I caught most of em the bad news is I'm not certain....

I can see that Mr A added all the emails he had ever received and that's fine, and its not right to block someone for no reason. I understand that too totally but its a little bit worrying I don't know where what might be called normal leads. In theory it leads nowhere, but does it? I'm going to see what if anything happens. I mean nothing should so nothing will, right? Yep.

Funny thing is usually when I join something I'm very careful, you better believe that! but this time because it was an invitation and arrived by email I just sortof dived in without thinking too much.

Be strong.

Ice

Part of Me

A part of me is rarely seen.
Hidden even from myself
This me in solitude waits
Standing watching.

Quieter, softer, dappling grey
Unimpressed and unafraid the
Strident cries of multitudes
Pass by

Invisible to the naked eye
The hidden me in darkness listens
Feeling the watching silence.

Whispering ripple of dissent
Strength in the wait
Coiled in an eternal spring
Alert content in seamless comfort
Instinct grows and bides.

The Right Spot

He dragged the long lumpy sack into the garden and paused, looking around he moved to the centre and started measuring carefully when he finished he lifted the heavy sack and placed it exactly in the centre. He lifted a shovel and began to dig he felt it was important to get it right not too close to the surface that would be disastrous but not too deep either that would defeat the purpose. At last he covered it with earth and stone and with a weary sigh stood back well satisfied with his work.

He returned to the kitchen took a can out of the fridge and watched the garden as he began to drink. Sure enough after a few minutes one of the dogs walked across, then an early bird landed, and just as he was turning away the milkman came up the path. He grinned he had got it exactly right someone would be walking all over her all day. Time for a shower it had been a long night.

Reminder

A vicious game played for thrills

Left its own disfiguring rills

The scars now healed

The lesson learn

Who harms me in turn gets burned.

Andradite or Demantoid Garnet

No. 44003: Andradite var. Demantoid Garnet from Soghan, near Jiroft ...
www.johnbetts-fineminerals....

I take a special interest in Garnets they are my birth stone and over the years I've been impressed at the different colours. These are Andradite Garnets I saw the name and had to check and when I did I discovered its a variation or another name of the Demantoid Garnet. Demantoid is one of the rarer Garnets and consequently its one of the more expensive too.

The cut and shaped stone below is priced at approximately $6,000. My own Green garnets are Tsavorites perhaps not as expensive but just as green imo they're better than Emeralds.

03ct Demantoid Garnet – Namibia
jefferydavies.com

Artist

Uncut Raw Diamonds thetrilogy3.com

Consider the painter labouring for weeks and months. A brush here a stroke there exact and deliberate to express his vision
The poet agonising over which particular word expresses which particular emotion and how many ways it may be read by others
The author slaving over his masterpiece for months and years that all may be consumed with curiosity to the end
The Sculptor gazing upon the rock he envisions as something new and different to be hacked, hammered and stabbed into the vision we will all admire

They all have one crucial thing in common most of us admire their work, we are in awe of their artistry and envious of the ability and talent expressed so eloquently even if we disagree with the result eager we are to explain that its no reflection of the artist. All of them labour for weeks and months demanding the right to be as temperamental as the work demands.

The rest of us work nine to five in often sullen submission to the rules of labour. We totally understand and would be the first to acknowledge that our efforts enable us to occasionally afford a glimpse of artistry.

Consider in the darkness the man huddled over a table in a small dimly lit room, the light and its a strong one is a beam specifically directed it glares from the lamp he wears strapped to his forehead exposing the object in front of him. A dull, plain looking rock on the table is being chipped and cut into a thousand pieces. The slithers and shards are not allowed to fall to the floor he will have a use for them later and so he works head bowed over the small rock, sometimes he has time to pore over the object to study its every crease and fold but not today, he is on a deadline and so must cut shave and skim with speed, and as he does the dull rock in front of him is changing a glow is beginning and deep inside its possible to see a crystal taking shape.

The smallish rock was not considered an important one to be sure its too good for laser but not good enough for the long drawn out attention he in his secret dreams longs to give to the perfect stone. No this rock sits on a crowded table in the care of a man who is paid for speed. Even so for all the speed the apparent indifference you can clearly see the light within the rock as each tiny chip reveals the glow. A diamond is born and the workman goes home at last to admire the work of the poet, painter and sculptor.

WhiteFlash.com: Picture Perfect

The Real Love of my Life

Tiffany New York. Kunzite www.gemstoneslist.com

http://www.jewelsglobe.com/jewelry-category/necklaces-pendants/diamond-necklaces-pendants/expensive-diamond-necklaces

I saw them so naturally I posted them. I may start a small (ish) collection just so the pig ignorant know what they can't afford...

Spring

Oh yeah it was love alright. Anyone could see that. Unexpected gifts of insults and lace and she has a special fondness for the link to cosmetic surgery.

That was a nice touch. A hint of the kindergarten about it? Not at all! The call of spring sends the burgeoning sap rushing to the loins and thinking is never easy when it has so far to travel,

And the poems! How could she forget the poems, quite easily actually because if a poem was ever written for her she never saw it much less read it. Ah but she remembers the words, such words. Explosive emotions rending the air with bouquets of flowers barbed wire and bricks.

Stormy Water

I don’t know why but today I’m so attracted to big waves.

I want to lie beneath them and survive.

I want to ride on top of them and feel the fall.

I want to scream as the sheer rush of energy engulfs me.

I want to laugh out loud that I'm alive to live it.Source: R2--D2

http://tapdancingonclouds.tumblr.com/

Rain

There’s a house, can’t you see it? Its just on the corner right there on the edge. Its log and brick, the patio doors are wide open. A couple are watching the rain with one accord they step out of their clothes into the rain and…..

Source: w-i-n-t-e-r-w0nderland

Early One Morning

I was woken by the sound of a dog whimpering. I tried to ignore it the dogs always try it on. The whimpering continued I couldn't get back to sleep. I lay looking at the ceiling for about a minute then throwing the duvet off I stormed out of my bedroom down the hall and stopped.

There apparently lying on the bed was Ollie and he was looking all worried and whimpering. I took a deep breath preparatory to releasing the outraged scream I could feel climbing up my throat and stopped.

I peered through sleep rimmed eyes and evaluated the scene. Ollie was trapped. He had somehow managed to get himself stuck between the bed and the wall. I stopped

I smiled at his predicament and pulled the bed away that he might run, which he did and with considerable speed, tripping over his own legs in his haste to get away from the terrible trap. He landed in a heap at the front door and lay watching me. I stopped

And I almost, well alright I kind of, scolded him. It was probably my fault I must have forgotten or not closed the door to the spare bedroom properly could he really be blamed for that? I opened the door and let him run. Time for coffee.

Listen

To your heart

Hear the words

Its telling you

All you need to know

To Be.

A Face?

I saw a face
Muffled in layers
Afraid of the cold
Knocked about
That face had been

Maybe scared
Maybe worried
Maybe too many
Smokes or drinks
Once or twice

I felt sad for that face
Been there

Then I thought
Someone Down on His luck.
Could it be
A face I've seen before?
Huddled against the cold

In a doorway
As I rushed by
Too busy in a busy world?
Well, actually, yes, it is. Of course...

I'm not going to feel sorry.
That face had his days
Of hope and laughter

But!

If such a face took life too hard
Maybe found himself
Financially embarrassed
Maybe needing a small sub
From whenever to whenever

Feck it!

What can I say
I would, of course I would
Help out.

Just for a while
Until the horse romps home
First instead of last
You know on four legs
Instead of three.

Coming third in a three horse race
Is not so good.

Happy Birthday & Oh yes Draculaaaa

To Bram Stoker born on 8th November 1847 Born in Ireland and raised in Ireland there is no getting away from it he was Irish. But, for some reason he is one Irishman we, whilst not totally ignoring, seem to have been reluctant or slow to recognise.

Without Mr Stoker there would have been no need for long silk lined cloaks, black of course. No need for wooden stakes or garlic. No need for full length windows and no need for underwired bras.

At least Mr Stoker had the good taste to base his immortal character in Transylvania and not Ireland, even so it might be a good idea to lock the windows and close the curtains early tonight. One hundred and sixty five years old and stronger than ever.

Bram Stoker died on 20th April 1912. As far as I know he has not been seen since.....Whooo!

Come into My Parlour....

The eternal magic of poetry. I know I always put old and usually very well known chocolate box poems here but that's because they are my own old favourites as well as everyone elses and I love to remind myself of them.

This one is no different. It seems as though I have always known this. I'm told I loved it when it had to be read to me and when I was too young to see beyond the words. I still do it speaks to and for me. We're never too old for fun. Just a nursery rhyme or so much more. I'm not going into metaphor or inuendo there's no need.

Or as it is formally known:

The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt 1799-1888 First published: 1829

Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there."
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, " Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I 've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind Sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you 're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue --
Thinking only of her crested head -- poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.