Still Here

There's a tightening in my core, like I'm pulling in and concentrating my energy.  We're going to get out of here.  Have almost convinced Richard to drastically drop the price on the house, in total taking $76,000 off  so we can sell up and move.  In 7 months we've had exactly one inspection.  One.  Obviously we're not meeting the market.  Dropped it $26,000 and still no joy - but that's by the buy (a typofreudian slip - so want someone to BUY this place). 

Haven't written in ages - computer dramas of dire proportions (lost most everything).  Still not 100%.  Have been far more disciplined after getting sloppy, gluttonous and feeling the effects of less energy, less self esteem.  Only put on a couple of kilos but always felt bloated.  I have the willpower to quit smoking but have trouble controlling portion size.  No problem in eating good, nay excellent food, just eat too much of it.  Or did.  Not too many slips now and the result is little short of amazing.  No, not in suddenly being a size 6 but in how I feel.  Much more energy.  Think when one is bloated it's because food is lounging around in the gut taking energy for digestion that could go into living.  Not advocating anorexia just common sense.  My enthusiasm for everything sometimes goes awry and since I've learned to cook (still can't believe that I love to cook after a lifetime of believing it a most vile activity) I love what I create. And eat it too!

Still.  Some other factors.  Much more consistent with yoga.  More like 7 days a week rather than 5.  Went to Woodford to visit Gabi and attended a couple of yoga classes.  Learned and practiced the 5 Tibetan Rites (http://www.lifeevents.org/5-tibetans-energy-rejuvenation-exercises.htm) at one of the classes and have incorporated them into my practice, more to encourage Richard who is also doing them, then because I need to add on another 10 minutes into a practice that already takes an hour.  There are, however, two of the exercises, No. 2 and 4, which illustrate how weak I am in those areas. 

The other thing is running.  Thanks to yoga my nearly 60 year old joints can cope with the concussion without aching so much they keep me awake at night.  Have attempted to take up running  half a dozen (or more) times in the past 20 years and have always been defeated by the pain.  There is still pain (I'm so unfit!) but it's a good pain which will lessen with time.  Somewhat embarrassing however.  I've got the two whippets, Jamaica and Radar, with me while I *run*.  When I'm *running* up a steep hill, Jamaica keeps trotting but Radar gives a big sigh and walks.  It's a fast walk but even so! 

I ran for years and gave up because of  a) the smoking finally taking its toll and b) the pain in my hips.  So far so good and I'm so chuffed.  I love the way running makes me feel and I want that fitness again.  Now that I don't smoke (will be 3 years in May) I feel that I've earned the right to those running induced endorphins.

More consistent with the meditation attempts.  After how many years? I should be an 'experienced meditator'.  Ha.  Still a flibbertygibbett but had a tiny experience which had me googling scary meditation (nothing really, a flush of energy through my body which was hard to contain).

There's another reason for this get fit regime.  It's Richard.  Things are good health wise.  He's eating well, taking the Parkinson's medication, walking, and as mentioned, doing the Tibetan 5 Rites 4 or 5 times a week.  But his mind isn't as it should be.  Sometimes it's scary.  We had to buy a television as the old one crapped itself.  Took measurements for the cabinet so that the new tv would fit.  He saw that televisions are measured diagonally so that a 32" is a diagonal measurement across the screen.  He panicked, certain that our cabinet measurements, width and height, wouldn't work.  He forgot how to put batteries in the remote, well not forgot but put them in wrong, something he never would have done before.  I had to draw a diagram in the dirt yesterday to show him which yard gates would be open and which closed to let Balthazar out overnight but keep the other two in.  He's been yarding and unyarding the horses for 20 years.  He forgets names and places and it scares him.  He is more loving than ever and although I know he loves me, part of it I think is needing reassurance.  It must be frightening to know that things are not as they were.  I can't save him from it but I can be there for him.  At the same time, sometimes it is a little claustrophobic and the space allowed by yoga and walking is necessary for my peace of mind. 

But it's all good.  We are still blessed.  Healthy and loved and loving, the animals good save for the untimely loss of Tony to an intruding brown tree snake (found the hold, bandicoot made and sealed it).  So can't complain - except that we have no house buyers!

14 March.  Copied from journal.  

Lionel still missing - forever more I suspect.  He would've returned if he was able - or alive.  Miss him.  Grieve for him.  Or would if I knew.  Went through this before when he went missing.  But he returned after a day.  Nothing I can do.  I loved him, tried to give him the best life, best opportunities, health and strength to best fit him for life in the wild.  Unfortunately because of his attachment to me he kept himself aloof from other galahs, except in 'warning call' emergency when he would launch himself in flight and beat retreat with the others.  He would've done that no matter where he was so what happened?  Why can't he come home?

Matisse - a changed cat.  Haven't had to clean up a spray or puddle of urine for 3 days now.  He's sitting beside the notebook as I write.  The prozac doesn't make him dopey or sluggish, it just takes that edge off his OCD.  When I clean the kitty boxes and there are 3, sometimes 4 wet spots, I am overjoyed - well, maybe not overjoyed - but happy.  Means it's okay.

He looks me in the eye again - not for long but at least he can (he's quietly purring, has shifted position so his head is very near mine).  BTW, he weighs 7kg or 15.4 lbs.  Also, have changed my mind about CRF - too fat and glossy.

Don't know if I'm repeating myself but - since Cornelius flew out the opening during the remains of Cyclone Oswald when the screen blew in, Tony has stopped speaking.  He makes budgie noises but no longer says Pretty Bird, The Regurgitator, Tony, etc.  I miss his little tinny tiny voice.

Have been working on a pastel drawing inspired in part by a photo in Baroque Horse magazine.  Was beavering away at it then got stuck.  Ground to a halt actually.  I think I ran out of puff because I was copying.  Tried to view it strictly as an exercise - maybe I became unstuck because of having trouble duplicating it.  At any rate, looking at it, and looking at it and finally,while on the yoga mat and seeing it from an oblique angle, I saw what I could do so it's on again.  I like it but don't love it - yet.  I live in hope.

Waiting for Lee (the farrier).  Have rugged the horses because the biting flies are so bad.  Spray their legs with insect repellant once daily to give them some relief.  Have never seen them this bad.  Something to do with the rain coming so late in the season?

Speaking of which - the ants feel we'll get much more rain.  Until the earth moving equipment, which came to repair the flood damaged road, flattened them, the ants were building tall spires, towers and fat levees.  There's a cyclone in the far north which they expect to follow the path of Sandy and head east then south well away from us.  The ants suspect otherwise.

It is Saturday evening. I'm on my second glass of red. R is in the shower. Outside it is blustery and cool, overcast with clouds that despite their threatening demeanor have not let go with their belly full of rain. It has been a good day. Not remarkable. R asked the other day what I was going to do with that particular day and I answered the same as usual, nothing special. But it is all special - if I can regard it as such. It's all in the mind, in the attitude of the mind. I can see this present life as limited and boring and unproductive or as the opposite; limitless, exciting and creative. Yes, the routine is basically the same. Get up between 5 and 6:30 am, feed the cats. That's the first priority. If that isn't done nothing else is possible. Put the kettle one, make the coffee, use the mixture of hot and cold (previously boiled) water to make the lorikeet food. I am down to three coop cups now so it seems easy. Measure out seed for Jack, measure out coccivet for whomever needs it (as of today the galahs and Jack still as he was off his food as mentioned in a previous post). Go outside, greet the dogs, put out wild bird seed for the galahs waiting on the overhead wires. Greet Jack, Marvin and all the birds. Do the c/t with Jack, put the food out, let the horses out into the dam paddock. By this time R might be up and taking up the dogs for their morning constitutional. If R hasn't surfaced by 7 I take the dogs for they are standing there with their legs metaphorically crossed and a strained look on their sweet whippet faces. (Radar this morning left two huge poos after having his usual walk yesterday afternoon in which he did one - plus two that morning - and they stunk! Had to hose then slosh disinfectant around. Suspect the treat of a bone each did the trick). Anyway, then back inside, swig a mouthful of coffee then head to the verandah to do some c/t with Dimitri (more about him later) and then when that's done to let the little birds out. Found that Dimitri will not participate if Tony is cavorting around. Then and only then can I sit with R and have our morning cuppa.

After letting Natalia out of the bathroom of course. She has to be fed separately as she's on CD for her urine. Matisse is fed on top of the fridge and Nairobi in the usual cat dish in the usual cat dish place beside the dish cupboard. Matisse and Nairobi, almost 7 and 8 years respectively, have become somewhat portly. It is especially important that Nairobi retain a svelte figure as she has only three legs. One was amputated because she blew her cruciate. If she blew the other one because it was strained with too much weight, and it is taking the entire weight of her hindquarter, we would have no choice but to euthanise her. Matisse, being a Siamese, had remained slim until the arrival of Natalia. Then we noticed he was eating his food, Nairobi's food and then Natalia's. He got quite thick through the middle and looked much like a watermelon with a pimple on one end.

So that's the morning, every morning seven days a weeks, 365 days a year and I wouldn't have it any other way. Yes, some mornings I think oh bloody routine but once I step outside under that big sky with the birds singing and the freshness of morning seeping through my skin I am okay. It is a privilege.

About Dimitri. I am working towards getting him to drop the plastic toy in my hand rather than the dish. Every time I work with him (twice daily) I have to court him to come closer. He is always wary, always on high alert. But it does get easier. Once he's dropped the toy in the dish the first time he usually gets braver and will take the treat standing quite close to me. It has been almost two years since he came and the trust is increasing with painful slowness- but it is better. He needs all the time he needs. I love him and am quite happy to work at a pace he's comfortable with. I should have another 30 or 40 years at least. If it takes that long to win his trust, it takes that long.

Tony, the former surgery budgerigar, has learned to say 'Pretty bird'. I am thrilled. We've had talking cockatoos. Jack talks. His repertoire is limited but he does talk. But I have never had a bird that I learned to speak from me. I know Tony doesn't know what he's saying. He only mimics what he hears but when he's perched on my shoulder and speaks in his tiny tinny voice, pretty bird, I am very pleased. It is such an odd thing. I never understood why people wanted talking birds. Having a bird in your life is fascinating/entertaining enough but there he is, half a normal budgie size, nibbling on my ear, clicking and whistling and then saying, oh there it is again! "Pretty bird!" I am undone.

Viewing the world through the runny eyes of a cold. Frustrating how the cold defeats me. I do believe in the power of seeing oneself healthy and well yet come undone at the first sign of a sore throat. It's as though I give up believing I am in charge of my own well-being, throw up my hands and succumb to this little packet of energy designed for miserableness. Haven't figured out how to circumvent it so blow and cough in a welter of phlegm and handkerchiefs.

Stayed up to watch The Matrix just so that I could see the ending, which has implications far deeper than a computer program. It is as though it is a message sent from our deepest knowing if we only choose to see. I mean, we all know that we are but varying arrangements of energy packets. Quantum physics has sifted down to the common man, but we don't act as if it is true. That's the bugger. We choose to believe in this world of Maya - and perhaps that's as it should be. Why else come unless you're going to play?

Speaking of playing. I love my birds. I am so grateful to them. My heart swells with joy when I am with them. And these are some of the reasons:
1) Dimitri: He is learning to put the plastic ring in the bowl. I can see the light dawning and it is with a happy heart that I witness the increased bravery because it's all fun! No force, no fear, no failing.
2) Tony: Is eating and eating and eating. He looks better, he's in better feather. When he comes out he wants to give and get some affection before he has a fly around. I am very proud of him. He is so tiny yet his being is enormous.
3) Jake: I accept that Jake is a cranky poop in the morning. If he is on the ground I don't put his food in. Yesterday I couldn't put his food in even though he was on the branch as he had a go and tried to bite. That's all right. I've got plenty of time. Later he is pleasant and I suspect he even nurtures a sneaking affection for these odd people who carry him around on a branch crying 'Flying Bird' in funny voices while swooping him high and low.
4) Suki: Suki has chosen to come out voluntarily to forage for tasty blossoms or to hide under my hair in the evening or just to sit quietly on my shoulder and preen my neck. She is a brave and funny little soul who is growing tail feathers!
5) Marvin: Marvin is cock of the walk. He marches everywhere in unquestioning self-importance. The other galahs give him a wide berth due to his bad temper. He guards me sometimes, chasing Fern and Grevillea, who only want to say hello, away. We've been weeding bindi-eyes for weeks. The galahs, wild and domestic, love them. Marvin 'helps' by standing on the plant I'm trying to get out and tugging. He only wants to be the first to have the fresh picked weed and even stoops to raiding the bowl of plucked bindi-eyes that is bound for the verandah birds. Have to keep switching from plant to plant, working each one free a little at a time so that Marvin gets to help and I actually get some weeding done without hurting his feelings. Marvin can be very demanding of affection, standing on my foot when he wants to be picked up, cuddling in close to my chest while I preen his head. He makes little clucking whistling noises and closes his eyes while tilting his head back. When he's feeling playful he attacks my shoe and flips himself upside down. I see the wild galahs play like this. I can give him a poinciana seed to play with - he's too excited to be trusted with fingers - and he screams and chews and boxes with his feet. I can pick him up by a handful of tail feathers and he doesn't care. He screams in delight. If I right him he'll flip himself over again - but only when he's in this playful mood. I would never try and force him to play. He has to initiate it.