Lamb's Head, Derrynane, Kerry

Am here for my annual jaunt. Missed the Royals by a week!!
Skies and weather are glorious.
Skellig on the horizon scintillating in the heat.
May the force be with you!!

Remembering

Finding personal items belonging to the departed, always calls me up short.

 Here is a poem about one of those finds.

Missing You

Your shoes still hold the shape of you.

I find them where you left them

to dry, perhaps, one behind the other

on the doorstep. Left foot forward,

slightly hen-toed. As if you are walking

a tight rope, which you were,

though we didn’t know it.

They look poised to step over

whatever obstacle is in your way.

They look practiced, ragged, war-torn.

Nike - you must have bought them in a sale,

as you’d never pay the price for brand-names.

They’re not your style, or colour, but surely your size?

though you’ve been known to buy bigger

at the right price. You even bought odd sizes once

in a bargain-basement. “Scrooge!” we called you.

But you were never stingy with your heart.

Emptying out your account for those who deserved

and those who aspired

and those who just happened to be there.

I will leave the shoes, just- so.

Primed and poised on some imminent adventure

Waiting for your say-so

Waiting for you

Banana Bread

With a surplus of bananas I thought ....Banana bread
BUT my Cranks recipe called for more ingredients than I had in the cupboard

The yeast carry-on didn't work out
 so:

Flour- self raising
mixed spice
salt
bananas mashed
dried fruit
rice milk
and hey presto

A no egg- no dairy banana bread
Quite tasty
35 Mins later.

Cat Tales

Kitty caught his first mouse today. Down the garden steps he came, staggering with the excitement of it. I couldn’t believe it; a huge mouse between Kitty’s jaws.

He’s nearly two, and what with his one eye and the metal pins in his leg I never thought he’d manage it. I had to check for the blue collar and missing right eye to convince myself that it really was our kitty strutting down the garden with his prize.

The dog knew something was afoot and set upon our highway man and his hostage.

Kitty abandoned mousey to his fate, which would have been medieval coming from a 30+ kilo Setter had I not intervened with much coaxing and wheedling and enticing. I locked the two bloodthirsty marauders in the house and went out to survey the damage.

Mousey was, to my horror, still alive. No visible sign of trauma or trail of blood. I hadn’t noticed the whiteness of mice feet before, nor their semblance to the human hand. In short, I couldn’t deliver the fatal blow. I hoped for stunned and folded him into the leafy undergrowth. Then the waiting. The forays in and out of the undergrowth to check for pulse. The hopes of finding the body to be missing, presumed recovered. The attempts to thwart the highwaymen at my heels every time I ventured out.

It may have been kinder to finish mousey off with a hammer, but my hand baulked at the deed and his passing was, in the end, peaceful at least. I wasn’t there for it, but when I found him unresponsive to touch, back white feet folded over each other, eyes glazed, I buried him under the raised garden shed surrounded by rocks; the ones you’re not supposed to remove from the beach.

I thought grandly of Newgrange passage tomb and portal stones and dolmens as I laid him to rest, and prayed that Kitty wouldn’t do an Indiana and exhume him the following day.

Footprints

I had great h
 es of travel

When I bought that shopping trolley.

You know the type:

Tartan, two wheels,Vintage.

I might even reduce my Eco footprint

And improve local air quality.

My adult children said

I'd look like Mrs Doyle

And that I 'd have to say,

"Ah, Go on! Go on! Have another cup of tea, Father!"

I reminded them that I was Mrs Doyle.

And That shut them up.

There was a great array of shopping trolleys to choose from:

The Hoppa , a folding -four -wheeler on tubular -steel -wheels

And The Rolser Eco- Pep -Logic -Tour -Model, guaranteed

To lower my footprint and reduce noise pollution.

I opted for a two -wheeler from Argos: tartan; aka TWAT.

And, on its first outing, pulled rib muscles- MINE;

What with the month's supply of flour 

And sugar and dog food and cat litter….

TWAT is now relegated to the boiler room;

Storage-bin -receptacle of shopping bags, extension leads,

Gardening gloves, coat hangers and items sundry.

Wheels sadly obsolete.

But when I look at it, I follow in Mrs Quinn's footprints,

Circa 1960, on her weekly shop -up the Oaks,

Along Thomas Street, down Scotch Street, across Irish Street,

Ending up in the Square at McAleer's corner

Where the RUC Barracks cast a long shadow

And where higher up, and further back,

The burnt remains of O'Neill's Castle still smouldered

And were about to become ignited all over again.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard-Doyle 2018