A handbag full of....

Here it is - almost 2 weeks since I posted anything, but since I am now happily displaying a Blogging Without Obligation button, I won't apologise. I will mention that life has simply been very busy, and that the car (which was so recently serviced) began giving trouble again and that I have been ... um ... anxious at times, resulting in a panic-attack yesterday. Recovered now. I've talked enough people through it to know and understand what's happening, but the theory doesn't stop it from happening. I thinked it helped me get over it, though.

So here I am, and this morning I started catching up on reading blogs, wondering would I post something. What would I post? Bits and pieces? And then, I came to Caroline's blog, where she displays the contents of her handbag, and I thought... ok. I can do that. She was responding to Jo's post with her bag-contents. So here, for your curious eyes are the unedited contents of my handbag (OK. I confess. I left out the bits of grit and tiny balls of paper)

I forgot to include the actual bag in the photo. It's black, fake leather, sack-shaped and has too loopy handles I can slip over my shoulder. What's also missing from the picture is my camera, spare batteries and my second mobile phone. (although those are always in my bag). What is there is:

cheque book, credit union pass-book, 2 card wallets (mostly filled with store loyalty cards) magnifier, breath-freshener strips, dead clock-battery (so I'll know what size I'm looking for when I go to the shop), lip balm, Rescue Remedy, hand-cream, folding comb, apricot and almond bar (coated in yogurt! Healthy!), two wallets (one Euro, the other Sterling), mobile phone for use in Northern Ireland, box of Moo mini-cards, bottle of rose cologne from L'Occitane en Provence (Mother's day gift from Son), Diary (WeMoon diary. I love it), Street map book of Belfast (doesn't stop me getting lost and having panic-attacks, though, does it?), programme for upcoming Arts Festival in our area, leaflet on Crocs (bought a pair yesterday. Comfy, comfy). Pencil, pink highlighter, my silver Cross pen (which went missing for 3 years and inexplicably came back to me a few months ago), a small black notebook with rubber-band around it, and the case for my spectacles. Oh yes. There's a big wad of tissues there too. You never know...

And ... there's often a folding umbrella there these days too. I used to carry a screwdriver and tiny screw kit for repairing glasses, but I've lost it. There are often bigger notebooks (the ones I actually write in) shoved in there, or whatever book I'm reading at the moment if I'm going anywhere I anticipate waiting time. Sometimes I'm carrying paracetemol or ointments for my hands and feet (dry, dry skin). There might be sunglasses, though these normally live in my car.

I can't understand how anyone manages with a small bag. I can't. I've accepted this. I'm proud of myself for the fact that I didn't find 3 dozen supermarket receipts and half-a-pound of small change in the bottom of the bag.

Would you like to share your handbag contents? Come on, let's see! If you do, say so in the comments, and maybe you'd like to let Caroline and Jo know too. They started the game! (links above)

Oh yes... this is not the only bag I carry. The story of all my other bags is, I think for another post, another day!

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Other things? I'm still sitting on the couch. It's 4pm. I need to get to town soon. But I also want to show you something my niece and my sister gave to me. Sorry... Blogger will not let me post the picture of the freesias and arum lilies that have grown from the corms they brought as a gift when they visited in march. My niece had arum lilies as her wedding-flower last year, so they are extra special for all of us. I am just thrilled to see this unfolding beauty. Hopefully tomorrow I'll get it in.

And strangely, Blogger will allow me to post a picture in honour of Fairy Day, celebrated by Julie Marie at Celtic Woman. Only one fairy lives with me (though I have often hung Fairy calendars, and have many beautiful pictures of fairies). This little beauty came to me on one of the most special days in my life and lives in my bedroom. Her name is still a secret.

Hope you have a wonderful weekend, sprinkled with fairy-dust.

Sunday Scribblings. Town and Country

‘Town’ is a relative term, it seems. I’ve always thought of myself as not just a townie, but a “city-girl”, being reared in Limerick, at the mouth of the Shannon (see last Poetry Thursday’s entry). And yet, and yet, I’ve never lived anywhere that wasn’t within a 5-minute walk of countryside. Sounds pretty country to me. What it probably is, is my suburban self showing herself. So, on the edge of the town, with streetlights and proper footpaths, a convenience store within a short walk, but within a short walk in the other direction, there have always been the treasures of the countryside.

Confession: Not since childhood have I taken regular advantage of this. It’s a rare day that I come out on foot from my house, with my hands swinging, and turn right when I leave the estate, up the Thorn Road, rather than left on the walk to the shop or the town. If I did head away from town, I’d be skirting past the next housing estate, ignoring the bungalows built at one side of the road, and letting my attention be drawn instead into the hedgerows, where right now the May-blossom is giving the last of this years heady scent, falling among the brambles, allowing the trees to ready themselves for the autumn abundance of haws. If I kept walking, up, up the hill, past the curious cows and the rutted and pitted paths, I’d come to where, at the hill’s crest, I can look over the river. Depending on the timing, it will either be an expanse of mud with a single silver trickle running through its centre, or a wide and calm stretch of dove-grey silk, rippled with the breezes that continually blow along its shores. I could keep going, follow the loop of the road, that will eventually bring me onto the main road, with more and more houses crowding around, until I come back to where I live, back to the street-lights and the children playing on the small patch of green not far from my own front-door.

The country of childhood, I’ve described before. The back-field that was our summer territory, the place of sanctuary and magic; the enfoldment of aunties and my grandmother. There was another place in my childhood – a field that I found, on my own. I considered it to be my own private territory, and there, there was treasure. There, I found riches. I have no recollection of why I’d headed Singland direction rather than to the back-field that day, but I think I’d caught a glimpse on a group foray into this new area, and decided to return alone to check it out a day or two later. How old was I? 8? 10? Perhaps somewhere between the two. Life was as free then as we could not imagine now. I didn’t have to report to anyone what my movements were. It didn’t occur to me to let anyone know where I was going, but off I went, up through Parke’s estate and the new building sites, through the railway gates, and over to the other side, down almost to the stream we used to fish for pinkies in, and then through the gap in the hedge to my goal. I’d seen something pink there. Something pink and orange and peachy. Something high in the hedge between this field and the next. Through the long grass I waded, towards my goal.

It was there. Just as I’d thought. I was Sir Joseph Banks. I was Fuchs. I was the intrepid explorer that discovered exotic species and brought them back to civilization. I reached and stretched, finally managing to pull a long vine towards me, finally securing a bunch of the blossoms, finally succeeding in pushing my face in among those blooms and inhaling a sweetness I’d never before encountered. I grabbed and gathered, and returned home happy, happy, happy, with my armload of honeysuckle. I had gone to the country and found something to rival cowslips, to rival briar-rose. I had found the most beautiful flower ever to grace a hedge. I had discovered beauty. I was queen of the entire country.

Find more wanderings in Town and Country at Sunday Scribblings HERE

Hello Amaryllis

I've been enjoying the wonderful spectacle of emerging amaryllis flowers from a bulb my sister brought with her for my birthday in December. The flower-heads are so heavy, without support, the stalks can just snap off - but when that happened to one of the stalks, I got to enjoy the flowers in two rooms - one bunch in my living-room, and the other in a vase on the kitchen table.

When I read Fran's post about her beautiful amaryllis and the lessons she has learnt from watching it grow, I was reminded of my first encounter with these remarkable plants. After a summer working in Holland, one of the parting gifts my summer-boyfriend gave me was a huge, ugly bulb, with no wrapping, no indication as to what it should look like. Of course, it wasn't strictly legal to bring it back into Ireland, but I did nevertheless. I followed his instructions, and the amazement with which my family and I watched the burgeoning flower was incredible. They are commonplace now, but then they were something unknown in these parts, and it was such a wonderful gift.

This is such a wonderful gift. I just want to say Hello to my amaryllis. Hello to Spring. The weekend was about Goodbyes. This is Hello.

Teaspoon Tuesday: House Plants

Deirdre at Teaspoon Tuesday asks a few questions about houseplants, and as I have begun over the past year or two to accumulate houseplants again, I thought I'd answer. The houseplant I can't kill (well, not without first propogating a replacement from it, at least) is a Jade plant (money tree). The one that sits on my kitchen windowsill is 3rd generation, and about 9 years old - or is it 12? It's old, anyway. And I like the way its branches twist and turn. The plant I'm proudest of is my jasmine. It didn't flower this year, but it flourished, and flourished, and flourished. This is the 3rd jasmine I've had, and the only one to survive beyond a year. It's about 2 1/2 feet tall, and ready for more support, as there are new shoots heading off towards the front door. It sits in my hallway, and makes me very happy. There's a wierd cactus that looks like a spiky hand with 23 fingers on the kitchen windowsill, and that flowers at unpredictable times - orange trumpet-shaped flowers that are a real delight to behold, and there's a flaming Katy (looking a little sad at the moment. I'm not sure she'll see the winter out). And, of course, the new yellow orchid that is making me smile, smile, smile. Once upon a time, I had greenery in every room, and I allowed a lot of plants to die during a time when I had enough to do keeping myself and the people in my life fed and warm. Now, the reappearance of plants around my house is, to me, a sign of health. A sign of life.

Thanks for asking, Deirdre, and for your bright post.