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Reflections 2019 w25

The wind blew at my strapped down Tilly hat as I crested the hill that was once a fort at Dinas Dinlle, sea spray travelling over the land in a fine mist, leaving the taste of salt with each heavy breath.

I love these dog walks with Spot.

My heart pounds with the exertion my body has with the short but sudden climb, lungs filling with fresh, clean air; Welsh air. I hear only the sound of the wind and crashing waves, glad I am not trying to fight the sea to catch a fish or two, not even the bleating of the sheep can be heard. I know not if they are hiding in a far off field or just behind the wall, silently waiting for the wind to die down. Even the seagulls hang in the air as though they are in a painted seaside scene.

The only other people I can see in this quiet place are other dog walkers, some are clearly taking pleasure in the weather, others look like they wish they had cats. It’s not cold, but some are dressed like it was the middle of winter, accompanied by a bloke in shorts. My smile as we pass seems to convey my humour at the sight, much to the annoyance of the person wrapped up, which in turn makes me smile more. Not in a mean way…OK it might be a little mean.

I never get bored of doing the same walks over and over again at the coast, or in the countryside. I find a peace with the empty space, a quiet in the natural sounds, the voice in my head has nothing to find fault with that cannot be easily forgotten by something to see. Yes I may just sit and cry, emotionless, yet calm. Not knowing why, but accepting the release of pressure.

These are the times I know there is hope, because these are the times I do not need to lean on the medication.

They just do not happen often enough. But I am Grateful that they do at least happen.

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2019

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Mare’s Field…#Poem

Mare’s Field

Tales of a pond,

Nay, there be two.

Whispers in playground

of what we should do.

Sneak over the road,

and find the red path.

Shrouded by talk trees,

we giggle and laugh.

Follow the leader,

who’s been there before.

Telling us stories 

of what is in store.

Frog spawn and tadpoles,

the stickle back fish.

Something called newt,

to see it we wish.

Crested the first hill

and broke through the trees.

masses of bankside,

our little eye sees.

Follow the footpath,

go down and go up.

Sharing a bottle,

each taking a sup.

Onward we venture,

to crest one more hill.

There in its glory,

Gleams pond water still.

This was our first time 

’twas never our last.

Mare’s field’s our future,

our present, our past.

Remember the pleasure

you had in this park.

Maybe go wander,

when life looking stark.

 

A § M 

05/06/2019

Reflections 2019 w32

Its been a long day. I have my son this weekend and we went out for a day trip to a butterfly house and falconry centre.

Don’t get wrong, the place was good, small, but good. And it had the best bird display we have seen. The vulture came out did one part of the show then flew away to the tree over the lemurs. The skunks came out early. The owl did not want to play at all and the finale was a bunch of parrots let out of the cages with doves and swooping birds of prey all swooshing and circling around where we sat. Never have we been to a display that the birds have been given that amount of freedom to fly.

And although the size of the butterfly house did not compare with the scale of the one from my childhood memory, it did beat it by having the iguana roaming around and the branches adorned with colourful birds flying around inside along with the butterfly’s.

For me butterfly houses are a special place, somewhere that you can be surrounded by colourful butterfly’s defying gravity, with a chance of them landing on you. A far cry from my childhood memory of the pinned butterfly’s at my local museum.

The place had also done clever things with models dotted around, making it a different atmosphere from the usual wildlife centres we go to. It was a pleasant day out.

It is unlikely we will go again as the travel time, sadly, was greater than the time spent there, making it too far for a day trip with the time constraints we have, but other centres are now going to be compared with this one.

If anyone is interested it is called https://www.butterflyhouse.co.uk/

It also tries to raise money for other charities, the one at the moment is to try to protect vultures. They are facing a very human threat – poisoning. The poachers take a couple of hours to get the ivory off the poached animals, the vultures circle above alerting the authorities, so they poison the carcass. Yet another species that may become extinct during my lifetime.

It is beginning to feel like all our future children are going to know of wildlife is the pinned, stuffed and models in museums, accompanied by stories of how we came to kill them all. Yet we still mock those that saved two males of the dodo bird.

Are we any better?

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2019

The Grum…#Poem

The Grum

I’m off to the Grum,

I’d shout through the door.

Horseshoe embankment,

red ash park floor.

Witches hat towering

over basic park ride.

Tunnel embankment,

for children to hide.

Swings made of old tyres,

on thick heavy chain.

Twisted to spin round,

n’ scramble one’s brain.

Fort made of thick logs,

to clamber about.

Or maybe to fumble,

hit floor with a clout.

But then there’s our favourite,

the forty foot slide.

With a bump in the middle,

gain air on the glide.

Waxed to perfection,

with candles we’d bring.

Riotous laughter,

in horseshoe would ring.

Butterflies and grasshoppers,

on banks we would catch.

Grazes and Grass stains,

our colours would match.

But grass banks we’d scramble,

or steep concrete climb.

For slide of excitement,

Time after time.

 

A § M 

24/5/2019

Reflections 2019 w31

Do you ever think about going into a nursing home?

Not a care home, where you may be fully functional but you want that little bit more security and safety, with less housekeeping hassles. A nursing home where you need help with the basic living needs.

Ohh, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there…This I recon petty much sums up our viewpoint on the matter. But you don’t get there if you get something like dementia.

Then it’s up to your family to sort it out, and to try and explain where you are when you may not have the short term memory to remember what you have been told.

Suddenly you wake in a strange place that is not your home.

I’ve been on a mental ward with dementia/Alzheimer patients, one kept flitting back to being a teenager, or in a park where she had lost her son, or clear moments of vivid memory, seemingly ok. Another person was not in such a ‘good’ state. He thought, because he could not leave, he was unjustly arrested and being held prisoner without being charged, escape was on his mind all the time, and several times he did. Though he never got far. He never believed he was in a hospital.

One chap had incontinence issues and was protesting being in the pads by scooping up his business, if he had not made it to the loo on time, this was always the nurses fault, and spreading it around the walls of the corridor.

Shame it would appear is one of the last emotions to leave you. Anger stokes the flames. It has to have one last dig at what you have become, status nor money will effect it. And it is, at that point, too late to make changes to your routine to delay its onset.

Maybe we should all be thinking about it, so we can do something now to help delay it, maybe altogether.

Gratitude…#Poem

Gratitude

Maybe my Gratitude

was met with a platitude,

until I started to think.

What if ones Gratitude,

with a change of my attitude,

allows for the good vibes to sink.

No longer in servitude,

or feeling of lassitude,

but nectar thats ready to drink.

Found not in solitude,

but part of a multitude,

In crash or simply a dink.

I now take an interlude,

to build on my fortitude,

find solace, instead of the brink.

 

A § M 

29/05/2019

Reflections 2019 w30

Last week I was not doing well with my mood, and I took medication for it. I have left that post as I wrote it because it shows something that most people see…The effect some medication has on someone as given as a ‘cure’ or ‘managment’.

When you hear that someone is on medication for something, you expect into get the person better, but that is not always the case with mental illness medication. The medication may help one area but make the person so un-functional they create new problems…Often we’re told that the symptoms will go away with time.

But is it that the symptoms go away or we just stop complaining about them to deaf ears. Ground down to the point of giving up. Known side effects of the medication dismissed as not connected.

Many people I know who have medication for mental illness create a routine AROUND the medications side effects.

This, to me, is not  helping the person to function normally, commonly presumed, nor is it going to improve the persons health. Starting the medications is like playing Russian roulette, you never know what negative side effect you are going to get – or if the side effect is going to get you sectioned again.

Taking medication for mental health can in itself create a whole lot of stress, confusion, depression and death.

And that ladies and gentlemen is just the anti depressants.

There are  no studies, as far as I am aware, that have found out what the side effects are when on multiple tablets all having similar side effects.

I am on one that affects my thyroid, so I now have thyroxine to take, this is known to be effected by my pain medication (told by a doctor). But there is no link, according to another doctor. And my thyroid is worsening.

All coincidence.

 

www.awanderthroughthemind.co.uk/reflections-2019

Grum…Poetry

Grum

I’m off to the grum,

I’d shout through the door.

The horseshoe embankment,

with red ash park floor.

Witches hat towering,

over basic park ride.

Tunnel embankment,

for children to hide.

Swings made of old tyres

on thick heavy chains.

Twisted to spin round,

n’ scramble one’s brain.

Fort made of thick log,

to clamber about.

Or maybe to fumble,

hit floor with a clout.

But then there’s our favourite.

The forty foot slide.

With a bump in the middle,

gain air on the glide.

Waxed to perfection,

with candles we’d bring.

Riotous laughter,

in horseshoe would ring.

Butterflies and grasshoppers,

on banks we would catch.

With Grazes and grass stains,

our colours would match.

But grass banks we’d scramble,

or steep concrete stairs.

Slide time go slo-mo,

no worries – no cares.

 

A§M

24/05/2019