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I wrote no newsletter last year as what was happening was hard to bear, impossible to share
It’s taken another year’s reflection to process and begin to understand: I was short of the words, disorders, understanding and of the knowledge…………
Home is now me, one old cat, one new pup
Alan left a year ago after a year of PTSD type of behaviour and his taking out what he thought he deserved from home and business. It took me awhile to see what he was doing in his narcissism. I confronted him and he denied it. He shrugged his shoulders: “I’m entitled” was the best I got. He evidently felt that he was. After living with his increasing paranoia along with concealed cameras and him not speaking to me for months I was wanting the pain over with. I set a date in my head when he would be gone. This was so, he left me with a dying dog, a kitten that ran away and a working lurcher that was killing invading rats and preventing Alan from entering the house. He had him sussed: Strider was guarding me as best he could.
My blood pressure rose to above 200 bpm and doctors offered pills. I’d been on a waiting list for counselling from Women’s Aid since police had sent me there. Its a year later and I’m still waiting. My accountant held all the business books to prevent any more entries being made. I changed the passwords for router and phones to cut his computer access probably way too late.
I sent the accounts to a forensic accountant as I could not trust Alan’s entries. I’d been working flat out for so little return. Something had to blow and it did. On March 18 a blood clot lodged in my cerebellum and I lost consciousness. Shala found me in the kitchen, apparently trying to relight the aga. She recognised my symptoms of confusion and packed me off to Ayr hospital screaming at them” she’s had a stroke” when they prevaricated. I was put on anticoagulants and scanned which visualised brain issues.
I was not fully conscious for five weeks. When I came to I was in Queen Elizabeth’s Hospital Glasgow although looking from the window I was convinced I was in Tarbolton. The brain does its best with limited information. I took some time to understand. My head hurt, my coordination was too poor to be able to walk: I was pushed about in wheelchairs and steadies and fed baby type foods, better than being on drips trussed up like a turkey with sensors and tubes. I’d been kept going while folk had come and gone and shaken their heads. Jaime had been called back from her work in Dundee and had taken over the business temporarily and then closed it down when neurosurgeons did not think I would work again in 2019. People cannot be let down. All storytelling was cancelled: I couldn’t remember any people let alone stories. I scribed in my notebooks in minute writing of my distress. I lived for visitors to remind me of who I was and to help me know who I could be again.
At the early stage of consciousness recovery I had realised I could not be understood so I thought “who would understand me and could help me?” In my head unfolded pictures of healers I’ve met and worked with and I sent them telepathic messages, careful to say who I was and what I thought I needed. There’s nought more frustrating than receiving a distress call and not knowing where its from. Over time I learnt my message was received and relayed. It was strong enough that a storyteller friend picked it up to and love began to pour in. Now I felt supported. not just by the staff who carefully cared for my daily needs. I was sent to Occupational Therapy to show I could make a cup of tea and a slice of toast then heat up some tinned soup. None of which are my normal fare. They could not know this. They did not know who I had been and I could not impart this information. Friends tried. I navigated long corridors in concrete blocks, found and often lost my way in stairwells, wards and in car parks outside seeking nature. One nurse wheeled me to a garden and I learnt that route so I could return. I need nature so much. Each day I watched the pigeons and seagulls outside on the trees and in the car park twisting and turning in the winds. The weather was fiercely cold. It was easier to be in the ward in a concrete jungle
Repeated MRI scans showed improvements in my brain and I was moved to rehab in Irvine nearer home. It was easier to move about here, the hospital is in park land so I watched jackdaws roosting in the eaves and a fox slinking through the bushes. I wasn’t allowed out unsupervised, visitors were only very occasional (the novelty had worn off perhaps or it was too sad- I had heard it was emotionally difficult to see me so disabled. I found back gates in the ward garden I could slip out of and go pick wild garlic and larch needles as fresh healing herbs. Food here was dire. My natural diet is of fruit and vegetables, raw leaves, fresh eggs and oat flakes which was hard to get, instead I got soggy pasta and boiled veg covered in bottled factory sauce. yuk. We looked forward to our Saturday night take-outs. As I got stronger so I became more bored and frustrated: nothing to do with my hands! I started to read again and asked to go out to the cafe – change is as good as a rest, though they didn’t cater for the gluten free either. With the spring sun came more brain clarity. I was ready for home but my blood was too thick, I was at risk of more strokes so had to have warfarin injections and daily INR checks until it was thin enough. I did get out to Asda and filled the ward fridge with soy desserts.
Ailsa took me home in June. She and Connie had tidied up and ensured me a fresh bed. After so long in hospital everything smelled odd to me. So many folders and things had been moved by Jaime to keep them safe or to find information, I had no idea where to begin to find anything or where to start. The garden was a jungle so I started on the hedge trimming and pulling nettles. I focused on what I could do not what I couldn’t. I found I was still afraid to go in to Alan’s den (now my garage). I had no dog to walk or cat or hens to care for, they,( cats and hens) came back on my birthday 10 days later. Jimmy cat, now 15 is a blessing. But my dog had been given away.
The house felt empty with no Strider and no family, just me after four months of busy hospital wards.. On the first day home I had a pain that was scary. I called 999, they were with me quickly, reassured me the ECG was fine. I took it to the doctors, she said it was a side-effect of the heart drugs I have been given. The appearance of an ambulance alerted neighbours who shared their concerns and offered their phone numbers: I was back, held by the village, something I’d lost with Alan’s negativity about them all.
Little by little I’ve recovered my health, and my business which took a beating as word got around that I was dead (no, not yet). I’ve managed a couple of story gigs in familiar places. I have to relearn everything I once knew as the hospital psychiatrist predicted. The cattery has protocols I could immerse myself in, folk club events offered songs and stories and I made some new versions from notes and books and recordings
Poetry has been a boon, I even wrote reviews of Irvine hospital in verse so that the staff would take more notice and they have made a sincere effort to change practices since they had never thought things through from a patient’s point of view before, certainly not an autistic patient’s. Analytical ways can be very useful. I was shown improvements they had made when I went back for reviews. At first my life was all doctors and hospital appointments. I’m more stable but still there’s been no counselling. I go for less reviews: there’s another CAT scan due in February. I can drive myself to hospital now. Being able to drive was a massive boon. Good folk offered me lifts and we have buses here but independence is better. I can choose my time of day to travel so that I don’t get overwhelmed by people. The first time I got on the bus was frightening as I couldn’t manage depth perception to be able to get up the steps. I gradually found out my deficits and worked upon them. Yoga practice has been a big help. I’m singing again in a choir and since I went back to my harp class I have slept better. Perhaps it’s just the brainwork but the musical rhythms seem to help. My writing has blossomed and I’ve been accepted onto Red Squirrel Press’s list (the publication will be in another year or two, this is worth waiting for as the team are excellent and in the meantime I can work on the illustrations. Life is a constant process of rediscovery of who I am, who I’ve been and who I will become.
The cattery business ticks over supplanted by Universal Credit, which took six months and my MPs intervention to access! The house bannister, the only home modification I requested, promised by social services has never materialised. It is as well to be independent and have friends who can help. I’m grateful for all that I’ve received and all that I can share. I got to see Jaime after her trans surgery operation, she is doing well. her life moves on apace. She works for the Scottish government now in Dundee.
Last week I collected a beagle puppy I named Maddy from the SSPCA who had been seized from an Irish puppy farm so now I have someone to walk with. She’s not the wild thing that Strider was. No, she’s cuddly, gentle (unless you’re a book or a chicken) and fun.
Christmas day was spent with Shala (who still helps me here) and family and I slept well after eating so richly. I’m only just recovering appetite and interest in food after being so long ill. Its not the best way to lose weight though its been effective!
I hope your year’s been less painful and the New Year to come will be rich indeed.
Rosie
 love flourishes in the harshest spaces I wrote this piece to share my experience of recovery from a serious stroke and to encourage others not to give up! Looking wider for ideas to heal when your brain is mush may be tricky but its worth it, the rewards are huge, physically, emotionally and mentally.
There has been some interest in how i have aided my recovery from the stroke. the answers are many and various: I’ve learnt: don’t discount a new idea, try it out as long as its deemed safe to do so.
Immediately following the stroke all was a grey fog in my head with an inability to get into my brain’s files and memories, meaning frustration and confusion, an only straight-line-thinking world. No cross brain departmental research as I couldn’t connect the different regions within my brain. No linking meant no clever thinking. Where were the words? Where were the stories? I had cognitive limitations. I had to learn to live within them then slowly expand what I could do.
As soon as I could I began to journal. I am a diary person and use writing to process my thoughts. This meant I could ask for my older diaries from home to fill in memory gaps of recent events. My recall for what had preceded the stroke was poor- I didn’t remember that my partner had left nor all that went along with that for instance.
Journal writing helps me sort thought. Gratitude practice promotes positive feelings. Something I did and have increased doing as my experiences at that point were largely negative, those about me being fearful and conservative so I needed all the positives I could find. Each day one notes as many things to be grateful for as possible. This means there are positives to go back to to help get through a bad day and the mindset improves to looking for beneficial events and persons. The day’s end becomes a celebration. I took feedback on my condition from visitors rather than clinical staff since they didn’t like to offer opinion. Physios writing me off did not help me, rather I created lists of what I could do and my goals for the near future which were realistic and achievable.
Exercise: this is tricky in hospital but for someone like me, normally so active, it was essential. It had been suggested to me that the recovery unit would have a pool. This would have been nice. Just getting ANY exercise was nice. We know exercise helps mental and physical health. I desired walks about the grounds in nature and looked for ways to get out of the ward. At first i was pushed in a steady or a wheelchair. That helped me navigate myself later. Visitors were allowed to escort me out so we walked on-site and also in local parks like Rozelle and Eglinton, both of which have cafes for resting in and at the beach: easy walking, getting fresh air and a change of scene; contact with nature and pets was a must for me.
I used yoga stretches and relaxations, would have loved yoga sessions though. Breathing exercises are easy to do and sustaining and relaxing. Awareness of breath, body scans and metta-bhavana were meditations I was familiar with and found beneficial. Some of these can be found online for a guided meditation.
I learned to ask for and receive reiki, healing, prayers- all brands of healing love, which I was more used to sending. I refused bad energy and bad food, got out with help from friends and my chiro to shop for vegan food (soya desserts and soft ‘cheese’ and quorn ham and vegan cheese. Friends brought me nut butter, toasted seeds and nuts. I heard that the International Network of Esoteric Healers’ conference attendees had been working on me, I offer much gratitude to all those who helped me heal. I could feel I was surrounded with love, a fabulous sensation especially after the atmosphere I had become inured to domestically.
I had a crania-sacral session which helped me rebalance and to feel sensations as I was ungrounded- I was literally all in the head.
I needed time and peace to meditate (I used the garden behind the wards) and to sleep (always hard in hospital)- I used ear plugs- eye masks might have helped too and essential oils were helpful so that I was surrounded with scents I enjoyed rather than hospital pongs.
I started to read again to force concentration inwards till eventually it made sense. I read a book on stroke recovery “My stroke of insight” by a brain scientist who was stroke affected and analysed her way through her recovery. Also articles on brain science and health.
Music is important to me, where possible I asked for the radio to be on-even pap pop was helpful to recall my old world and its rhythms. I also tried doing some Five Rhythm Dance which is something I often use to help me integrate and process ideas into the mind and body from the emotional body.
I wanted to remember, to recall stories. I used poems as prompts and wrote my experience so I could back-check what had happened and when. I got back onto Facebook and shared, found a space I could be valued (at Writing with Soul’s community page), found shared experience on SWAN Conversations page and Highly Sensitive People’s page. There too was Unashamed Voices of Autism where the likes of myself are understood, unlike in hospital where autism needs were unappreciated though I wrote that I am autistic on my information board. No-one ever asked what this meant for me or asked what I needed, a bit sad! ( I left them a good book to help them improve).
Other sites were INEH healers’ site and The Gratitude Bank.
I did try to improve my diet to have less carbs and more salad leaves and vegetables and fresh fruit. I brought in my own protein as the food was poor in this. It’s impossible to get a simple boiled egg there for instance. The food was usual Scots diet only for me the meat was replaced by boiled veg. Not ideal and they poured sauces over veg and salads ruining it for me (a texture and taste issue). And why was fruit all from a tin? In summer too!
When I returned home I was overwhelmed by so much being displaced due to friends having to find things for me and run my affairs while I was in hospital. I couldn’t recall what went well together to be able to cook. My confidence was affected. So first off to help me I got back to work. My business has many protocols which I could use to remind me of processes. My energy was low but again confidence grew with repetition and positive feedback. Support was vital here. I had offers of lifts to smallholder craft events and yoga, both good for my coordination. I chased up boarding enquiries to gain some trade to give myself some work to do since all bookings had been cancelled and refunded. I need to be useful! It seems though, a rumour had then gone round that I was dead or unable to do anything- that was an assumption I was keen to squash. I was able to clean and paint to regain my confidence and reputation. I joined a choir with a friend to be able to sit in 4 part harmonies as sound medicine.
Yoga was fab and my teacher allowed for my health limitations in the exercises. This helps my circulation, strength and flexibility as well as my focus and clarity. My physical health improved weekly. She suggested I join a new 8 week Mindfulness class about to start. Even though I couldn’t afford it I had faith the money would come if I projected the need and focussed in yoga and meditation on achieving this (my sankalpa). Also I focussed on my poetry being published which had been something I’d wanted to achieve this year. I put it into my ‘bow’ and fired it forth.
I wrote a report on my hospital experience and sent it to the health board as feedback with suggestions on how things could be improved. Some of this was in verse to gain attention, being different. This was passed back to the charge nurse who willingly picked it up, compared notes with other wards and implemented changes. There will now be information on the wards as to how things work and who to ask for what. There are now activities in the common room ranging from exercise machines to crafts and music. The cook will speak with patients on special diets to see what they will eat and want to eat.
I tried my voice out at Belleisle Conservatory community song and story days. This helped me know I still had songs inside me including the words and I could convey a story if I planned it through with cues.
I learned to kick for my social rights, re Universal Credit: DWP were sorted out for me by my MP and her staff since they understood the UC system. This resulted 6 months from the initial application in some income, hurrah! So my mindfulness was paid for. I used the council Advice Hub to help me fill in the complex DWP forms. I’ve still not been interviewed or assessed, am not holding my breath. I’m lucky I had savings to fall back on. I learnt to not accept their belittling, its not a positive system.
I did a daily review of my progress and self congratulated myself to lift my spirits. Feedback from observant and medically qualified customers helped me see my progress too. I took short walks in the woods or garden- my energy levels still low I needed to sleep, sleep, sleep. 12 hours at least a day. Afternoon naps too. Blood pressure monitoring was done at home and via my practice nurse (better attention than the doctor) who said he’d see me again in a year- there’s good follow up and reassurance, that’s not it! Meanwhile there were still many hospital checks- blood pressure, clotting, psychologist, speech therapist, then the dentist happened: the 4 months hospital experience had left my teeth in a mess (no dentist there or dental care encouraged). Being late to the dentist one day led me to gaining points and a fine for speeding as my detail focus was not as good as before.
The neuropsychologist suggests my visual areas are impacted where my verbal regions are not so I need to focus closer, use gadgets (as I do with navigation now) His advice was basically to develop my Mindfulness which is an ongoing training and that is more specific than the psychologist is, more easy to do.
I ignored well-meaning advice to do little and looked for stimulating events, after all I had a brain to mend. I attended launches and put my poetry forward to Red Squirrel Press, a well known and loved poetry imprint, then forgot about it till an email arrived accepting my work! It will be 2 or 3 years till launch so plenty time to make illustrations.
Last weekend I attended a writing retreat in Cumbrae with Donny O’ Rourke and Barnard McLaverty and my writing group the Barrington Bards and I sang my injured heart out.
Back home I tried some basket making which is good for coordination. I went back to playing the clarsach, had to begin over again as I had forgotten much but quickly got back into the swing with daily practice. Repetition is good therapy. It also improved my sleep pattern which was still locked into hospital routines.
I began to cook after having eaten ready-meals and mixed salad for 3 months. Those of you who know how keen I am on cooking will be surprised at that but again confidence had left me, along with techniques with the lack of practice. Having organic veg delivered each week has given me good materials to work with. I learnt to appreciate M&S’ ready-meals and Aldi for its convenience. I still had rocket in the polytunnel and fresh fruit on the bushes and trees.Mmm fresh figs from the bush, best treat in my world!
Cat therapy, though not good for sleep, is beneficial. Jimi’s an expert in applying care to me. I’ve had dog therapy from visitors and neighbours. Strider is still a big absence in my life.
I started to make woodcuts again to illustrate my poems. Its tricky as one works in the negative so it makes my brain work. Its hard to find the time tho as I am slower on all my tasks.
I’ve done some online courses and joined online group discussions which make me feel valuable and measures achievment. I’ve volunteered at the Burns Museum even tho in limited capacity. Doing Universal credit computations means I work on my income and my maths. I number crunch, raise invoices, resolve booking issues. I’ve created adverts, created mail-shots and printed and mailed them out which refamiliarised me with my customer base. It all helps make the brain work.
I planted containers of plants to cheer the cattery and renewed them as the colder weather came. There are plenty of ways to ground oneself and stretch one’s brain, renew neurons, defy predictions and expectations.
So, Now that i am ‘dead’
How does it feel to hear I am dead?
When DWP write me off, doctors are not positive, customers think that I’m finished
social services are no help, doc says see you in a year, OT thinks I’ll do and the physio too
I can deny this for surely, if I feel, I think, I must live
I am frustrated by the inaccuracy and unfairness
Surely I should be the one to decide when I die?
‘They’ think that I would not be able to work, based on their previous
Experiences of those less able, less fraught with thought
Less determined to be “positive” and achieve
I have reformed my body before, True, not my brain
but thats known to be plastic so must be possible
I believe in me. I believe in my spirit and my will
Those who do not, do not know me well enough
I will find the ways to exercise my inner head
relearn, reprogram, reform, renew
Only those who believe the negatives give up
on progress. Perfection is beyond reality
Mindfulness is not. I follow my intuition
to discover ways to heal in music, rhythm
words, to recall craft and energy. Love rules
Accepting love is life. Accepting life is love
The loss of love is unfortunate, more will surely come
on the seasonal tide, if its valued, if I am valued,
I will more than exist
I thrive, hear this, read this, I’m alive and I live.
Rosie Mapplebeck
27.11.19
I’m planning a good 2020 with shared work and success, completion of cattery projects and a new dog in my home. The poetry collection will be out in 2022.
Rosie
with gratitude to all those who have helped, whether they knew this or not.
Rosie
This episode took soooo much effort to publish as it was hard to write and sad to re-read. Every story has to have an ending though, or does it?
Read on, right through the end:
Rain falls softly on the newly-dug earth
This was the hardest of Tiddler’s’ tales to write. You may have sensed already what I have to say.
Tiddler has passed away. On Saturday, after a brief struggle with fluid on the lungs which did not respond to medication, the decision was made to let her leave us. Believe me, she did not want to go, only her little 2.4 kg body was failing her and she was in a lot of pain and distress. “I hurt” she told me and I hated to hear that. She also said “this has been the best part of my life”.
On Friday her energies had been very weak, though she had not started the process of the leaving in esoteric terms. Alan held me while I cried myself calm so I could take her in. She was worn out. Dave the vet however decided as she looked so good, to take blood samples and low and behold one measure was better than 8 weeks ago, so he gave her diuretics to see if the fluid would ease off the lungs and gave me extra to continue with and if a good result we would use pills thereafter. When we got back home Jimi stared at her “whats she doing back here?”. She lay panting, cold, by the AGA side that she had taken to in the last week, it being less effort to move from there to her cuddle and food spots. The only movement she made was down to pee on the floor. I dropped a towel down quickly so she did not lie in the urine. She was exhausted by the effort of leaving the sofa. She took a little water but nothing else.
Evening surgery time came. I thought I might take her in again but she had disappeared. I discovered her in my bedroom where she had been early in the morning. It must have taken a great effort. I wondered if her pain was associated with the kitchen and she was ‘escaping’ that. My room has my smell, a sense of security for her. She felt cold. Reluctantly I administered the Furosemide jag. She was too weak to object. She did rally to lick a little fish and drink water. I put down a low litter tray and electrical heated pad for her but she moved away from them. Her respiration rate was too high at 74 per minute, her diaphragm heaving and she was pain-purring to make herself feel better.
She kept the water in this time but I worried about dehydration. She took water again, refused cat-milk. She curled up the best she could, facing away from the food she did not want.
By look she said “there’s too much pain, I don’t want to eat”
I woke frequently in the night to check her breathing and where she was. Her respiration rate stayed the same. Morning found her sitting up, paws tucked under her in a better way. She drank only what was put to her face, enough to moisten her lips, tiny dabs from a petite cat. She slept again.
11am found her lying in a patch of sunshine on the carpet, a good sign that she could make herself more comfortable. She chirped at me and curled into my arms. Her eyes seemed brighter. Was it one last effort? I asked Alan to tell me how she feels. He said she is not saying anything. There is still pain and she has not eaten for days now.
It was time to go before morning surgery ended. Dave wanted to assess whether or not to issue more diuretics. I put her, unprotesting, into the cat basket, closing the lid in case of any mishaps en route. I considered having her on a harness for closeness but because of the pressure which that would create on her chest discounted it. She turned her jade and citrine eyes on me brightly and we engaged in a loving gaze. Then she complained about the car in her accustomed way. Ah Tiddler!
The car was hot from sunshine which suited her, if not me and Corrie and I drove with my left arm over her basket while she pressed her head to its lid, a safety cuddle for us both.
The vet surgery was remarkably empty, unlike the day before when we had waited in the car to avoid barking dogs. There was ample time to discuss the last 24 hours. Dave watched her chest rise and fall, noted there was no change from the day before despite the drugs. Nicki the vet nurse said “You feel you want to do everything you can, give them a chance”. Yes indeed, but Dave knew and I knew that the kindest option now was to let her go. “She would have a slow uncomfortable end” he said, “We can avoid that”.
I held her, kissed her head. Then had to hand her over for her leg to be numbed. I cuddled her again. Her claws left tiny scratches on my shoulder and wrist. She lifted her paw obediently for the vein to be raised. That same leg was used yesterday to give blood. This time a trickle of yellow barbiturate entered her vein and she startled in shock. I held her tightly, wrapped to my neck as she released into her leaving and let her heart cease beating. The end to breathing was easy for her as that had been so painful. Her will to live was strong. She and I were bonded tightly.
Her little head dropped, white whiskers sharp against her glossy fur. “Her coat is so shiny” remarked the vet and we fell into mundane chat, about caring for the old and how fur conceals other body changes more visible in a human frame. Coping, coping, we made talk to work through the hurt. I folded her into a semblance of repose, wrapped her in soft bedding. “Yes,” I answered him “I have somewhere to bury her.” Next to Spots in a new graveyard for my animals. For there have been many over the years.
Nurse Nicki wanted to help me outside. Grief is hard to see and they so often have to bear others’ emotions. I accepted her help as support, knew I must not cry yet as I had to drive. My eyes were hot and raw. I went straight home, left her at the door and found Alan.
“What did Dave say? Really? Shall I dig the grave or did you want to do that?” “Yes, you dig. Next to Spots please.” I wanted to hold her for a while.
 losing a friend is devastating I nursed her still warm fur, her body floppy in my arms. I let the dogs smell her. They were unconcerned. I took her up to Jimi, to let him see she was now gone. I laid her down near to him for a moment. He checked her. She looked like her old self fast asleep. Her lovely glossy black fur and thin old hips fell under my fingers. I could touch her now without causing hurt. Her densely furred tail, her brilliant white chest, white toes and boots, her long pale whiskers and old tartared teeth. A nub of cat-food was still on her nose from days ago. I could not get it off her before without distressing her, nor that on the tip of her right ear. Those ears, they felt so cold as her body gave up the fight.
I made her a shroud from her AGA towel. It was clean, a bit holed and scorched. It is what she would be lying on if she could. I kept her collar and the 3 aggravatingly loud bells as memento, took last photos and laid her in the rich Ayrshire soil.
She is buried under a holly tree, her grave marked by a slab of white marble, as befits a queen, so her rest will not be disturbed.
Tiddler, at 21 years was a grand senior kitty. She was my pest and critic, my regal girl who spoke her mind.
The kitchen now feels enormous without her. The sofa is entirely ours again and the AGA apparently has 2 hotplates and is not an underfloor cat heater plus cat kitchen. Her comb, full of soft undercoat fur, still lies on the windowsill but there is no old lady to groom any more. At breakfast time today Alan found he could choose where he wished to sit, instead of the wee one demanding he be at the sofa corner for her best cuddling convenience.
When out shopping I took my accustomed pause to choose Tiddler morsels then realised she would never taste them. She has taught me a lot about premium international cat foods and dainty morsels. The outer kitchen has been relieved of a crate of Tiddler treats and temptations. The fridge and freezer still hold her milk, cheese triangles and king prawns.
She took over our lives for five memorable years. She has taught me to love a wee minx whatever awful things she did to my house and home. She expected rugs and cushions and nests and six meals a day and servants to run round after her. Breakfast had to arrive by 06.30 or the howling would begin. I could not go away as the consequent howling would be unendurable. She manipulated our days and nights.
There will be no more regurgitated food for Corrie to mop up; no tiddles in the corner of the hall when a visitor arrives carrying alien smells. Kitten Patch feels free at last to spend time in the kitchen and explore my room. He has been checking on us regularly to see we are okay after noticing how upset we are. Jimi cat is offering his calming love. I write, I cry and we hug.
On Saturday night I felt a softness at my neck, a vibration at my right ear, the sort that indicates to me there is an etheric presence nearby. I sensed Tids saying “I love you”. Alan said she was saying her thank you. I think she knows now why I asked Dave the vet to give that last injection. I know she is at peace and free of pain.
Dragon’s going to miss you too Tiddler.
Goodnight pretty princess.
xxx ‘Mum’.
Tids
I gave my heart to you
you carried it away to the stars
your attitude gave me courage
your bluntness made me laugh aloud
a skinny wailing old waif you entered my life
a failing cat who liked to have her say and spray
who chased out my favourite feline, segregated
our household into zones of Tids’ and Toots’
demanded that I find the weird and wonderful patés
creams, raw and freshest foods for your selective delectation
You told the vet what you thought of his pills
sometimes you even liked them, found him kind
taught me how to care for your body
as your ‘deaf servant’ so you could shine
impressed visitors with your health and verve
sparks of fire flashing in your claws and
eyes, clear till the last prick, bright lighted stars
like constellations you’ll return from when
one day
I’ll hear your call.
Return of the unstoppable (the blog continues)
Well would you believe it? Mum went off to a shamans camp in Greenland and it was all about communicating with ancestors and elders. I thought: well thats me, I am a passed over elder now. I can step right back in through the ritual doors she has created.
 Mum opened a gate to my new world You didn’t think you could lose me that easily did you? It was only having a mortal body which held me back.
Now I can travel anywhere and keep an eye on all her doings. Yup, no more confined to Aga and sofa, I am a girl of the world and otherworlds. I am SuperTiddler
To be continued- if and when I feel like it as I have greater things to do now, haha!
 The Alhambra from the old moorish walls of the Albaicin Malaga’s bus station is the size of Buchanan Street’s in Glasgow and as busy. Their cakes are bus station quality: look nicer than than they taste. The café con lêche however was welcome and my bus departed on time. People seemed to just materialise 10 minutes before departure time and the driver prised open the luggage area as late as he could after checking tickets were correct. I had bought mine online from bus company ALSA in advance to get a choice of ticket price and bus pace, slow, speedy and medium all having different prices. They can be bought in the bus station too if you have no particular schedule.
We speeded up steep passes onto the Granada plain. The vista changed to dusty olive groves, newly sown fields of cereals and reed-filled irrigation ditches. One is reminded that rain is a rare blessing in this landscape and mountain meltwater supplies the rivers in spring, not rain. We are overlooking Morocco this far south.
 Olives groves on the Alpujerras plain, a camera snap from the bus. Granada bus station is far from town so I took the recommended bus to the city centre. I got off at the cathedral as directed and wandered the centre square’s Bib Rambla area which has alleyways which resemble Arabic souks. Being afternoon (and nearer the mountains) the temperature was a fair 12C. I found the Tourist information centre nearby who sent me on to an old courtyard where I could collect my Alhambra ticket (bought online already) and save me time next day as well as mean I could go in via a different entrance. It was another 20 minutes’ walk from here to the old town where I was to be based.
 Here’s the latest way to make tourist tours: Segway rides.  In need of some elixir of youth, I find the right store. Did it work though?
The Alhambra is a series of castles, gardens and palaces built from before the 9th Century to the 16th by moorish rulers and then reformation ruler , on a promontory above the river Darro in Granada. After being used for gun target practice by Napoleon’s troops(!) it was rediscovered as a place of romantic beauty and inspiration in the later 19th C, thanks to the writing of American author Washington Irving and the art of local painter Mariano Fortuny. It is now a massive tourist trap.
 View of the Albaicin from the Nazrib palaces The nearer you get to the Alhambra, the dearer the shop and cafe prices. 2.5 million visitors go through the Alhambra yearly so going in winter has advantages. Your ticket is for either morning or afternoon, the stated entrance time is your time slot to enter the 13-14C Nasrid palaces. They are worth seeing for their Islamic art, formal water garden engineering and great elegance but you have to stick to your allotted entry.
 Nazrib Palaces, Court of the Linderaja In winter it may be possible to sit and sketch or muse there a while, while guided parties overtake you, marching in timed order. I doubt this would be so in summer. There are night time palace visits also if you want to stretch your day. It takes more than 3 hours to begin to view the palaces and museums on site so expect a long tiring day or book a return visit.
My biggest discovery was – and the architecture was great but one can be overwhelmed by so much beauty- how big persimmon trees grow. I will not now be buying one for my polytunnel as their growth habit is clearly very upright and I doubt they would like being constantly pruned to fit my 9 foot available height. Their orange globular fruits, sold as Kakis or Sharon fruits in UK, are beloved of local sparrows and blackbirds and one of the few places wild birds are easily seen here. Hunting and caging songbirds is still common in Spain and these birds know!
 I’m waiting. Where is that cheese you promised me? Yes of course a cat found me!
 Persimmon tree and royal palm at the Palacio del Partal, really thats much too tall a tree for my polytunnel.
 Enticing doorways lead to the bath house
 Fabulous plasterwork, tiles and mosaics adorn the Palaces  Poetry is written around all the palace walls
 Wood inlay and ceilings, plus ornate plasterwork
 Nazrib palace, court of the lions  Plasterwork at Nazrib palace, court of the lions
The whole of the Albaicin or old town adjacent the Alhambra is a World Heritage site and the narrow streets are quaint and not wide enough for most cars. A few taxis ply their wares and a mini-sized bus runs regularly about the old town, taking tourists to the squares high, high up the steep slopes surrounded by ancient moorish walls. You can hear the sound of bells calling the faithful to prayer from the many churches which date from 16C onwards. Some, like Santa Ana were conversions from mosques. Each evening the scent of burning oak and olive wood fills the air as stoves are lit.
Sitting out with a beer or sangria or fresh zumos de naranja you will find yourself serenaded by a succession of local acts. These descend on their scooters with flamenco guitar, percussion equipment or Elvis impersonation kit, and play for their supper. if you want to be more discerning, pick a restaurant with (flamenco) entertainment included.
 The Alhambra as seen from my apartment  Local poets like Molina and Lorca are honoured in Granada
Being so close to the snow-capped mountains means night temperatures in Granada are colder than those in Scotland. One day the ice on my balcony did not melt at all. Frost sat in pockets in the gardens of the Generalife Palace. I was quite glad to return after 3 days there to the warmth of Malaga and the coast. This city was beginning to feel like home.
I did my best to try all the lower-gluten home-baking in the bakery on Calle Atarazanas, El Colmenero de Alhaurin (such hardship, but how else to tell you about it?).
 Malaga caramel and chocolate cream cakes  Delicious bakery goods in Malaga
 Strawberry cream cakes and egg custard flan  Walnut cakes and meringues
I
I pottered round the folk museum, which was once an old tavern and amongst other things holds crafts, religious items and costumes. I bought new harvest olives in the market and wondered if I would get them through customs. I started to learn Spanish words, bearing in mind Andalusian pronunciation often misses out consonant letters. I found the grand cathedral which is near the posh shops and made plans to visit on another morning. I got quite in the swing of Spanish day timings (avoiding working in the hottest part of the day, relaxing into long evenings) which are so different from ours yet so suit the soul of the artist. I can see why writers like Hemingway came here.
 Iglesio St. Juan, old town Malaga I am looking forward to my own next visit, chance to visit the Centre Pompidou by the port and the other museums and galleries I missed. Next time I go I will have learned more Spanish phrases.
And how did the customs go? As my friend Finola predicted, olives were no problem. However quartz crystals wrapped in socks were very worrying for the airport staff – I had, true to form, found the crystal shop and more gems are still to come home to Scotland from there but thats for another episode.
Useful words/links:
por favor – please
gracias – thank you (pronounced grathia in Andaluz because they lose consonants )
Cero, uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve, diez etc (learn some numbers and don’t trust my spellings!)
autobus, aeropuerto, el tren – bus, airport, train
la cuenta – bill
https://quizlet.com/14370012/spanish-vocabulary-train-travel-flash-cards/
http://www.fluentu.com/spanish/blog/useful-spanish-travel-phrases-words/
http://granadamap.com
https://www.alhambradegranada.org/en/info/historicalintroduction.asp
 Ice gathers as we head north I am gazing out of a Boeing 737 window, punctuated with ice crystals, gazing over the clouds which the sun is highlighting, aware from the sun’s angle that setting point will soon be reached. Yes we are literally flying into the sunset. I feel such a sense of gratitude that this is even possible: that I have been given the time, technology, wherewithal and confidence to venture across the world into another land, another language, and witness other traditions.
I think of my timid mother, shocked that I would consider going away alone and that I could feel safe doing so. Even 10 years ago it is true that I would not, but time and friends are great healers. Witnessing the goodness in the world rather than the negative, choosing to move towards kindness has moved the direction and whole quality of my life.
I am grateful too to those who care for my animals and business at home, that I can walk out of my door to adventure and gather stories.
Grateful also to those who encourage me to write, as they wish to read and value my stories. Thank you.
 I was sitting next to orange trees in fruit Three hours ago I stood in a square with orange trees, still in fruit and the temperature, comfortable for most of us at 17C and rising. Now our aircraft captain tells us we are above Wexford in Ireland and patches of frosty ground are evident. Its quite a drop, it was quite a week.
 Orange tree in Malaga Two years ago, a weeks retreat in southern Spain showed me the benefits to my mental and physical health of even a brief period of sunshine within our long northern winter darkness. I have promised myself whenever possible to repeat this as a necessary part of being healthy. Last year work commitments constrained this and I used Lightbox therapies, which helped to avoid an inclination to hibernate but gave me no noticeable glow.
So as soon as work commitments permitted and with the goodwill of my family, I headed via a cheap airline from my local airport (there has to be some benefit of living on a flight path) on a ridiculously cheap flight to Malaga in southern Spain. The Costa del Sol lives up to its name. Average yearly temperature is 22C, winter days usually hitting 16C or so by the afternoon, quite a blessed relief to a body recovering from chest infections like mine.
 All dressed up for Epiphany I was a little worried about arriving on 5th January as this is the eve of Epiphany which is a public holiday, equivalent in Spain to our Christmas Day and I was concerned I might find no places to eat or that they may all be pre-booked. I was also a little disappointed that my flight would bring me in after the processions in town had ended. Fiesta de los Reyes is a family occasion all over Spain, on the day we call Twelfth Night. It celebrates the Magi arriving in Bethlehem and recognising the Christ child. Is this so special here because the kings were of Arabian descent and this area was ruled by moors for centuries? It is the Magi here who bring children gifts and tokens are left for the kings and their camels instead of Santa and reindeer.
On 5th January the streets are lined with children eagerly awaiting the kings to process past and with their helpers throw sweets and confetti by the kilo in a massive wrapper shower. Walking along the city streets that night, taking in the happy atmosphere, the stacks of wooden chairs left for those who waited long (civilised- we should try that) and empty wrappers showed the route the ‘kings’ had taken. Bakers were still open, doing a roaring trade in large flat boxes of ring-shaped cakes covered in candied fruits.
 Roscón de Reyes cakes on sale on 5th January These are the Roscón de los Reyes which are often sliced open and filled with cream or chocolate truffle. Every cafe I saw was selling pieces to accompany coffee or beer next day. These cakes conceal trinkets, a bit like our traditional Christmas puddings. If you find a little king, you will be lauded as the king of the family for the next year. If its the faba (broad) bean well you may be asked to pay for the (10-15€) cake!
On 6th January cafes were indeed open to my relief, taking advantage of so many being on holiday. The cries of delighted children and their parents trying out new scooters and other toys filled the air.
Little girls dressed as princesses trailed behind parents struggling with battery powered cars. I wandered the walled town taking in the happy sounds. I bought cakes to try, fresh fruits, avocados and local pecan nuts.
 Organic carrot and ginger soup  Local marinaded aubergines with ewes milk cheese I then found the organic cafe was open, and sun was shining, so time to stop for a leisurely lunch and a glass of vino tinto in the sunshine. I enjoyed carrot and ginger soup and baked aubergines with ewes milk cheese.
Malaga came to prominence as a sea port where salt fish was traded in Roman and Phoenician times. This fish can still be found in the market-place today, as can the night’s catch fresh from the Mediterranean, which is sold grilled from under upturned boats at the beach and in the numerous restaurants in the old town.
 Malaga meat market  Fresh fish on sale in Malaga market  Malaga market for fruit and vegetables Malaga has roman ruins, a moorish fort and town castle and a grand cathedral. It also has 2 museums to Picasso, one at his birthplace and the other of his work as donated by his family. It also has several other museums worth a visit. Some like the Museum Carmen Thyssen were even open on the holiday. If you have the inclination and balance there is a Segway tour of the town which might orient you and certainly looked fun.
Its a small enough city to wander about and safe and pleasant for this. The main shopping streets are busy till after midnight, the side street bodegas are full of laughter and family groups, stalls of nut sellers and ice cream shops stay open till after 11pm. Gluten free food was turning out to be no problem. Malaga has a supportive community of shops catering for this option. I did find it useful to have an explanatory sheet ready for chefs and waiters saying what I could and could not have.
One of my travel loves is visiting markets as I feel this is where you see how people really live. I had chosen a hotel close by the moorish style indoor market. It meant I could buy strawberries, cheese and salted almonds and a bottle of water and feel ready for my journey onward to Granada. I really wished later I had bought some of the fresh asparagus that was on offer too.
 Cheeses in Malaga market  Fruit and fungi in Malaga market My hotel offered to store my luggage for me if I liked which was kind, but I was travelling light. I chose this hotel (Trebol) as previous experience there showed them to be helpful and the 24 hours reception staff who all speak English are good at advising where to go and when, ranging from the 24 hour supermarkets to cafes and wholefood stores, all found nearby. I spotted the folk museum was just across the square, even nearer than the museum of glass which also sounds interesting and noted the opening times for my return trip.
Now I was heading inland on a fast bus towards the Sierra Nevada mountains. The just under 2 hour journey was for meeting a promise made to myself 35 years ago: I would finally see the Alhambra palaces and gardens.
(to be continued…)
 Next stop Granada
 The clock ticks us into 2017 Mum has gone mad. Its way past her bed-time, Jimi cat has been telling her to get upstairs for ages and she is prancing round my kitchen doing something she calls a Kylie. I think thats what she said. It seems to involve a lot of twirling and twisting and if she doesn’t do herself or me an injury, she will fall over the basket-making materials she has forgotten are still scattered on the floor since kitten Spots helped her with her craft session. Mum says its traditional in Scotland to see the New Year in with a dance and a song. I supposed that means more of her caterwauling. She already woke Dad up with her drumming which set the dog off, convinced there was someone at the door, and him with his overactive mutt adrenals bow-wowing into the night sky. Me, I prefer to hear the robins. They have been serenading each other all night now that the light is increasing. Thats what I call singing.
Mum has been nursing a sore pinkie all day so no wonder her crafting was slow. She tried to rescue a stray honeybee which had lost itself in the cattery. She brought it in near my Aga to fetch a drop of honey to revive it before she took it up to the hive. Silly woman, she thought the other bees would be as happy to see their battered sister as she was. She tried to proffer it up on a nettle stem to the entrance and riled the guard bees so much they rushed out and one stung her little finger. Another lodged in her hair and next we knew she was yelling blue murder for Dad to get it out and rescue her. He had gone for a nap so young Patch did the honours to rouse him, launching himself from a height onto Dad’s bladder region to waken him. That worked, and it was nice of Patch to be bothered but by that time Mum had shaken the bee out of her hair and was nursing her finger and muttering about swellings and homeopathy and such rubbish. When that kitten has been around as long as I have he will know to leave the humans to it.
Mum wishes you a very happy and fulfilling New Year. I’d be happy with another bit of Mum’s bacon. She’s not looking is she? Think I might help myself while she’s prancing.
All the best from Mum and TIDDLER
 She will fall over if she tries dancing in that frock and a PS:
Mum went for a late girlie bath session with stinky scent stuff since Dad was to the way. When she unwound her hair a buzzy bee dropped out of it! She looked a bit stunned, the bee that is, but if I had been constricted in her mane for 10 hours then dropped on the floor I guess I would look a little dazed and confused myself. Mum submerged herself till it stopped moving then crept out the bath and dropped a glass jar over it. She said it could fly off to the hive by itself tomorrow, she’s had enough bee discipline.
 The unexpected delights of the moment At this time of peak darkness as we move towards the Winter solstice, I came cross this poem I had written about dark times and moving to working with the light. Some years ago, as part of attuning myself to the natural world I did daily sun meditations, greeting the sunrise for 6 months. That’s not too hard in winter, apart from the cold feet- yes it must be done bare footed on the earth, and its an extremely early rise in summer. Still, waking before the birds and hearing the dawn chorus changing is, once one gets over the shock-I am not a natural morning body- a wonderful experience. Now, as a result of the alignment with the sun, I can awaken at any point, and often I record dawn choruses.Why not do this for a full year? It seemed sufficient and as it was intuitively inspired, I simply went with that.
Sunrise Salutation I
Attuned to sunsets, I celebrated a feathered evensong, and falling rays stretching
horizons to kiss each hill with a lick of tangerine to startled
silhouettes so stark, more real than friendship
and the day did not exist before the Sun was full.
A student land of dully lit experience, of bridges crossed
at Midnight, boats splashing into creeks by candlelight.
Dawn sealed the magic stretch of safe-time
when slanderers and rapists were tucked up in their beds
and only fallen misfits, safer than the sun, haunted the monochrome.
But Guidance gave command
to face the sunrise
a daily meditation, salutation
inspiration; a grumbling shuffle
from cosy nest to
meet the rousing birds.
Sunrise Salutation 2
Digging toes in
to the frosted grass
I ground
waiting
for day to turn
Light lifting heart
arms rise
in ritual greeting
Dawn after dawn
dawn into day
dark into light
till my alarm is
superseded
by the pulling
of the Light.
Rosie Mapplebeck
24.11.15
I love to write. It drives me mad at times: my dyslexia gets in the way and the letters muddle furiously, words interchange and confuse me. Yesterday I was through Glasgow Central station and read ‘Changing toilets, inaccessible places’
No, it wasn’t mean to be read like that, my brain was running away with words again but it has sparked the start of a poem or story-we will see where it goes. Letting words loose to run free then gathering them back into some form of communication is quite a game for me.
 Rosie on National Poetry Day reading poems aloud in Glasgow for Mirrorball For the last three years I have attended a weekly private creative writing class with Donny O’Rourke, (https://www.rlf.org.uk/fellowships/donny-orourke/) where a friendly group are pushed to create and critique our fellows, writing in formal styles and free. Donny is one who quietly ups the ante so one minute there is a list of 10 term tasks, which seems challenging enough, the next, adding in a random philosopher for each of us to use as a filter to look at our work, then asking us to create a personal collection too. Each week we are inspired by the varied responses of our classmates, and encourage each other to perform, publish and extend our skills.
I had applied for Clyde-built writing scholarships year on year aware I was not ready for that, yet wanting to practice for when my work matured enough to bear that fruit. But it pays off, all this practice. This is the first year I have properly put poetry out for publication. No-one was more surprised than I when one after another an acceptance rather than rejection e-mail arrived. There have been knock-backs of course. Learning to shrug them off and choose better where to submit to is an art. But 22 so far this year feels like I have made an effort to be heard. The material for my own collection grows nicely.
So now I am a published author, in Glasgow Review of Books edited by Sam Tongue https://glasgowreviewofbooks.com/2016/04/15/new-poetry-by-rosie-mapplebeck/
on the windows of Dumfries in https://www.facebook.com/BurnsWindowsProject/ c/o Hugh Bryden
in Love, an anthology as well as in Lonely, an anthology (www.collectionsofpoetryandprose.com) (editor Robin Barratt)
Fairacre Press http://fairacrepress.co.uk/shop/poetry-on-stinging-nettles-pdf/ (Nadia Kingsley)
Word on the Streets magazine from Gerry Cassidy of Raspberry Horse, the summer edition (my contribution, a week in poetry)
Poetry Scotland, http://www.poetrymagazines.org.uk/magazine/index.asp?id=84, Sally Evans’ poetry broadsheet
and on 25th November 2016 Open Mouse from Colin Will.
I have also been shortlisted for the Imprint 2016 Writing Award in the poetry category. http://www.eastayrshireleisure.com/index.php?a=landing&id=6&sid=66&mid=48
25th November is ‘prize’ day. My prize is there already: being able to read in front of other able writers as equal, and chosen to be there by professionals.
Hope it will be a happy St Andrews Day for you too.
Speugs
You fall like clouds for you are many,
you rise like dustbowls offered to the wind.
Dawn fills with your eager chatty clatter,
bringing to the world your scores of weans.
They beg with open mouths and shimmering wingtips,
shadow their fathers to a source of seed.
And as the feeder swings the fever’s growing,
the hunger for the love and for your needs.
You show us how to nurture little children,
to celebrate their necessary greed.
Rosie Mapplebeck
July 2016, in appreciation of the house sparrows reaching maturity in the ivy on my house wall. You are one yet you are many.
 Gorgeous gluts can be preserved for dark winter nights Whatever anyone says about this season, it has been exceptionally good (in our garden anyway) for raspberries. Canes drape over our beehives, lurk under apple trees, pop out from shrubs and thickets and the fruit is so good. Towards the end of the season, when raspberry beetle affects the quality of the fruit for dessert use, it is still excellent for jam, wine and cordials. Assuming your freezer is full and you would like to try some other way to preserve fruit, here is my favourite, adapted from a french recipe:
Raspberry and mint cordial
Ingredients: 1kg of fresh raspberries
1 bottle home-made or dry white wine (I used nettle)
white granulated sugar or fruit sugar
4 good sprigs apple mint
scrupulously clean screw-top bottles with tops.
Method: put fruit in large bowl.
 using wine to extract flavour Add wine and leave for 2 days to draw the juice out of the berries.
 home-made wine preserves and extracts flavours Crush fruit and sieve it into 2nd bowl.
 crushing the berries  sieve the fruit into another bowl Measure resulting liquid into a pan. To every 1 litre juice add 700g sugar.
 heating the juice to drive off alcohol and sterilise Heat gently till sugar dissolves then bring to boil for 2 minutes to drive off the alcohol. Meanwhile sterilise the bottles you want to store the cordial in. I used various wine vinegar and sauce bottles and tops, cleaned, boiled and drained. Pour cordial carefully into the bottles, finished level near to the top. If you like, you can heat them in a pan for 10 minutes more.
 Bottles can be any size or type as long as they are sterile Secure the screw-tops. Label, including a reminder that a trace of alcohol may be present.
Use in dark days to bring warm summer tastes into memory. Its really nice with sparkling water to dilute, or with hot water to make a winter punch. I also make this with peach or with raspberry wine (and no mint leaves) and it is exquisite.
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