Cracked - Ice

Feeling warm and comfortable in our favourite Dumfries & Galloway lodge, we looked out on to the wintry landscape that surrounded us. It was mid-morning and the temperature was slowly rising as weak sunshine was breaking through grey cloud. Earlier, at -7 degrees, we decided to stay put and have a restful day. Tomorrow’s weather sounded less severe. I had to venture outside. My birdfeeders needed filling and a breath of fresh air would be welcome, even icy air. Wrapped up, wellington boots on and bird seed to hand, I stepped outside, calling back to say that the veranda was slippy. Not that my husband was coming outside with me, too risky. Ice on the steps cracked beneath my feet. It was clear and shiny where water had dripped from the edge of the roof. I was extra careful. The car was iced over, sheltered under trees and away from any sunlight. A couple of steps and I was on the grass, feeling safe with a crisp crunch of frost beneath my feet. The bird feeders were dotted about, some on a tree, others half hidden in a well-established rhododendron. For reasons I couldn’t work out, the birds were ignoring the fat balls in preference for the seed mixture. On previous visits it had often been the other way round. I went to the tree last, minding my gloved fingers over the cracked bit of branch as I reached a little higher to the seed holder. Job done, I wandered along to the gate to see if any horses were in the meadow on the other side. They were further up, towards the hill and just a solitary pheasant nodded along. How beautiful they are, so colourful. Turning back towards the lodge, I walked round to where a narrow stream trickled towards a reed bed and warned the neighbourhood cat to leave ‘my’ birds alone. Nearby, a few robins were squabbling and hopping about, much to my amusement. Disturbed by my presence, they took flight into the pine trees. They made me smile and raised my heavy heart. Following an emergency incident at frozen water in Solihull, some children had fallen through the ice. They were rescued, but three of them later died. So sad. They were probably just playing and didn’t realise what danger they were in. Children. Christmas time. Heartbreaking.

My Haiku,

Children playing out,
Fun in the winter landscape
Until the ice cracked.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Photo is the view from the lodge.

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Immobilised - Rooted to the Spot

My husband was only a five minute drive away from home when something went ‘bang’, alerts flashed on the dashboard and the car slowly rolled to a halt.

I listened to the symptoms as described by my husband when he phoned, not that I could be of any help. Green Flag, aware of the disabled driver status, would be as quick as they could. This was great news to the person who was concerned about getting their usual parking space back. The car was completely immobilised and the electronic wizardry that governed the engine was beyond my junior level of basic car maintenance and my husband’s greater skills. I could imagine the ghost of my father voicing disappointment at modern cars. ‘A bonnet full of sealed units, impossible to try to mend anything, whatever happened to engineering?’

Green Flag arrived with a clever computer that suggested an automatic gear-box failure, or something else, or something else again. The computer reset the ‘alerts’, but something still flagged up. It couldn’t be by-passed or over-ridden, so the car remained immobilised and was towed off to the garage.

It turned out to be nothing major, after assessments at more than one establishment. A belt had snapped and hit one of the electronic sensors which gave a false reading of gear-box failure to the dashboard. Repairs and or replacements were carried out. It took days. My father’s ghost was probably tutting and shaking his head. It was something he could have fixed without all this electronic ‘improvements’ getting in the way of mechanics.

This unfortunate episode marked the beginning of the end of our Citroen Berlingo, after only a couple of years. It had been the perfect vehicle to travel to the Outer Hebrides twice, with our dog and all our self-catering stuff.  I found it awkward to drive and considered it to be a beast of a vehicle with a mind of its own. I was happy to see it go and be replaced with a lovely car that I feel confident with.

 

 

The other night, as I returned to the bedroom after an early hours bathroom visit, I was aware of a flash of light through the blinds. I waited for a clap of thunder, which didn’t happen, but I slowly realised that the flash had been torchlight. Someone was out on the street, probably up to no good. I was frozen to the spot, too scared to check. Monsters exist in the small hours and tiny worries become massive. I managed to climb back into bed and close my eyes to all the shadows I hadn’t noticed before. I must have fallen asleep while listening hard and training my hearing to nocturnal activities outside. Nothing came of it, except my fear.

This poem by Mark Toney sums it up perfectly,

 

Night Sweats

Startled at night, I awake,

Frozen, motionless, immobilised,
Eyes straining into the black void,
Phantoms darting about me,
Springing from every direction,
Heart racing, rapidly breathing,
Fantasy and fear running amok.


Happy New Year! Thanks for reading, Pam xx

 

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From Russia... With Meteorology

Given that so many of us have been metaphorically ravaged by the 'beast from the east' this past week, I figured the Saturday Blog might as well go completely Siberian. I've even been re-reading 'From Russia With Love', my favourite James Bond adventure and favourite Ian Fleming story after 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang'.

Yes, we've had a cold snap; and yes, it's been very difficult for those who've been on the receiving end of the worst of it...but if you think it's been a tad chilly here in the UK at just below freezing - that's about 7C lower than is typical for the time of year - then spare a thought for all those living in Russia. I've worked in Moscow in the winter when -25C is quite normal and people just wrap up well (lots of furs) and get on with life despite cold and snow.

However, that's nothing compared to what those hardy souls living in the beast's lair, the remote Siberian region of Yakutia 3,000 miles east of Moscow, have been putting up with this winter as temperatures have plunged as low as -62C! That's proper cold - enough to ice up eye-lashes (see below) and to cause frostbite on areas of skin exposed for longer than five minutes.


Siberian selfie - Anastasia Gruzdeva's iced up eye-lashes

A Siberian 'winter' typically lasts nearly six months, from mid-October through to mid-April with temperatures averaging -30C to -35C at this time of year - so the fact that it has been colder than -50C for several weeks is unusual and has caused Siberia's Ministry of Emergency Situations (love the name) to order the closure of schools and to advise citizens not to use private vehicles or make long journeys.

The fact that the UK has been impacted by very low temperatures, biting winds and snow storms is apparently the outcome of an unusual meteorological twist caused by a combination of the Coriolis Effect, Stratospheric Sudden Warming and Storm Emma. The Coriolis Effect (a result of the Earth's rotation) deflects south-moving polar winds westwards, producing the northern polar jetstream; Stratospheric Sudden Warming has recently caused the northern polar jetstream to twist back on itself, drawing in additional cold air from Siberia...and when that supercold airflow collided with Storm Emma in the week, the result was freezing winds and heavy snowfall over large parts of Britain - though we saw none of the latter in breezy Blackpool.

Given it has been unusually chilly, it's a good job we have a steady supply of gas shipping in from Russia to help keep us warm in our houses!

Because Siberia is so cold for so long, large areas being taiga or tundra, it means that dead creatures have been relatively well-preserved, frozen in the ground, for thousands of years - that includes mammoths and human beings. They co-existed in the region about 10,000 years ago.

Back in 1993, the mummified body of a young woman was excavated from a frozen tomb in southern Siberia, close to the Chinese border. She was found buried with three horses and various artefacts to serve her in the afterlife, including cannabis! Labelled the Siberian Ice Maiden (alternatively the Altai Princess), she was so well-preserved that the tattooing on her skin was clearly visible, as was the cause of death from breast cancer, at the age of about twenty-five. She was buried in a silk shroud within a decorated wooden coffin. It is thought she was of noble birth and lived approximately 2,500 years ago (500 BC). Were she to come back today she would probably find that life in that bleak, agrarian-nomadic part of the world has not changed fundamentally: summers are short, winters are long and cold, survival is a perpetual struggle.

And so to a new poem inspired by the foregoing (and owing almost nothing to Disney)...

Frozen
Disinterred
from blasted pastures
after two millennia,
but faithfully preserved,
tattooed with beatitude
as befits a princess
of the high steppes,
I wonder about you,
Siberian ice maiden.

Were you loved at all
in your short time on earth?
Or just revered?
Were you a wife
as well as a warrior?
Did you experience soft days
of sun and carefree happiness?
Or was existence
a rigid sentence of duty and strife
before the cold fingers of disease
closed around your breast
and stole your life?

Looking at your glacial face
one can only hazard a guess
and hope that your heart of ice
was not always frozen.

Thanks for reading. Stay warm, S ;-)

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Birds of a feather: A family gathering.

My family are far and wide, all over the globe now.  My eldest brother lives in Somerset and his two boys have settled in London and Halifax Nova Scotia.  My sister and her husband flit from the Isle of Man to Spain.  Their daughter is sharing a house with friends in the Midlands but her sons live fairly close to me. My own, grown-up children,  have stayed close to home, at least  for now.

Last year, we shared Christmas Day with my sister's brood, for the first time in many years.  Traditional lunch, with all the trimmings in an idyllic country cottage and then watching  Frozen with her Grandchildren. My nephew brought along his Husky puppy. Our Mum fell asleep by the roaring fire. It was a perfect day. One to remember and to treasure forever.

After I divorced, Christmas became a shared out event. The children usually spent Christmas Day with me and then a few days with their father's family.  I would work over what is now known as Twixmas.  It staved off the emptiness in my home and allowed me to save extra leave for days when they might be off school poorly. It was a practical solution. 

One year we had snow on Christmas Day: A rarity in Blackpool, noted for wet windy winters. There are a few trees in my garden; a tall sycamore, an old apple and a hawthorn that was still heavily laden with berries. As we were pulling our crackers, I saw a Great Spotted Woodpecker sitting in the apple tree. A most prestigious event.

We usually have a fine gathering of birds over the winter months; blue tits, great tits, chaffinches, robins and blackbirds, (I pile up all the windfall apples and they feast on them). I love to see groups of tiny long-tailed tits arrive.  They each weigh only half an once and roost together in a large fluffy ball to keep warm, tails hanging downwards. In really cold weather, birds of different species, (even usually territorial birds), will all huddle together in a warm,dry, south-facing nest box. The mere thought of such a convivial gathering makes me happy.

A Winter’s Tail

On a bright and bluish Boxing Day,

the house is quiet,
the children away.
I am sitting alone

in the peace and the calm,

my face to the window,

reflected warm. 

 

I gaze to the garden,

through frosted glass,

my thoughts drift off
and tears stream down

for time long lost,

for love that passed.

Then I stop to peer  

at a flash of light,

of green and yellow,

birds in flight,

with soft black caps and bold striped chest.

The acrobats are back to their nest.

Dashing and dancing

from limb to limb

of the apple tree,

with its mouldy trim.

Swinging from string on the coconut

to taste sweet suet and butternut.

Such delight to my wondering eyes appears,

it makes my smile reach to my ears. 

 

Have a wonderful Christmas everyone.  Thanks for reading.  Adele 

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Cold snap?

Why is it a heat wave and a cold snap?  What if we reversed it?


Polarwave

Summer slid down the piste like a shark
Hot on its trail came the cardigans,
then the wool mix socks
a ragged scarf about the neck
finally, the duvet was transferred to the sofa
that's when we knew it - Polarwave.

The blackbirds didn't see it coming
at night they would perch in the trees
as if it were still October
pining for a St Tropez sun
come morning, their Jurassic feet were glued
by frozen dew, formed hard about the twigs
like jaws of glass

The moon wore her halo at night without apology
while the sun seemed out of his depth; ill at ease
and we walked fairy footsteps outside
or slipped and bruised ourselves colourful
until, recklessly, we left the duvet on the bed
made love without our socks on
put the scarf to better use.

I hope that's helped to cool you down.  Thanks for reading.

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