Monday, January 26, 2009

Leaf on glass, and Saved Nut # 2


It's a little like this really. The window shows me the world, but the small leaf, with its umber, decaying sadness, its precariousness and fragility, is what's in focus, what's taking up the viewfinder. The moon and sixpence, my own small worry and unhappiness looming large in my awareness. Only there is light through it, and it's not without beauty, and sometimes a closer focus is no bad thing.
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Images shouldn't really have to be spelled out like this. A proper poet would be able to say much more with less, and with much less crude analogy. And in fact, I don't know that the melancholia is so very appropriate either, or at least shouldn't be indulged.
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More heartache with Molly; turns out the infection this time is a horrible, antibiotic-resistant strain that can only be treated with daily injections, for at least a month, so that's a life skill I'm having to learn. Only sub-cutaneous ones, so I suppose that's something. She'll have to wear a lampshade again - the bandage comes off today- so I googled around and found a European supplier of those more flexible transparent ones with the padded neck and quick fastening.
Too much fear and negativity to give way to, too many things not to look forward to, so best not to look forward any more than is necessary to make essential plans and arrangements. She's not in pain and is often quite bright and full of fun, so I've no good reason to be a wet blanket. It would make more sense to be pragmatically cheerful. And we have good friends to turn to.
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Enough. I'm able to enjoy much, other people's happiness included, and the still prevailing good mood about the presidential inauguration is still a tonic. Moreover, the stress has assisted with the 2.5 kilo weightloss I have succeeded in achieving since Christmas, so every cloud.
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Thanks for bearing with my gloominess. This too shall pass.
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Update: Just after writing this, E. rang full of comfort and reassurance, said she'd be there to help Tom when I'm away - it had begun to look as if all our friends were going to be out of town that week and I was getting desperate. We then went to our regular vet, who said she's happily do it every day she was open when I was going to be away, so that only left the Sunday for E. to have to help with it. Then when she went to reorder the stuff (the surgical vet had only given us a small amount), she found it was now only available in a weaker strength, which meant even bigger, even more difficult injections. At this point I cracked and asked how much would she charge to do it every day instead of my doing it, and her quote was so reasonable I almost collapsed with relief and made the deal there and then. So now it's only Sundays to dread, and a daily lunchtime commute to Loudeac, which can be made bearable by walks at the watermill on the way home. It's not going to be a bundle of laughs but it's immeasurably better than it was going to be. She can also have the e-collar off when she's walking, to get the air around her ear, as long as we watch she doesn't roll in any dirt. As she's not Porridge this shouldn't be too much of a problem!
This relief prompted us to come home and indulge in chocolate chip cookies and peanut brittle, so much for stress-induced eating less; comfort eating was always more my way. Molly, by the way, has, it seems, gained about 250 grams on account of getting fewer walks and more food treats to compensate her poorly state. As she weighs roughly a tenth of what I do (if I'm honest), her gain was probably commensurate with my loss, so that's where it went...
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Saved Nut # 2
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Little Saints. This has always been a favourite, one of the first substantial posts I wrote; local interest and a tentative feel around the spiritual. The photography is limited to basic illustration, I still wasn't very confident about it at that time. I had very few readers then, but it did have the noteworthy distinction of drawing the enigmatic Brother from his cell in the Mojave to make a comment, something rarely seen then, not really at all now, as far as I know, and still, I feel, something of a feather in my cap. One of the interesting things I've found going over the archives is noting who's come and gone in the shifting landscape of blogging after two years.
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Quite a long piece again, and not easy to cut; I found I even had to qualify some things which weren't clear. I used to visit the place quite often, but haven't been for a long time. Perhaps it's time I paid them a visit.

22 comments:

HLiza said...

Oh such mixed feelings in that post! I'm worried about Molly..but relieved when you seems optimistic about her. And the weight loss is a reason for joy.. This one thing I love about blogging..you can rant and grumbled as you want..yet it 'talks' back to you and soothe you in a way you'll never imagine. Hugs to you dear Lucy..

(And I dunno why..the inauguration seems to spread some joy to this region and this little heart too..)

Lee said...

Ow. Poor Molly. Hope it clears up soon.

zephyr said...

i totally empathize. One of my little guys is experiencing some worrying symptoms--though you'd not know it by looking at him. i'm continuing to learn that it really does not hurt one thing at all to expect the best, even over the long haul. The Long Haul...tough stuff, but there are plenty of moments of clear joy along the way. i'll keep you and her in my thoughts. Like Lee says, hopefully the meds will take care of things soon.

julie said...

Poor Molly; she sounds like she's taking it all in stride, though. I hope the medicine works!

marja-leena said...

Lovely photo and post, full of mixed emotions, like life. Hope Molly gets better soon and you are able to get away (I think that's what you mean). Take care of yourself.

herhimnbryn said...

Moll
Lucy
Tom
x
x
x

Tall Girl said...

Courage mon brave courage

Tall Girl said...

or should that be 'ma brave'?

Dick said...

Such a rich post, Lucy. Contemplative, a little melancholy, but not without hope. The Little Saints excursion was fascinating.

Zhoen said...

Little St. Molly shaking off her suffering.

Emulate the dog, and be happy with every treat and walk.

christopher said...

{{{Lucy}}}
I am sad for Mol and you and Tom and so delighted that you took the time to share with us your earlier post on the church and the story of the stolen Little Saints. Here's one version of the circumstance :)

Pagan Rites

I'm a holy thief
Stealing little saints
When nobody looks.
I've kept them in caves,
Come and dance before the flames
I set down in front
Of the half circle
I made of them, tall to short,
But I left behind
Eugenie, not mine
To take, so strong her magic.
I have principles.

Lucy said...

Thanks so much all of you, for such lovely warm comments. It all helps!

Granny J said...

Thank you for leading us into your past even as we contemplate today's problems and hoped for solutions. Good luck to Molly!

Dale said...

{{{Lucy}}}

Oh I hate giving shots too.

What a lovely, lovely post. You're magical.

Michelle said...

Love and cuddles for Molly, Lucy.

Reluctant Blogger said...

Oh that is great news that the vet can do it. It is always worth asking, isn't it? I remember I used to hold back from asking people if they would help (paid or otherwise) because I thought they would mind or because I thought it made me look as if I couldn't cope. But it's easier for everyone if you do ask when you need help.

Poor old Molly - but hopefully she will soon heal.

Barrett Bonden said...

But within it's mostly tawdry, shabby, mawkish old baroque tat, of the kind that it seems the Catholic church has felt it ought to foist on the people in a desperate Counter-Reformation attempt to titillate an overwrought response to revive their faith. Wow, you don't pull your punches, do you? I've tended to pussyfoot with my bloggish allusions to god-stuff, but following this I shall step out enfranchised.

Lucy said...

Thanks again, sweethearts.

Molly is indeed getting plenty of cuddles!

The vet trips are going fine; we all get on very well with her, she is a big assertive Dutch woman and very no nonsense, but she certainly didn't seem to think we were being soft or unreasonable at all about opting out of it. The weaker solution certainly seems less painful, though the size of the syringe is a little daunting.

BB - hmm, I might not write like that now; as I say, I didn't have many readers then so wasn't too worried about pleasing or offending any. In fact I'm well on the constructive agnostic side of atheist, and it's not god-stuff I'm knocking, just a particular aspect of a particular form of organised religion. I think like many who share my origins, I'm sort of protestant with a small 'p', which is to say protestant to the core, though I deplore the excesses of that too...

Bit of a feisty line though, I'm not ashamed of it, and glad to know it may have liberated your spirit!

Rosie said...

It seems to me that Molly is not yet ready to appreciate the company of a cannonball called Porridge. I hope she will be soon.
Lovely photos as always...I am sitting looking at them with Jimmy "She has an eye", he says.
I look at the one of the open doorway of the church and I am moved, as he is...

Bee said...

Well, I liked your analogy of the leaf and the window . . . and sometimes I feel it the other way around, too. The world outside seems dark and scary, while my own little "viewfinder" glows with hopeful light.

I do hope that Molly is better soon; she is child and companion, and the best bits of both, I think.

I wonder if the Little Saints were stolen because someone was covetous (and needed their benevolence, guidance or luck) -- or rather, because someone was hostile. I guess it also could have been plain old mischief.

marly said...

Very interesting that zephyr, who has just been through something difficult, talks about how it doesn't hurt a bit to expect the best...

Perhaps we both ought to do that more often!

Good-golly health to Miss Molly.

Plutarch said...

I have twice reread your Little Saints essay, which I recall reading and being greatly touched by when I first encountered Box Elder. I am glad you revived it, and can't help feeling and hoping that it is true that somewhere a battered and worn but ever cheerful saint is working some magic on Molly's quick recovery.