THE JOURNAL

28 October Bank Holiday Monday

Twelve or thirteen hounds ran down the track.  They raced around the house three times and then around the book barn and the tool shed another two times. They were barking and baying as they ran. As a mass, they jumped up the banking and disappeared into Joe’s field. We neither saw nor heard them again. We never saw a hunter nor anyone with a gun. We did not see any humans all day.

29 October Tuesday

The herd of young cattle in Joe’s top field rushed over to look at me as I walked by. The noise of that many large animals running was thunderous. Running as a crowd made them appear strong and fearless, but they stopped abruptly when they neared the gate where I was standing.

30 November Wednesday

I went to the Chinese acupuncturists. The man and woman work together. She speaks English and he does not. After having me explain things to her, she repeats everything to him in Chinese. He inserted needles and left me in a darkened room for about an hour. He hummed a little as he worked but the only thing he said was: “Okay Lady?” After removing the needles he gave me a vigorous massage and then repeated: “Okay Lady?” giving me a little tap on my foot to let me know that he was finished.

31 October 2024 Thursday

Walker and I walked up to the Green Barn. Whatever has been planted in the the fields is growing fast.

1 November Friday

I went into a shop in Cahir to buy a newspaper. There were two young priests waiting for toasted bacon sandwiches.  They also ordered coffee and picked out a selection of chocolate bars. They were wearing long white robes and sneakers. One priest said to the other that he loved the big pockets of their robes because he is always hungry.  He likes to carry a supply of chocolate.

2 November Saturday

The feral cats scream when the kitchen door is opened. The feral cats scream when the kitchen door is closed. The young one, who is no longer a kitten but not yet a full grown cat, is omnipresent. The big black and white bruiser arrives frequently, but the young cat’s mother rarely makes an appearance. I was on the verge of giving the small cat a name. I have grown fond of her. I think of it as a she but I have no idea of her sex. She sits on the pillow and she sleeps on the pillow and she is rarely not on the pillow on the bench. But now this screeching has begun. I thought it was a demand for food but once it has started the screaming and pushing at my legs and the door do not stop. The small cat screams as though it is in danger or in pain. She should be up at the farm catching rodents and drinking milk.

5 November Tuesday

We visited Tommie at St Patrick’s. He was not looking as robust as the last time I saw him. Maybe it was just because he was not wearing his bright red sweater. He was happy for a visit though he told us that he had had a niece down from Dublin earlier and he said she wore him out. He claimed that she never stopped talking for two solid hours. He told us a long rambling story about having worked under a bus for his whole life. He said he was never once Out From Under The Bus, not until the very last day of his job. He said he was happy to know that he need never again work under a bus. I knew he had worked as a farm labourer from the time he left school at 14. I could not make the connection with the word Bus. I am certain that Tommie has never ridden on a bus. He told me that once. It took time for me to understand that he was not saying BUS but BOSS. He was glad to be Out From Under the Boss.

6 November Wednesday

The day began grey and overcast. It promised to continue like this. The weather would not improve. Heavy cloud cover made everything feel sad. I did not know what to do with myself. The one thing I knew that I did not want to do was to talk to anyone. I did not want to talk and I did not want to listen. I decided to walk up the Mass Path. I have been unable to get through there since the spring because it has been heavily overgrown, and branches and trees have blown down. I decided the struggle of trying to go up there would be a good distraction from the ongoing and endless reports of results and analysis. Taking work gloves, secauters and a thorn-proof jacket, I pulled on my wellie boots and set off. Right away at the bottom, by the stream, I had to climb over and through a fallen tree. There were a few moments of clear walking but most of the journey was slow and difficult. I cut brambles and boughs out of my way in order to keep moving uphill. I got as far as Johnnie Mackin’s orchard, or to the part of the path that runs alongside the orchard. The path ahead was blocked for as far as I could see. There were apples on the ground, some rotting and some looking still good enough to collect. I thought I might return with a big bag. The smell was fetid. I could not go any further. The way was heavily tangled and overgrown. I considered climbing up the banking and into the orchard and continuing that way, but I quickly saw that that option was almost as bad. I turned around and started back down the hill towards home. I stepped on a mossy rock and crashed to the ground. I wrenched my shoulder trying to break my fall and I fell heavily onto my hip. I lay in the wet leaves and mud and I caught my breath. I wondered if I had broken my hip even while I knew that I had not. I burst into tears. I was not crying about the physical pain. I was crying about everything else. I was weeping in fear and disappointment and rage. I cried. I sobbed. Eventually, shaking with the cold and the wet mud soaking through my trousers, I stopped crying. I got up and continued my way back down the treacherous path.

 7 November Thursday

While grabbing a clump of purple sage, a bee stung my left index finger. The bees and their activities are dying back but some are still flying around to get what they can from the plants. They stop and rest often. Which is why the bee was in among the sage leaves. It stung me when I grabbed it. My finger is now swollen and tight and it feels like it might explode.

8 November Friday

I thought it would be my hip or my thigh that would hurt but it is my shoulder that has retained the memory of my fall. Today, I can barely lift my right arm. It must have taken the whole weight of my body falling as my arm reached out to catch myself.

9 November Saturday

The geese are all over the castle car park at the market. Some days, like today, they refuse to go back into the water. By the time they have returned to the river the tarmac is a slippery mess.

11 November Tuesday

The light is terrible. It is the same white light all day. There is no sun and there are no shadows and there is no variation from morning until the end of the afternoon. Day after day. Every day is the same. A heavy white cloud cover sits over everything. It is bitterly cold. We cannot see any further than the fence through the fog. There is neither background nor any view behind even the most familiar things. Night falls early and the darkness is complete. There are no clouds, no stars and no moon. The dense fog sits heavily on the land and on our spirits. The cold and the fog are the only topics of conversation.

12 November Tuesday

I continue to sand the table. Over many years, the light from the skylight has made the varnish break down into a gummy surface. Newspapers stick on the table and they tear as they are lifted.  Kieran tells me that this is what happens when the surface has been exposed to too much sun over a long time. The top surface has mostly come off but now I am trying to make it all into an even tone. Some of the old varnish is hard to remove. I keep thinking I will get an electric sander on the job, but I only think about it. I do not get around to getting one. I just keep working away at small mottled areas. I am now using the Japanese sanding device which is made of a lot of bristles tightly bound together with strong cotton rope. The working method is to hold the bundle in both hands, one hand on top of the other and to push and pull along with the grain of the wood. It is satisfying work, but it is slow. Maybe in the spring I will finish the surface off with an electric sander, but for now I continue to push and pull.

13 November Wednesday

Fergal sent Vinnie to collect the book shipment. The door to my workroom was open while he loaded 27 boxes from the room to his van. When he was finished, I closed the door and went into the house for lunch. Later I took a walk with Breda in the bitterly cold white fog. We wore reflective vests over our jackets. The few cars or tractors passing us all had their head lamps on and they drove slowly. It was 6.30 before I went back up to my room to look for something. The small cat, who I am now calling Ruth, was in there. She started screeching the minute I walked in. Had I not left something behind she would have been in there all night, warm but even hungrier than usual. She knocked a box of nails and a lot of papers onto the floor. As soon as I go outdoors she follows me from building to building and waits patiently outdoors.  Maybe she thinks she is a dog, but dogs do not scream.