Sporting Heroes

Just dropped Pete, Eddie and Eve (husband, son, daughter) in town as Pete and Eddie are running the Manchester 10K at 12.10 before doing the swim this afternoon. Gluttons for punishment!  Eve is the communication link and support team.

Eddie is a lovely, lanky 16-year-old, so Pete said it would be like watching a warthog and a gazelle.

I think he's being just a bit hard on himself!

And now I'm watching the coverage on BBC2, they keep flashing across to Salford where the first wave has just completed the course.

The commentator is saying the water is absolutely freezing and he'd need two wetsuits to even consider it......

The participants all look quite cheery though.....oh my god, that's me in three hours twenty minutes.....

Getting in the Zone

Where did all the hot weather go? The blazing sun that should have been warming up the water in Salford Docks this week? 

Tomorrow is the Great Swim and we're in the last wave at 3.20. The cameras will be rolling, and broadcasting live on BBC 2. Ulp! No pressure then.....

This is my cap - you'll be able to spot me bringing up the rear and staggering over the finish line. 

I swam 3/4 mile yesterday, and a mile on Thursday in 45 minutes - a great time for me. I'd be very impressed if I managed a time like that tomorrow. 

Here's the all-important chip that'll keep track of me

and here's that great poem from Sharon Olds, that seems to sum it all up

The Swimming Race

Noon, Orinda Park Pool, three girls

in rubber caps sculpted with rubber

roses, and they had put our fathers

at the far end of our lanes. We curled

our toes over the edge, the gun went off -

they dove cleanly, as I jumped. By the time 

I had surfaced, and started to dog-paddle, they had

finished the race, their fathers had drawn them up

dripping and were handing them sateen ribbons with

rosettes, a red and a cobalt blue,

I held up my head as he'd taught me, and swam

like a dog toward his end of the pool. The day

was temperate and cloudless, live-oaks

in a large cluster full of yellow-jackets to my left,

the lawn to my right, and there before me, 

at the end of my lane - black lines

on the bottom of the pool, where the drowned would lie -

was my father. I paddled, I felt myself approach him,

I was grinning because of the prize I would win

for coming in third, a Big Hunk bar -

the milk and honey on the other side -

and because my father was getting bigger,

leaning toward me, his arms open.

He pulled me out, and held my hand

up by the wrist. My sister sneered, she said

Why did you lift Shary's fist

when she was last? and he smiled, a smile almost

without meanness, one of the last

times we saw him smile, he said

I thought she was winner of the next race, and his

face flushed with pleasure and the shade of the yardarm.

Sharon Olds

from The Wellspring, 1995

Oh bring on that yardarm!!

May The Eighth

I'd forgotten that on my birthday last year we went to the City Art Gallery to look at the Emmeline Pankhurst picture, before going on to Wagamama for a birthday celebration meal. So it was nice to have a memory prompt on last year's blog post.

This year my birthday started as usual with presents in bed :@) Then a swim for Dash at 11am - he's getting very good at it! Coffee and chocolate brownie in the garden with my sister and family - Malachy and Aoife aged 2 and 1 are the darlingest little dotes and turn any visit into a party!

Then yesterday's Doctor Who on catch up, followed by a meal at Croma - Chorlton's finest! A glass of bubbly on our return. What more could a girl want?! Thanks everyone! 

garden clogs

writing prompts kit

solar powered garden lamp

lemon bath stuff

tartan dressing gown

celebration tipple

Fantastic Mr Fox

Rachel Levitas Urban Fox VIII

Yesterday, when I went in the garden the hens were out of their enclosure, digging holes, throwing soil everywhere, generally wrecking all the new planting, as they do. 

I chased them back in and spotted how they'd escaped - a hole under the wire fence, and the unmistakable stink of fox. 

Foxes are lovely animals but we'll have to be vigilant now. The menfolk are saving their urine to sprinkle round the perimeter of the hen run. Old wives' tale or reliable deterrent? 
Who knows? We haven't seen a fox in the garden for a couple of years, but now we need to be on the lookout.

The Thought Fox

I imagine this midnight moment's forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock's loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow
A fox's nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.

Ted Hughes, 1957

Fairweather Friend

Great Salford Swim is on Sunday 15 May and Great North Swim is on Saturday 18 June, so time is of the essence and we need as much training as possible in the next two weeks. 

Now that Salford is open for training 6.30 - 8.30 on Monday and Thursday evenings, and Saturday mornings 8 - 11 there is plenty of opportunity. 

After two outdoor swims last week, I thought I was into the swing of it. However, after a weekend of brilliant sunshine but bitter winds I couldn't face getting into the cold water this evening. I went down to offer moral support to my husband and son but I had no regrets about my decision not to take the plunge. 

There was a very strong wind so the water was extremely choppy, and I reckon at least couple of degrees colder than the advertised temperature of 13.2C. 

They managed one uncomfortable circuit with the wind against them all the way round. I was completely nithered watching them (as my mum used to say) so they were chilled through when they hauled themselves out. Top marks for bravery, boys!

Now I'm praying that the wind will drop and the sun shine continually till Saturday to get the temp up before my next decision about whether to opt for the docks or the pool.....

Beltane 2011

Welcome once again to May - my birthday month!

For all you Taureans out there here's our horoscope - courtesy of Shelley von Strunckel in Good Housekeeping:

May is all about conducting a clear-out of your old views, habits and even dreams. The resulting insights explain situations in which you've little control, enforced changes or what is blocking new ventures. Don't brood over these. Rather, examine with others both unfamiliar ideas and any setbacks, since they're likely to spot what you miss. All of this is clearing the way for a period of thrilling growth - both personal and in terms of your life and dreams - that begins when the expansive Jupiter moves into Taurus in early June for a year's stay.

Welcome to you Jupiter - bringer of Joy!!


The picture is of the Chillingham Cattle.

Thrills and Spills

Not long back from Salford Quays where we swam two circuits of the 400m course. Their opening swim of the season!  13.5C - so a bit nippy to start, but tingling when we warmed up and fantastic to be back in the docks again.

Monday at Gaddings was also great, swam 750m, the last 10 minutes or so without a wetsuit, phew it certainly makes a difference.

And speaking of wetsuits.....I am just getting over the fact that my obliging husband cut it with his nail helping me on with it.....before it even touched the water.....my bad humour took till Wednesday to lift. In my fury I reminded him of this Jean Sprackland poem which I introduced him to after some similar outrage a while back

The Apprentice

I married a man with clumsy hands

whose touch left me fingerprinted with bruises.

I had to keep him from my bed

till he learned some delicacy.

I wanted him dextrous

so I trained him on nimble tasks. First time

hanging out washing, he snapped a dozen pegs,

let underwear fall in the wet grass.

Then I had him sowing lettuces,

pricking out the seedlings, growing them on.

He was close to tears with the smallness of the work.

I schooled him in needle and thread,

a hard apprenticeship in gentleness.

He fumbled the button, knocked the licked end of thread

against the stubborn eye of the needle,

stabbed his fingertip. Blood on his white shirt.

One night, after dinner, the final test:

unfastening my silver necklace.

When I felt those skilful fingers

lift my hair and charm the tiny clasp apart,

I stood astonished, sheened in desire. I turned

and took his hands, set them free.

Jean Sprackland

from Hard Water (Cape Poetry)

Harrumph. But a wonderful poem - and a great collection.

Busy Bees

A swarm of bees flew over our garden this afternoon. I heard them quite a while before I could see them. Then they were gone.

A swarm of bees in May

is worth a load of hay.

A swarm of bees in June

is worth a silver spoon.

A swarm of bees in July

isn't worth a fly.

But what about April?

Anniversary

I've been thinking about my Mum this week as 26th April is her anniversary. 

She died four years ago but it seems like it could have been last week - time is a strange old thing. 

On Easter Sunday I discovered Elizabeth Spires and among her poems I found Like Water which is painfully moving - so straightforward and what a powerful way to describe the grieving process.

Then a book arrived this morning that I ordered last week - Sparrow Tree by Gwyneth Lewis. Mslexia has invited submissions of reviews, this was on the list, so I thought I'd have a crack at it. 

Over the last four years of my mother's life we gradually lost her, as a degenerative illness impaired both her physical abilities and thinking processes. 

I flicked through what seems to be a great collection by Gwyneth Lewis and this poem called out

Field Guide to Dementia

To see you is egret,

No, red kite high

On a thermal,

Holding your hand

Is wagtail, comfort.

I think some cuckoo's laid

An egg of darkness in my head.

Words have migrated,

I forget their calls.

But I still point,

Look! Dowitcher, possibly

Lapwing. Quite.

Gwyneth Lewis

from Sparrow Tree (Bloodaxe)

   

Head for the Hills

Yesterday the water temperature at Gaddings Dam was 15.4C - a veritable hot tub! - so that's where we're headed this afternoon to kick off the open water swimming season in these parts. 

I got a new wetsuit when TriCentral had a clearance sale a few weeks ago, it will have its inaugural dip today - may God bless her and all who swim in her!

Important Disclaimer: This is the wetsuit but this is not me...

Egg Hunt

Looking around for an egg-themed poem, I've just happened across Elizabeth Spires whose work I've not read before. Her poems are powerful and leave me wanting more.....which is nice.....! 

Here's her poem Faberge's Egg.  

I've also found out about Faberge eggs which I didn't know much about till today. So that's my little Easter egg to me, courtesy of the internet. 

Now I'm off to make an omelette for breakfast. 

It's A Dog's Life.....

Five weeks post-op and Dash had his first swimming lesson at Soozoo on Monday. 

He started with a shower and was buckled into a life jacket, then up the ramp and down another into the water. 

He was nervous about the new experience but thanks to the reassuring manner of the trainers he was soon swimming around the pool and chasing toys which made the activity fun for him as well as being just what the doctor ordered. 

Since his wound healed he's only been allowed to have 5-minute walks once or twice a day. No exercise off-lead until July, a gradual build-up until then. Even going into the garden has to be supervised as a sudden twist or turn chasing a cat or squirrel could destabilise the repair and make another operation necessary. 

Swimming takes all pressure off the joint and apparently a minute in the pool is the equivalent of a mile walking! So after 30 minutes he was well and truly ready for a cup of bovril and a packet of crisps. 

Just joking...a quick shampoo, a bit of a blow-dry then into the boot and home. Mmmm.....that lovely smell of damp dog.....

Swimming and Sorrow

What to Do with Sorrow
Can I sing a short song to your sorrow?
I'll choose something with absolutely no sentiment
or, if you prefer, I'll just hum, or, I could tap
my fingers on the table in a light, lively rhythm
or, I could do just the middle-eight part of a folk song,
or something else bland. Really, a song might be nice.
Could I get it a coke, or a Ben and Jerry cone
or a cup of coffee or some taco chips?
Maybe just some water with ice?


I could take your sorrow out somewhere.
Maybe I could take it on a road trip with me,
if I could get a crash helmet to fit it.
I'd take it to the mountains on the back of my bike
and we could go camping, just for the weekend.
I've got a tent and we could drink cocoa
from tin mugs and tell each other stories,
really sad ones, by the campfire late at night.
I think your sorrow might like it a lot.
Sleeping in a tent and looking out through a flap
at the stars. Maybe even seeing a shooting star.
And I've got some of those self-inflating sleeping mats
which make all the difference. They really do.


Maybe I could take your sorrow out this afternoon.
I could take it swimming with me in the lake.
We could go on the bus so you wouldn't even need to drive us.
I could take my day pack with apples and soda and rope.
We could sun for a while and then make our way over the rocks
to the sandy part where we could splash near the shore.
Then we'd move out together and begin to swim laps.
Breast stroke and crawl, side stroke and back stroke,
and then go further out to the middle where the water's deep
and we'd smell the water while we swam.


Do you remember how the water smells?
a bit like mud and a bit like dying reeds
and plants and a bit like fallen petals of water lilies.
It smells like turtles and fish and water snakes
and bottoms of row boats and the wet wood of canoes
and it smells like the bugs that skate on it
and like everything that's rotting on the bottom.
You remember how the water smells.
Don't worry about us at all.
Your sorrow will be safe with me.
I don't think we'll be back early.
Go ahead and eat without us.


Linda Chase 
from The Wedding Spy (Carcanet, 2001)

Go Well Linda And Adieu

A poetry friend emailed me this afternoon to tell me that Linda Chase died this morning. 

I've made a couple of false starts to write about her, but it's obviously not the right time, I just feel too sad. I've found her such an inspiration in the time I've known her, she will be missed by so many people.