Summer in Poppy Cottage

This summer was one of discovery, milestones and coming of age. One of the biggest achievements was for Leon and Mya, aged 6 and three quarters, to learn to cycle without stabilisers. They both got bikes for Christmas last year. Both were reluctant to cycle on the road with the stabilisers as any uneven surface made the bikes wobble and they lost their confidence.  So, unfortunately, the bikes didn't get used as much as I had hoped in the Spring time.

As a result, I thought that the decommissioning of stabilisers over the summer holidays would be a long process. But it’s amazing how a little bit of sibling rivalry can help moves things along. Mya’s little Shetland pony legs couldn’t quite master her big bike, so she abandoned it and reverted to the pint sized bike that she has had for three years. After three days practice, off she went, stabiliserless, knees hitting off the handlebars, legs going like the clappers. Proud as punch. Leon was totally not impressed with this. He didn’t like that his sister, younger than him by one whole minute, could master it before him. Within hours, there he was, my boy, cycling all by himself. Len boasted that he could cycle the BIG bike first. If someone wanted to do some academic research observing sibling rivalry, I would suggest the No Stabiliser Challenge.
This cycling milestone is great though. Recently, walks with the children were starting to get tedious, amid complaints of sore legs and walking too far, requests for piggy backs, etc. Now, I have trouble keeping up with them, cycling alongside me.
Loom band mania hit the country this year and reached Poppy Cottage with a bang. One day recently, I bought loom band bracelets from some children who live on the cul de sac near the children’s Nana May. I felt sorry for the vendors, as there was little chance of sales with so few passers-by. My two seen the possibility for earning cash for themselves and so, set up a loom-band bracelet making operation that evening. It resembled a sweat shop, such was the level of work. 8.30am the following morning, the Poppy Cottage shop was opened. There was great attention to detail with comfy blankets for themselves and the dog to rest, underneath the sales table.

The kids sat there for three long days, selling their wares. Initially they were selling the loom-bands at e2 a pop. Having inspected their workmanship when I got home from work, I suggested that they should drop their prices to 50 cents. They extended their range of products, by also selling plums, pulled from our garden.  There roles in the enterprise were quickly established. When a car pulled up, Mya adopted her sales pitch, while Leon abandoned his sister, to run into the house to announce 'WE HAVE A CUSTOMER !' On the fourth day, it rained and we suggested that we should give the shop a rest for a while.
They made the princely sum of e24. They were made up. Money burns a hole in my kids pockets, Leon, particularly. You can practically smell the cash burning. I was keen that their introduction to entrepreneurship could be further applied. With a gentle nudge, we agreed that the e24 should be reinvested to buy more hens and to then sell eggs. The long term plan is to save up enough money to go to Disneyland. In the meantime, the children continue to scheme about further sales opportunities. We made cookies the other evening. Leon’s eyes lit up. ‘Mam, we could sell these when we open our egg shop. And chocolate brownies !’ I suggest that we might need to look at our general baking hygiene if we did this and that perhaps the raw mixture might need to be handled less and the spoon licked less often. The two of them adopted a serious business like face and say ‘Yeah, Mam, we can do that’.

The other big happening of the summer was loosing first teeth. Most of their class mates lost teeth in the last two years,but Leon and Mya's hung in there til mid summer. Their teeth first got wiggly at the same time. I had a romantic notion that being twins, their first tooth might fall out on the same day. As it happened, they both lost teeth within days of each other. At Christmas time, Leon got a bit creeped out at the idea of Santa Claus sneaking around the house when he was asleep. The idea of the Tooth Fairy under his pillow has a similar effect. We played it cool. Tooth Fairy Daisy kindly left a note too, with some words of wisdom for the children.

The children were delighted that they could buy whatever they wanted with their Tooth Fairy money. Mya, sensible as ever bought a children's magazine, with a free pair of princess slippers. Leon bought a foot pump in Lidl, that he could use to blow up bicycle tyres. Then deflate them. And blow them up again. And repeat. I had to stop him trying it out on the car.

Over my summer holidays, I wanted to cut back our rather lovely, but now overgrown pond. When the children were smaller, it suited that they were largely unaware that it was there. For two days, I inflicted many injuries on myself to restore the pond to its former glory. Actually, it had never looked this good, as the plants had not matured. The children helped with the work, with gusto. Clipping and sawing, dragging cut branches. There was much laughing when I fell into the pond, even though I hurt myself quite badly. Note to self : Do not wear flip flops when lugging rocks in a pond.

In the midst of the pond restoration, we found a frog. There was so much excitement, we may as well have struck gold. Despite the children's screams of excitement, the frog remained still and let them stroke him. Without a doubt, this was one of the highlights of the summer.

The summer holidays went too fast. Many of the planned day trips and catch up with friends didn't happen. My two and a half weeks at home with the children seems pitifully brief. But as I chatted with the children about their summer, we talked about so many little moments. Getting hens [as documented in my previous blogs]. Building a tree house. Having Maelys, our French student to stay, jumping on bales of straw in Nurney Lakes, camping in the garden, Visiting the Fairy Garden in Corkagh Park, soaking their Mam for the Ice Bucket Challenge. During this conversation, Leon adopted a very serious face and said, 'One not so good thing about this summer Mam. Only two hens are laying so far. They had better start laying soon. We need to start making money'. A lot learned this summer, methinks.

Back to Skooo Elle

I started writing this blog sitting on the toilet.  Not actually ON THE TOILET.  I was sitting on the toilet seat, supervising my children's last shower of the summer holidays.  It was the most decent scrub that they have had in eight long weeks.  I scrubbed their necks and took a bucket of compost from between their toes.  Classy, multi-tasking bird that I am, I also necked a large glass of white wine.  Let's face it, I couldn't wait a minute longer to celebrate the fact that my darling children are back to school in the morning.

When your baby (or in my case, babies) are born, nature cranks up the 'I-love-this-little-critter-no-matter-what' hormones.  These hormones help you through the first exhausting months.  By the time  your offspring are ready for First Class, nature kindly turns on your children's 'Really Annoying Button'.  It can be activated at any time over the summer holidays, but is most likely to be fully activated in the week before your children go back to school.  Brought on by over-excitement and anticipation of going back to school, it's also natures way of saying to the grown ups - 'Let 'Em Go'.  (Queue a group rendition of a rather annoying song from the Frozen movie).

The Really Annoying Button
* helps your child to turn any found implement into a whistle
* encourages even normally mild mannered children into American Wrestleresque monsters
* increased your child's reflex action and draws their pointy little limbs like magnets to kick and punch objects and other individuals.  This is particularly applicable when an adult has recently received a rather nasty injury to a knee, while running.  It is guaranteed that children, usually wearing boots, will be drawn to said knee.  Even in a space the size of a football pitch, the children will seek it out and whack it at regular intervals
* gives your child an extra supply of tears and sad face, which are turned on anytime the grown ups want to do anything on their own.
* encourages your children to speak in high pitched tones at all times
* ensures that no child will be asleep before 11pm any night.  Sure, how could they ?  With the 15 trips to the toilet, 6 glasses of water, 2 trips to the fridge, 43 REALLY IMPORTANT questions, bed swapping and sibling punching, how could you expect a child to sleep ?

This morning was our last lie-in before the hum-drum of the school routine kicks in.  I made a cup of tea, grabbed the leftover Sunday newspapers and hopped back into bed.  The children soon joined me.  I felt a real sadness that my two and a half weeks at home with them had gone so quickly.  But very soon, the Really Annoying Button went on turbo boost.  I wondered if the school staff were at work today and if they wouldn't mind taking my children a day early.

I confess, I escaped on my own for a few glorious hours today.  I partly justified this by buying the last few bits and pieces for school.  But really, I just wanted time on my own.  Before I knew it, it was bed time.  I aimed for 8pm, but managed to have two heads snoring by 8.45pm.  I'll write another blog soon, reflecting on their summer adventures.  It will probably be nostalgic and have a slight rose tinted hue.  I'll wake in the morning and feel a mixture of pride and sadness as my children embark on their adventures in First Class, with their new teacher.  Right now though, I'm just feeling relieved.

Getting Down and Dirty

In the last forty-eight hours, I have been lashed in the face, poked in the eye and received lacerations to my arms and legs.  My hair has been ripped out of my head.  I can barely walk with pains in my back and my arms are black and blue.   Before you call the guardians of the peace, don't bother - It's all self inflicted.  I've been cutting back the plants around our pond in Poppy Cottage.  I was slightly over enthusiastic when planting dogwood around it a few years ago, to keep weeds down.  It had turned into a bit of a wilderness.  Two days work and it is looking mighty fine.  The kids found a frog in the pond.  They were beside themselves with excitement and I was pretty chuffed too.  I loved every minute of it and I'm going back for another thrashing tomorrow.

Yes, gardening.  If you ain't into it, you won't understand what I am talking about.  I'm pretty much addicted to it.  I get a buzz from buying a car full of plants, dying to get home to plan and plot and plant.  For my three weeks holidays,  the thing that I was most looking forward to on my holidays was getting on my old clothes and digging holes in my garden.  After a hectic few months at work, and a more hectic autumn to follow, in Gretta Garbo style (but without the white fluffy dress), I relished the idea of just being alone.   Although having said that, the garden is the one place where I can be with the kids, but really do my own thing.  They are happy to potter around, Leon digging holes where he shouldn't and watering the ground, or the windows, rather than the pot plants.  Mya will plant seeds, deadhead plants and generally help out.  It is the only place where we can all have fun and the kids aren't saying 'I want ....'. 'Can I .... ?'  No Mr. Whippy van will appear.  If the kids want to be fed, they can make a jam sandwich.  

I bought some bamboo sticks earlier in the summer for my sweet pea.  The kids were so impressed by these sticks that I bought them their own supply.  Twelve of them at forty cent a pop.  Bargain of the century and biggest hit of the summer.  The sticks were used for marking our rooms in the garden and as frames for obstacle courses.  However, they were also used for 'accidentally' whipping the heads off one of my daisy plants.  I threatened to use the bamboo sticks for other purposes if any further accidents happened.

I don't covet my neighbours goods, or (rarely) their husbands, but I am prone to a dose of Garden Envy.  It hits me real bad every now and then.  Pure green I am.  The worse dose of GE that I have is brought on by the sight of a manicured herbaceous border - the ones you see in walled gardens, run by OPW.  I'm not envious of those state run gardens.  It's Joe/Jo Blogg's borders that get me - where do they get the flipping time ?   A healthy looking vegetable plot brings on similar feelings of GE and general inadequacy, as despite my acre of a garden, ten years later, I have yet to have a vegetable patch. 

To tackle my feelings of inadequacy, this year, I planted potatoes in large plant pots, to great success.  The kids got such a buzz pulling them out of the soil.  'Look Mam, there are more and more !!'.  Myself and Mya like strolling around the garden in the evening inspecting what flowers have blossomed, munching on mange tout that we also planted in pots.  I have herbs growing, to great success in a turned-on-its-back filing cabinet.  A friend gave my some courgettes plants, which are rather impressive, but the cabbage plants ... well, let's just say they fed all of the caterpillars from Athy to Waterford  ...  There are some rather impressive plum and apple trees in Poppy Cottage.  I can take no credit for these - they were here when we bought the house and happily thrive on neglect.  Next year though,  I will have a vegetable plot DEFINITELY.  I will ...  And a greenhouse.  (Also the cause of much garden envy, especially glass ones, with proper slidey doors.

Getting back to coveting, I have a bit of a thing for the English gardener Monty Don.  Rugged, but gentile and handsome, I could listen to him talk dirty (soil, people, I mean soil !!) all day.  One of my favourite books is his 'Jewel Garden'.  He talks about spending massive money on plants when he didn't have a penny and maps the making of his fabulous, rambling garden.  He also talks about his bouts of depression and how gardening helps that.  I'm conscious of how fragile mental health is and can see the benefits of being in the garden.  There is something very theraputic about getting your hands dirty.  I don't always feel like hacking down trees, but even walking around and spotting a new seedling, or plant that haas bloomed is worthwhile.  Some plants, like my poppies only flower for a day or two, before their tissue-like petals are blown away, but it's worth having them for that one day.  No one else may see them, except me.  I love sharing these transient moments with my children too.  I see it as a way to seize the day, to appreciate the moment.

If I am having visitors over the summer,  I will spend more time tidying the garden than the house.  Not that I expect non-gardening folk to notice my work in the garden -   I know what I have done and I take satisfaction in that.  I just want them to enjoy it.  

I want children to see it as a place for adventures and to explore.  I want to build memories for my children and their friends, like the fun of their, now annual, Easter Hunt.  To use the garden like an extra room in our cottage.  To make 'secret' dens and create their own space.  For adults to relax and take time out.   The garden in Poppy Cottage, like any good garden, will never be finished.  It's a work in progress.  But there will always be time to sit back and quite literally, smell the roses.

“For you little gardener and lover of trees, I have only a small gift. Here is set G for Galadriel, but it may stand for garden in your tongue. In this box there is earth from my orchard, and such blessing as Galadriel has still to bestow is upon it. It will not keep you on your road, nor defend you against any peril; but if you keep it and see your home again at last, then perhaps it may reward you. Though you should find all barren and laid waste, there will be few gardens in Middle-earth that will bloom like your garden, if you sprinkle this earth there. Then you may remember Galadriel, and catch a glimpse far off of Lórien, that you have seen only in our winter. For our spring and our summer are gone by, and they will never be seen on earth again save in memory.” 

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Dedicated to the memory of an inspirational gardener, my friend Andrew Farrelly

Fedge It Arian Ism

When I was a kid, I had a very cool babby house in a shed at my parents house, with a proper couch and china plates.  I fed my brothers and cousins, and my cousin's cousins imaginary food for years.  A healthy diet of 'everything-with-sand'.  It was a versatile staple in those days - sand tea, rather impressive tiered cakes, you name it - If you could shape it out of sand, I made it.

I had a dolls cot in there too.  Usually my dolls slept in it (probably in very damp bedclothes, but they never complained).  From time to time, the dolls would be replaced with a dead animal, usually a rabbit, or a kitten, that I would find on the lawn or on the farm.  I would take its rigid little body and will it back to life in my cot, wrapped in blankets.  While I can picture this clearly, I have no memory of how the animals looked after a few days.  I guess my parents disposed of then when they started to decompose.  I didn't think there was anything odd about this at all, but one day, I remember a cousins older cousin peering at the latest dead rabbit, cosily wrapped in blankets and looking at me in horror and saying 'THE RABBIT IS DEAD'.  He may have been stating the obvious, but it was a bit of a shock to little pigtailed me.  I remember feeling silly.

Obviously having a thing for bunny rabbits, I couldn't watch the animated film 'Watership Down', without having nightmares about rabbits being ripped apart.  Even now, hearing Art Garfunkel's 'Bright Eyes', will have me in tears.

As anyone growing up on a farm with sheep, we had lots of pet lambs, mostly lambs whose mothers had died, or who didn't have enough milk for multiple lambs.  We had one lamb in particular, Tubby, named because he was a large fella, who lapped up the bottled milk.  We never took Tubby aside and told him that he was a lamb, so he thought that he was a dog. He ran up the stairs in our house and chased cars.  I can still see him charging around the house when visitors would arrive.  And I can see the visitors legging it back into their car as a rather large lamb came running towards them.

I can remember the day that Tubby was killed.  It is my Jodie Foster moment in the film 'The Silence of the Lambs', when she recounts being woken to the sound of Spring lambs being slaughtered on a relative's farm.  I came home from school and there was thick, congealed blood on an old orange door on the ground down the yard.  Apparently Tubby had taken ill while we were in school.  I never believed the story.  I actually don't know what happened that day, but I guess that some time later, I ate my childhood buddy for dinner.

So, I guess the seeds were sown at an early age for me being a vegetarian.

I went to a meat factory in Ballyjamesduff with my father, a beef farmer, for the first time when I was 15 years of age.  I didn't go into the factory, but I could smell the blood and sense the fear in the animals.  There was a large conveyor belt, with the hides of animals coming out and flopping into a big container.  I had chicken for dinner that day, but vowed to myself never to eat meat again.  At first, people thought it was a phase.  Veggie options in the last 80's was mostly meat-and-two-veg, without the meat.

All these years later, eating out isn't much fun, especially in hotels.  The veggie option is usually a pasta with a heavy cream sauce.  It appears that chefs think us veggies like stodge.  Come on, a little imagination please people !!

I had a memorable lunch in the canteen in the IT in Athlone a few years ago, where I was attending  a meeting. Being a college with hip and happening young adults, I assumed there would be a decent veggie option.  I asked the lady serving what the veggie option was.  She offered me chicken or fish.  I explained that I a vegetarian.  Her response - 'Are you on a diet, love ?'.

When my babies were born, I wanted them to be vegetarian too.  I know that it raised eyebrows, but ethically, I felt that it was the right thing to do, but also, I felt that it was a healthier option for them.  They both thrived on it.  They also had rather exceptional poos.  (Another revelation that they can sue me for in later years).  I've always been brutally honest with them about meat and how animals are killed.  Maybe too honest, some would say, but then again, I've been honest about everything else (except Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, etc)

I was worried about how the children would cope when they went to other people's houses, or to parties, but it has never been an issue (Apart from the memorable time when my mother unwittingly  gave Leon some fish in a restaurant on Mother's Day - five minutes later he got sick ALL OVER my dress.  Thankfully I was wearing a double layers thingie).  I overheard the children at a party one day, when they were still very small, explaining to the host that they were 'fedgeitarians', because 'it's not nice to eat meat'.

It is hard to be 100% vegetarian.  Gelatine is in so many sweets, that are readily handed to children, so we have compromised on that one.  And we wear leather.  Maybe you feel that I'm a hypocrite, but hey, we are all full of contradictions.

The children's friends were over last week.  There was some meat burgers in the freezer and their little friends dined on them.  Later than night,  Leon announced that he wanted to eat meat, like Tom and Joe.  As it happened, there was some picnic ham in the fridge.  I gave him a slice.  His eyes were wide open, the boy with the forbidden fruit presented to him.  I told him that I didn't mind if he ate it (but gently reminded him what ham was made from).  He has a wee taste.  Not impressed.  He said that he might like it if it was hot.  So I heated it for him.  Not impressed.  He tried meat sausages.  Didn't like them either.

We were in my parents last week.  They were eating roast lamb for dinner.  Leon asked me again about eating meat.  Having my 'Silence of the Lambs'esque flashbacks, I must say, the thought of him eating lamb, of all things, makes me feel nauseous, but I said nothing and he forgot about it.  He hasn't mentioned eating meat since, but I'm sure that the conversation will arise again.  Right now, my wee woman on the other hand, has no interest in eating, or tasting meat.

Long term, I don't know if my children will be veggie, but at least they have had a good start.

Wardrobe Catharsis

I did a major wardrobe clear out last week.  On the Saturday of the August Bank Holiday weekend.  When it was lashing rain.  Sure what else would you be doing ?  The clear out was partly because of my 'I'm 40, I need to reinvent myself this year plan' and partly because I haven't been able to find gear that I was looking for lately, because my wardrobe was so jammers.

Buying a new wardrobe for the overflow was not an option.  Living in a cottage, storage space is of a premium.  The minute that the children grow out of their clothes, the wardrobe is stripped and clothes are packed up for handing-on to someone else.  It's the same with their toys.  I regularly sneak out of the house with bags of toys, destined for the charity shop, or ... don't say this in front of Leon ... shhhh ... the bin.

But when it comes to my own gear, well, that's a whole other matter.  As previous blog posts might suggest, I'm a bit of a sentimental git.  I hold onto things.  Clothes included.  Going through my wardrobe last week, I realise that I had some clothes for 15 years, yip, 15 long years.  Time for an overhaul ....

As I was wardrobe weeding, I could see clear categories emerging.  So, to use modern speak (me being a rather hip and happening 40 year old), I'll make a wardrobe listicle of sorts.

1. Gear I bought when I started earning decent money.
Most of this was Karen Millen clothes, well tailored, with beautiful fabrics.  Good for looking grown up, as a fresh faced art teacher.  After my puppy fat, grungie Galway years, I needed a good fashion overhaul.  Still a bit outside my price range, almost all these clothes were bought in Clery's rather brilliant sales.  (This was pre-Kildare Village, of course).  I wonder if I hold onto these clothes, will they become classics that my daughter will wear as an adult ?  I wish I had some of the clothes my Mam had when she was in her twenties, some of them handmade, in quality fabrics.  Now, THAT was craftmanship.







2. Gear I bought because it was a bargain.
Yes, we have all done it.  Okay, it never quite fitted, but ... with a nip and tuck ... a piece of fabric inserted here ... Yeah, right.  As if that ever happened.  Blessed with my mother's family genes, having a broad back and Bellew Shoulders, even if I was Skinny Malink, the underlying bone structure would dictate that some clothes just ain't meant for me ...  Unless ... maybe, I get a rib removed or two removed ?

3.  Gear that I am sentimental about.
The dress I wore to my graduation ceremony in Limerick School of Art and Design. I still love it, but maybe I'd be a bit mutton/lamb in it ? A top that I wore to a music festival that was great craic.  Stuff that I will never put on my back again ... Mind you, I am going to Electric Picnic in September.  I don't want to cut my wardrobe options ...

4.  Gear that I bought because I liked the fabric.

I am one of those people who feels clothes before I buy them.  If I need a wee rush, I can always open the wardrobe and have a feel, even if I never intend putting the clothes on my back.  Also in this category are the clothes that I will wear to death, because I love the comfort of them.  It's as if they are giving me a hug.  I've realised that I am actually a 'comfort wearer', rather than a comfort eater (much kinder on the waist line than the latter).  A little baby pink John Rocha cami is in this category.  It is slowly falling apart, but you can expect to see me wearing this in another ten years, with a bit more patchwork on the disintegrating fabric.

Having said that, there are quite a few items in my wardrobe made from fabrics that I don't like - funnily enough - mostly bought on sale, and largely unworn !

The wardrobe clear out did not start out well.  I looked for every reason NOT to give clothes away.  An hour later, it looked like the charity shop was getting two black round neck t shirts - and let's face it, they didn't exactly need those.

But then I had a 'moment' and gave myself a kick in the bum.  Karen Millen gear, even the beautifully embroidered skirt ... in the bag ... Festival clothes ... gone.  Eight pairs of jeans that I was waiting to come back into fashion.  Anything in a fabric I don't like ... well gone.  I filled a bag the size of the ones you see forklift trucks lifting with bricks in them.

I wasn't 100% ruthless though.  A leather gilet, beautifully cut, gorgeous colour, very expensive, but bought in a sale had to stay.  Unless I get the Bellew shoulders narrowed and those ribs removed, I will need the help of two firemen to get it off over my head, especially if I had a few beverages of an alcoholic nature.

.... Actually, that's quite a pleasant thought ... (Damn, did I just say that out loud ??)

During the clear out, I also found some great gear that I forgot I had.  I used the opportunity to plan new outfits, matching up different items.  Fashionista Gold Star for me.  Which reminds me - Just letting you all know that I want Sonya Lennon to give me a makeover some time.  I'll go on TV.  I'll even strip to my undies and let Brendan Courtney fiddle with my baps.

When I grow up, I want to be Sonya.  I want my red lipstick to have the staying power of hers.  I want all of her gear and her hair.  So if any of you can arrange that, I'd be a rather happy bunny.









While I was doing my wardrobe clear out, a rather worrying pattern emerged.  Somehow, totally unknown to me, NAVY had creeped into my wardrobe.  And quite a lot of it.  And you know what it said to me ?  'Classic wardrobe staples ?' No.  It said 'You are 40 now love'.  Damn it !








In the lashings of rain, I loaded up the bag and headed to the charity shop.  They were rather pleased to see me.  I explained to them, with a serious face, that there was some really good gear in the bag.  It was the worried face that you have when you leave your kids in a creche for the first time, willing them to take good care of your precious ones.  I stopped myself from pulling a tailored jacket out of the bag.  One that I bought when I handed in my thesis, just to show them the detail on the seams.  Reluctantly, I stepped out of the shop and into the rain.  I hesitated, but walked on ... The rain hid my tears ...  Well, not quite, but I had you there for a minute !!

Still, I did feel a wee bit sad.  And if the worst comes to the worst, I can always go back to the charity shop and buy them all back.  But I'd prefer to hold on for Sonya x

Lola Bites Back

“Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.” 
― Stephen King, Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption: A Story from Different Seasons
                      ......................................................................................................

            ** Lola the hen responded to Lucina's recent blog post about a runaway chick **

I didn't think that she would even give me the right to reply.  Us hens don't get much opportunity to speak, let alone to write a blog.  But that's modern technology for you.

I've been in Poppy Cottage just over a month now.  I guess that it isn't the worse place to live.  The accommodation is fine.  Spacious and clean, if a little sparce on decor.  A two star hotel in a city centre.  You know, the ones with cheap soap and shampoo.  The food is nutritious but repetitive.  Okay, there are regular tit-bits thrown into the enclosure, but I sometimes I get the munchies and have a fierce craving for a big juicy snail.  With the hot weather, there's little chance of that.  It appears that they have all gone underground (literally).  We have a fair amount of freedom, but we are kept in this wire enclosure.  Yer Wan would say that it is to save us from dogs and foxes, but truth be told, she doesn't want us shiteing on her doorstep or nibbling on her plants.

If MTV Cribs were to come here, I would want them to 'Pimp my Hen House' and give me something like this one below in the Camphill Communities in Kilcullen.  It's smokin'

Yer Wan and the family bought myself and the other hens at a poultry sale in Kildare.  They singled me out for my good looking white plumes and my fancy black tail.  No one cared that I left my siblings behind though.  I was just shoved in a box with a bunch of random hens that they wanted a bit of variety.  Humans are so shallow.  

It was the Young Wan's idea to call me 'Lola'.  I was horrified.  Despite my good looks from an early age, my mother, who was always keen on modesty and had called me Eileen.  Of course when you hear 'Lola', you think of the Kinks song - where their Lola walked 'like a woman and talked like a man', or Barry Manilow's Lola, strutting her stuff on stage.  Well like me tell you, I'm not that kinda chick.  That flipping rooster Egward won't be fluffing my feathers either, if you know what I mean.

Yer Wan has notions.  Fancies herself as a bit of a hippy chick.  Loves composting and all that craic.  Is  a vegetarian and has the kids that way too.  The way she goes on, you would think that she was one of the Ingles family from Little House on the Prairie, hop, skipping and jumping down to the chicken coop to collect eggs for the kids to make pancakes - to help them appreciate where food comes from and all that malarky.  Us chooks fairly softened her cough with our stand off on laying.  Every day they come down, her and the two young uns, standing there, cooing at us through the fence, willing us to lay.  But we are holding off, having a silent protest as much as we can.  The odd day, one of us can't bare the pressure, sneezes and out pops an egg.  You would want to see the young lad when that happened.  Thrilled with himself.  You would swear that he laid it himself.

Getting back to the 'Great Escape'.  It really was much ado about nothing,  really.  There I was, minding me own business, having a spot of breakfast in the chicken coop, then the young lad opened the door.  Scare the bejaysus out of me and blinded me with sunlight.  Next thing, the mutt bounds at me, delighted to have a go at me, without the wire fence between us.  So I thought, 'g'luck, I'm outta here'.   If they had stayed calm, I probably would have just come back quietly.  But Yer Wan came bounding at me, wearing a pair of Betty Boop pjs and flip flops.  The hack of her.  A 40 years old hen dressed like a Spring chicken.  Any wonder I ran off in a flap.  I confess, I did have some satisfaction seeing her get flittered in the nettles and thistles.  Off she went charging across ditches into the corn field, when all the time I was in the undergrowth in the garden.

I decided to go into the undergrowth, purely to grab myself a rare take away.  Under the cover of the long grasses and the tall ditches, in hidden damp places was a feast of slugs, snails and whatever you fancied.  I stuffed my face.  Gorged myself.  One crunch more sensational than the other.  Bliss.

After another failed rescue attempt by Yer Wan, I spent a night out on my own.  I started out feeling exhilarated  - I really thought that I could make it on my own.  But you know what ?  I kinda missed the girls.  We are a random bunch, but we kinda clicked/clucked when we met.  I didn't put up much resistance to be caught the second time.  I'm only a beginner hen and I'm still holding off laying eggs.  It will make Yer Wan appreciate me all the more when I do.  She isn't a bad old hen all the same.

And when she does get her hands on an egg, I hear that she makes damn fine pancakes. 'Course I don't eat the pancakes.  That would be cannibalism ... obviously ....

It's Not You, It's Me

Kildare County Council’s Arts Service interprets arts and health as arts practice that takes place within any healthcare context (acute, primary, respite, rehabilitation and mental health care) and can impact on anyone who enters the facility.  The potential for arts activity in this setting is diverse and may consist of environmental enhancement, site-specific commissioned artwork and participation-focused work.  A distinction is made between arts and health practice and other practices such as arts therapy, community arts in health and medical humanities.

Local distinctiveness is a key element for each local authority, with different priority areas being shaped by the surrounding cultural infrastructure (or lack of).  While many local authorities do not have dedicated staff or an arts and health strategy, each arts service engages in a range of arts in context programmes. They may not consider initiatives such as a participatory arts programme with older people, or commissioning an artist who is exploring illness, to be ‘arts and health’.

It could be argued that arts and health as a practice is not the responsibility of a local authority and rather is the responsibility of the Department of Health and the HSE.  Given that arts and health programmes can involve patients, clients, service users, carers, staff members, visitors or the wider public, I see work in this area as an important opportunity for arts engagement by the local authority.  

The NESF 2007 report on ‘The Arts, Cultural Inclusion and Social Inclusion’ (1), states that ‘in terms of legislation local authorities are the organisation given most responsibility for broadening participation and access’.  I feel strongly that quality arts provision is an entitlement of all citizens.  Working in the field of arts and health creates new opportunities to engage with people who would not otherwise have access to quality art experiences.

The framework for ‘(Continue to) Make Inroads: An Arts Development Plan for Kildare Local Authorities 2012:2016’ (2) was built on five key roles for the arts service – Curator, Mentor, Broker, Respondent & Inspirer. In the plan, we set out our responsibility as ‘curator’, defining our role as caretaker: which includes our duty of care.  This operates on a number of levels.  Firstly, a person may not want to be labelled through their association with those programmes, for example a person availing of an arts programme via mental health services. This is a key consideration when producing promotional and documentation material.  Secondly, we need to manage the expectations of participants.  Due to resource limitations, many arts and health programmes are relatively short term.  It is important to signpost participants to further opportunities provided by other agencies, or independently.  In Kildare, a partnership programme with the HSE (particularly the Health Promotion Department) has assisted in this transition.

Kildare County Council was the first local authority in Ireland to employ an arts and health specialist (3) in 2007.  An arts in health strategy was published in 2009.  The strategy prioritised:

• Supporting the continuing development of the arts programme in Naas General Hospital

• Promoting and facilitating access to and participation in arts initiatives for users of mental health services

• Developing arts provision for older people

• Supporting arts programmes and training for service users and staff of intellectual disability services

The publication of the strategy was a strong statement to other agencies working within healthcare contexts of our commitment and willingness to work with them to develop a sustainable arts and health programme.  While the strategy was warmly received by the public, we were asked why programmes around intellectual disability were included in the document.  Although Kildare County Council recognise arts and disability as a distinct practice, it was felt that the arts and health specialist was best placed to take on this work as part of her portfolio.

The post of arts and health specialist has now ceased (due to the local authority staff embargo).  Kildare County Council now works closely with the Kildare West Wicklow Community Addiction Service Ltd. to support the employment of an arts and wellbeing specialist for Co Kildare.  The ‘wellbeing’ title is informed by current international best practice and trends.   The World Health Organisation’s definition of health is ‘state of complete physical, mental and social wellbeing not merely the absence of disease or infirmity’ (4) and reflects a holistic view of society and health.

As mentioned earlier, the local authorities forthcoming arts plan was built around five key roles  -Curator, Mentor, Broker, Respondent & Inspirer.  These roles describe very well how we work in the arts and health field – negotiating between services and agencies, advocating for and nurturing best practice, professional development opportunities for artists and augmenting existing arts provision.  In this plan, a distinction has been made between ‘arts and health’ and ‘arts and disability’.  The local authority commits to engagement in both areas.

Over the course of this plan, our arts and health programme will include working with Barretstown, which is a specially-designed camp that provides therapeutic recreation programmes for children with serious illnesses and their families.  In conjunction with Helium, the local authority is offering training, mentoring and placement for artists to work with children experiencing serious illness in the camps.

Reflecting on our work since 2007, there has been a lot of shared learning between healthcare and the arts service.  There is a greater expectation for evidence based approaches and quantitative data from health care professionals.  While the local authority has been satisfied with qualitative evaluation for arts programming to date, there is scope to adapt more rigorous evaluation methods to the wider arts programme, and vice versa.

In May 2011, I was admitted to Beaumont Hospital with suspected Multiple Sclerosis.  Up until that point, I had never been really ‘sick’, had barely been in hospital and even then my longest stay was a five day stay in a maternity hospital – but that wasn’t proper ‘sick’.  Of course, this was a life changing experience, in all sorts of ways.  What I didn’t expect was how it would change my perspective about my work and specifically, in the field of arts and health.  I realised I had considered arts and health as something for other people.

I had previously talked about ‘environmental enhancement’ in hospital settings without reallyinterrogating the rationale for it.  Waiting on an MRI scan in Beaumont, I developed a real affection for the stitched birds in the framed textile artworks dotted around the corridors, willing them to make it all okay.  It is only on reflection that I can see that I thought of artworks in hospitals from a visitors perspective only and not as a patient.  Over the last year, words like ‘patient’, ‘sufferer’, ‘survivor’, ‘service user’, ‘carer’ and ‘wheelchair user’ have taken on a whole new (sometimes terrifying) meaning.

At the Bealtaine conference in Dublin in May 2012, Francois Matarasso commented that ‘ageing concerns us all.  At least we can hope so, because the only alternative to ageing is dying young …’  He says that ‘…older people are [considered as] somehow other … they are just us in twenty years time’.  This comment resonated with me and reinforced my thinking that arts and health is for and about everyone, including me.

Lucina Russell has been the Kildare County Council Arts Officer since 2000. She has initiated a number of long-term arts development initiatives including Laban-based dance training, which has a significant national following. She managed the appointment of an Arts in Health Specialist, the first of its kind in local authorities in Ireland. Kildare County Council has an extensive arts and health programme, particularly in the field of older persons and mental health.

 _{(1) NESF (2007) ‘The Arts, Cultural Inclusion and Social Inclusion’ NESF Report 35, pg 40 (2) Due to be published in September 2012 (3) Initially the title of the post was Arts ‘in’ Health specialist.  The title was changed to Arts ‘and’ Health as it better suited the post. (4)  http://www.who.int/about/definition/en/print.html}

This article was first commissioned by artsandhealth.ie. To read the full article and more arts and health perspectives see www.artsandhealth.ie/perspectives.