Whatever happened to those late, lamented, “little grey cells” (as H. Poirot might put it)? Their activity, or presumably their numbers, isn’t in evidence as much these days as in days of yore. If it’s true that alcohol kills them off, I imagine that mine have to be greatly diminished, if not running into reverse numbers! At least these days my wine consumption is of very modest proportions, I’m actually enjoying the taste and “the nose” far more than those times when friends were mystified as to why I didn’t display any of its worst effects on many more occasions than my constitution permitted.
It’s now quite frequently the case that I know what I want to blog about, or where I want to surf, only to find that in the short interval between switching on the PC and it’s totally readiness my mind has gone quite blank as to what the urgency may have been.
When planting or transplanting items in the garden and its wildlife area, I know that if I don’t place identifying tags adjacent to the plants their name/species will be forgotten by the following week. In recent weeks Aquilegia, Hypericum, Campanula, Hostas, Californian Poppy, Icelandic Poppy, Wild Wallflower, Wild Bellflower, Ox-Eye Daisy … old uncle Tom Cobley and all, have found their respective places chez nous but, without the labelling I couldn’t have named one of them. At least sufficient cells are active that I can carry a visual image of the plant I require as we visit various garden centres but, remembering their names seems to be a lost art.
Come to think of it, does it really matter if one doesn’t know their names (I’m a bit like that with people as well) as long as one appreciates them. Hopefully as the more intellectual aspects of the brain diminish in power, those of appreciation can be sustained and even increased. I rarely try to identify the stray weeds / wildflowers where the birds have scattered seed from our various feeders; my appreciation (or even deprecation) of them has by no means diminished.
The wonders of nature never fail to satisfy, its gentle awesomeness is natures gift to me. Were I to live in more exotically unstable climes, perhaps its “awe-fullness” would be the overwhelming sensation. There are times when one can only bow in reverence or even fear before the elemental forces but, most of those around me are quite benign.
Of course, the word benign is dependent on ones perspective; were I to be the prey of the Red Kite we were privileged to observe just a few hundred yards from where we live, it would certainly be a case of cowering or running from this malign spectre.
Sorry I’m just waffling on … must be the lost grey cells seeking their revenge! Forgive me; I know not what I do.