Walking and Canoodling Couples

 

Mum used to walk for miles. I’m told that Alzheimer’s patients love walking which is part of the problem as they will head off knowing where they are going, forget on route and get lost.  Even before she got Alzheimer’s though mum loved walking. One of her favourite walks was round Strathclyde Park, a manmade lake and park just outside of our village – a good 90 minute walk.  She would try and get other people to go with her but if they wouldn’t she would just head off on her own. I would often worry about her especially as she got older as some of the paths could be very secluded and I could just see her getting attacked. However she was always fine.  Strathclyde Park was (and still is presumably) a haven for all sorts: there were the campers cycling or walking round the park; there were the sailing enthusiasts on their boats on the lake; there were the rowers, practicing on the water; there were the dog walkers, striding along with dogs everywhere; there were the families having picnics; there were the people feeding the birds usually surrounded by huge menacing looking swans. And there was a lot to look at:-  funfair with roller coaster and big wheel; waterskiers, rowing boats, sailing dinghies; swans, cygnets and ducks; football games at one side, a small beach in the middle, and the Water Sports Centre which boasted a rather good cafe overlooking the lake at the other side.

When she was sectioned in hospital I used to take her there just to get her out in the fresh air. Then she had been in hospital for a while without any exercise and really could not walk very far. That was the first indication that physically she was deteriorating. She would ask to sit down on one of the many seats, then resume the walk but we never made it the full way round. Suited me, because after having broken my leg and ankle not that long before, I wasn’t so much up to it either.  So we escaped to the cafe as often as not both for something to do and to escape the cold . And we would partake of the very typically Scottish fare: Tunnocks snowballs; plates of chips with lashings of salt vinegar and brown sauce, bridies and pies, bags of crisps, toasted sandwiches, steaming hot broth of one kind or another and endless cups of tea.

When she arrived in Sri Lanka, it was quickly obvious that I needed to get her out and about walking as she was slowing down and was incredibly wobbly – probably both as a result of 5 months in hospital with no exercise and also from generally getting older. Not the easiest of things to find in Sri Lanka – a place where you can safely and comfortably walk.  I thought it would be easy – lovely weather; long stretches of beach – what could possibly be difficult about it? However it was. Beach walks were attempted and quickly discarded. Sinking into the sand made her even wobblier. My ankle is also not that great on anything graded. Steps are fine. Slopes are not. So beach walks we don’t do.  

Galle, post tsunami, now has a long ‘promenade’ running along the sea front.  Ideal I thought. However with no shade, traffic belching smoke, menacing dogs and passed out people often strewn around to be walked over, not really. We did stick to it for a while in the early evening when it was cooler. Galle Fort you would think would be good. Again, tried it for a while. The walls make the roads cooler ; but there isn’t a view and the roads are cobbled. If you do manage to get mum onto the ramparts, a feat in itself, you quickly get sunstroke. Even with a huge umbrella, you sit looking out to sea wondering if it was all worth it. Another deterrent in Galle Fort are the rather large ladies who block your path insisting on trying to sell you lace tablecloths when they can clearly see that mum is about to fall over (if she stands for more than 10 seconds she keels over – not connected to Alzheimer’s; she has had this balance problem for a while.) Lace tablecloths I have never had any need for; and my mother certainly doesn’t need one now.   

So where is good? Here's the criteria:-

•  a flat walking surface that you can’t trip over
• some shade or times of the day that are cooler
• a view
• somewhere to sit quickly if need be - does not need to be an actual seat
• easy to drive to and easy to park at (ie no parallel parking)
• no people hassling you to buy things, visit temples, go on river cruises, visit craft shops, buy gems, and pledge money to various dubious charities (or any of the other million and one things that could potentially be on offer).

There are a few.  Down south there is a very picturesque and shaded walk just past the Fortress next to a children’s play park. It skirts the coast and there are stilt fishermen and regular fishermen with their boats. It’s also the place for the canoodling couples under their umbrellas.  Lots of motorbikes give them away. Nobody in sight until you see the umbrellas further in. Any time we turn up they have beaten us to it.  Luckily there are a lot of seats; they are stone and hot but we (like the couples) can live with that. The Fortress also has lovely grounds for walking and the staff greet us cheerfully as we do the rounds of the lawns and the corridors.

 In Colombo we also join the canoodling couples. Galle Face Green is the ideal place for walking. At one end is the Galle Face Hotel, colonial grandeur at its best; at the other is the Fort, the commercial centre of Sri Lanka. The Green has now been returfed, boasts lots of little stalls along the front, and looks out onto the Indian Ocean before it becomes the harbour. We go after I finish work when it’s cooler. A breeze invariably comes of the sea. Parking is easy though these days you have to pay for it. You can walk for as long as you want. And we don’t get hassled. Maybe the touts in Colombo can see how wobbly mum is. There are plenty of seats of different kinds. The seats that the couples prefer are tucked into the wall. The seats comprising a brick wall round the trees are road height. And there is always something happening there. Around 5pm groups of about 40 or so of the army or police doing their exercises on the green; they walk and run endlessly in circles; they do press ups and leg exercises.  Never very politically correct, “Those black men are at it again,” mum’ll say (to give her her due though they are all dressed identically in dark navy tracksuits).  We can watch the schoolkids running around; the kites flying high; the joggers belting along; the more sedate exercisers working out on the grass. Out to sea mum can count the number of her favourite tankers waiting to go into port.  It really is ideal. No lace tablecloths in sight! It’s a hive of activity but never so crowded that you don’t feel you have your own space.  So if you ever want to find me and mum on a late cool afternoon, look for the canoodling couples, and probably we will be somewhere nearby.   

 

Raspberry Jam and Water Lilies

 

 

Last weekend me and mum went plant shopping up the back of Galle.  While I was wandering around the grounds of the plant shop, mum was sitting in the sun responding happily to the owner’s queries and comments and enjoying watching his grandchildren running around the garden. I have no idea what she was saying but she seemed quite content. This started me thinking about plants and gardens and in long convoluted brain journey, I ended up pondering the caravan and camping holidays we used to have in Scotland when we were kids and we all picked raspberries for hours on end.  Was this an early Scottish version of child labour? I couldn’t figure out why we picked so many rasps as we couldn’t possible have eaten them all. It took a while but the brain eventually made the connection to raspberry jam. Mum was always making jam and marmalade. Jam jars would be collected all year and set aside in a cupboard. In the summer there would be fruit in huge quantities, sugar in similar quantities and lots of jam jars ready to be sealed with plastic covers and elastic bands.  The kids were allowed to seal them. Pots would boil away for hours.  The result: we always had an endless supply of home-made marmalade and raspberry jam.

As well as a keen raspberry jam maker, Mum was an avid gardener and wuld spend hours happily tending the garden. She always had a garden in the various houses we had. In her second to last one we had a large sloping garden which started as veg and flowers, then as she got older, it changed to grass which was easier to manage, until even that became too much for her and she moved from that house into her much smaller house in Elmwood Court (part of a sheltered housing complex) where the gardens were maintained by professional gardens, an extremely chatty elderly gent, well loved by the ladies in the complex,  and his two sons.

The Clyde Valley was a place we often visited over the years in Scotland. This was the site of  - way back - plant shops very similar to the one in Galle. Fruit and flowers were on sale by the river. It was a lovely shady drive, a twisty turny road following the path of the river as it flowed on its way to Glasgow and the sea. The shops were seasonal – at any one time full of daffodils or potatoes.  Much later when the area developed into lots of Home Centres I would take mum for a drive and lunch there. In her later years in Bothwell I liked to make sure she had an amaryllis which we bought there.  You could buy the bulb in October and it would flower at some point over the winter. She cared for it and even when the Alzheimers was taking over, she continued to tend the flower and loved to watch it grow and then flower. They were spectacular. 

These days the lilies in the pond have usurped the amaryllis.  We have two kinds, one a big bright purple plant and a few smaller lilac ones.  They are Nil Manel or blue water lilies and in February 1986 they were chosen as the National flower of Sri Lanka. When we arrive on Friday we check the state of the flowers in the pond. Are there any? What colour are they? Where are they in the pond? Are they open or closed? Are there any buds breaking the surface? Then later in the evening again she remarks that the flowers have gone. She doesn’t quite get that they close overnight and then open up again the next morning. In the morning at breakfast there is the same check of the state of the flowers in the pond (around the same time we check on the whereabouts of the monkeys). They are constantly changing and she seems to get as much joy from them as she used to get from the amaryllis.

Squiggly Wriggly Things

 

A friend of mine has just got a hamster for her daughter for her birthday. She’ll have a great time with it I am sure.  Growing up, we had a series of hamsters of different shapes and sizes staying with us from time to time. Mum was a primary teacher and her classes always had a pet hamster throughout the term but during the holidays they always ended up at our house. They were always in a cage with a wheel for exercise and toilet paper for a bed. Of course they would manage to escape when the cage was being cleaned or one of us kids opened it and wanted to hold the hamster. They got everywhere. Wriggly and slippery creatures, you could hold them for a while, but invariably they would escape round the back of your neck, down your back and away into the interior of the house. They were fast and you could lose them for days on end. They would often be found in various states of disrepair stuck behind heaters, behind fridges, in the back of cupboards, in completely different parts of the house (they can flatten themselves and get under very thin openings). They caused great anguish when they would disappear and a hunt would ensue for them. They sometimes turned up looking rather different (mum having gone and got another one to avoid upsetting us). A foray into larger pets was not very successful. We had a brown poodle puppy called Sandy one school summer holiday. Unfortunately when we all went back to school, the dog destroyed the kitchen, doors and walls included, and had to go. It went to a nice family where the mum didn’t work.

In Sri Lanka I’ve never seen a hamster though they may very well be here. Small squirrels on the other hand are here in abundance. Mum calls them squiggly wriggly things –“Look! There’s a wee squiggly wriggly thing…….oh and another squiggly wriggly thing!” They are palm squirrels (Iri Lena in Sinhala and Sinna Anil in Tamil) and have three very distinct stripes on their back. Their bushy tail, as big as their head and body, goes into a S shape when they sit and eat something held in their paws. They nest in the eaves of the house and can be seen dragging soft bark and dried grass and leaves along and up the roof often leaving a trail of debris in their wake.

They rule the garden. They race across the top of the gate which must be piping hot in the sun; they balance precariously across the telephone wire which connects my house to the one next door; they run up and down the tree to get to the bird table before the birds; they run along the inside of the branches of the ‘fir’ tree which must be tickly; they run around the roof beams; they chase each other round the garden (the dogs have learnt they haven’t a hope in hell of catching them); they are everywhere. I even found one down the back of my desk – I thought it was a rat at first and freaked out. It was a baby and must have climbed in the window and got kind of lost. Its mother eventually tracked it down and went off with it in tow.  Mum can sit for hours on the porch watching the squirrels racing around the garden. The squirrels cause hours of amusement.

The Fortress as well is crawling in them. Mum sits with her feet up on the sun lounger in the shade of the umbrella – the only person round the pool fully clothed – watching them intently. The squirrels' antics are accompanied by her running commentary. They race around the grounds chasing each other. Up and down the palm trees. Alongside the pool. In and out dining room tables. Leave food or drink around on a table and they’re up like a shot to investigate. They’ll also climb on your lounger (and you if you let them) if you have a plate on your lap. They can be a bit of a nuisance. And they make a racket. For the size of them they can certainly make their presence heard. 

They may not be hamsters and mum certainly doesn’t look after them in any way – except by surreptitiously dropping some of her lunch at the Fortress which has the desired result of bringing them nearer. But they cause the same constant distraction and amusement in their never ending and unpredictable antics as the primary class hamsters once did.  Thankfully there are no fridges and heaters to get stuck behind here!

Heroes and heroines

Heroes and heroines come in many shapes and sizes. For some people  they are firefighters, emergency doctors and de-miners. For others, astronauts, pilots and explorers.  For me it has to be the people who care for and tend to the elderly, especially those with dementia. It takes a special type of person to do this. As much as I try, I’m not that type of person. The weeks I spent with mum (24-7) before the arrival of my brother and cousin over the recent Xmas holiday dispelled any illusions I might have had about that. Part-time caring I can do. Full time is another thing entirely.

I first started evaluating carers when, after having fallen out of the loft and breaking my leg and ankle in many places, I was trapped for 3 months (instead of the planned two days) at my mum’s house in Bothwell because I could not fly anywhere until my plaster came off- luckily I was freelance at the time and could work from wherever I happened to be. Then, mum had one carer in every morning to monitor her pill intake, to wash her, and to make sure breakfast had been eaten. The quality of carers varied considerably. Some came in, asked if she had done this that and the next thing, to which she replied in the affirmative – invariably lying – and then went away again. There was no checking of pills beyond prompting. Her shower, she had to get three times a week. Again some carers accepted her statement of having had a wash earlier as fact, until I hobbled through on crutches and pointed out she was making it up. She hated showers and would avoid them like the plague. With some carers she just refused to have one. Others, though, through manner and attitude, managed to get her undressed, into the shower, washed, dried and dressed before she had really noticed. Quite a remarkable feat!   With breakfast, again they asked and again she said, ‘yes I’ve had it” which she had because I had made it in a rather wobbly manner. There was no evidence from the fridge prior to my arrival that there was anything like breakfast food in the house though. Some cared; some couldn’t give a shit.

I got the number of carers coming in increased during my stay as it became quickly obvious just how badly she could actually cope during my lengthy enforced stay in her house. She also fell over and broke her arm when out walking and therefore needed more help.  I was of limited use to anyone on crutches. When I left Bothwell she was up to 4 carers a day and had had regular food for three months. Unfortunately not much more than a year later she was found unconscious in the lounge by the psychiatric nurse who just happened to be visiting and was hospitalized.  She has not lived independently since.

Thankfully since coming to Sri Lanka, mum has had two gems of carers. Without them, I could not go to work or function in any way normally. The first, Shamalee, is wonderful. She has an extremely calm, placid, happy nature which works well with mum. She can cope with anything which is just as well as she has had to deal with some shitty situations. She went off to have her second baby early September. She worked on the Friday, was admitted to hospital on the Saturday morning and had the baby within an hour. She doesn’t waste time. The baby is now about 4 months old. Mum loves the baby but that is another blog.

Ajantha came to cover for Shamalee when was on maternity leave.  I first got to know Ajantha when I was working in the Emirates. She worked as a nanny for one of my friend's. She was there during my seven years in Al Ain and Sharjah. Now she is back at home in Sri Lanka. She is the mother of my caretaker down south - the man who looks after my house and dogs. Again she has a very calm, placid, cheerful personality and can cope with pretty much anything. As well as covering for Shamalee in Colombo, Ajantha mum-sits down south when I need to go out.  Both are 100% reliable and trustworthy. Equally important though, they can manage mum.

Both now play a mean game of rummy, know Sound of Music off by heart, are a dab hand at cheese sandwiches and lentil soup, are jigsaw experts and can hum along to Andre Rieu’s Vienesse waltzes. They understand the importance of ‘the bag’ and the necessity to know where it is at all time.  They know that the table in the lounge must always be aligned with the lines on the floor. They can cope with mum’s negativity and leave her to it till she snaps out of it.

Both of them make my life possible.

Calendars

“Isn’t it busy for a Tuesday?” “Why are there so many people shopping on a Sunday?” “It’s very quiet for a Monday morning.”. All these comments trip of the tongue frequently. They have one thing in common when spoken by my mum – the day is invariably wrong!

Calendars, diaries, days of the week, times of the day, all these things used to be very important to my mum. Calendars and diaries were always up to date. The beginning of the year saw the ritual transferring of important information from one year to the next – birthday, anniversaries, holidays. She never forgot a birthday. The walls of the lounge at Christmas were covered in Xmas cards – partly because she had a class of 30 primary kids and parents of every child gave her a card and partly because she sent and received lots of cards. Birthdays and Christmases were days to celebrate – even if one year I found an IOU 50p from Santa in my Christmas stocking.

These days of course birthdays, anniversaries, holidays all fly past with minimum awareness and very little sense of occasion. I do my best to get her to sign cards and give her cards that people send to her, but she doesn’t quite get it. Christmas was a bit of a non-starter really although there were certain elements of it that she enjoyed. She liked watching me decorate the Xmas tree; she liked opening the cards even if she couldn’t always remember the names on them; she enjoyed eating her Christmas dinner; and she enjoyed talking to family on Christmas day although she can’t quite get the hang of holding an iphone. (My brother has just bought her a traditional phone handle that I can now plug into the iphone so she knows which end is which. Haven’t tried it yet.)

What she really liked though was the Jacquie Lawson advent calendar. For those of you who are not Jacquie Lawson aficionados, this is an e-card website which I love because of the classic animated dog cards (it also does other subjects). There is a special advent calendar every year. Mum loved it. I don’t think she quite got what it was mind you. But she did enjoy the different, some interactive some not, scenes of Christmas. Every day in the run up to Christmas we could click on the snowy village icon and enter the village. Then we had to find the date icon which flickered on the scene (bit difficult for mum as it was quite small) and then click on that and watch what happened. The scene she loved was trains against a snowy backdrop.  You could build (and rebuild) your own train, and then watch as it snaked its way along the tracks across the winter scene three times getting smaller and smaller the further away it went. Then when you went back to the village scene, you could spot the train you had just built running across the back of the scene. The sitting room scene you could also tailor to your wishes. We had fun designing our own Christmas stockings to hang from the fireplace and decorating (and redecorating) the Christmas tree. What she also loved was the jigsaw of the scene which you could do at 3 levels of difficulty. By the time we actually got to Christmas day, my time for each level was lightning fast.  She couldn’t actually manipulate the pieces, but she could advise on which pieces went where.  So the advent calendar was a definite hit!

My sister-in-law also has recently developed the habit of producing family calendars from photographs and sending them to us all. She started this a few years ago and they are usually based on holiday photographs, although last year’s had some really old pictures of the family included. I think the first one began in January but the later ones never quite start at the beginning of the year. This year’s starts in February. The pictures this year combine their family visit to Sri Lanka in August last year and my brother’s 50^th in the UK which involved the whole family getting together. Great collection of photographs – some good ones of my mum as well. Lots at the Fortress and lots at my house in Unawatuna. Includes my whole family, my caretaker’s family and the dogs. We’ve already been through it together and spotted various people, dogs and places.  It’s arranged weekly so the plan is to have a look at the calendar every week with mum and talk about the people and places and take it from there. It certainly provides a good jumping off point.  

She may not know what day of the week it is, but she can still appreciate photos of family and if they are on a calendar they are visible the whole year round.

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Memory, Molly and Mum

When mum first came to stay, her short term memory was such that I was beginning to think that she would never remember that we had three dogs, that they lived in the house down south, that they had names, and that they had characters. She spent about six months calling them by their colour and forgetting about them completely, though she always loved having them around.  I was also not familiar with what Alzheimer’s patients can and can’t do. I imagined that if you had a terrible short term memory then you wouldn’t be able to remember much in the recent past: that would seem logical. This seems to hold true for some things but not for others. I’m sure she doesn’t know from one day to the next whether she has had breakfast, lunch or dinner. She certainly doesn’t remember if she has just had a cup of tea. She frequently forgets where rooms are. New names and faces are very confusing for her; and sometimes old ones can be as well. She has been known to tell me about what Lesley is doing just now. There is no point trying to teach her to do something new e.g. work the TV or DVD or make a cup of tea (mind you I have issues with all the remotes too). And definitely don’t try and teach her a new game of cards. Doesn’t work.

However some things she does remember. For example, she carries her wash-bag around everywhere, she constantly worries that it is safe, and it must either be in a safe place when we go out or it has to come too. She keeps all her letters, her Sri Lankan coins which she thinks are worth heaps of money (in reality about 50 rupees) and her comb in it. She must know where it is. When she inadvertently left it in the toilet in the Fortress I went into complete melt down and had the hotel staff checking everywhere till it was finally found.

The dogs though especially her relationship with Molly recently has demonstrated that her short term memory does work for some things: notably this little dog who is really on her last legs.  When I come in from work in Colombo these days, I get questions such as “And how were the dogs?” “What happened with Molly at the vet? “ “How is Molly?” She obviously thinks I have been away visiting the dogs – if only! There could be various reasons for this confusion.  We spent most of August with the dogs. Now we see them only at weekends. So she obviously thinks they are around; she just doesn’t know where. And as she is not really aware that she spends half her time in an apartment in Colombo and the rest of the time in a house in Unawatuna, it makes sense on one level to assume that I must be away visiting the dogs.

She has definitely picked up on the fact that Molly is special. She would say her favourite dog is Sandy who constantly sits with her and follows her everywhere; but Molly and mum have formed a special bond. They are both up there in terms of years. Mum just turned 85 and Molly 14 (98 in people years).  Having spent every morning over a month with Molly, mum knows that Molly has issues and has a special place in the household. At breakfast time, Chaminda cooks Molly chicken and bacon, mixes this with rice and then adds a boiled egg.  The other two dogs get nothing in the morning. I hasten to add that this is not because they never get fed; it’s just that Molly is underweight and her kidneys are failing and the vet says she has to increase her weight in order to maintain stability. Therefore Molly gets her syrup first which is shot down her throat with a plastic syringe; 50% of the time this fails miserably and the syrup goes everywhere. The theory is that this will settle her stomach and give her an appetite. I’m not convinced that this works. Then typically me and mum watch her and the other dogs closely to ensure that Molly and not Sandy and Crazy demolish the contents of the dog bowl.  They watch Molly hovering around the bowl but not eating. Eventually she will pick at it and even later she will actually more or less finish it. It is a major event getting Molly to eat. And it is repeated every morning we are down south.

Mum also has noticed that Molly goes to the vet a lot. Either I take her, which involves me doing a 4 hour drive up and down to Colombo, or Molly comes up during the week in a van driven by Nihal and accompanied by Chaminda (or in the last visit by Chaminda’s dad as Chaminda was away visiting his mother in law at hospital). This is not because there are no vets down south. There are. But I prefer trusting Pet Vet in Colombo who can do all the necessary tests on her there and then and can explain the various options to me in terms I understand. Their treatment has also been right so far. In December they said she might not last the month but the saline she gets and the constant monitoring is keeping her going. We have to phone up for the test results. Mum is interested in the test results. I don’t think she understands what they mean beyond if they are good or not. She certainly does not understand that Molly has failing kidneys and that the saline she gets in different amounts and frequencies according to how her last tests are, will keep her stable for a while but this is not going to last forever. The whole saline drama mum has also watched a lot recently. Chaminda and me sitting with Molly while her saline goes into her drip by drip - it takes a while. Now, mum says when the test results come back normal, “Oh that’s good - the little dog will feel better.”

Molly has developed a special relationship with my mum towards bed time. When we sit playing cards before mum goes to bed, Molly wanders into her bedroom to see if she is there then looks over at us as if to say “Isn’t it time you were in your bed? I want to go to mine! Hurry up!” When mum does make the move to the bedroom, Molly is there immediately. She gets on her bed and is most annoyed if I try to get her off so I can sort the sheets on the bed. And she’s there all night at the bottom of the bed. They both sleep a lot. She’s still there in the morning and she stays there till mum is up, showered and dressed and only then will she stir from the bottom of the bed and stand in front of mum while she tries to get past her on route to the porch to have breakfast.

Mum definitely worries about Molly. That tells me her short term memory still functions in some areas. And I reckon Molly worries about mum. Conclusion : empathy overrides short term memory loss.

red vented bulbul

Unawatuna in Sri Lanka is a far cry from Bothwell in Scotland. And the bird life is no exception. My mum spends a lot of time sitting on the porch here in the mornings and early evenings. I used to feel guilty that she had nothing to do and was always trying to get her to read magazines (which she can’t really do) or do jigsaws (if Himashi is around she enjoys this) or  write letters/ cards to friends (which again she can’t really do – she can sign something if I write it). I’ve let the guilt go now because actually there is a world to watch from the porch. The monkeys are always around somewhere. The birds as well provide a wealth of entertainment, action, colour and noise. I have no clue why people refer to the peace and quiet of the countryside. It’s anything but quiet. The visitors make a racket.

In Bothwell there were not so many varieties of birds. I remember magpies where we used to live. Counted them according to the old saying, “1 for sorrow, 2 for joy, 3 for a girl and 4 for a boy.” Was most upset when I only saw one.  Also blackbirds, sparrows, seagulls and pigeons occasionally and robins in the winter.  Here though you are raised to a totally different level of ‘birdlife’. 

The most common birds in my garden are the red vented bulbuls. I have a whole family of them – in fact probably generations of them. They nest in the kitchen in my fish mobile. So far they have produced 4 sets of chicks there. You know they are about to produce eggs when while washing the dishes you come face to face with one of them sitting on the bars of the kitchen window with bits of twig in its mouth. It looks at you most indignantly - you are blocking the route from window to nest. After a while they finish the renovation of the nest. Then the eggs will appear and the mother will spend lots of time sitting on them. You feel you are disturbing her. Then all hell breaks loose when the eggs hatch and there are squeaks from the nest and various bulbuls come flying in and out of the window all day feeding the open mouths.

There was a bit of a drama during my mum’s early stay here. The eggs had just hatched and the mother bird flew straight into the fan (very rarely do they go anywhere apart from the kitchen which does not have a fan) which killed her. This left me (and Chaminda of course) with the situation of small chicks needing to be fed. Chaminda ended up standing on the kitchen sink trying to dribble bits of papaya into the mouths of the chicks with varying degrees of success. Luckily for us, the father (I imagine) and one of the teenagers (again the imagination is being used here) took it upon themselves to take over the feeding of the chicks. So after a slow start the chicks were fine and are now flying around the garden.

Then we have the babblers which are a source of great amusement for my mum. They invade the garden and then disappear as quickly as they arrive. First a couple like scouts will be seen checking the place out then the rest of the flock will appear shreaking and bouncing up and down. They bound over the grass in large hops, chase each other through the bushes, leap on top of each other with great abandon, and generally look like a bunch of youngsters having the greatest of times. The dogs make themselves scarce when they appear.

Then there is the kingfisher (or in mum speak the ‘blue bird’ because of the flash of blue as it flies across the garden). It usually is seen perched on the gate looking in the direction of the pond. This usually is around the time we have stocked up the pond with fresh fish. It will swoop down and scoop up the small fish. I am fighting a losing battle here. The only fish to survive for any length of time in my pond is a rather substantial gold and black one.   The other ones become kingfisher food given time.

Other regulars include the pair of spotted doves who are building a nest in the rafters of the porch. They come and have a drink at the pond producing the rather incongruous sight of a real dove sitting beside a stone dove (present from a grateful visitor). They are always around.  The mynas are also frequent visitors at the bird table. (They are also unfortunately frequent victims of the southern expressway!) There are also lots of sunbirds who don’t come so close, but feast on a variety of colourful flowers like the pink ginger.

Then there are the more infrequent visitors. There are the parrots who do come from time to time to the bird table. Bright green and quite aggressive.  And the   Asian Koel who can be seen feeding itself at the bird table. The coucal can be seen wandering around the garden like an old man out for a stroll. The brown headed barbets are also frequent visitors and the red backed woodpecker pops in now and again. Sea eagles also hover overhead.

We await the arrival of the paradise flycatchers who arrive in the trees in November and leave at the beginning of the year. These birds are amazing to watch with their long tails that look like paper streamers weaving their way between the branches of trees. There are the Indian ones which have white tails and the Ceylon ones which have more chestnut coloured tails. Both appear in November and stay for the season like faithful tourists.  

You need do nothing to enjoy these visitors. Just sit on the porch. My mum doesn’t know their names  (neither do I if truth be told – but I can look up a bird book) but she does know their habits and can enjoy their colourful garden antics.