Little Boxes

I am a bit of a squirrel and after reading Millie Johnson’s book ‘A Spring Affair’ I decided to have a bit of a clear out myself. I am the one who says to my daughter, ‘tidy house, tidy mind.’ You can imagine the response and her bedroom still looked like a major explosion had happened in it. Until, that is, a friend was coming over for a girly day in. For two days before she attacked things that I wouldn’t go near without checking my vaccinations were up to date, but they say penicillin grows on mould so maybe I was being a little melodramatic. According to Tabby I was anyway. Well, she emptied all her drawers and her cupboards into a huge heap on the middle of the floor. ‘I don’t know what I started,’ wails she. I went to look, it looked no different to me but she assured be it was such a mess! Over the course of the entire two days she medothically hung clothes up, sorted the washing, gathered her make up together into a little basket, bagged up rubbish for recycling, throwing away and the charity shop and sorted her CDs and DVDs. At the end of it all there were three bags of rubbish besides the recycling and I mean black sacks, not bad for one room. She polished, vacuumed and washed walls, changed the bedding and cushion covers and really worked hard on it. At the end of it all she came downstairs. ‘I hate to say this,’ she says, ‘but you were right.’ ‘Oh?’ said I innocently, ‘what do you mean love?’ ‘I feel really sort of clear in my mind, it looks really good and I feel so much better.’ I resisted the impulse to say I told you so instead congratulating her on what she had acheived.
All this made me think about my own tidiness. I love everything to be neat and then I can relax and write or do whatever without that nagging guilt taunting me. I also like things to be neatly put away so … I collect boxes. I have always been a collector, as a child it was those little wooden matchboxes , scrap books, little charms from jamboree bags, ‘diamonds’, -well coloured glass beads - and I had a place for everything. Today I still collect, glass bottles, books, bits of paper with interesting writing on, all my papers from University, pens, pencils- forever searching for that perfect pen or pencil, little things that I won’t throw away in case it is useful, paints, art paper, brushes, wool, sewing things, oh, and of course boxes. I used to have a beautiful collection of tins, old tins that I kept buttons in, pressed flowers, ribbons, needles and pins, all the sort of things I use from time to time. Useful things yes! Then I moved house two or three times and each time I had to thin my stuff down until now it is , and I even say so myself, a manageable amount for the way my life has changed. So, why is it I am still drawn to keeping little boxes, tins, containers that could hold….. I find it so hard to throw these things away and I do use them from time to time. I am good at justifying. Harry recently said to me, ‘Do you really need all these jars in the shed.’ ‘They’re for when I make jam or pickles and things.’ Says I. I went to look, I was never going to fill four boxes of jam jars, sauce bottles, pickles jars etc. How easy it would have been to say ok I’ll keep one box but the memories of when I wanted to make pickled onions and jelly after someone had given me a lot of fruit to use up and I couldn’t find a jar anywhere… this was after I had thrown everything away on one of my moves… sprung into my head. Instead, I had to go through every one and keeping those that looked pretty, had a nice shape, was just perfect for sauces and on and on. Why can’t I just throw things away?
I got to thinking about my life while I was having a clear out today and it has been so complicated, sad, bad, unhappy, ecstatically happy, so many things I didn’t want to remember, so many things I did and it suddenly dawned on me. I even store little boxes in my head. Many things from my childhood I didn’t want to remember so I started to build a cupboard with lots of little boxes in it, a bit like my grandfathers shed. I filled each little box with those I didn’t need to look at often and labelled them ‘ for when I know the answers’ Then, to counteract the bad ones, I filled the box next to it with ‘happy memories’ then ‘my Grandparents’ or ’sunny days in the garden’, ‘ sad times’, ‘painful times, ‘joyful…’ and so on and so on until my mind was an organised room of memory boxes. Once that was done I was content, the past was no longer an issue, I learned to forgive, and I could look forward to the rest of my life wthout the jumble of thoughts and feelings tripping me up or popping up just when I didn’t need them to. In this case it was tidy mind, tidy life… Well it has hardly been that but little boxes are important to me. I know where everything is when I need to look at it or use it, There is always room for more, They don’t get in the way when I don’t want them to… it keeps me happy anyway. Today I looked at a small cardboard box that I had been saving ‘just in case’ and decided it hadn’t been used for nearly four weeks so I threw it away, I was proud of myself for that but I did notice in the store the other day a nice little set of basket work drawers that would look so nice beside my settee…….

Thinking time

Today I am still reeling from the book I wrote about yesterday. So many thoughts have been triggered, images and sounds whirl round and round in my head and I ask myself, is it just because we are bound, as mortal beings, by beginnings and ends, definitions, colours, sounds, images? What if there were no boundaries? what if sound became colour, liquid became sound, solid became a feeling, words became a completeness that encapsulated all those experiences as a single communication and spoke far more in a universal language than we, at this moment in our present mortal situation , can never begin to understand? Then I think back to an experience I had a few years ago whilst walking in my garden and admiring the beauty and colours of the spring flowers and plants. I stood in front of a forsythia bush laden with yellow flowers and just looked. I noticed their shape, their colour, the brightness of the yellow, I saw the buds of the leaves waiting in the background until the flowers had reached the peak of their beauty and could no longer give any more to this world before they too, then burst open to share their colour. I was half meditating and half just being thankful that I could experience such amazing beauty when something changed. The colours of each individual flower merged with the next and the yellow spread and glowed. It stood out from the bush and vibrated as a golden aura. At first I thought I must be about to faint and shook my head but I didn’t feel dizzy so I watched. As I watched, the aura surrounded me, touched me, warmed me, and I became a part of it and it of me. The colour was no longer solid but a liquid, no longer liquid but a sound, no longer a sound but a fairy tale, a story, a lifetime and I was a part of it all. There was no beginning, no end, nothing solid yet everything real, no sound yet the most beautiful of music, no colour yet irridescent colour so vivid it became its whole. It was many things that, separately, in our world we all know but here in this precious moment, I experienced the total amalgamation of every sense we are aware of. I heard the colour, saw the sound, felt the words… the words…. It is a little like the quote from ‘Landing on Clouds’ that I wrote about yesterday… totally undescribable, but in those moments I learned that there is a place, a time, a knowledge, an understanding of things that are not bound by our limitations. I learned that there is, somewhere in another place and time, no need for language, for image, solid matter, liquid, sound, music, colour or many more ‘things’ that I am unable to describe with our limited language, because they are all one and the same total experience and completely understandable and fulfilling to the spirit. Maybe it is the language of angels that I was honoured to have shared for those moments, but I now know of its existance. I have written about it and shared my experience but contained in our physically limited world I can only use words to describe it, those words are so completely inadequate to share what is undescribable. Then even though I know, I cannot ‘tell’ anyone about it because it is so unbelievable in our physical world. I know it existed. Something in me connected to another world, another time, another place but, I cannot prove it. I therefore shall treasure that feeling, that experience, and I feel happy that, even with the limitations of language, I have shared this experience and hope that somewhere out there in this world of ours there is someone else who knows, really knows, what I have always known, that we do walk with angels. It’s just that we have to be in right the place in our lives, the right time and the right emotional state before they can slip in beside us and touch us.
I shall continue to read the works of other writers because I know that every time we write, we leave a little of ourselves on the paper, in the words, in the story. I also believe that as we do, it is as it should be. We inspire, comfort, touch others who are at the same place as we are and we give confirmation, encouragement and an understanding of who each of us is. We connect minds. Writing is more than a hobby or an art, it is a means of silent communication, communion, a reaching out and a giving to others who, at any given moment in time, are at the same place we are and need to hear what we are trying to communicate in order to move another step forward in their lives. Yes, writing is more than just words, it is a timeless act of communication and love between the writer and the reader, and as such a communication between souls and a life beyond who we all are in this world.
So, I hear you say, she’s lost it! but what if? and who are we to question such things? Maybe others feel the same or have had similar experiences, then this is what being a writer is all about. Add the imagination, relate to what others understand but most of all believe what you write about and let the forces beyond our comprehension do the rest.
PS. Any publishers in the real world out there, we need your help too . M X

I have been rather lazy today, so what's new? I was waiting for the gas man to call and service the boiler, and yeay, he fixed the leak, apparently a ‘union???’ had come unscrewed so no it shouldn’t leak water onto my towels and need topping up every so often, anyway I have been reading a book while I waited for him to call, actually the first book of four, by a friend of mine. She is an amazing philosopher and deep thinker which her book reflects entirely and I am loving it. It makes me a little sad though because although I have a great degree of intelligence it was never developed because of the circumstances I was born into and it makes me feel so frustrated. On reading her I feel so hopelessly inarticulate and she is able to write the things I know and have in my head but cannot verbalise, still I am delving into her wonderful mind and finding a lot of comfort and excitement there and I wish I had not been born into poverty and had the education that might have made me such a different person, maybe even the person I dream I want to be… Ah well.
Anyway, the book I have just finished is ‘Landing on Clouds’ by Olivia Fane. Apart from making me feel so inadequate as a writer, which is my problem, nobody elses by the way, this book has given me so much inspiration and I decided that even if I was an intellect I could never measure up to Olivia … she would deny this profusely and accept and acknowledge me as a person and everything I know as something so wonderful… by the time you leave her she has made you feel good about yourself and it makes you question what the hell is in your mind to be so negative….oh forgive me, do, for using her christian name, but I know so much about her, and so little, that I feel as I read her books I delve more and more into the person I know. Olivia is an amazing woman apart from her writing. strip the world away from Olivia and you would still have a person who is interesting, articulate and interested, a person with an incredible understanding of people and the world around her, a philosopher, a mother, a writer and a person with so many exciting stories and a zest for life that I can only weakly aspire to. I have written many a poem from experiences I have had with her and the children. My own children love her and look forward to being with her but ok I am going on… It is just a book but I have been criticised for using a similar style of writing and have then struggled to replace it with something other readers were happy with. I needn’t have bothered and now I have decided to write the way I want to. So if it doesn’t make publication, we all dream of that don’t we? it has made me happy to write it. Olivia’s books are so very much ‘Olivia’, in each one I see her character, a piece of her personality , so why should I write my books to please other people. I have to include a quote…. a fair explanation of Olivia from ‘Landing on Clouds’…
QUOTE’…what does a ghost feel who stretches out his ethereal fingers and arrives at something solid? Isn’t it infinitely easier for us to imagine a spiritual existance than for a spirit to imagine a corporeal one? I can imagine the spirits debating the existance of physical bodies. ‘mummy’ says one of them, ‘what does “touch”mean?’ ‘It’s a myth my dear,’ says the mother spirit, ’some say there are tiny particles in space, some say they’ve had a personal experience with them.. But they can’t prove it, and they can’t begin to descibe it. Take my advice darling, the modern way of looking at it is simply to suggest that the inexplicable doesn’t exist.’ Well, the son spirit grows up and lo and behold, as he’s floating over a sunny part of the ethers, he suddenly experiences the warmth of the sun, but he can’t talk about it to his friends - they consider such words as ‘warmth’ to be a mere metaphor. The son spirit says ‘No, no, I promise you, this happened to me.’ but the experience is so other-worldly as to be unimaginableand they say to him, ‘Are you sure you felt something more than an ordinary feeling of love or wonder or goodness?’ ‘It was better than any of those,’ says the son spirit, ‘but I shall never convice you. You will only know the truth of what I’m telling you when you feel the warmth for yourselves.’ QUOTE
And that is the exact way I feel. I want to write what I feel, not to explain it to others, not to make others believe what I see, feel or experience but because it is what has made me , well, me! So I thank my gas man for giving me the waiting and reading time, for dear Olivia for writing the book but mostly I thank my life experiences and the people I have met along the way, both positive or negative, who have contributed to my understanding of the world around me… and who have inspired me to continue writing, as Olivia has, about what I know, about a part of me… If someone else reads it I am thankful that, for just a short while, I shared a little part of me with someone else…. [quote from 'Landing on Clouds' by OLIVIA FANE]

Sticky, airless days

Phew! Today has been hot, hot enough to dig out the electric fans from the back of the cupboard under the stairs, hot enough to look at the housework and say ‘ Yeah, when it comes cooler.’ and open a good book while curled up on the sofa in front of aforementioned fan with a cup of Earl Grey. Well that was the theory and was a good one until I remembered that the blood donor team were at the local hall and that I really ought to go. Luckily a friend offered me a lift because he was going there anyway, hooray for air conditioned cars! The hall was warm despite ceiling fans whirring away. I hadn’t been for a few years because I had been trying different pain relief for arthritis but I made a decision some time ago that I was quite mad for taking a drug that needed to have the side effects counteracted with another and well you can see where the story was leading. I decided to try natural methods of pain control, so healing, a Tens machine, hypnotherapy as much natural food as I get away with, young people just hate the stuff don’t they? and a handful of vitamin and mineral supplements. It keeps it under bearable control without the drugs, so hence the reason to go back to giving blood. I asked a lot of questions and put my concerns about the arthritis but they were happy and off I went. The fun started when I had to get up onto the couch. Now anyone that knows me knows I am not a small woman and getting onto the couch very gingerly and watching the metal hooks that held the bit you lay on very carefully in case I suddenly disappeared into a messy heap through the middle, I did the deed. The real fun happened when I tried to get off, The dip in the couch and the higher outer frame left me with my legs dangling in the air totally unable to shift far enough onto the edge without leverage to get off the thing. Damn I tried, in the end I had to swallow my pride and ask for help. The burly mail nurse came along and made as if I was an elephant to lift me. No! says I, I can do it but I need to just have a hand to slide onto the edge. He was quite surprised that I just needed a hand not a hand, arm shoulder and full body weight… Oh, the indignity of it all. Believe me the worst part of giving blood is getting off the trolley.
I get back home armed with the instruction to take it easy and no heavy work…. that does include housework doesn’t it? If my decision re the heat before wasn’t a strong enough reason then I had one now. Normally I would just get on with my day but nearly halfway through a good book was my second excuse. The day got hotter and hotter and having had my fill of reading and a break for lunch I decided to get to work on the last of my novel in preparation for the new one that I had been doing the research for on holiday and was bubbling about in my head waiting to burst out. A small desk fan as my companion and inspired by the book I had just been reading the words just popped out of the keyboard. Now at least I could say the day had been productive. A quick tidy round and a meal cooked before the family arrived home for dinner, sorted! A dear friend had called during the day and offered me some black currants so after dinner we drove out to see them. The car windows and sun roof wide open allowed the cool breeze to play with my hair and soothe the heat of the day from my brow. When we stepped out of the car the other end of the journey, the air was cooler and fresh. I was whisked back to the memory of the cool air that blew across Cornwall and mentioned it to my friend. ‘Ah,’ says she, ‘ that’s urban air.’ Well I had never heard of that but on reflection she was right. All the heat of the day was trapped in pockets of space between houses and buildings and any breeze skimmed over the top barely touching where we need it. Open doors and windows had little effect when there was no breeze to stir the air round a bit. Once again I yearned to live back in the country. Still never mind, once the gas man has called tomorrow to give the boiler its service and I have done the Friday clean before the weekend I can escape once more with book and fan or maybe dive into my own novel and escape the sticky heat of ‘urban air’ until I can find another excuse to visit the countryside again and breathe some real stuff.

Recovering!

Yeay, I'm back and yes the holiday was fantastic. I did all the research I needed to, visited many beautiful places and met some lovely people, most of which will be a part of my next novel. It never ceases to amaze me how different places can be. Here in Hampshire we bump and rumble over shoddy roads that have been dug up so many times it is a joke, unadopted roads are common and traffic is often unbearably busy but down there, even the smallest road is immaculately tarmacked and smooth.
Talking of roads, we travelled on some amazing ones that we would call a track yet they are through roads connecting to bigger A and B roads, What was amazing apart from the condition of the surface was the width, as we drove along them the foliage beat the car on both sides. Thankfully few cars were on them but those that were had to be passed using tiny little passing places cut into the banks. They also travelled about 50 mph which scared the daylights out of me. Talking of the banks, Cornwall is very hilly and as we joined these roads they took us down hills so steep we feared we must topple over, the banks either side didn't change so by the time we got to the bottom the tops were so high it was like being in a tunnel especially if the trees that grew on them were dense and touched over head. It sort of reminded me of Alice in Wonderland and the rabbit hole. Often at the bottom, which could be anything from a mile or more down, we discovered farm houses and smallholdings. Miles from anywhere! Water was obtained from wells or boreholes but I am sure they could never get a mobile phone signal or internet because we were on a hill and couldn't, so they must be totally isolated. Perfect.
Anyway once at the bottom of these roads the only way out was up. Then it was as steep the other side going up as it had been going down. In places it was nearly dark despite it being full sun above. But each and every road was smooth and well looked after and best of all round many corners were some quaint little places, some superb architecture in the form of bridges or viaducts, picturesque rivers and any number of other beautiful places, some of which took our breath away. These places alone were worth going to Cornwall for. It is a totally different way of life and we loved it all.
Best of all when we got home the house was tidy, the cats still alive, nothing out of order and daughter learned a lot about housekeeping... like ... 'Can't be bothered to cook for one so I didn't bother unless there were others there.' meant there was still a full freezer, bonus! I think they ate out most of the time.
Trouble is with holidays that it takes time to recover from 'doing very little mode'. So today I have cleaned the house, laundry done and my new recipe for Cornish pasty tried and tested. Tomorrow I can relax and do some serious writing.

A week off.

This will probably be the last entry until after my holiday. I am kind of excited and kind of in expectation of withdrawal from the internet. I spoke to the owner of the cottage we are staying at and she did assure me that some of the children there and managed to get a broadband signal and therefore the internet. I think I said before somewhere, everyone who is even slightly technophobic needs a small teenager, preferably between the ages of 12 and 16. If I could pack one in my bag I would. These amazing aliens have a gift of 'just knowing' how to get computers to do their stuff. But sadly as this is a grown up holiday, a writing holiday for both of us, I can't even bring a grandchild; they'd be bored anyway. All I can hope for is a family with afore-mentioned small people who like doing things like connecting old folk to the internet, staying in a neighbouring cottage.
I am however looking forward to the countryside, catching up with some of my mother's old friends from childhood; [hehehe now I find out who my mother really is,] photographing and painting the amazing scenery in Cornwall and doing a lot of talking to people and poking about in towns that match my vision for my next book. I also hope to be doing a lot of writing too.
Our suitcases are packed, lists all ticked off, house cleaned, laundry done and all that remains is tonight's meal, instructions for the young people taking over our house to be written and to pack my trusty laptop, which is why this entry is a little earlier.
I hope to have a great week and wish the same to everyone else. I shall be keeping a diary so will pick the best to share with those that might want to read it. Till next weekend, lots of love. Marie xxx

Grown up kids

June 11, 2009 by wordangell
It has been such a busy day today, we are off on holiday on Saturday and I am so looking forward to it. Today I have cleaned, changed the bed linen, done the laundry and packed most of what we need and probably an awful lot of what we don’t. Tomorrow comes the most difficult task of all. Leaving instructions for the children! What on earth do I put? OK they are in their twenties but you would never think that…’ I shall be far too busy to do housework’ ‘ I do have a life you know’. A million thoughts went through my head… like all the times I came in from work at 9pm and still had to cook a meal, make sure everyone had clothes to wear, the house was tidy, cats fed…. Mind you on occasion my daughter would surprise me having cooked a meal. ‘See you are capable,’ says I and shut my mouth firmly in case I say something that might give her a reason not to do it again. I have learned to say things like ‘Aww that is so good of you, thank you, love.’ and really mean it.
I remember the last time we went away about three years ago, we came back to a spotless house. I was really gobsmacked, I walked round for ages wondering if they’d got a cleaner in. It was a few days later when I went to move the settee and found a beer can and bits of popcorn down behind it, And the bin was full of cans and bottles from that sweet vodka drink the kids like. So the innocent looks were not so innocent. I can hear them laughing and patting themselves on the back in congratulations for hiding all the evidence. They must thinks mothers are stupid or something but to give them their due, they had done well and apart from that the place was in pristine condition and I could relax for next time. Call me cautious and even allowing for the fact they were still teenagers then and have grown up a lot since so theoretically they will be even more sensible, but this time I have friends to call by and check they are ok. I haven’t said anything to them yet, silly to have an argument before we go isn’t it.
But the the kids will always be the kids, even if they were thirty odd and I shall always be the mum. They never cease to amaze me though, just when I am ready to hold my hands up in despair they come up with some wonderful little gems. I nearly fell through the floor when the youngest asked to borrow something of mine instead of taking it, then having bought myself a new top she admires the colour and says wait a minute and tries it on, places a belt round the middle and looks absolutely gorgeous. Now anyone who knows me knows I am, well shall we say ‘extremely cuddly’ well that’s putting it mildly, and my daughter is a size 14, and I thought my clothes were safe…. I think not. Shame I can’t fit into anything of hers, mind you she has got a lovely selection of make up…. half of it is probably mine any way so I am sure she wouldn’t mind if I just borrowed some…. It has to be payback time now, surely!
Now back to my list…. feed the cats, make sure you lock up securely if you go out, load and start the dishwasher, the vacuum is under the stairs,water the garden if it is dry, …. Nah I shall just leave it and see just how far this responsibilty goes. My theory is that if I treat them like adults they will probably behave like them…. So perhaps my list will go something like this… there are dinners in the freezer, cat food in the cupboard, plenty of milk, a list of numbers to call if they need anything, oh and if you are not to busy playing games on the computer do you think you could water the pot plants in the garden… please… Well you never know.

How do they know?

Following the death of Old Puss something really quite amazing happened today. I have no idea how cats transmit their messages to each other, be it telepathy or something we have no idea about. Maybe they see things we don't. It started when Feival-Bob moved in with us, our two young cats took an instant disliking to him and left home. We called, went looking for them, managed to coax them in only to have them run again as soon as the door was opened. Eventually, Mouthy Alfie - he with the question mark tail and plenty to say for himself - made friends with the old fella and they were more or less OK. They'd greet eachother when they came in and feed together. Slinky Shadow, refused and the old fella, sensing his anxiety around him, would chase him off at the earliest opportunity. I was at my wits end and and had no idea what to do, my poor little black puss was living rough and barely ate a thing if we did manage to get him in. I felt guilty because I couldn't leave the old cat to be put into a rescue centre, at his age and health I doubt if would have been re-homed and he belonged to us. It must have been hard for him to come to the town from the country and he couldn't get out of the garden for the arthritis in his back legs and he had very poor eyesight too, so I guess he sort of ruled the garden. The cat next door was ok to come in but no other cats, including our own little men. How did he know? What did he know?
Anyway, the morning of Feival's passing, Harry went off to work at 5.30 as usual and there to greet him at the back gate was ..... Shadow. He walked back in the house with no fear, demanded food which he ate up, amazing because he was the fussiest eater ever and we have tried every food on the market to get him to eat, took residence on Tabby's bed had a good nap and kept me company for the rest of the day. He'd come home!
Something told him that it was safe to come home on the exact day that Feival died, within a few hours from midnight to the morning. Not even a time when Feival would have been outside at all. Did he sense it? Did he sense our sadness even from where ever he was? What is it that cats can do that we as people can't? I feel so guilty that he had been living rough and yet here he was filling the space that Feival had left and acting like he had never been gone. Bless him. He isn't the same as Feival, his engine is much quieter, we could hear Feival purr as soon as we came into the room, Shadow is more dominant and demanding whereas Feival was quietly patient, waiting for us to give him our time. He cannot replace all the years we all had with the old fella but it is wonderful to have his company again.
The house no longer feels so empty, ok it was for just a short while but never the less even that short catless time all served as a reminder of how much pleasure, love and company our feline friends give us and just how independant and how many decisions the cats can make for themselves. Needless to say, I am delighted equilibrium has been restored among the felines and to our home and I will never regret giving our old Feival his last year in the comfort of our home and with our love. I just wish I knew how they do what they do...

To our furry friends

It is with great sadness that I write today, at midnight last evening our old puss, Feival-Bob, named by my children when they were small, went to join his brother/ playmate Salem-Jim. Feival was just over fourteen years old, a country cat because we always lived deep in the country in farm villages miles from anywhere. He came to live with us when my ex husband moved to Spain and was unable to take the cat with him. We'd got Feival from my sister when her daughter was born, no my niece wasn't anything to do with the cats apart from she was born at the same time. My children grew up with him. Today the hardest part was taking him on his last journey to the vets.Then coming home after the healing service we attended to a home where there was something missing. The last time I felt like this was the day after my father in law died. Bless his heart, he was always worried if he died in the night that we wouldn't know what happened to him. I believe he hung on until we went in to do our night check on him before he slipped away, even though we were late to bed that night, and we had precious minutes with him to say what we needed to say before he just faded into the spirit world. Feival did much the same. I heard him coughing, which wasn't unusual because he had been so poorly, but he made another sound which wasn't usual and I went downstairs. I think as I got there he was passing, as I stroked his head he moved and his face quivered and I knew. I was able to tell him it was ok to leave us, that his time had come and I loved him, then he was still. Today there was a silent space where he used to be... how do you explain that ? He was a wonderful pet, tolerant, so friendly, always purring and a big part of all our lives. He took such a small space but that space is noticably empty now that he is gone. I miss him so much....
It is still hard even knowing what I know, that the spirit lives on. Despite my firm belief in life going on, the human part of me still grieves for the loss of someone that is important to me. Did I do enough? was I good enough, so many thoughts and questions. Then I got to being rational and thought that it doesn't matter what we think at any point, those are our emotions, our insecurities, our fears; what is important is the way we make other people think, our influence on the world around us. It all goes back to my favourite story about the pebble in the pool. If we scowl at others we give off negative vibes that recreate in the next person who comes in contact with the person we scowled at... So the same happens with a smile... we might brighten someone's day. Why cause a chain reaction of anger, misreableness, judgement by offering a scowl when a smile would send warmth and love and maybe change a whole day in a positive way for everyone we smile at...
So when I question whether we were good enough for our puss, I look at his love, his trust and his loyalty. He never questioned what mood we were in, he would come up and purr such a loud purr and just love us, no matter what. Ok most of it had to do with food but well that's cat nature! He still never judged us, he just accepted that we were there for him. Isn't it a shame that we as people cannot do the same, we have to give labels! Well Feival, lesson learned and I thank you for being my friend and companion, playmate to the children when they were small, the best listener in the world and the biggest purrer so that we knew you loved us too. We have a lot to learn from you my little furry friend, thank you so much for being a special part of our lives. Happy freedom and youth in the next world ...

Colours

Why is that whenever you see something wonderful to look at, you have left the camera at home. We'd just taken a Sunday drive... in the rain... along to Lee on the Solent and as we passed the beach the view was fantastic across to the Isle of Wight. Huge clouds with dark gray edges hovered heavily over a bright white clouded sky where the sun reflected on them to give an almost a flourescence. Beneath them was the island itself, patches of it were hidden with the misty fallout from above and the houses between the mist looked like a black and white silhouette against the bright clouds above them. Looking from across the Solent the beaches had a dark green line but the sea, normally a shade of blue or gray, today was a beautiful soft green. Yatchs with coloured boats and crystal white sails drifted lazily on the pastel sea and in and out of the waves a ski jet left a trail of foaming white horses to contrast with the green. A dog, just a black speck in the water, was swimming near to the beach. I was so cross with myself for not having the camera. What I describe is nothing compared to what I was seeing. The colours were just amazing shades, so subtle that I don't suppose the camera would have captured them anyway. Sadly, I had to just commit it into a memory box in my mind's eye but I have given a note to myself that when the weather conditions are similar to go down again to the sea and try and capture the picture another time.
It did make me want to get my paint box out and do some more painting, well that and watching 'Potter', the film about the life of Beatrix Potter. What an inspiring lady! When my children were small we had every one of her wonderful books and we knew the stories off by heart. Together the film and the sea scape has stirred something that has been hiding deep away to give priority to my writing but I think it is time now that my colour box came out of the dust and back into my life.... all I need is a studio now...

Alien monster plants.

I love my garden, my own little haven in the town. I sew seeds, prick them out and nurture them carefully. This year I am growing in pots to prevent the snails from attacking them, well at least try to stop them. As a self confessed murderess, I have no mercy. Harry goes for the salt and I am not sure who I am trying to get at the most, Harry or the snails. I stamp across the path mercilessly waiting for the satisfying crunch that means they will not have to suffer the salt torture. I feel sorry for them but it is a far more humane way. Harry shudders and returns the salt to the shed noting that he will have to do his thing while I am not around. He might call me heartless but at least my way is quick.
I had a little spiky plant in a pot when I moved here, there used to be two but one decided my green fingers were sadly lacking and it keeled over, turned a strange colour and died. Its brother threatened to go the same way until we decided to plant it in the garden as a pretty little plant. Nobody told us it was descended from a triffid. At nearly eight feet tall it decided to shoot from its middle a large multi armed beast that grew so big and heavy that it fell across the path with its weight. The monster then burst and became a gigantic ball of millions of tiny white flowers. It communicates with outer space you know... as you walk past it, the thing whispers and buzzes with a zillion little voices, either that or it is populated by as many invisible insects. Not sure which I prefer. I also planted near to it, a small weedy looking bronze fennel only last year... It failed to thrive and I was about to dig it up as wasting valuable garden space but the triffid heard my thoughts... within a few days it had started to grow and withing a couple of weeks it has become at least half as tall as the afore mentioned triffid type creature. Something is definitely going on out there but just to make sure we all keep safe, I am going to be kind to the big T especially as I have just discovered it is likely to grow into a monster of at least thirty feet tall.

Lazy Day

After the excitement of yesterday I thought I might take a bit of me time, well it's not really me time. I decided to bake, two loaves of bread, a fruit loaf, a ginger gumbo and a victoria sandwich, which took up the entire morning by the time I had waited for said dough to rise. I guess I need something to take my mind of the poor old cat who is still not eating. Struggled to get his tablets down him this morning. I always disguise them in cheese because he loves the stuff but having eaten one he turns his head away from the next lot. He did eat it later on but from a cat that would eat virtually anything he is now down to eating barely two mouthfuls at a time and most of that liquid or food finger fed to him.
I went to friends last night, who have a magnificently huge garden, to scrounge some couch grass for him. Our garden is supposedly low maintenance and the only blade of grass to be seen is nothing the cat would look at. So I bring home three pots of the right grass in the vain hope the cat will 'heal himself'. What do we do? Vet says he isn't in pain, he's an old cat, if we go back it might be for the last time, my daughter cannot bear the thought of that and this must be the worst thing about having pets. That and feeling so helpless. Needless to say, he sniffed the grass in what I thought was an eager way then looked up at me as if to say, 'and this is precisely what?'
Ah well. Mad as some people think I am clutching at straws in an effort to make him feel better, just wish I knew what was wrong with him.
I have decided not to leave my blogs until later because I end up chatting and have to rush them or don't get them finished. Not sure if it is procrastination or what but when I have something so profound to write that I cannot wait to get it down, I waste that opportunity by doing other things and lose the whole gist of it. So why is it that when I have time, like now for instance, I have done nothing to write about. Never mind, it will soon be time to start cooking for the workers.

apologies

My apologies the link to my other blog wasn't completed , it is www.wordangell.wordpress.com

A trip into the past.

I do apologise for the same blog entry as in my other blog www.wordangell., I have just run out of time to get another one written before midnight... I hope you like this one anyway... tomorrow? I will do better, I promise.
Have you ever had one of those days that is absolutely brilliant? Today was one of those days for me.
I was born in Hastings, a seaside/fishing town in East Sussex. It became over the years a very touristy town but I remember as a child where now stand tall buildings and housing estates, once were fields of sheep and huge mansions. The history of Hastings is well known and as part of that history many museums, buildings and places of interest still remain, very much commercialised unfortunatley, but, never-the-less the historical connections remain strong and there for people to see and relive. I lived most of my life in the shadow of Hastings castle, on a cliff overlooking the seafront. Opposite our house was a special lift that was reported to have taken Queen Victoria down to the old town. It has been preserved and renovated. On the East Hill is the Old Town lift, beneath the cliffs lies the Old Town itself with its unique fishing huts and fish market... well it was there once. They still fish from there but the big market has long gone to commercialism, still a nice place to go though. Anyway on the East Hill is the castle and nearby, the caves. Full of stories of smuggling and its use as a bomb shelter during the war, the caves are now a museum, but the caves and tunnels used to travel underneath the town. In fact as children we knew of one house at the end of the row we lived in that had the end of one of those tunnels. But I digress.... the point I am eventually trying to make is that when you live somewhere with somewhere special, historically, curious, or what ever, you never tend to go there. I visited the places after I'd left there and we actually lived on the West Hill back then!
Today I live in Gosport, Hampshire. Home ,once upon a time, to the sailors of the Royal Navy. The Naval Dockyards are still there and the Navy ships but I have only visited the Historical Dockyard before I lived here, never since. Well apart from a works do on the Warrior. Today, the writer's group I belong to were invited by another group to Titchfield to a talk by the curator of the 17th Century Village we have here in Gosport. And no, I have never been there. Always keep saying 'we must go there, sounds interesting,' but never do. That is all about to change. I have never enjoyed a lecture or a talk so much in all my life. It was interesting, factual/ historically correct and taught me so many things about where the customs and saying we use today come from to how to aneasthetise a sore throat for up to 8 hours using a plant you might grow in your garden. I knew a lot of the history but never in such detail before, this lady made it live! If ever anyone reading this comes to Gosport or lives there, I recommend going along and visiting living history at the village if you haven't been before.
So often we miss so much in the hub hub of life. I have always tried to make my children aware of the world around them and to be able to notice the little things in life. Today showed me that I was right, the children of today have everything yet have so little. Material things are nice but what good are they of you don't notice the beautiful things around you that are free. To run in the wind and play in the rain, make mud pies, get dirty, understand how wild animals live, watch the seasons change and know how the world around will change, to make toys from nature, forage for food, grow your own food, cook your own food, understand the natural world and that it has all you need to survive, and, well, just be one with the world. We might have so many material things but most of them keep us indoors and shut away. Get out there and find out how the real natural world exists, or existed in the 17th century. I am sure that we would all find life so much more interesting and healthier. That is my thoughts and lecture over for today but what a GREAT DAY. I recommend heartily, a trip into the past.

maybe just in time for today...

I have this theory about space and time, the more space the slower time passes. Not sure why but it does. It also goes along with clutter in one's life I am sure. A little while ago I was lucky enough to have won a book in a competition in a writing magazine - First edition - now I rarely win anything and decided my luck is going to be good this year. Then today I started to read the book. I won't give the title until I write a review on the book but within the first few pages I was captured... It is all about getting rid of clutter! How good is a book about clutter... well so far amazing. I have decluttered my desk in the study.... just a start I feel. I am not far into the first chapter and already it has rung so many bells in my head. Haven't I been trying to convince my children forever that a tidy house is a tidy mind. Occasionally my youngest daughter actually agrees with me and mucks out her room.... I refuse to go in there, I'd need to get some or the other shots before I even dared to go near it. No she's not a kid, she's nineteen, bless her. The excuse, ' I work Mum.' Oh yes I remember, travelling 40 miles to and fro work getting in a nine pm and cooking a dinner.... and keeping the house clean and up to date with the washing... I said washing, not ironing note.... But I don't get into that argument because she is only just learning it all, once she gets her own place then I am looking forward to her moaning when I go to her home and leave the dishes on the side, eating something and leaving wrappers on the floor beside the sofa, oh and my shoes and coat where they will be fallen over. I am so going to enjoy that..... I probably won't do it but she doesn't know that but at some time or the other I will get to say..' I told you so' , I am saving that one up.
It does bring me back to time and space. When I worked I did all those things with ease, meals were always cooked, laundry done, house clean and tidy, yet now I work at home, time seems so short and I don't have enough hours in the day. It's only when I have all the housework done and the house tidy that time slows down... How does that work? then I have, or seem to have much more time to write and I acheive so much more. It doesn't make sense does it?
Well talking of time, I might just have enough time to get this blog posted before the bewitching hour, I must start earlier but I get into chatting with my children in other parts of the world and ... that space and time thing again, which reminds me, it's my son in law's birthday today and I must ring him... space and time... he's in America - space- well distance really - and now it is time he should be home from work just when we are ready to go to bed.... Time to go.... and get this message posted to cyber space. xx

Roots and Wings and letting go.

It’s been a very strange day today and one of great learning, especially for my youngest daughter. Well, and me too. Recently she has been diagnosed with polycystic ovaries and has begun the stream of doctor appointments and blood tests to try and find the best way to help her to conceive. Today she had to ring up and make her first hospital appointment and it brought home what she feels is a long and arduous journey toward becoming a mother.
The stress of that wasn’t helped when her cat, who hasn’t been eating properly for a few days, had to go to the vet. We’d had the discussion about what happens if he has to be put to sleep. Cruel but necessary, the old fella is getting on and his health hasn’t been great for a while, this second trip tipped the balance and we both had a cry and more or less resigned ourselves to that fact. This broke the barriers and she talked to me about all the negative stuff she is feeling, you know the general unfairness of life. I felt bad that I had to get her to take the cat in the first place and to hear her upset about everything else made me feel worse. What can you say? We talked about being positive and that although everything that has happened today was a bit of set back, it is life and is something we have to deal with, something that will make us stronger in the long run.
‘I’m not having any pets.’ Says she until I pointed out to her that when she has children they have to learn many lessons in life and the hardest one is death, small pets are the best way of introducing the subject. In our family we had many deaths, gerbils, mice, cats, hamsters and they were all sad but the children accepted what had happened and all planned little funerals for their pets, which gave them something positive to help them cope. When one cat was killed on the road, the funeral was at the top of the garden under a tree and all the time we were gathered there and singing a little song, our other cat had sat up in the tree watching. When we came back indoors, he climbed from the tree and lay along the grave with the posies of wild flowers that the children had laid there. There could have been nothing better to show them that it is alright to grieve and even animals feel sad too.
My daughter came back from the vets with the cat, the vet could find nothing wrong but gave him an injection of antibiotic just in case and some special high protein cat food… special at £3.95 a small tin! and a course of tablets. Such a relief for her but we talked about preparation for the inevitable; at some point in the old cat’s life one trip will be his last.
I was so delighted when, the fear of losing her cat had gone, she sat and said, ‘You were right Mum, I am looking at the big things and the worse that could happen instead of noticing all the wonderful small things that slip by unnoticed. This afternoon, J was so sweet, he took time off work, came to my appointment with me and was there for me reassuring me that everything would be ok. I didn’t realise how sweet that was and how important that was to me because I am not going through this alone.’ She smiled and suddenly the world looked a better place.
It made me think, how right she was, how often do we look at the huge picture and forget the little things that make up the picture. Any mountain can be climbed but how much easier is the climb when you do it with the support of friends and stop along the way for refreshments and to just sit and take in the magnificence of the world around you.
I think we both learned an important lesson today. Mine was different to my daughter’s. I had to learn that I cannot cry her tears and there are some lessons she has to learn by herself. How hard it is to sit back and watch your child, no matter how old, go through any kind of pain knowing you can do nothing about it. But once she had dealt with it all she sat there with so much more confidence, maybe I said something right for her but at the end of the day all we can do is be there and listen. That’s when you know your children are no longer babies and you know even though they have roots to keep them secure you have given them wings and taught them to fly.

Making Memories

Today I filled my house with one of those memories that you never forget. I baked bread. Immediately I was transported back to my grandmother’s house and the smell that woke us in the mornings from the bakery a few doors down. Where would we be without all those things that helped to make us who we are? I never cease to be amazed that our memories are like a little store room full of little boxes of everything we have experienced and everyone is ready and waiting to be opened and looked at again and again.
Then I think that maybe that is why I had to be a writer, there are so many little stories in my boxes that it would be a shame not to write them down. Well that’s what I thought until I spoke to my mother. I think it was one of those genes that has been passed on from my ancestors. Apparently my great, grandfather was a fantastic story teller and used to spend hours talking to the grandchildren telling tales that they never knew were true or not but were thoroughly interesting to listen to. Once again, memories pop into my head of maybe films I have seen, or perhaps it was the stories I used to read and tell to my own children. It doesn’t matter which because the important thing is the sharing.
To me I think that is the most wonderful thing about having children, we as parents are responsible for the making of memories that will help to develop the future of each and every one of them. Too easy we forget that the world looks and sounds so different through the eyes and ears of a child and that what we teach our children will be passed on to the next generation. I remember walking home from the school run with my three year old son and showing him all the flowers as we passed them. We smelled them, touched them and talked about the colours. After a little while he ran off ahead and stopped to call back to me. He was so excited that he too had found a flower he wanted to show to me. As I reached him and bent to look to where he was pointing I saw a dandelion. For that instant I saw the world through my little boy’s eyes. I had been showing him cultivated garden flowers full of colour, shapes and perfumes and yet to him, this little flower, this weed, was no less beautiful. And do you know something? He was right. How often we fail to see the little things in life because the bigger brighter things get in the way and tempt us. He taught me a valuable lesson that day and from that moment on, the whole of our world became a far more interesting place.
I look now at one of my younger daughters with her little girl. She lives in Spain and I cannot share all the things I know with her but when I see the photographs and hear the things they do together I know that I don’t need to be there because the memories of my daughter’s childhood were important enough for her to want to share with her child. Before Maica was very old she experienced sand in her toes much to the horror of the Spanish people who think children should be dressed up to show off, she was taken into the mountains to look at leaves and play with sticks and fir cones, she listened to the sound of windmills that clacked and made her laugh, watched birds and animals and smelled the world around her. She doesn’t say many things yet but my daughter taught her to sign from an early age. What a wonderful thing to do. She knew that the things she had shown her too had made an impact when at a few months old she signed ‘bird’ as one flew over head. Now at 18months she is aware of the singing of birds and lets her Mama know, she asks to go look for bugs, and is able to communicate that she recognises smells. They live in a fishing village and as they passed the factory where the fish are processed the smell was strong. Little Maica Poppy shared that with her Mum who was delighted that she was able to not only recognise a smell but to find it ok to communicate it…’ishy, ishy’
So I know that I was right to make childhood the beginning of a memory store and to think if I hadn’t had those wonderful memory triggers from my childhood, my granddaughter today might have missed a world of sharing in the little things that so many of us miss. Well done to my son for showing me the real world and my daughter for noticing the little things in life, the important things that are real and cost nothing yet give so much pleasure. I know too that it won’t be long before she will be showing her daughter the delights of kneading and baking bread and she will remember my kitchen in the country and know she is passing on a goldmine of memories for many generations to come and hopefully a pattern for their future too.