A little here, a little there

There are some days in life that seem to take a part of you as they pass. Some days turns in to most days, sometimes and it becomes hard to remember the days that give you something back.

 

Random thought - why is there nothing useful to do with pencil shavings?

Swabsploshingly great

When English writer C.S Forester asked Roald Dahl for some details relating to his wartime adventures he replied with a story. Forester sent it to be published in the weekly magazine, the Saturday Evening Post. He then sent a letter to Roald, which ended like this:

'...the Post is asking if you will write more stories for them. I do hope you will.

Did you know you were a writer?'

 

view original here

 

Source: Parker, Vic - Roald Dahl 2003

The eternal fight

The sky that evening was dark to the left and light to the right. Time passes, while I watch the two sides march together, like the two sides in an opposing war. The dark clouds of night, greater in number march on the white clouds of blue at the battle of sunset in the eternal fight. The battle commenced at first touch, it didn't take long for the darkness to dominate the battle, the remaining white stained red by the spoils of war. Moments later the forces of darkness take over and plunge us into night, yet the battle rages while we sleep. In the morning to my surprise the darkness didn't win. The sun rose again, the bright blue sky was peppered with fluffy white dots, just don't look to the horizon just yet.....

The inside of my mind looks a little like this on a daily basis, the eternal fight self doubt versus self confidence. This week I woke up to the blue skies and fluffy white, the self confidence won out (so far). I took myself off to a creative writing workshop, I wrote to prompts for only the second time since I started writing. My confidence knew no bounds, a day of never ending sunshine with not a cloud of darkness in sight, going as far as to read out to the group what I had written. Maybe some alien being inhabited my body for the afternoon, I don't know but I think I took a step closer to thinking of myself as a writer. Or maybe I still just dabble ;-)

view original here

 

 

How are your battles raging on?

You know you are old when.... First and second in a potentially infinate series.

In homage to Masked Mum, who cracks me up on an alarmingly regular basis with her 'Ways I am not grown up' series, I am starting this adhoc series based on things that are cropping up more and more frequently of late. Things that let me know I am not the teenager that I feel on the inside.

1. Old Lady Cream

I may have mentioned this previously, but to be quite frank I am having a lazy evening and can't be bothered to trail through my past posts however please feel free to go post diving. Not so very long ago I actually started to take the anti ageing cream adverts seriously. This was roughly around my thirtieth birthday...not a good birthday! All I wanted to do was hide under the duvet. Somewhere in all this, even with my vow never to buy anti ageing creams, I succumbed I bought the miracle cream. The first time I went to use it my daughter said to me, 'is that you old lady cream Mum?' Cheers for that!!

2. Decorating Kit

When exactly did I become old enough for anti-inflammatory gel to be a staple in my decorating kit??

If anyone fancies reminding me that I am still young please go ahead! I am supposed to be in the prime of my life yet I feel like I am knocking on heavens door, or at least I look like it when I try to move!! Hope you are all feeling young.

 

Just a little something from my youth :-)

Breathe

Don't let go. Don't let go.

Under the duvet, curled in a ball holding her knees to her, hoping that would stop the hole inside bursting out of her chest and consuming her.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But what if she just stopped would any one care? Would anyone notice?

You'd think the hole inside would make it easier to fill her lungs, but it took effort, concentration. Pull your diaphragm down, raise your chest, drag the air inside and let it go. The air escaping from her lungs at speed as if even that doesn't want to stay any longer than it has to.

In, out, in, out.

Alone, so empty. Was it her, was she the reason no one stayed? She always thought she could make it alone, she had many times. People came into her life and left when they chose, each time it got a little harder to handle, but there was always one and now he was gone too.

In, out, in, out.

There was a reason to go on, a reason to breathe she just couldn't see it through the tears. Would the gushing river ever stop? It threatened to wash her face away, the torrent had already taken her smile, or was that already gone? The order of things was getting muddled.

In, out, in, out.

'Mummy' a voice called. It was distant, like a dream, or from a far away land that she no longer belonged to. As she drifted on this ocean the sweet sound came again, 'Mummy'. It was closer this time, a rope attached to her heart was pulling her to shore. She couldn't set foot on land again, she couldn't be there. She didn't know why only that it hurt to be there. She fought, she couldn't go back.

Gasp, in, out, in, out. Breathe, don't forget to breathe.

'Mummy' so loud now, so familiar. Am I the mummy? Is that who I am? A hand plunged into the ocean of duvet and grasped hold of her hand. It was small and smooth, it clung on as only a child can to a parents. Her head broke the surface, their beautiful eyes they belonged to him too. She remebered now, the pain and sorrow but also the need. She had to go on, for them for the little angels that saved her, their hands around hers and whispered in her ear.

'Don't let go. Don't let go. Just hold onto us.'

Fume induced memories

Today I remembered how painting with a roller makes is feel like it is raining inside, however it doesn't taste as good as rain (note to self keep your mouth shut whilst painting)!

I remembered how I love the prickly feeling of rubbing the little dots of paint off your skin.

Also discovered that this hand position makes for a cool shadow puppet crocodile - do you see it or is it just me? (hope the white paint spots show up ok)

But how I don't really love seeing spots!

Not sure you can see the white spots all over my glasses but trust me I can see them!!

 

Finally I realised that although I could clean up my step ladders I don't think I ever will, they wear the map of our lives like a badge of honour. Holding there so many memories of every life change we have ever encountered. I also hope that my Mum never cleans hers either as they map out my life before the other half; the sadness, the hope and the sheer creative flare I had once!

 

Who knew that decorating could hold so many revelations and so such inspiration, off to type up a story that came to me while I wait for paint to dry (well it's got to be better than watching it dry, no?)