Category: the daily post

You Wouldn’t Believe It if I Told You…

You wouldn’t believe it if I told you…

For the last month I have had a fantastical life, full of amazing things. Having spoken to several of my friends, most feel that they could not have coped with just one of the many things that Life has chosen to throw at us as a family. I would not wish any of them upon anyone else.

As I write this, part of me cannot quite believe that it has been only 5 weeks since all this began. It seems to have been an endless onslaught sent to try us and that we are still fighting, the reality is that it started long ago and I don’t know exactly when and just stepped up a gear in the past few weeks.

During this time, I have been trying to hold it together and although I wanted to write (so much), I have done little more than write my diary, sometimes there is just not enough room in there. I have also written a few poems. But the ones I wanted to write have not come to me, I am holding them back somehow. One will be difficult as it will be going onto a memorial and I need to keep it short and get it just right. But I have felt that as I look back through my writings, I may not want to be reminded of just how dark and painful the past few weeks have been and have at times wondered whether I will be coming out of it at the end.

Our little world, which is at times cozy, (but not very often) has been torn open. Not apart, you must understand, for we have been trying to remain strong and united together through it all. I think it might have been easier if I had been able to lock myself away until it had all gone away again, or calmed down, or at least I could learn to deal with it perhaps in my own way. Instead, it has been there in my face, like a two year old’s tantrum forcing me to deal with it there and then. Because someone else has needed my immediate help to get through it too, it has opened old wounds, laid bare things that have been buried for such a long time and renewed grief which has not healed. So I am seriously outside of my comfort zone and I have been tested like never before. Not just I, you understand but Life as I know it. For it has been torn open, ripped out and scattered all over the floor, there for the dissection of others and their judgement. It has been impossible to distance myself from or look at things logically, when there seems to be no logic. People that we know and love, who have claimed to be there for us, have been hurtful with their words and failed to understand and we are left feeling very isolated. In the aftermath of such torrents of words, isolated is the safest place. We will come out of it fighting and despite the attempts, it hasn’t killed us yet. Life has been reaping a whirlwind in our direction. No, actually although I have been fortunate enough not to be caught up in a Twister of the natural kind, it is exactly how I imagine it to be. Where life as you know it and all of the things that you love and surround you are swept up in front of your eyes and thrown for miles scattered everywhere and life as you know it suddenly changes completely, beyond recognition. But people can come back from Twister’s don’t they? They don’t all die do they? But their lives change immeasurably after such an event.

So as I write this I realise that we have been going through our very own Twister. But that because I am one of those people who believes in positive thinking, I do think that we will be able to get through it and in time rebuild our lives. Maybe this is the drastic shake up of everything in our lives and we need to make and change in such a massive way that has to start now. Life is not the same. We have loved, lost, been broken, been betrayed. In the past five weeks, I have almost lost my life partner after an attack where the man cannot be charged, due to his mental illness, which has in recent months been fuelled by additional drugs supplied by a new neighbour. I have also suffered a physical attack which has left me needing hospital treatment and afterwards scarred and devastated. But I am healing, more quickly on the outside than inside. We have lost our beloved furry son, at the young age of five years old to what we thought was a sudden illness and tumours, to be told that this may have been brought on by poisoning by a neighbour. Three people have since intimated that they knew he has done this before. Our darling boy is gone forever and our family has been damaged by grief and the actions of some, who when we needed their emotional support they turned on us with words. Things said I would hope, only in the heat of the moment. For if it was said with prior thought it is even more painful to deal with the hurt that it caused. Emotions run high in grief and if they speak their minds and choose then to speak with vitriol, how do you come back from something so devastating? We have had threats of criminal damage against our property and homes and are being tormented by the people that wish to carry out such threats and attempts constantly, the authorities are involved but the wheels of justice grind slowly. Attempts on a life which has spent years helping others within the local community, only to be turned on by people considered a vulnerable by the authorities due to the substance abuse they have inflicted upon themselves, in calculated and premeditated attempts, which have us not wanting to leave the sanctity of our home.

But they will not win. We are still living and breathing and fighting day by day. The ones whom I hold dear to me are either gone or left in pieces, which need rebuilding. I have to believe that this is truly rock bottom and we have reached it. We have been at breaking point time and again and it is time to turn this around. Simply because I refuse to accept any more bad luck, misery and misfortune to come our way. Whoever is sending it, can have it right back, tenfold and Yes, that goes against the grain, but if someone is sending it, then it’s already out there and I don’t want it. I do believe in Magic, good and bad and also that Love conquers all after all, Love is Stronger than Hate.

Time heals. I just wish that it would get a move on!
There are big decisions which we are making which will affect our future, the way that we do things, where we may live, how we will cope with things and what is left of us at the end of it all. Meanwhile, it is my duty to protect what we have, both spiritually, emotionally and physically wherever I can. If you are united and working together to fix something, then it is stronger, we will become impenetrable. We will rebuild our walls and be very careful who we let inside, more caution is needed.

I don’t know what the future holds for us, I hope that the happiness and laughter returns. That we will create a fulfilling and happy life, full of love and as we reach our twenty first anniversary in a couple of weeks from now. I am sure that we will make it and past that to enjoy many more years together.
They have tried to break us but did not succeed, we are stronger than that. We are together for a reason, or even several and as you know, I LOVE a reason.

 

The Daily Post – Complicated

To our Wonderful, Beautiful Boy and Number One Son.

DSC_0437To Our Wonderful Beautiful Boy.

The worst day I can remember. The day we said our Sorry’s and Goodbye.
To the most wonderful creature we have ever known.
Our furry son, no longer a mother and a father.
No longer a furry assistant, waiting for his bit. We came home and I almost called you for dinner. Then sobbed uncontrollably, you will not come. I cannot stroke your beautiful fluffy ears any more or reach to scratch your head for you. The mad rush to the kitchen when dinner is ready.
No longer wild with pain, we couldn’t make better.
No more Monday song, Happy Birthday or answer to my questions.
No more “where’s Kato, did anybody see him” and your little smile peeking round the blanket.
No more clambering up to give me kisses as I write or huffing because the light is on in the early hours.
The one who came for back rubs and kisses goodnight before he slept. Sat at my feet whenever he was unsure about a new visitor or doubted someone’s intentions. Looking after his Mummy, just as he had been told to.
The one the children called out to say Hello to on their way home from school and who ran to greet them.
The one who chased your feet to play with them, stealing your socks.
The one who emptied his pool before we could fill it and chased the hosepipe every time that we used it, barking with excitement that he might get chased and soaked with it as I watered the garden.
The wolf we fed by hand from day one, every day bowl by bowl. Who answered me when I spoke to him and followed me everywhere.
The one who knew what dinner would be, just by the ingredients being assembled and skipped with joy when it was one of his favourites. You knew the difference between five minutes and ten. You would let me know when dinner was cooked and there was no need to set a clock, since you would remind me. So intelligent, yet gentle, loving and kind. Full of the very best type of nonsense, to lift the darkest mood, lightening it just by being there.
Our beautiful boy, who loved us unconditionally, was here when I awoke, morning or night, with a paw to say Good Morning and his wonderful smile which made my heart glad to see another day, whatever the weather. Goodnight my sweet prince, it wasn’t your fault, I knew you were ill and we could do nothing for you to put it right, we did not see the signs early enough, you couldn’t tell us that you were hurting, just that you were tired, so tired and wanted to sleep, that you didn’t have the energy to play with your toys. The ball had lost it’s allure, you stopped taking it in to Daddy, you didn’t want to jump on the bed each morning to wake him up, you preferred to be along side, you didn’t jump on Mummy’s bed so often. You took your blanket to the garden and slept in the corner, not out in the open. What had made you want to sleep more, play less and gave you less enjoyment took you from us, we could not let you suffer still.

Our hearts are broken, there is a huge gaping hole where your larger than life character filled till only the other day. Grief is all consuming. I laid with you on the floor holding you until you went, burying my head in your soft fur and reassuring you, Mummy was here with Daddy and we loved Kato, because everybody loved Kato. We will always love you, our Kato.

The scars will heal, but words cannot truly explain how deep the pain is. More than just a the greatest dog I could ever have. Hand chosen, the best puppy and your Nanny’s Grand Dog. You were Loved by so many. The puppy that just never stopped growing, in size and character.

If there is a rainbow bridge that they speak of, then I hope that you go “running running” wild and free, going native just as you would be, your heart singing as loud as you can and knowing that you made our family complete. I did not want for more, you were enough, larger than life, all loving, a wonderful furry person. The son I had was better than I could ever have hoped for.

As I strain to listen for Woo’s on the wind, I want to howl just so that you can hear me. I want to howl the pain away and I want to hear you howl back, to sing together, just like we used to again every day.
No more Happy Birthday or How Much is that Doggy, no more answers to my questions. No more tilted head on one side, when I ask “Would you Like?” or skipping to the kitchen. Chasing your tail with delight when I ask, “Would anyone like any Ice Cream?” I want to wrap your furry body in my arms and dance around the garden again with your arms around my waist, making Daddy laugh. To play paws on the floor. I want to gaze at you that my eyes well up with tears with so much love again and have you reach out to me with a furry kiss when I say Hello my beautiful boy, Mummy Loves you So Much.

As I sat alone the morning after you’d gone eating breakfast in the garden, the crow who came to visit, who you used to shout “Go Crow” at, came and it looked for you. It called out to you. Sat waiting for your arrival, but you did not come. It spoke in it’s own language I looked up and told it, He’s not here, he has gone. It scratched it’s head in disbelief and stood on one leg, it answered me and flew away.
The garden is empty, the flowers are drooping, they know that you are gone, not there to sniff them and inspect for bees. The birds sit and wait for your bark, the neighbours Scottie dog you taught to howl, barks alone waiting for a reply that will not come. The neighbours, your friends tearful and holding their own sweet memories of you.

As the wind whistles through the trees on your hillside, the wildlife come to visit, we will remember you running through the long grass looking for Mummy as we played Hide and Seek on the day I took our favourite photo, which now takes pride of place in the lounge, where you once sat watching over us, your family. Your Moo Cows will look for you and call your name at night. The pheasant will pass by, just that little bit more nervously in case you rush from your hiding place to startle it, before doing your victory skip.
The nonsense has taken it’s exit, the mischief and the smile.

We are united in our grief, a family in crisis, for the one that we loved so much, as our son is gone.
The silence is deafening and yet I can hear your voice on the wind, in my head you are answering the questions, your thoughts so in tune with mine. The words to Daddy’s Christmas Tree song, “Underneath the Christmas Tree with Mummy and the fluffiest teddy, underneath the Christmas Tree with Kato and the fluffiest ears.” How you would both sing it together going round in my head this morning as I thought of you and it follows me throughout the day. The photos I have will serve to remind me of the wonderful times that we have shared, when we wanted for nothing except the company of each other and were so happy.

Every process from coffee in the morning, to preparation of lunch and dinner, my furry assistant is not there behind me, he is not waiting for his bit. Thanking me with a kiss after each morsel to the absence of Goodnight Kato, Mummy loves you, see you in the morning.

I am broken my beloved, numb from pain, whilst it sears through my heart. Consumed by grief, that I cannot think rationally, tears stinging my face when a thought or memory reappears. Your Daddy is quiet too, thinking of you and trying not to break, willing the pain in his heart away.

Your blanket at my side, breathing your smell, tufts of fur appearing like feathers upon the wind, gentle reminders of the life you have lived with us, we will hold it all in our memories, the unconditional love for each other that the three of us shared. The clip of a conversation, where you told me that you loved me and I told you I loved you too. The video clip when Daddy returned to the house and came back to you from a long trip, how you welcomed him. Like a Hero, our Hero had returned to us. I want to watch them again and again so that you are still here in some small way, that we will never be apart.

You were strong for me when I was broken, sat by my side when I needed you, I wished that I could do the same for you. My thoughts leaving me wondering if only, if there had been a way to make you better, for your pain to be healed. I don’t know how long you carried the pain with you, but you did so bravely my darling boy, hid it so well from us and still smiled and loved us with all your heart.

Now Rest in Peace, My sweet furry prince. Our most beautiful Baby Bear with the fluffy ears until we meet again, watching over us your spirit by my side evermore.
Please come back to visit us my darling, there will be a candle in our hearts to light your way.

Kato Teddy Bear, Prince of the Night. 18/5/11 to 26/7/16

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The Daily Post – Crisis

 

Reading Choices, Book Reviews and The Unmade Bed…

It’s strange how things come back to me after all these years. Our choice of reading material over time. I awoke this morning thinking about probably the last book review that I wrote, it was for a book called “The Unmade Bed” by Françoise Sagan. I think I was 14 years old and at the time, we were expected to review books regularly at school as part of the English curriculum. I think at the time I was trying to find out more about sex since boys had begun to show an interest in me. As you can imagine, if anyone actually made a move on me properly, then I would at least want to know what was supposed to happen. I certainly wasn’t going to learn what sex was from a family who did not discuss it, other than the fact that it was not supposed to happen until you got married. I felt the need to find out what was supposed to be enjoyable when it happened. No-one seemed to want someone who knew nothing about it as a girlfriend, although they didn’t want an expert either, it must surely make sense to have a little knowledge. It wasn’t their faults entirely, as many parents assume their children will do exactly as they tell them until they are adults, less so these days but back then things were different. I guess that they do not think that as they rebelled, their children will also do so.

So, in my teenage rebellion, I often sat in the library, reading whatever I could find that might give me a clue. I hadn’t studied the sciences at school, so was not interested in anatomy, or how it all worked, more how it felt and what was supposed to happen.

Yes, “Feelings” were a big part of my life even then….

I read Mills and Boon books like any other teenage girl, but even my dad knew about them, the bodice ripping stories which could not be taken seriously, filling my head with ideas, he banned them from the house, so I used to read them at school, or sit in the library. I read quickly even to this day and so it didn’t take very long to read one of those, a lunch hour perhaps or a day’s worth of school breaks.

The last book review was different though. If I was caught reading it at home then I could quite honestly say that I had to write a book review for it. I was at the age, when we were expected to go out and find out own subject matter to read and review. I can only imagine what my tutor thought when she was faced with the review itself. It was a book that to this day, I can remember something about. In my naivety I had misunderstood the contents. I know, it should be pretty clear from the title. But I thought that it would have more detail in than it did and I felt that it was a let down. It took me twice as long to read as it hopped from character to character, I almost gave up and found another book to read, but my stubborn streak got in the way. It was of course about the sex life of the character and their escapades, it had no depth. But I felt that it lacked any excitement, it seemed almost mechanical in its writing. Part of me wishes to find the book again after all this time and re-read it to see if I gain any more enjoyment from it, but I fear that my time would be wasted and that I shouldn’t bother, so I haven’t yet. After all there is more to life than reading a boring book twice?

I recall writing in my review of my disappointment that the whole story seemed to be a catalogue of people who kept jumping in and out of bed with each other, swapping partners and all sharing the same bed. Somehow the thought of that repelled me and I found myself wondering if the sheets ever got changed. (Ever the practical thinking) I don’t think my review encouraged anyone else to read the pristine old book which sat on the library shelf and I doubt my teacher clamoured to the local library or bookshop to borrow or peruse.

So that was it… Did I need to write another review? I’d quite like to because it will give me the opportunity to read books again with purpose. I have read to learn things, but not so much for the enjoyment of a story, I miss that to enjoy the thoughts and processes which go through other writer’s heads. I love reading, I get totally consumed by whatever the subject is whilst I read a book, to the exclusion of everything around me. I cannot put a book down easily mid-read. I prefer to read it cover to cover so I am careful of the subject matter and as a consequence do not read nearly enough. I was sad to find myself saying a few years ago that I had not read a book in years, yes it had actually been about 5 years at that point, I had not had the time to myself to enable me to do that and resolved to try and change that. I have read more since then and take time to read mainly online. I love that about WordPress since it encourages me to look around and doesn’t take up the time that a book would and you still learn, read and see interesting things I also feel that it is still a luxury to be able to sit and read a book or article without interruption, one that I can’t always allow myself.

The Daily Post – Depth

The Storm

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Wind in the trees,
Rain coming fast.
Warmed by a breeze,
Or will it last?
Should we stay indoors
Or be cooled by the rain?
Dance in the garden,
Washing away the pain.
The wind in your hair,
Like an urchin forlorn.
Will you show a care,
After the storm?
Will you run away from the creaking bough?
Find a place to hide,
Or sit there shrieking hour by hour,
whilst staying inside.
Dance in the puddles do not refrain,
Life is for living, so much to gain.
Open the windows and let it all out.
Wonder ever if there was a doubt.
That you would then start to begin,
To release emotions locked from within.

 

The Daily Post – Storm

Image: Koan via Morguefile.com

Lessons Learned when Writing your Book

IMG_1939So after a quiet couple of weeks here on the blog away from the laptop and writing only sporadically the sun had been shining, in between the rain storms here so I decided to get out in the garden. To allow myself to be attacked by Roses and make the outlook a little bit brighter. Summer is here and with it brings the urge to create nicer surroundings for us all. So I have been weeding, digging, growing and sharing cuttings, re-potting and tying back unruly plants and trying to forget that there is a whole huge expanse of space which has yet to benefit from my attention, if only I had the energy to tackle it.

After a couple of weeks of leaving my draft alone and then returning to it to edit again and print off a copy for someone else’s opinion. Here is a list of the Lessons I have learned while preparing a physical book for someone to read for the very first time.

1. Disregard the fears that you may have done it wrong. They are just concerns, you have to start somewhere.
2. Have a back up title in case you have done it wrong.
3. Make Lists.
4. Edit, Edit then Edit again, there will always be something you have missed. Surely not, well Yes actually!
5. Remember to insert the page numbers so that if there are corrections noted, you’ll be able to find them to fix.
6. Make sure that your desk is sturdy, more important than you know.
7. Make sure that you have more than enough printer ink for the job
8. Give your printer a service before you start to print.
9. Do not hold your breath when you hit PRINT, it may take longer than you think.
10. Print in batches of 10 pages at a time, that way if your printer begins to shake uncontrollably whilst doing its job, or misalign inexplicably you will not waste time and resources with fuzzy pages.
11. Reprint any fuzzy unreadable pages. These things are sent to try us!
12. Since your first reader is a family member. Make them swear that it is for their eyes only and they will not send it anywhere until you have got it back and corrected everything. Stating for all to hear that this is “definitely not the finished article”.
13. Write all over it that it is the “First Draft” Confidential might be a good idea too!
14. Realise as your heart sinks that although this is your baby, other people have their own lives to live and it might take a while to get it back.
15. Remember to breathe. Eagerly anticipating their response will only cause added stress and upset, especially if they tell you that it isn’t your best work, or you should include something else.
16. When your family tell you that there are more important things to life than being wrapped up in your book, as their patience has run thin smile sweetly and agree with them.
17. Try to convince yourself that it’ll all be alright in the end.

The Daily Post – Struggle

The Blank Canvas

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The Blank Canvas

When she moved away from her previous life, she bought the biggest one she could find and hung the blank canvas upon the wall.

And there it was….

Proudly displayed, her new life in her new home. Away from the hurt, anguish and resentment of the old one, a new beginning for her.
Still wrapped in plastic, a grubby mark in one corner, smudged, dirtied in transit.

It waited.

Not knowing what would be thrown in it’s direction, where the paint would land.
What would become of it?
What image would appear and how would it be received by those who saw it?
Three years later, she unwrapped it.

At last ready to begin, only to find that the smudge was not there at all. The outer packaging, peeled back to reveal the unblemished canvas underneath it all that time.

What will she fill the space with?

Words will come, songs of the heart. Raw emotions apparent, new memories created there and then.

The Blank Canvas is no more…

Filled with a new story, which has now begun.

 

The Daily Post – Transformation

This is about the Blank Canvas which hangs in my Mother’s home. It is her Birthday today, which is why I have chosen to post this now.  #Happy Birthday! Bizarrely though I wrote this and when I spoke with my mother two days later she told me that the very same day, she had begun painting her words on her Blank Canvas.

Photo: http://www.morguefile.com

A Midsummer Night

The beautiful moon on Midsummer night
Watching as the clouds go on in flight,
Rushing under an enchanted full moon
Which passes us by all too soon.
I throw open the blinds and welcome the sight
To see the room bathed in its’ light.
Laying in a pool to feel its balm
Taking over that sense of calm.
Once in a lifetime. Gone too soon
As it’s beauty and light fills the room.
I’m so excited I cannot sleep,
Wondering what blessings we’ll reap
How our lives may change for the best,
And when I’ll enjoy peaceful rest.
So wrapped myself up in a blanket of white,
Watching their step as the angels alight.
They’ve come so far to visit me,
dancing around and setting me free.
As I tell them that I’m not ready to go,
Despite the battle of highs and low.
My work around here has only begun,
So I’m not content to skip and run.
Will they assist me as I prepare,
To cleanse and grow, my soul laid bare.
So as I watch the moon at its height.
Not thinking at all of my recent plight.
But of new things which may come our way,
As we dance headlong into the fray.
It is far better than counting sheep,
Watching the moon as you’re trying to sleep.
Watching the reflections starting to gleam,
A part of my own Midsummer Night’s dream
With her smiling down upon your face,
As you cherish living in this special place.
Laying awake and looking at stars,
Searching for planets, Jupiter, Mars.
There’s a wondrous world out there,
If you take just a moment to share
In the beauty that’s heaven sent.
As you watch the moons ascent.
The light is changing a new day has come,
As you drift into sleep with the rising sun.
It was a moment, so special and bright
Bathed by the moon on Midsummer night.

 

The Daily Post – Summer

La Bleu Chevaux

The Daily Post – EmbarrassingPhoto0112We walked out of the Hospital together, after another one of those appointments, which I used to dread. One where it would be suggested that I would try another drug or tablet, which may ease the symptoms of my Endometriosis. Often leaving me reeling from the reactions to it, I would always try their suggestions, for fear that if did not, then my Doctor or the Hospital, might refuse to offer any treatment at all and I might just miss out on the one thing that worked, if they ever found it.

I knew so little about it back then, completely uninformed with a condition that no-one spoke of. I didn’t know anyone who had it who I could ask and this was before the days of the internet, where you could look up so easily and find other people in the same boat, so you just trusted the Dr‘s, after all they must know, (Right?) and got on with it.

It was a sunny day, my boyfriend (who would later become my partner) had come to meet me from the Hospital that day, he wanted to cheer me up. At the time, we travelled by bus, walked a lot and he usually had a car. He suggested that we go for a short walk together and although I was sore from all the prodding and poking, I reluctantly agreed. I needed some air, after being cooped up in there and always needed to clear my head. As we walked along the road, we got talking about cars and when I thought I would learn to drive. It was something that I had wanted to do since getting my provisional licence at seventeen, but kept running out of money as I was due to take the test. But it was still very firmly on my wish list. As we walked arm in arm, he pointed out a pretty Blue Citroen 2 CV, also known as a ‘deux cheveaux’ which was parked in a row of cars, you didn’t see many of those around any more. “What do you think of those?” he said “Oh I’ve never liked those very much, although the pull back roof is nice, I prefer Mini’s” I had always loved the Classic Mini with it’s cute curves and smile. We paused to look at the 2CV. “Oh, that’s a shame he said, I’d better take it back then” I stopped dead in my tracks and quite literally fell about laughing. “You are joking, why on earth would you buy something like that?” I said, “You’d look ridiculous driving it” I feel that I should explain myself at this point, it was a little outspoken of me, but imagining my 15 stone hunk of a man, behind the wheel of this little Citroen made me laugh. I must have been a bit dazed from the hospital, since we clearly were just not on the same level. “No Silly, I wasn’t thinking of it for me, it’s for you” Suddenly I fell in with an almighty splash and regretted hastily voicing my thoughts, ALL CHANGE! HE HAD BOUGHT ME A CAR….
“Thank You, Thank, You, Please don’t take it back” I said. “But you said you didn’t like them” ” Yes, but I’d love THIS one after all, It’s a present!” He has on many occasions shed light on the fact that I can be fickle, sometimes it drives him nuts, but he has got used to it now.

It was not the first car that had been bought for me to use. At seventeen, one had been purchased for me , which needed a whole load of work sat in a friends garden and rotted away since I couldn’t drive it to get it fixed up and was eventually scrapped. A few years later, another boyfriend thought that he would buy the perfect car for me, he put it in his garden along with the other vehicles that he had amassed there over the years and that would be incentive for me to learn to drive, if I passed my test then I would be able to drive it, maybe. Except that he was a control freak and his particular brand of control meant that was never going to happen.

On this particular day, he told me to clamber in and find something to tie my hair back with, the roof was pulled back and we folded the windows open. I was to learn that they had to be properly secured otherwise, they would bang shut if you went over a bump and could trap fingers. But in we got and took the car on it’s maiden voyage. I sat inside, noticed the funny gear change, up on the dashboard known as an umbrella gear stick, since it has a handle just like an old fashioned umbrella handle. “How do you drive one like that?”, I asked. “I will show you, it all” he said. “If you can use this gear change, then you can drive anything” We drove down to the beach, took it round the country roads and it turned out to be fun. “We’ll have to sort out insurance and L Plates then you can drive it.” He didn’t need to ask me twice, I think I did that the very same evening.

And so our adventures began. We covered thousands of miles in that little French Blue, Citroen 2CV. Had lots of fun and I learned to drive, we headed off to Brighton on the coast for regular weekends, on one occasion we broke down, the starter motor packed up and a friendly driver, gave us his wrench to get it started, you had to tap the side of it and then it would fire up. We did this until my next payday when I bought a new starter motor and my Dad fitted it for me, under sufferance. On one occasion when we drove back from Brighton, a lorry driver attempted to run us off the road, at that point my boyfriend decided that when we could we would change the car for something with a little bit more power, since he never wanted that to happen to me when I was out on my own. It was an unpleasant episode. In the time I had it, I only ever had to replace the starter and a couple of spark plugs. If I recall, it only had two, due to it’s very small engine. We kept the car for about 2 years, unfortunately, we bid it a fond farewell after the heels I was wearing went through the floor and I couldn’t find anyone anywhere who wanted to weld it. I was choked to wave goodbye to it, but it would not get through an MOT without the welding.
I saw the car some time later, it had been bought by some rich man for his Au Pair, welded and treated to a new roof to give it a new lease of life, I was pleased to see that it wasn’t scrapped and dismantled after all. I would have loved to have kept it, they are worth a small fortune as a modern classic car these days and have quite a following. They are full of character and are so basic in their design, but are so useful since they sit so high and can travel over awkward terrain with ease. Previous advertising campaigns for the car in their heyday, showed it being driven through a ploughed field with a box of eggs on the front seat, arriving unbroken at the other side. A whole box of Eggs! Well that alone should be enough reason to get one. Ours was able to be parked off road in a field or roadside for an impromptu picnic and life was all the better for it. Ah those were the days…

Unfortunately those were also the days before I had a camera, so I don’t have a photo of the original one.  This, photo is one I came across recently which brought the happy memories flooding back and prompted this post.

Finding Inspiration in Unlikely Places.

I feel that if I were to face my fear and walk up to the door and knock on it, something interesting will happen.  The anticipation of the situation is eating away at me.  If I ignore the feeling that a strange or dangerous person may be hiding there, I might just get a nice surprise.

I have day-dreamed of the moment that I do that. Instead of passing the house which intrigues me so much.  It has been derelict for some years, for at least the five years that I have lived nearby.  It was once neat and tidy bungalow with a nice garden, but the lack of care means that you now cannot see the garden and the archway which once covered the front of the pathway has grown all the way along it, leaving a tunnel to the door.  It is in darkness, but someone has cut a walk through to the door.  I often drove past it on the way home and looked for lights and signs of life throughout the winter months when it grew dark early, there has been none.  There is an old camper van parked in the driveway, which has not turned a wheel during that time either.  In fact it has been there for so long that a grapevine has grown up around it over the top and when it overhangs the pavement, someone cuts the edges back and slings the pieces over the fence again.  You would barely notice what was stored behind what is now the makeshift hedge. The roof of the house is showing signs of damage, the odd loose slate here and there, the pointing around the chimney loose and the gutters hanging down in places.  You cannot see the windows at the front of the house. I would love to get in there and take a look.  It’s not one of those big old houses, which I loved to go and look at if we passed them on rides out in the car.  It’s just what was once someone’s home, probably built around the 1930’s.  My kind of era for houses.

I imagine that I will summon the courage and knock at the door one day.  That some elderly person will shuffle their way to the door and we will begin to talk.  They will not want to be rude or send me packing for disturbing their day.  I will offer help, perhaps to cut back the hedge for them and let some light return to their house if they would like that, or help them with getting some shopping maybe. I will listen to their stories and hear about their life. It might inspire me to write about them, in some future book.  I look for characters everywhere, inspiration in the strangest of places.  Meanwhile, we will walk the dog past the house as often as possible and dream of what is behind the front door, of how the garden looks, of what story it can tell me.

I think of the person who has left this place as it stands for so many years.  Maybe they have left and not returned, maybe they have been there all along, waiting for the knock at the door to find out if anyone will care.  Maybe I will brighten’s someone day by offering some form of comfort or help when they need it and show them some understanding. I hope that I will not be too late for them.

Time to knock at the door…

The Daily Post – Understanding

 

In The Days of Green Ink writing…

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I wonder when it was that I stopped writing in Green Ink, I used to all the time…. Before that it was almost always black, we had to write in Blue when I was at school and from then on I shied away from it, rebelling. Which is slightly odd as Blue is actually my favourite colour. Now more often than not, it is Purple or Pink, I guess they must have run out of Green and I picked up a job lot of coloured ink, I am looking forward to using the Turquoise, it isn’t the same boring old blue.

I do love a fountain pen… I don’t use it often enough now, using it mainly for writing cards or special notes.

I am currently putting the handwritten poems which I have just found from way back when into some semblance of order, well at least in one place on the laptop.
I found them other day, in the bag which I mentioned in a previous post. A total blast from the past. But so many other things in there too along with my old poems, among them a book where I had written recipes, in one place. I don’t remember whether they were favourite ones, or if I had copied them from a newspaper. Some people had scrapbooks for such things, but I have written them out instead.

It is funny how going through this I noticed how, dependent on what I had written and when, my handwriting changed. As I grew up, I did away with the loopy I’s and flamboyant T’s, but from time to time it still maintains a creativity of it’s own. Back when I wrote these, my handwriting was very controlled Probably like the rest of me. The recipes however maintain a different script to that of the poems, following similarities with my writing today as though somehow more relaxed. It is different again now, noticeably so. I wonder what the experts would make of it now if it were deciphered.

The Daily Post – Handwriting