Tag: life

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

 

Not the Cherry on Top

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Observations again.

Having been presented with this shot of a dessert, Weekly Photo Challenge – Michelle.W

I was struck, not by the cherry on top, but by the sweet and brightly coloured topping. When I was younger, we used to call them Hundreds and Thousands and they were served on ice cream, Angel Delight as well as cakes.  This week, I have had an undiminished urge to find some and buy them and have them on my now dairy free ice cream.

I don’t know if it a desperate attempt to return to a safe part of my childhood. I have on two separate days this week thought of these brightly coloured decorations and craved their colour in a small step towards something. Although I am not yet sure what, maybe it’s the familiar overthinking, along with the realisation that Life is not always just a bowl of cherries.

It has been a rough week for us, where the emergency services have been required and where I should be valuing the deep and important things around us. The facts that despite an attempt otherwise, we are still here, we are still living and we are still loved by each other. Something for which I will remain eternally grateful. The stress of the situation that has taken a hold in the past few days and made us both unwell, I hope that time will heal that. But a sense of relief that has kicked in now and with it brings a certain need for frivolity, which shows itself in the strangest of ways.  Like Saturday Lunch where we ate Fruit and Ice Cream in our garden safe from the outside world and found out that the dog also likes melon and that lazy weekends are just fine when you have had a tough week.

Image: http://www.morguefile.com

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

O Grande Amor, the song of stress.

Stan Getz

I simply cannot explain it.  It’s bizarre but I had to listen to this fantastic album again yesterday to find out that this is the name of the song which I have noticed that I hum to myself in times of stress.  I had mistakenly thought it was another on the album, which I catch myself humming when things are getting all too much.  It starts off as an unconscious thing, but then I realise and it is like an old friend, immediately calming.

I first recall the regularity of humming it whilst walking through the corridors of the cardiac unit with my father, when he returned to see the consultant after having a heart bypass. But it has been with me far longer than that, occasionally I attempt to sing parts of it too.  I have owned the album for many years, since 1998 when I began to buy CD’s more often than cassette tapes. I have also found that after arguments it also mysteriously appears.

I have no idea as to the why?  I am unable to shed any light upon why of all the music I have heard over the years and grown up with, this is the one which returns and why there is one at all. Perhaps there is some deep seated reason I have yet to find out, but  I do love the song and I know that I love listening to Jazz music.

Stan Getz & Joao Gilberto – O Grande Amor

If you don’t ask….

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I am a firm believer of “If you don’t ask, you don’t receive” with some things, but torn slightly as there are other times when you just shouldn’t ask.  Generally though it has served me well over the years and worked on occasions where I have asked for a pay rise. If I have asked for someone’s help since I don’t make a habit of it, they are more inclined to assist me.  Of course I am happy to return the favour if at all possible and offer help in return.

This week, in practicing Gratitude for the good things which have been happening, even when they are few and far between.  I wanted to share with you all something that I am very grateful for.

As a keen recycler I have written about this previously in One Mans’ Waste is another Mans’ Treasure I do tend to search for items if there is something that I would really like, to see if it can be bought second hand or given freely if times are tough.  I don’t have a problem in having things which are pre-owned or preloved since they are often better made than new items.  I am also happy to donate to charity shops and buy from them as well as re-using what others may think of as waste items, so that as much as possible is kept out of landfill.

I have had a desire to get myself an old typewriter.  I wrote a while ago in  English Lessons, Touch Typing and Speed Tests about learning to type when I was at school and felt a little bit nostalgic about it. So I asked my father, since at the time when I studied, we had my grandmother’s typewriter.  I would have loved to have it and use it again and since I have not known him use it for years, he may want to pass on this heirloom. However he wasn’t ready to do that at this point and told me it has sentimental value and he is still using it.  It may be passed on to me one day, however in the meantime I thought I would search elsewhere.

So, a quick browse around the local charity shops proved fruitless although my partner asked them to call us if they get one in.  It really didn’t matter to me what it looked like, as long as it works.  But something vintage would suit my inspirational living and I do love old items. There is something about that Art Deco room in my imagination, where I can write wonderful stories at a big wooden desk, with old writing implements surrounded by beautiful things and peace and quiet.  I purchased an old ink well on the strength of that particular dream or goal. Alas at the moment we are lacking in space and it is resigned to the loft until I have this wonderful office one day.

My next stop was Freecyle where I have received some wonderful things in the past. So I posted a “Wanted” advert on there at the weekend.  Lo and behold, a rather nice email popped into my inbox on Monday from a lady, telling me that she had a portable typewriter which I could have.  I didn’t ask too many questions, just when I could pick it up and arranged this with her.  The thing about Freecycle is when you collect that you are not obliged to pay for it.  I feel that if someone is giving you something for free, then it is only fair that you show them a token, however small of your appreciation.  So I took her a Terry’s Chocolate Orange, when times are hard, you have to share what is available.  The lady asked what I wanted it for since she though that no-one uses them anymore. I told her that I wanted something to photograph and that I was in the process of writing a book and feel that it might bring inspiration in my moments of writing. It had been her Father’s, she was pleased that it would be used, but wasn’t sure if it still worked. I said that I would give it a clean up and if it didn’t then I would just photograph it.  I did not look into the box until I returned to my car, then sneaked a peak inside the dusty and slightly battered case which surrounded it.

On opening it, it took my breath away, I must admit that I squealed with excitement too at this point as my eyes met a possibly 1930’s Royal portable typewriter, a little dusty, but otherwise in good condition with a ribbon in place.  It is beautiful and I am feeling very lucky.  I cannot remove the smile from my face.

I found some paper and tried it out.  It all works perfectly, I sent the lady a message, letting her know and she sent one back and wishing me luck with my book.

If anyone had asked me what I could have hoped for in a typewriter, whilst living in a small space. I couldn’t have described it any better, this is one which I can put away, when not in use, but enjoy whenever I like.

Gratitude, Absolutely Yes.  I love it and I am thrilled with it. Share your Gratitude.