Some thoughts for today...

In dwelling, be close to the land.

In meditation, go deep in the heart.

In dealing with others, be gentle and kind.

In speech, be true.

In ruling, be just.

In business, be competent.

In action, watch the timing.

Tao Te Ching

Sunrise...

Sunrise...

Breaking through the mournful sky

A single ray of light

Traces shapes on the horizon...

And in that brief moment

I see a glimmer of

Hope...

And my spirits start to

Rise...

Fade Out ...

That night,

You ripped out my

Heart

And turned my world

Upside down

For one last time.


I cried tears of acid rain

And screamed silently

Into the darkest of nights

And through endless days;

Wondering how the hell was I supposed to

Get through

This

Without you?


...When your heart stopped,

Part of mine died too...

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For me, writing is a very therapeutic process. First, I write down whatever comes out of my mind, heart, and/or soul - whether it's random words, jumbled sentences, or a stream of consciousness or inner dialogue - I just let it all come out, then I read through it and sometimes it becomes some sort of poem; sometimes not. Sometimes, it already is a poem. Usually, it starts off as quite a long poem, as it's important to be able to tell the whole story ... but then it often requires cutting down quite a bit, so as to get to the point, rather than ramble on too much...

Writing helps make sense of something that doesn't make sense...

I wish ...

I Wish...

I wish I could hear

the sound of your

voice

One more time.

And maybe see you

Smile ...

 
... I wished on some shooting stars tonight, but in life we have to accept that some wishes just aren't going to be granted, no matter how much we want them to come true ... Instead, we have to learn to let go ...
 
I'm in the process of wading through old blogs on myspace, trying to save various bits and pieces from over the years. It's quite an emotional journey - some of the stuff i  was writing back then, like the poem above, were related to the grieving process i was going through after my mum died. ...
 
Fast forward just a few years, and here i am, in the midst of another loss. It might be a cliche, but everything happens for a reason. I now know that all the pain i went through regarding my mum's death was necessary, so that i would be in some way equipped to deal with the loss of my ex-husband, soul mate & best friend, and so that i would somehow be able to support our daughter through this.
 
Next week, it will be 6 months since he died. Earlier tonight, as my daughter and i sat together,talking and crying and hugging each other, i was so, so proud of my beautiful daughter, and her words of wisdom - her strength and maturity - took my breath away.  Her dad will be so proud of her - i just wish he was here to tell her... but she already knows how proud he'll be...
 
Later, we went out for a walk, and sat watching shooting stars together, and made our wishes.
'Will our wishes come true?' she said...
I smiled and told her the story I've told her countless times before ... 
'Yes, they do come true - me and your dad wished on a shooting star the night you were conceived, so our wish came true!'
 'That's the most beautiful story ever!' she said ...
I smiled to myself and remembered the time her dad spoke to a 'fortune teller' who told him that 'you have a daughter who will be like a star that outshines all others'... that story was certainly true as well...
 
We got back home again just before the rain began - our tears replaced by star-shaped glimmers of hope ...
 

 

Sandwiches on the sand ...

I didn’t have any clients on Monday, so I decided to make the most of an empty page in my diary, and we headed off for another lovely lazy hazy day out. Here are some of my impressions of the day:

‘Driving along the Northumbrian coast and through sleepy flower-filled villages...

Brightest blue sky with perfect fluffy white clouds and beaming rays of sunshine bouncing off golden syrup-coloured cornfields....

Ancient tractors chugging along, towing bales of hay, driven by checky-shirt-clad, rosy-cheeked farmers...

Us walking along the riverside path at Warkworth, watching swans, ducks and a heron going about their business...

Further along, fish jumping up and out of the river – silver flashes arching out of the blue, momentarily; then rippling circles on the surface of the water almost hypnotising us. Swallows swooping so low they were actually dipping into the water every now and then.

The red-orange wings of a comma butterfly standing out beautifully against the weathered wooden fence – pausing long enough for me to get a photo, but it half fluttered, half skipped away before Iona had the chance to get her camera ready.

Then us walking round the edge of the castle and down the main street, following a young boy play-fighting with his granddad; his sister holding hands with grannie. Iona saying: ‘I’m so jealous of them’; and me silently nodding my head in agreement. It only feels like yesterday that we were a perfect little family group having a day out with grandparents; yet at the same time it feels like another lifetime ago. ‘Well, we’ve got each other, and I’m having a lovely time’, I eventually say, and Iona smiles and says: ‘Me too!’...

Everything feels so bittersweet these days, though. How is it possible to feel so much joy, yet so much pain, at exactly the same time?

‘Come on, I know a secret path we can go down – you’ll love it!’ I say excitedly; hoping that my memory hasn’t got it wrong... Intrigued, Iona follows, and yes, here we are now, gleefully walking along a narrow little path, winding along the back of some allotments, and we catch glimpses of secret gardens, peering through rickety old gates. ‘I love this!’ Iona beams from behind her camera lens. ‘It reminds me of great-grannie and grandad’s garden and allotment!’ I say, and Iona agrees... We end up almost back where we started, and sit for a while on a wooden bench underneath an old oak tree; so simple, so timeless, so perfect...

Later, we walk through sand dunes and down onto the beach. The tide is on its way out. I take my sandals off and run round in circles excitedly – like a 4yr old rather than 40-something. I run into the sea – the icy water makes me gasp, but after a moment it feels fine. We wander along, collecting shells and stones and crabs’ legs (Iona, not me!) that are scattered along the strandline. ‘Poor crabs’, we keep murmuring – so many legs and bodies all over the place. ‘Hopefully it means that there must be a lot more still alive, if there are so many dead ones’ I say; a little unconvincingly, I think...

We collapse into a sand dune and sit watching the sea for a while; both of us lost in thought. I reach for my pen, wanting to record this moment – it feels so perfect – but my pen runs out after I write one word: ‘sand’...

Trying to remember some of the words I wanted to write, all I can think of now is more words beginning with ‘s’: sand, soft, smooth; sea, soothing, swooshing; seagulls, screeching, squawking; sky, sunshine, stones, shells; splashes...

Sometimes words can paint such a vivid picture ... but sometimes, they can’t! So I’m pleased I had my camera to capture what my pen couldn’t....

As we head back to the car, 3 RAF planes roar over us, faster than lightning – the sound almost turning me to stone in terror. Once the fear passes, Iona almost rolls round on the ground in fits of laughter as I tell her how terrified I was of these planes when I was a child.

‘I used to throw myself to the ground, screaming and waving my arms and legs around!’

‘No!! Really??!!’

‘Yes! Once, I was so scared I threw a cup of ribena over Uncle Peter, and then I got slapped!’

‘No!!?’

‘Yes!!’

Another one flies over and almost on cue, I cling onto Iona like a baby, and she says ‘Yes, I believe you!’ ...

We drive along to Newton by the Sea and it’s a beautiful way to end a perfect afternoon. Families and dogs sit outside the pub, enjoying the laid back, tranquil timelessness. We fall in love with a piano in a skip and an Asda delivery man who, once his delivery is done, sits on a bench next to his van, and contentedly soaks up the view. Colourful boats lined up on the sand like toys, families wandering along the beach, dogs running around with wagging tails... A honking flock of geese fly over and, once our shandy has been supped, we return to the car park...

We head home, past the bench where the old man with a red face and a smile was sitting, back through the villages and cornfields, and we stop briefly so that Iona can take photos of a field of sunflowers.

Before long, we are back home again; sandy, sleepy, smiling and satisfied after yet another lovely day ...

Tip: Create happy memories now! Share them!

Walking through memories and cornfields...

As soon as we get out of the car, we are greeted by the sound of summer – swallows chatting to each other - and then acrobatically swooping and soaring through the air, like airborne gymnasts. They are gathering on telegraph wires – a typical sight of late summer... What did they use as a gathering place in the days before these cables stretched across the sky, I wonder?

We walk along the dusty cinder path, past the meadow, and stop for a moment to watch the ponies – another of summer’s quintessential moments. As we stand and watch them graze and flick their tails every now and then, and blow through their velvet soft nostrils, my mind skips back over the years as I remember going to the pony field with Paddy our dog when I was a child – in those hot never-ending days of summer – wearing sandals and sundresses or shorts and halter-neck tops – and then cooling down afterwards in the paddling pool with ice-pops and lemonade... And then fast-forward a few years and memories spring to mind of taking Iona to the same pony field when she was a tot – and now here she is, a beautiful 16 year old, and here we are, standing watching ponies together...

My heart swells with gratitude because she’s still happy to do things like this with me. I’m so pleased that she didn’t go through the phase I went through as a teenager, when I avoided doing anything with my parents / as a family at all cost! We continue along the footpath, pausing to look at our reflections in a beautiful butterfly-shaped puddle stretching across the width of the path. Iona has to scoop up armfuls of her maxi-dress so it doesn’t get wet and muddy in the residue of last night’s rain.

I follow her along as if she’s some sort of woodland queen or fairy princess – Titania perhaps – and I’m the servant or maid, and I marvel at the fact that I’ve produced such a work of art. With her long red hair and flowing floral dress she looks like a supermodel on a photo shoot. We turn left and go under the bridge – it’s only now as I write this that I realise that this is maybe the first time we don’t stand underneath and go ‘Hellooo’ and listen to our voices echo back at us...

We continue on our way along the track, rosebay willowherb stretching almost over our heads on either side – the bright pink colours complementing Iona’s dress perfectly. Rosehips are beginning to replace the rose petals now and juicy blackberries look tempting too. Butterflies dance in and out of the hedgerows, along with hoverflies and bees.

We climb up the bank onto the footpath through the cornfields and again I’m hit by another wave of nostalgia. Walking through the cornfields with Paddy, down the network of footpaths behind the first and middle schools... the golden-yellow waves of nodding, whispering, dancing corn – the paths so narrow we had to walk in single file. The corn grew so tall that Paddy would disappear and I remember sometimes panicking that he might disappear for ever – then all of a sudden up he would pop, leaping in the air, tail wagging, tongue hanging out of his smiling mouth, as if he was saying ‘Here I am!!’

And memories flood back of holidays in Kent, visiting Auntie Pat. The summers were always several degrees warmer down there, and it felt so exotic to be able to even have breakfast outdoors... and the endless fruit farms – days out picking strawberries, raspberries and loganberries and eating so much while we were picking that we didn’t really want to eat any more by the time we got home ... I remember walking through the cornfields up to the cross at Lenham – a photo comes to mind of me wearing a little yellowy skirt and a  yellow T Shirt with a ladybird on – the cross is in the background – then Iona’s voice brings me back to the present day as she says ‘look mum – a ladybird!’

Summer 1975

We pause again at a gate and watch a bull standing proud in the distance. The bull in the field at Alnwick, just outside the cottage on the moors, ‘Old Mr Grumpy Face’, comes charging into my mind, and then the memory fades. We turn round and head towards the pond now, as swallows continue to provide the soundscape, along with the occasional bluetit and buzzing percussion of bumble bees. I watch a couple of herons fly past, over two swans and their cygnets and a flock of lapwings; then we continue along next to a field of long, delicate green grass, daintily swaying in the breeze.

The footpath comes out into the housing estate where we parked the car. We pause for one last time to admire a beautiful garden full of colourful cottage garden flowers and then we return to the car and head back home; both so pleased that we made the spur of the moment decision to do this... Another lovely summer stroll to add to the collection – the back catalogue - of memories, moments and snapshots from over the years...

Still feeling nostalgic, I almost feel like filling up a paddling pool when we get home, but maybe that would be taking things a bit too far!

Suggestion: Take time to go for walks - don't just walk though - write about it, talk about it, take photos, and do it regularly!

Tongue Tied

I've been writing on and off for as long as I can remember, but it was only really when I first started writing my blog over on myspace, around four years ago, that I began to share some of my writing with other people. In its heyday there was such a good feel to myspace - in total my blog was viewed over 44500 times, and had over 4000 comments - which makes the figures for this current blog seem rather feeble in comparison!

I'm so grateful to all the friends I had on myspace, and to those who subscribed to my blog, and I'm so pleased to still be in contact with a few of you via Facebook now. The comments, feedback, praise and encouragement really gave me the confidence and enthusiasm to keep writing (and taking photos), and my creative juices kept on flowing - it was such an inspiring and creative time! In particular some of the names that spring to mind are Jim, Barbara, David, Kathleen, Laine, Kate, Sarah, Gary, Rachel, Mark, Jo, Roger, Maria, Angie, 'Tiara', Wendy, 'Poetic', and there were more... Even though I haven't actually met most of these people in the flesh, through our writing and sharing of life experiences we built up a closeness, intimacy and degree of closeknit friendship that isn't always easy to achieve in the 'real world' outside of the computer screen.

Anyway, the reason for this nostalgic ramble is because there are ripples of unease and discontent rumbling through the world of myspace bloggers right now. Apparently things are a-changing on myspace, and not for the better as far as blogs are concerned. At first I felt a wee bit smug, thinking 'Well I stopped blogging there a long time ago, so I'm ok...' But then a couple of hours later I thought 'Hmm - I'd better check that my blog is still there - even though I don't update it anymore, I still like to check on it from time to time...'

I was dismayed to find that comments have been deleted. Later I started thinking 'What if they delete the actual blogs next??' ... This is really panicking me, because a lot of my poems and prose on my myspace blog doesn't exist anywhere else - in my usual disorganised manner I often wrote my blogs without keeping a copy, so I'd be devastated if all my poems suddenly disappear for ever ... So, needless to say, I'm going to have to start trawling through all of my old blogs, and try to rescue what I can while I can ...

This (below) is something I wrote a few years back - it makes me smile a little bit, as I realise that I'm so much more confident and outgoing now, compared to what I was like when I wrote it. I used to really suffer because of being such a quiet intovert. It's funny that once I accepted, embraced and cherished this part of myself, it started to step back a bit and allow a more outgoing part of me to step forward...

TONGUE TIED

Words seem to fall out

Through my fingers.

My pen does the talking.

But life would be so much

Easier

If the words came straight out

Of my mouth

Instead.

I feel like I've managed to achieve much more of a balance now - I still let my pen do a lot of the talking - or the keyboard - but I also feel much more able to let my mouth talk too! One thing's for sure though - I'm going to keep on writing for a long, long time - even if I have to start most of my poems from scratch if I don't manage to rescue everything from myspace...

And, blog or no blog, I'll always have my journal - my constant companion! My journal has helped me through many a tough day ... Journalling is something I recommend to everybody - writing things down really does help, and no - you don't have to have any particular flair - just pick up a pen and see what happens! You never know - you might decide to set up a blog too - like me, my daughter began with writing in a journal, and now she's taking her first tentative steps (well more of a leap to be honest!) into the world of blogging!

It's always a wee bit emotional, looking back through my old journal entries, but in looking back, it helps me to see how much I've learned and grown, and it gives me the faith that whatever life throws at me next, i have the strength to cope...

Full of Beans

This is an Umbrian stew and is perfect for using up some of those broad beans that you don’t quite know what to do with – if your crop has been as successful as mine was this year, that is! I’ve taken the recipe from the lovely Alys Fowler’s book The Edible Garden, and I’ve just added my own little twist। Let me know what you think!

Scafata

5 Tablespoons Olive Oil
1 Onion, peeled and finely chopped
2-4 Garlic cloves, peeled and chopped
1 tsp thyme
1 tsp parsley
A pinch of basil
1 Celery Stalk chopped
1 Carrot, diced
1 and a half pounds of broad beans (in their pods)
7oz shelled peas (optional)
1 tin chopped tomatoes
Half pound fresh green leaves, ribs removed, cut into strips
1 dessertspoon lemon juice
Salt & Pepper

To Serve:
Warm homemade bread
___________________________

Remove the broad beans from the pods.
In a large saucepan, heat the olive oil and add the onions, garlic, herbs, celery, carrot and beans.
Stir well and add a little water – not enough to cover the vegetables though.
Put a lid on the pan, turn down the heat and simmer very slowly until the beans are tender. Add a bit more water if necessary.
Add tomatoes, peas, greens, and lemon juice. Mix well.
Cook until the leaves are wilted and the juice has evaporated a little.
Season with salt and lots of black pepper.
Serve with warm bread.
Enjoy!