All I want for Christmas…

I thought I would try to write a found poem, just type into Google “all I want for Christmas…” and there it would be, almost fully formed.

The poet Brian Bilston did one about LOVE in a similar fashion – how hard can it be? Actually it isn’t easy at all.

The most popular Google answer … is you. Mariah Carey has much to answer for this time of year!

…is my two front teeth, is also common. But my teeth are fine, I’ve been to see the dentist recently.

So maybe I want a hippopotamus for Christmas. Any excuse to add this fun classic.

On a more serious note, when I switch on the TV and see the state of the world, I’d settle for peace on earth…

…what do hippopotami eat actually? Because maybe having a crazy pet would be easier than achieving world peace!

Giving up on the poem idea I search the list of top 10 toys for Christmas 2023 instead. Top of the list is anything Barbie, capitalising on the big hit film of the year, there’s the ever-popular Lego and perhaps more surprisingly Furbies are back in fashion.

In many ways I’m glad I now longer have young children with their demands this time of year, money towards a new laptop and a new pair of trainers seem to be on the wish lists of my now grown-up children. Even my teenage nephew has stated he doesn’t want more STUFF.

We collect so much as has become evident as we have cleared out my mum’s clutter with a view to downsizing.

Only the house sale as fallen through – mum’s dream of being in a new home in time for Christmas has come crashing down.

So often what we want is not material at all, but love and security, a roof over our heads and a warm blanket, a nice cup of tea and a friend to share it with.

How did life get so complicated? Or rather WHEN?

I was talking to a friend the other day and we lapsed into nostalgia as we listened to Simon Mayo on Greatest Hits Radio. His show is just the same as it used to be way back when we had small children to deal with, just moved now to a different station.

Of course, those were the days when we weren’t so tied to our phones because we could only use them to ring people or text – remember hitting the 7 key four times every time you wanted to write an S? And yet life was simpler.

So, what do I want for Christmas and maybe more importantly what am I going to buy for other people? I feel as if I’ve turned into Scrooge as my list of presents to buy diminishes year on year.

I’d love to buy everyone a book but the truth is not everyone reads as much as I do. Perhaps I should encourage them to find other uses such as sticking them under the legs of wobbly tables. With a good aim you can throw a book at a spider to kill it! That sounds a bit cruel but I did squash one with a hymn book at church on Sunday, honestly it was huge and just landed on me from nowhere.

Yes, if I could I’d buy a book for everyone on the planet and inside it would share the recipe for peace on earth and perhaps a picture of a hippopotamus on the cover – well a girl can dream.

An Interview with E.M. Carter, author of Repression Ground

It has been a productive year for Liz Carter. She has published not one but two books.  That’s quite an achievement for anyone, but probably not how Liz would want to judge herself.

Her first book out this year was Valuable. In it she exposes what she calls the “productivity lie” and how God sees our worth not in our doing but in our being. Our relationship with Him is far more important than our usefulness. Even in our weakness we are loved and valuable as Liz has discovered living with a chronic and debilitating lung condition over many years.

I read Valuable in July and wrote a blog about it comparing it to the new Mission Impossible film – which is just how my quirky mind works, putting things together and often making crazy connections.

Only a few months later I was privileged to read an advanced copy of her first novel Repression Ground, written under the name of E.M. Carter.

It is the first book of the Newland trilogy, a complete departure from her previous works. This is Young Adult Dystopian fiction. However, it struck me quite early on that although both are written with a very different audience in mind, there are a great deal of similarities in the themes of usefulness, value and worth. Surely this is not just me joining up imaginary dots again.

So, I started by asking Liz which writing idea came first or did the two books grow organically together?

Way back in the early 2010s I tentatively posted my first blogpost. I’d been wanting to write my whole life, but something happening in those times filled me with a new urgency: some of the stories in the news I was seeing about disabled people on benefits in the new austerity narrative of those times, and how society seemed to be sorting them into ‘strivers’ and ‘skivers’. 

As a disabled person myself I felt passionately about the messages being passed on and the damaging lie that people were of more worth if they were more useful – or productive. From then on, I had a vision to write both these books: a non-fiction book for the Christian market exploring value, and a novel for the mainstream market imagining a world where some of these kinds of messages had gone so far they’d become the basis for that society. 

Imagine Britain’s Got Talent where contestants are judged on their productivity and not their talent – that was my first picture of Newland, a future England ruled by a fascist dictatorship. The idea just took off from there, and both books kind of grew alongside each other and informed one another.

Have you always wanted to write fiction? And how easy has the transition been between non-fiction and fiction?

I was writing fiction when I was small, inspired by Narnia and the Faraway Tree. I even wrote a book at eight years old; an adventure story about goblins under the River Dove (as you do). My teacher, Mrs Johnson, told me then I’d be an author one day, and I’ve dedicated Repression Ground to her because she asked me to dedicate my first novel to her. Sorry it’s taken so many years, Mrs J! 

Over the years I wrote less and less, swallowed up in life, sickness and raising a family, and when I went back into it I concentrated on the non-fiction, devotional side. I somehow felt I wasn’t a proper writer, that I couldn’t possibly write a novel, even though that childhood yearning had never left me, but as I wrote more non-fiction material I felt inspired to go for it with fiction. For me it was more of a parallel journey than a transition – and it’s been an exciting one.

Which do you prefer writing? Although this won’t have required as much study or research as you have created a whole new believable world, set in the not-too-distant future.

I love writing both, just as I love writing poetry – different things about these ways of writing fire me and inspire me. But I have to admit that there’s nothing like the breathless rush of fiction writing; when the words fall over one another, spilling out like a waterfall, it’s like a grand adventure – and there’s nothing like it. 

Writing gives me joy, and writing fiction has felt like freedom in many ways – caged in a life of disease, my imagination gives me liberation from these shackles as characters play across the screen in my mind (and often go ways I hadn’t planned all of their own accord!) Building a whole new imagined future has been an exciting departure from my usual writing, yet somehow also a natural step on the journey of it all, and I hope to continue to write both fiction and non-fiction.

The book is the first in a trilogy, so how far ahead have you written it? Do you know exactly how it will end, or do you think your characters will surprise you with more twists and turns in the story along the way?

I’ve written books one and two. Book two, Rebellion Ground, will be published (again with Resolute Books) in June 2024, so at the moment it’s undergoing edits. I have yet to finish book three, Redemption Ground, but it is tightly plotted, and I am so excited to write it and allow the characters to show me exactly where to go – they like to surprise me from time to time, however well plotted! 

I do know how it will end, but how it gets there may change – I can’t wait to see how. I’ve set aside a couple of months in 2024 to knuckle down and write it – then there’s the editing process, of course!

How much is Girl C like you? Or do you identify more with one of the other characters? Did you have a favourite character to write?

In some ways Girl C is like me. She’s a little unsure of herself and often feels ‘lesser’ because of her disabilities, and even more so in a society where disabilities are hidden away and unsupported. But she’s also hot-tempered, feisty and tenacious, and probably goes a lot further than I would when she’s angry! 

She’s a strong person who has never known what it is to be loved, so it was a challenge to write that into her character and how she thought about things – I had to throw myself into different shoes to imagine the way she would think and act. I realised how easy it could be to indoctrinate children, and how difficult for that child to throw off those bonds and see life differently, and I hope I’ve written her authentically doing so. 

I’m looking forward to sharing more of her story and character development, as well as that of her two best friends, Jacob and Amy, who have their own issues and ways of thinking. I identify with both of these, too – both of them driven by the love family members shower on them in a society where such things are discouraged, and responding in different ways to the secrets and lies that pave the streets of Newland.

Thanks Liz for your comprehensive answers. I can't wait to find out what happens next to the trio of friends. There are lots of unanswered questions at the end of Repression Ground that need resolving, as is fitting at the start of a trilogy.

If you want to find out more I heartily recommend you get yourself a copy of the book. It is published by Resolute Books and you can buy it from Amazon by clicking here 

And why not check out Liz's new author page and sign up for her newsletter to get firsthand news when book two is released - emcarter.carterclan.me.uk 

The in between space

I’ve finally handed my memoir over to be formatted into a REAL book and now I’m in between.

I’ve never been here before.

It’s like waiting on a railway platform for the next train to pull in.

I wonder where it will take me?

Somewhere new or a familiar route where I can list each station off by heart?

 

“Mind the gap,” the announcement says.

I slipped once, missed the step, and fell between the train and the platform.

I was only a small child so my mum hauled me back up.

It’s an odd, half remembered memory.

I’m certain it happened but maybe I should ask mum to be sure it wasn’t just my fertile imagination.

 

My mind jumps to a film with Sandra Bullock in – While you were Sleeping,

I check my DVD collection, I don’t own a copy, but I do have The Lake House.

I Google it to make sure I’ve remembered the plot -

Does she save a man from an oncoming train? of course she does!

(makes a change from driving a runaway bus I suppose)

 

Maybe Sandra Bullock can play me if they ever make a film out of my memoir!

 

Oh, this is silly. My mind has taken a meandering twist away from reality.

But this is what happens in the in between space,

The space where you have no idea what happens next.

 

I dream of a worldwide book tour and TV appearances

I dream of a box of unloved books gathering dust in the corner of a room

I dream of something in between

 

And I wonder where I will be in six months’ time?

Who I will be – will I still be me?

Or will I be Sandra Bullock?

If Biscuits were Swear Words

 I was having a WhatsApp chat with some writing friends yesterday about the use of swear words in our writing, particularly with reference to writing for young adults or for a Christian audience.

What one person finds perfectly acceptable might cause great offence to someone else. How to be authentic without upsetting your readers can be a minefield.

Then someone said, in the cartoon Bluey the word “biscuits” is used to denote frustration.

Well, that got me thinking and I came up with this…

If Biscuits were Swear Words!

KIT KAT and PENGUIN were her expletives of choice.

The chocolate covered cadence of the words had real power,

in her opinion.

CUSTARD CREAM and RICH TEA were insipid,

                                                                Too NICE

                                                to pack a punch,                               

they are the biscuits chanted in the school playground

                                by the lips of innocent children.

She once heard someone say GARABALDI, loud and clear with venom.

But many people consider the word just too fruity!

“Oh, GYPSY CREMES!” said the woman in the purple skirt,

                when she tripped over its long hem.

Her singsong voice making the biscuit sound exotic,

even playful

JAMMIE DODGERS are her brother’s words of choice,

                                as he weaves through his day,

                                                not a care in the world,

                                                                who he might offend.

Saying GINGER NUTS got a raised eyebrow from her Granny once.

Muttering JAFFA CAKES under her breath, just made Grandpa giggle.

 

But it was the day she heard her mother yell

                                                “CHOCOLATE HOB NOBS!”

When she realised life would never be the same again.

Longing for the scent of petrichor

 

Three years ago I posted a collage on Facebook of garden flowers and wrote about the smell of petrichor in the air after the rain.

Three years ago my dad died, but that happened after my post so that will be tomorrow’s Facebook memory.

Do I need Facebook to remind me?

My mum has the date marked on her calendar in the kitchen – how can any of us forget?

But I’d prefer the day to pass without much thought, like my dad, I’m not that sentimental.

And this has been a strange week, this week I tested positive for Covid for the very first time.

When dad died it was rife, there were restrictions on funerals, so many new rules we had to live by.

Now there are no rules, I don’t have to isolate, I didn’t need to test, I can carry on regardless.

But I don’t.

And maybe part of it is actually grief, the loss of my dad, the loss of a world we once knew and the deeper grief I carry everywhere that dates back almost thirteen years.

Today I feel heavy and aching and broken

But this will pass

The flowers will bloom

The rain will come

And I will smell the petrichor once more.

A Woman of Ingenuity

 

After checking the meaning I scroll down my screen to see that words related to ingenuity include, ability, brilliance, dexterity, flair, genius, and gumption.

An old memory is ignited of me bursting into tears at primary school because I hadn’t a clue what the word gumption meant. To me it sounded like the name of a cleaning product – gumption, removes all stubborn stains with just one squirt.

Perhaps at the time I never had enough of it and I admit I am still in awe of the women I know who appear to have flair, genius, and ingenuity in abundance.

Take for instance my friend Ruth Leigh, now she may disagree as she holds her fanned cards close to her chest, never revealing a dodgy hand, while coquettishly fluttering eyelashes in the style of a Jane Austen heroine.

I do hope she enjoys that description because she is a self-confessed Jane Austen superfan who has used her ingenuity to great effect writing a collection of short stories based on the minor characters from Pride and Prejudice. The characters who only get a passing mention.

reading in the garden

There’s a story about Sally the maid, who is tasked with mending Lydia Bennet’s frock and is not best pleased about it. A tale about the gossipy Mrs Long who plays matchmaker for her two neices (Ruth chuses to use spelling that Jane Austen would be familiar with). We see the darker side of the cook at Netherfield Park and you wouldn’t want to fall fowl of Mrs Nicholls. She is only called Mrs because of her position, according to her "men are nothing but trouble".

My personal favourite story is that of Mrs Jenkinson, Miss Anne de Bourgh’s companion, who is described by Maria Lucas as an “old lady”. The story is entitled An Unremarkable Woman but I enjoyed the backstory that gave her such an unexpected and interesting life for a woman of her time and social standing.

The historical details are meticulously researched and each story beautifully imagined as these lesser known characters are brought to life.  

Ruth has been getting much well-deserved praise from other regency scholars who know so much more about the period. Her writing is high-end fan fiction, easily comparable to bestselling novels such as Longbourn by Jo Baker, The Other Benett Sister by Janice Hadlow and Death Comes to Pemberly by PD James, to name just a few.

Novels have been written inspired by Austen’s other works too, particular favourites of mine include the modern reimagining of Northanger Abbey by Val McDermid and The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler. It is great to know that Ruth intends to follow suit and is already mulling over story ideas for her next collection based on the minor characters from Emma.

But this is in between other projects such as the fourth in her fabulous Isabella M Smugge series and whatever other inventive ideas she comes up with before breakfast.

Ruth truly is a woman of much ingenuity and I most delighted to call her a friend.

A Great Deal of Ingenuity is published by Resolute Books use the link below for more information.

https://www.resolutebooks.co.uk/books/p/a-great-deal-of-ingenuity

A diverting picture of Colin Firth as Mr Darcy because - why not?

Being used, feeling useful and finding your true worth

Last night I went to see the latest Mission Impossible film.

As we have come to expect from the franchise it is filled with unbelievable stunts and incredible actions sequences, all wrapped around a thrilling edge of your seat storyline. It might not be completely credible but it’s easy to suspend disbelief in reality, sit back, munch your popcorn and enjoy.

The one line that jumped out at me was

                “He can use you. He will see your value.” (paraphrased)

Ethan Hunt is talking about Kittridge, the puppet master of the IMF, who pulls everyone’s strings should you accept his mission.

He will recruit those with worth to the cause, those with the right shady skill set, the kind of talents that would put most people behind bars. But if you mess up, leave too many dead bodies in your wake, or if you go rogue, you are immediately disavowed, abandoned on your own.

So why did this almost throwaway line stick in my head? I’m sure most people sitting in the cinema would not have given it a second thought.

Probably because I’ve been reading a book called Valuable by Liz Carter. Under the beautiful gold lettering of the title, it says “why your worth is not defined by how useful you feel.”

Liz suffers from a chronic lung condition which can stop her from leaving the house for days and has on some occasions been so severe that she has been hospitalised. Further lung damage from complex pneumonia meant she had to give up teaching and one day she faced the inevitable introductory question. “What do you do?”

It’s said so innocently, it trips off the tongue as if what you do is what makes you important in life.

I will admit it’s my least favourite question too, I’m a full-time mum, but my boys are now in their twenties, a housewife without a husband to care for since he died, a volunteer, a cancer survivor, a writer??? Maybe? Please ask a different question or compliment me on my hair instead.

We are obsessed with what people DO, but does a fancy job title make them valuable? Liz calls this the “productivity lie.”

If we are not USEFUL to society what about as a Christian being USEFUL to God?

Sadly, it has become common parlance in our prayer lives when we face tough times. I have prayed that God can USE my situation of being widowed young and I so often see writing a book about it that helps others as the reason it all happened in the first place. In my tiny human brain that sort of makes some sense of the tragedy.

Liz wonders if this language is helpful? Does God really USE us like an object?

It is a crass way of seeing things, we don’t have our own children to be our objects, seeing their worth in what they can do for us and God is the perfect heavenly Father. We are not created to be His puppets.

Unlike Kittridge in Mission Impossible God does not judge our worth in what we can do, he won’t disavow and reject us if we fail.

He loves us unconditionally and, in her book, Liz highlights other words to redefine our relationship with God “partnership, joining and co-working.”

God’s Kingdom is an upside down one where he comes alongside the broken, the messed up, those who feel they don’t measure up. Just look at the disciples, mostly fishermen, a tax collector, a motley crew of misfits and hardly the brightest bunch but Jesus chose them as his closest friends and revealed his secrets to them, even if they rarely understood the bigger picture.

Jesus didn’t USE them, he gently worked alongside them in partnership and even in their failings they were not USELESS. Their stories give us hope that there is a place for us in our weakness too. We are VALUABLE.

As Liz says in her concluding chapter, “you are a mirror of God’s glory, not an object of God’s use.”

It could take some time to completely change the language we use (pun intended), to be honest we probably never will but maybe being more aware is a good start. Better yet got hold of a copy of the book - just click here  https://www.thegoodbook.co.uk/valuable 

And a final takeaway from Mission Impossible – while Kittridge may think he’s all powerful and in control, Ethan Hunt and his allies never doubt their worth and always look out for one another. Not because they might come in useful for the next mission but because as painful as it might be to admit they are true friends.

Hands up who remembers Friends Reunited?

Hands up who remembers Friends Reunited? It all seems such a long time ago, my children were tiny and we had a dial up connection for our shared family computer, housed in a cubby hole under the stairs.

I can hear the squeaks and beeps, with the sound of Tellytubbies on in the background. Meanwhile I furtively looked up old friends and acquaintances to compare notes.

I may never have had a brilliant career but now I had my own little family, and for the girl who never had a proper boyfriend until she was twenty-four I had finally “made it”. How had everyone else fared I wondered?

Of course, Friends Reunited was only the first of many, Facebook superseded it and many other social media platforms have come and gone in the intervening years.

I have always been a big fan of Facebook. Andrew and I joined when our eldest was still twelve to get ahead of the game before he turned thirteen and was officially allowed to have his own account – we were strict parents.

One of my favourite tasks each day is to catch up with Facebook memories, the online photo diary of yesteryear.

I joined Twitter when I started writing, came off it a few years later but decided to start a new account a couple of years ago – my old Twitter handle still existed, it was almost as if I’d never been away – only much has changed including number of characters you could use in one tweet – it had doubled - that’s inflation I suppose!

Meanwhile Instagram is still all new to me and I will confess I don’t really get it – how am I supposed to share stories? How do I share a blog post? What’s with all the #######?

But apparently it is essential for a writer’s profile, all that promotion potential, if you know how to work the system. I’m certainly followed by plenty of people – lots on new men every day – Johnny Depp and Keanu Reeves – oh I don’t think so matey – Block! Block! Block!

This is all stopping me from writing in the first place.

And now Twitter is collapsing into a black hole – although its demise seems to be in slow motion, much talked about but is anything happening or is it just hype?

Only a few months ago people were jumping ship to Mastodon – I never bothered. But now there is Threads – should I click the magic button and add another social media platform to my growing portfolio – it’s all in aid of promoting my book which is in the stages of being published, so I need a space to shout into cyberspace – buy my book!!!!!! Is anybody listening?????

To be honest I’m getting a bit tired of it all, should I give it all up or just take a break for a month or two.

A nagging voice tells me I would lose traction, lose followers, fall foul of the algorithms, and disappear into my own black hole.

Then again it might be nice and quiet there, I might get the chance to think, to actually write something!

What really excites me about releasing my book into the wild is meeting real people. I dream of talking to church groups, WI’s or anyone that would like me to speak – if I sell a book or two what a bonus. It’s all a bit of a daydream but I’m going to try and make it happen.

I don’t need to make this work for financial gains, in many ways I am lucky I lost my husband and I can live off his pension. It also gave me something to write about – oh the irony. Black humour has seen me through a lot of dark days.

But, back to the subject of social media, do I join Threads to be sociable, or just wait and see?????

I’m sure it will be filled with the same people I already follow and the same photos they have shared elsewhere will pop up again – same old same old – In the good old days’ procrastination used to be much more fun without the FOMO.

Meanwhile, I’ve caught up with most of my old school friends now, marriages, divorces, children and careers, most of my friends don’t share as much as they used to. There are only a few of us on Facebook still over sharing - Wordle scores, sunrises, vicariously sharing our children’s successes, because our children have long since abandoned Facebook. I have one son who only uses Twitter for work and one who doesn’t see the point of any of it.

Perhaps it’s not just Twitter that’s dying maybe we are waking up to the fact that “social media” is not terribly sociable after all.

Although I am a hypocrite because I shall still be sharing a link to this blog on Facebook and Twitter 

because how else will you find me!!!!

Coach Trip Etiquette – a cautionary tale

 

an image of Ireland

I’ve just been on holiday with one of my oldest friends and last time we spent so much time together we were hormonal teenagers on a school trip. We probably fell out with each other at least once a day.

There were no such worries this time, we are grown-ups now and therefore much more sensible and tolerant, but, with 46 other strangers on the coach, including a Welsh driver and an Irish guide there is always the possibility that there may be a few fireworks.

Now I wouldn’t want to call anyone a female dog without good reason and one particularly diminutive and smartly dressed fellow traveller certainly doesn’t deserve to be called a rude name, but from the start there was something about her blonde fluffy bob and large innocent eyes that made me think of her as a dog. Not a common or garden variety, but one of those fancy dog breeds that sounds like it’s been named by a ten-year-old boy - a ShitzBum or a LassiePoo.

These breeds are always overly pampered, often miniature in stature and quite unforgiving in nature. We certainly got on her yappy side that evening as she bared her teeth menacingly, taking no prisoners.

It was never our intention to cause such upset. Our faux pas? Sitting on her table for the evening meal.

While seats were allocated on the coach, we were under the impression that one was free to sit at any table for dinner. It’s always good to mix things up a bit, meet new people, make connections, seek common ground.

For the first two evenings we had done just that. Being polite and friendly, discussing such topics as how many sugars one should have in a cup of tea, apparently five is perfectly acceptable! We talked about medical issues, places we’d visited, gardening, and the lack of green leafy vegetables served with dinner.

It was the third evening when the problems started because we dared try out another new table.

We did ask if we could join them and maybe from the start we should have sensed the vibe that this particular round table had been set in stone since the days of King Arthur.

Actually, we did move to make amends and keep the peace but were convinced to come back by a couple who felt really bad for not being one hundred percent welcoming. We settled down and with the table full the waitress took our orders.

That’s when “Mrs Fluffy Face” arrived.

“Where’s my cushion?” She demanded, taking the tone of Queen Victoria, certainly not amused by the state of things.

Obviously, saving dining chairs with cushions is akin to the Germans saving recliners by the pool with their beach towels – if only we had known. Only being in our mid-fifties, we are relative novices when it comes to coach holiday etiquette.

And to be fair we’d not spotted the cushion.

The waitress explained they would have to move to another table this evening to avoid messing up the food orders already being prepared and she led the woman and her friend to another table where the blue tartan pillow awaited her fussy behind.

Unfortunately, she was placed in my direct eyeline and glared at me all throughout the meal. We tried to enjoy some different conversations with new “acquaintances”, one could hardly say” friends”, but vowed not to sit there again the following evening.

Now you might think this is the end of my tale, and we learnt a valuable lesson, but there is a twist.

When we retired that night, we happened upon a pair of blue tartan chairs in an alcove just outside our room. One chair was missing a cushion.

image found on pintrest

It doesn’t require the skills of Miss Marple to deduce that our nemesis was probably staying in a room nearby. Maybe even next door.

For the first two nights of our stay, we’d not even locked our door, but that night we did in fear of being suffocated by a tartan pillow in the early hours.

As you can see, I’m here tonight to tell the tale so we survived the night, resolving to keep out of her way and the rest of the trip went by without a hitch, with no stolen seats or pillow-fighting duels at dawn but we discovered there is a far greater crime to be committed on a coach trip, than pinching someone’s seat.

Never, ever, be late back for a pick-up because a coach load of disgruntled passengers can so easily turn into a vicious pack of baying dogs, not all with the impeccable pedigree of a Lapsong – poo-bum.

A Poem for those who find themselves single and middle aged!

I should be glad to be alive

But I hate being single aged 55!

My friends on Facebook are having fun

But they're all in couples, in twos not just one.

Romantic dinners and hikes in the Dales

Cream teas, spa days and trips to North Wales

The closest I get is a trip to the SPAR

It's just round the corner so not very far

A BIG bar of chocolate, ready meal for my tea

Which I eat while I binge Grey's Anatomy

 

Perhaps I need a new hobby, should I join a gym?

A book club? A dance class? I could fit something in

It just takes too much effort to move off the sofa

Far easier to sit here, a permanent loafer.

 

I could scroll on my phone, do online dating

Read profiles fake yet FASCINATING!

I'll send a wave, a smile, whatever

I like to think I'm being clever

But not a sausage, no reply

I add a new photo - I really do try!

 

Maybe I'm just not the greatest catch

Perhaps I am part of a faulty batch

And sadly I'm now out of guarantee

As I climb the stairs, you can hear my knees.

 

But people find love when it's meant to be

Cupid's arrow may fly but it never hits me

Perhaps I'm looking in all the wrong spots

My What Three Words muddled, words/three/what????

 

So, I wrote these words to commiserate

With all who despair at the lack of dates

Except the ones in the dried fruit aisle

And I do hope my words have at least made you smile :-)

Conversations about Spiders and Stomas

I am a sucker for a bit of charm, people buttering me up and talking me into something I am not really suited to.

Their words of praise and affirmation are a welcoming balm for my soul, especially when I am looking for a new project to take on and bring meaning to my life.

Sometimes the people who ask me to do things really should know better, I thought they at least understood my capabilities and where my real talents lie.

Others just have a sense I am a “good egg”, because I sometimes lead the prayers in church, so obviously I would be perfect for a role they find quite easy, but through age or other commitments need to give up at this time.

Perhaps all of this sounds vague and airy fairy but the general gist is that I took on a role a couple of years ago that I have come to realise doesn’t suit me at all. And sadly, this is not the first time I have been in this position.

Over the years I have got better at saying NO to things, I can make a list on the fingers of one hand the number of the times I have done so and have fingers to spare!

But it seems evenly balanced with the times I’ve said YES and then embarrassingly and with much grovelling, regret and remorse, had to find an exit strategy.

Maybe it’s just that my mental health at this time is delicate, breaking my arm and being told by the doctor it was a “fragility fracture” and “age related” really knocked my confidence.

Then this “THING” that I want out of, presented its own challenges with some very sharp and snarky bank correspondence that wore me down.

I have come to realise, for my own sanity I have to say, or even SHOUT, a BIG LOUD NO!

Enough is enough!

Never ask me to do anything admin related; it is just not my natural forte. A beautifully presented spreadsheet with files aligned and audited to perfection doesn’t bring me real JOY whatsoever, if it did, I would be on top of my own paperwork.

Once again, I need a reboot, or boot up the backside. I need to remind myself what does indeed bring me joy and satisfaction.

Thankfully I’ve had a couple of conversations in the past two weeks that have stirred my brain cells and re-awakened something.

The first conversation was with a small child as I walked into town. He was outside in his front garden and showed me with some glee the spot where his daddy had reversed the van onto the lawn and left a mark. Then, because I had stopped to listen, he told me about a giant spider he had discovered under the shed. Instead of being the adult who smiled and went on her way, I stopped for a chat about it and I admired his Spiderman T shirt, before waving goodbye.

found on Facebook

I know we tell kids not to talk to strangers, but his mum was there the whole time, smiling that I had taken the time to indulge him.

We all need connections in our lives whether we are 3 or 103, we need people willing to take our own interests seriously. Perhaps it says more about my own level of thinking but I love relating to children, their fascination for the small things is infectious. I walked away with a giant grin on my face.

My second conversation happened yesterday when I spoke to a young woman who may need an operation to create a stoma. Suddenly I was waxing lyrical about having this miraculous “thing” on my tummy that saved my life. I told her I was happy to meet her in the future to talk more even show her what it looks like – not for the faint hearted that one, but if it helps her feel reassured it will be worth it.

I was actually bubbling up but in a good way.

I’ve spent a lot of times over the past month being overwhelmed with tears, I have cried on EVERYONE's shoulders from the chiropractor to my Pilates teacher, in the middle of a creative writing workshop and in the lovely local re-fill shop. No holds barred it just spills out of me at the most inopportune moment.

I have been a MESS, in CAPITAL LETTERS.

I have lost my sparkle.

Conversations about spiders and stomas have reminded me where the lost glitter is buried. It is in the places no one else thinks to look.

I know I keep going on about writing my memoir well this week I finished my first FULL DRAFT.

I know it still needs some refining and inevitable editing; I could probably procrastinate forever trying to get it right, things are always evolving and as I delve into old blogs posts I remember other stories I could add.

But my cunning plan is to add extra words to it when I take this show on the road.

Oh, I have such grand plans, bubbling up and bubbling over. I enjoy public speaking, listening to my own voice telling my story. Performing and being the star of my own show.

Strangely that’s not everyone’s cup of tea, some would rather hide behind paperwork in a darkened room.

All I can say is if you are a paperwork person and you live nearby, come and see me, I might just have a task I am trying to off load 😉

What Kanga did next

I used to believe I was an optimist or at the very least a realist, now I find myself sliding into pessimistic territory and I’m wondering what has made me blue recently.

I tap my head like the bear with very little brain, Winnie the Pooh – “think, think, think.”

Eeyore sits beside me as I write this, solemn and quiet but a presence nevertheless. He was a gift I bought for Andrew once – he was always acknowledged as the Eeyore of our family.

I long to have the energy and exuberance of a Tigger but fear I am the timid, overly apologetic Piglet. Or probably the even more overshadowed Kanga who mothers everyone from wrapping a scarf round Poo’s neck to keep him warm to showing kindness to Tigger when he first bounced into the Hundred Acre Wood.

From Winniepedia 

Yes, I think I am most probably Kanga, at least she has some of Owl’s wisdom without the scowl I suppose, but these days I am Kanga with an empty nest. Or spare bedroom or two in my case.

What did Kanga do once Roo grew up and hopped away? Or what would Kanga have done because I suspect Hundred Acre Wood is stuck in its own time warp where Heffalumps, Woozzles and burst balloons are the scariest things to befall the inhabitants.

Or at least it was until A. A. Milne’s stories slipped out of copyright and fell into the public domain.

Unbelievably there is now a nightmarish version where these beloved characters go on a murderous rampage when Christopher Robin grows up – Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey. I think it’s best avoided and certainly not for the faint hearted.

My own scary tale is one of loneliness and redundancy. Being a mother has been the pinnacle of my existence for so long I’m not sure what happens next. The boys have kept me going, giving me a reason to get up each morning, which was crucial after their dad died. Now they are in their mid-twenties carving their own paths without me, at least for the most part.

I have just visited them in the flat they share together and I easily fell back into the routine of cooking, ironing, and cleaning for them. Perhaps I am just a soft touch.

The trouble is I don’t have a career to fall back on, although I now call myself a writer it still feel it’s something just out of reach and I haven’t quite achieved it. Maybe publishing a book will fill the aching void.  That does mean I need to finish writing it and stop writing blog posts for my 27 readers – that’s an average number, but writing has always been a process to untangle my thoughts as well as record them.

Empty nesting is also much harder when you go through it alone without a partner, at least that is my perception as I see all my friends on Facebook going off in couples now their children have flown, enjoying their own space and company. I will admit I am more than a bit jealous that I don’t have that luxury. In reality if Andrew were still around I would probably still be jealous of my friends and I’d be the nagging wife throwing it in his face all the time rather than whinging here!

Yes, I could go on solo adventures but I long to share experiences, to come home and be able to reminisce, “remember when we did this, went there, saw that…”

Most looking back I do is re-reading old blog posts, sometimes I am amazed at my clarity of thought, who is this woman who went through all this trauma and still came out smiling? She so often seems a distant memory.

I need to find her again, take stock and have another re-invention. I’ve been stuck many times before. The record spins and the needle jumps. But five years ago I was still in my big house that I never thought I would sell. Who knows where I will be in five years time? Things do change over time sometimes incrementally, sometimes in the blink of an eye.

Life is made up of different stages. I’ve been a wife and will always be a mother, a widow, a single parent and a cancer survivor but I’m struggling to come up with a new label that is positive and doesn’t include the words menopausal or middle aged. Maybe all I need is a decent title.

When I started this blog I called it In Search of Lost Glitter after a dream I had. Sadly, any glitter I have collected has tarnished in my hands over time.

It’s time to go searching for the sparkle again and sometimes searching can be as simple as letting your  fingers tap away on the keyboard.

Let your fingers do the walking

Just writing this has helped me and I hope reading it helps you a little bit too. xx

 

A message to the two men at the bar…

Just how do people meet these days? Don’t give me that cliched answer of online, it’s a horrible way to connect, in my opinion.

I want to meet the old-fashioned way; a man picks up my accidently dropped glove in the street, our eyes meet and BOOM – love at first sight.

Or in a bookshop – why is that NOT a THING? Perusing the aisles, steer clear of freaky horror and bloody crime sections, head straight for Romance? Fantasy? Probably contemporary fiction is the best and safest place 😉

meeting in a bookshop from the film Dan in Real Life 

I can only dream of meetings in these locations. I file that thought away in the “future novels I may never write” folder.

Hilarity aside I was delighted to discover that a bar, near enough to me, but just far enough away to not be totally on my doorstep, regularly holds a singles night. Cherry* (not her real name) who runs the establishment is a bit of a matchmaker. You can tell she is itching to buy a hat for her first successful wedding.

Fifth Sunday hats by Ben Marc - discontinued

I’ve been to two such evenings now but there is something distinctly lacking. Although the men have been making enquiries about the event few have the oomph required to actually show up.

Considering it is a “Singles Night” most people turn up with friends for moral support but only a handful of us there last night had ventured out completely solo.

Last night I got talking to Jayne* (not her real name) who I had met last month and we soon caught up with what we’d been up to since we last met. Last month there had been a table of us, yesterday  just us two.

We both agreed Matt Hancock is creepy, but otherwise our political views meandered in opposite directions. We talked about books, there is some common ground there but Jayne is a really foodie with an appetite for travel. I’ve not visited half the places she has and gourmet food doesn’t excite me in quite the same way.

I don’t want to diss the sisterhood but I really don’t want to be stuck talking to her next month, just because we are the only two solo singles! To be honest I’m sure she feels the same way.

If it were a date I would have moved on sooner, but you can’t really leave a lone woman hanging, it would be rude.

Cherry came over and told us the two men at the bar were single.

“We have two empty seats at our table.” How bold was I? We desperately needed a spark to keep the flagging conversation going.

“Shall I send them over?” I nodded, feeling giddy and I swear I was only drinking lemonade.

But the men dithered and took too long to make a move, ordering more drinks for Dutch courage, one disappearing outside for a vape.

Meanwhile Jayne and I had grown bored of each other’s company we finished our drinks, decided to cut out losses and left in opposite directions.

Should we have waited longer and given them more of a chance? They looked nothing like Matt Hancock which is a promising start. There’s always next month I suppose, If I can pluck up the courage to venture out once more, it really isn’t easy for any of us.

So, my message to the two men at the bar is if you come again and see a cardigan wearing, bespectacled middle-aged woman with pink hair sat in the corner, that will be me – please come and say hello!

The start of Lent

 

This is one of my favourite cartoon about lent - those forty days between Shrove Tuesday and Easter when you are "supposed" to give up something to mirror the forty days Jesus spent in the wilderness.

But there is another idea that you take up something productive instead and my plan this year is to write something everyday.

Ha - that should be easy as I proclaim "I am a WRITER" but you would be surprised at just how many days pass when I don't write a single thing, not even a to do list.

Last week when planning for Frogs (Friends of God - our kids club after school on Friday's for primary aged children) we decided to tell them the story of Jesus in the desert and explain Lent in a child friendly way.

Great idea but it is one of those stories that rarely appears in a child friendly Bible. So I've written my own version...

It includes many things that weren't actually around in Jesus' time, which deliberately led to some discussion, especially as some of the things I've added could be ideas of things to be given up - sweets, chocolate, screen time. They also caused much hilarity, and it's always important to have some fun.

The Temptation of Jesus

After Jesus was baptised by John he went into the desert. To a place far away from anyone, there were no people to talk to, no friends to laugh with, no shops to buy food, no phone signal or Wi-Fi.

He did miss his food – he fasted for forty days and nights – that means he didn’t eat ANYTHING. There wasn’t even a forgotten bar of chocolate of lonely jelly bean in the bottom of his rucksack to munch on. He got very hungry.

So what did he do all day? Maybe he drew pictures in the sand, build sandcastles, invented the sandwich!

He probably spent much of his time talking to his dad, God. Maybe he asked him why he’s been grounded and had all his privileges taken away.

But whatever he did or thought about he must have been VERY HUNGRY – forty days and nights is a long time.

One day the devil turned up in the desert looking for Jesus, maybe he looked like the serpent in the story about Adam and Eve. Perhaps he arrived in an ice cream van – an ice cream would be so delicious on yet another hot and sunny day.

Or he could have just been a nagging voice in Jesus’ head tempting him.

“If you really are God’s son you can turn these dry rocks into bread, add a topping and make a pizza!”

Perhaps for just a second Jesus considered it, a slice of pepperoni pizza covered in lovely melted cheese – yummy!

But he said out loud, nice and clearly “NO!”

“People cannot live by bread alone – it is more important to live by God’s words and do the things he says.”

The devil didn’t like this answer, and found a way to use God’s words to his own advantage.

He whisked Jesus away to Jerusalem, and they balanced on the highest tower of the temple.

“Throw yourself down from here, God says in his word that he will send his angels to protect you. Maybe they will conjure up an enormous marshmallow for you to land on or whizz by in a spaceship and beam you up on board. You will not even scrape your big toe on a rock.”

Once again Jesus said “NO!” to this tempting offer, although the spaceship sounded fun.

“God says we are not to put him to the test.”

By now the devil was getting desperate for Jesus to give up this holy desert life so he brought him to a mountain top where he could see all the kingdoms of the world laid out like a giant computer screen, shiny and glittering.

“Imagine the power of ruling all of this empire, I can give it to you with a click of my fingers, IF, you only bow down and worship me!”

“NO, NO, NO NO!” Jesus was getting fed up of the devil’s games. “Don’t you know the word of God says you must only worship him, not power and glory for yourself. Not chocolate or pizzas or spaceships or computer games. And certainly NOT worship you. Get out of here, stop tempting me to do what’s wrong.”

And so the devil slunk away on his belly in the dust, or maybe popped like a speech bubble into nothingness.

Jesus was still hungry and tired but he had won.

At the end of the story I told the kids I was planning to write something every day and said they could challenge me to include some strange things in next week's story. If you thought the devil driving into the desert in an ice cream van was weird, things might get even stranger in the next few weeks!