Shh.... your flowers are sleeping

I’ve received some beautiful flowers over the last few months since my operation and through my recovery. They always make a wonderful gift.

But never has a box been delivered that slides through the letterbox.

And never haver they come with a note like this attached…

They are a gift from the writing group I used to belong to.

So I thought it fitting to write a poem as a thank you to these wonderful wordsmiths….

Shh…

your flowers are sleeping,

tightly curled up in their buds,

enfolded by their silky sheets 

         and fragrant dreams

Breathing in the air around

soaking up the sun

drinking dew drops on their face

          A new life begun!

Potential starts in tiny spaces

a word, or turn of phrase

leads you on a pathway

                             of imagination

to while away the days…

My flowers look beautiful now but they are still sleepy and once they wake up the blooms will be even more stunning – it said so on the box!

Throwing Glitter

I’m often asked how I keep so positive! Well at least I was asked the other day and I know some people wonder.

After all I have a sob story worthy of a winning contestant on the X Factor, if only I could sing!!!

(Well I think I can sing but I’m not entirely sure Simon Cowell would agree!)

Widowed at 42, I’ve subsequently single handedly raised two sons, now I’m coping with the aftermath of having major surgery for bowel cancer and a complete re-plumbing of my internal digestive system, resulting in me needing an ileostomy bag and the cherry on the icing of the cake I’ve got 6 months worth of chemo to get through!

(A quarter of the way through as I type.)

Good Grief! As Snoopy might have said.

Yes it’s quite a lot to contend with but as I look around other people have different burdens to bear, few people get away with no hardships in their life.

Yesterday I had another appointment with my oncologist. He is happy with the way I am tolerating chemo so far. Side effects are there, particularly with my type of chemo I get tingly fingers when I touch anything too cold. It can be a tricky business just getting the milk out of the fridge for a cuppa! And I get sleepy, but things are bearable, you have to carry on.

Tolerating is an interesting word. And here are the alternatives …

Putting up with an auntie who gives a child a sloppy kiss at Christmas because it is accompanied by a shiny gift under the tree.

Conceding someone with dementia might be right because it keeps the peace.

Stomaching eating a quiche when you don’t like eggs because the person who prepared it prayed for the starving when they said Grace and it would be so rude to leave it. (True story!)

Enduring a cold wet winter’s day to watch a child play football and celebrating the joy of a goal well scored.

We learn to accept things because the alternative is being grumpy!

Now Andrew was a grumpy soul – he even had a Mr Grumpy mug to drink his tea from.

But I don't want to be grumpy (at least I don't today, although I confess I do have grumpy moments, they don't linger when I'm writing!)

One of my leaving gifts when I moved was a mug with Little Miss Fabulous on it. It has the words “Throw glitter in today’s face” on it too.

It has been the mug I’ve used every day since moving in with mum and dad while I wait for my house purchase to be finalised.

It is a mug that reminds me to sparkle, not just tolerate and put up with.

There is much to be thankful for.

Ok if you throw too much glitter around it could blow in your face and grit in your eye doesn’t help you see clearly, so for health and safety be a tiny bit careful but otherwise liberally sprinkle the sparkly stuff far and near.

Do good deeds for one another and shine in the darkest places, this world is so broken, but look out for the goodness, and if you fail to see it then be the goodness in your community.

Go beyond just tolerating if you dare to sparkle!

How do I stay positive? I try to see the glittery bits that twinkle and catch my eye, I smile and always try to make people laugh.

And my mug reminds me everyday!

Relationships

I had some lovely comments about my new blog post yesterday including one which said

            “not everyone has the relationship with words you do.”

It was an interesting phrase that got me thinking, can you have a relationship with something as abstract as words and language?

We tend to think of relationships being with other people, husband and wife, parent and child, friends and family. That very important interaction between people.

If we are fortunate our relationships grow and flourish as we get to know people on a deeper level and it truly enriches our lives.

So how about a relationship with a pet? I’m not a great animal person to be honest but I have many friends who love their animals dearly and they can become a huge part of a person’s family.

A relationship with a plant? Well it is living and breathing, my dad is outside now in the garden, tidying up the greenhouse and planting new seeds. Taking time and care to cultivate something new.

Youngest son was given a cacti type plant as a gift before going to university and looking after it has given him pleasure and a sense of fear when a leaf dropped off and he wondered what he should do. Would it die?

The loss of a relationship can be unbearable, the death of a person, pet or maybe even a plant.

So back to the abstract, my relationship with words. The way I like to play with them, tease them into pleasing sentences, getting the meter right in a poem so it flows.

And when I don’t sit and play with new ideas? I guess a little bit of me does die inside, an inner light dims and my eyes don’t give off as much sparkle.

Oh the fanciful ideas of a would be writer!!!! Hehehe

And what of the most important relationship of all? Our relationship with the creator of the universe – God, the Almighty.

Ah - now some might say that’s an abstract construct too!

But for me my relationship with God is real and growing, changing over the years, as all relationships do, developing to a deeper level and understanding as time and circumstances shape my experiences.

I’ve been through a lot of challenges recently but it’s in those tough times that all relationships really grow and God has once again become more real and tangible to me.

Maybe the comment I started with could have read

            “not everyone has the GIFT with words you do.”

Perhaps that would have made more sense, but then I wouldn’t have pondered and written so much today.

Ultimately I think all relationships are a gift and that includes all the types I’ve written about today.

That God wants to know us and be involved in our lives is a tremendous gift.

That another human being opens up and shares their lives with us is a humbling gift.

That an animal brings out the compassionate side of us is an amazing gift.

That we care enough for the world that we want to take time to make plants grown and thrive is a green-fingered gift to the planet!

And my relationship with words? I hope it is a gift to you and I know it’s a gift from God that fills me with much joy.

So what gifts and relationships do you have that bring you joy? 

Perhaps ponder how you can grow and develop them today!

Lent Challenge 2019

Once more I’ve set myself a challenge and once again, I’m not sure I can keep it up! Always a dreamer, a starter of something new but rarely a finisher, I’m too distracted by something new and shiny!

Anyway, my challenge to myself was to share old blog posts on Facebook throughout Lent, it seemed at the time a bit easier than the idea of giving up chocolate for 40 days.

I’ve written lots in the past and much of it about my faith and those are the things I feel I should share. I’ve learnt much over the years and it’s good to remind ourselves of previous lessons. Life is so often cyclical and we do have a tendency to make the same mistakes – it’s not just me, is it?

Old habits die hard and I guess that’s what Lent is about – examining ourselves and creating new routines that are hopefully more honouring to God and the ways he calls us to walk in.

As I said I’ve written much in the past but I am aware of many words roaring around my head that I need to get down.

A lot has happened in the past few months and tor those who don’t know, I will get to that another day as I unpick my deep thoughts.

I suppose ultimately my goal is to write more and get back into the writing habit, it is what I feel “called” to do.

Sounds a bit pompous, foolish even – why should my words matter?

In a lot of ways my writing is personal but I know in the past it has helped others and I do have a desire to see my words reach more people.

As part of my own personal lent devotions this year I sent for the Tearfund booklet Enough. Actually I thought it was a daily email drop but this is somehow better, having something tangible in my hand to flick through.

Today’s reflection is entitled – Foolishness.

Foolishness – well I know all about that. I am the girl who does daft things, who slips over gracefully giggling in the mud while out walking with friends, who loves dressing up and acting out Bible stories in school assemblies. I’m typically self-deprecating, I dye my hair bright pink, I love Jesus, I write silly stories and poems to make my friends laugh.

I’m “mad as a box of frogs” as one of my friends would say!

I guess my moto is life is too short to NOT be foolish.

So today’s Tearfund devotion starts with Isaiah 1:17

            “Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed.

            Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow.”

Obviously the second sentence is something very close to my heart, those words are a reminder of how God wraps me and my boys up in his loving arms. We have been blessed by many prayers and gifts since Andrew died that have upheld us and made us strong.

My boys amaze me every day by how they have grown into wonderfully caring and considerate young men. I am so blessed.

And the best thing to do with the blessings we are given is to in turn bless others.

The Tearfund devotion ends today with a Franciscan benediction, which finishes with these words…

“may God bless us with enough foolishness to believe that we can make a difference in this world, so that we can do what other’s claim cannot be done.”

In writing these words to share, is it foolishness, is it a blessing to others? Sometimes you just have to put thing out there, sow some seeds and see where they fall and how they grow.

If we don’t try to make a difference then we never will.

So I shall endeavour to keep up my writing and reposting challenge as we go through lent and see where it leads.

It really is a better plan than giving up chocolate – now where did I put the chocolate biscuits?

The story behind the advert

One of our writing prompts last week at writing group was to write the fictional story behind a real life advert spotted in the local supermarket. My story made everyone giggle and I hope it makes you smile too…

Nearly new car tyre - £35

The car was a write off, all that was left intact was the pink furry dice and one nearly new front tyre.

Well I’m keeping the dice – obviously – they were a gift from my Nan when I passed my test. She was so proud of me for passing on the fourteenth attempt, said it showed really determination.

She’s finally given up her own dreams of driving after failing at the unlucky thirteenth time. If God had wanted me to go faster he’s have given me wheels instead of legs she always said. She was seventy-two at the time and with her failing eyesight and dodgy hip it was probably for the best Dad said, although he said it a bit sharper than that!

My car itself was never exactly what you would call a luxury model but it was mine. A black Corsa with a distinctive green drivers’ door. I suppose you could say that I am a little accident prone really as the original matching door was knocked off in a car park.

I had to open the door to see out of my blind spot so it’s not that I’m a careless driver who doesn’t look or anything stupid like that.

The car was full of balloons for my Nan’s surprise seventy-fifth birthday and I’d lost my wing mirror the week before so I had to reverse with my head hanging out of the door to see where I was going. I quickly moved my head back in when I saw the pillar but forgot to close the door and it was sort of ripped off.

Attack of the multi storey car park pillar, they should make a film says my friend Shazz, who was with me at the time laughing her head off and recording my reactions for Facebook.

They are lethal those things, I reply and all over the place!

They are kinda necessary to hold the roof up or it wouldn’t be a multi storey – duh!

Oh she’s a bright one, I’d really never thought of that before.

Shazz also has a brother who works at a scrap yard so it was him that fixed up my green door. He found it dead funny and went around singing this old rock and roll song every time he saw me.

Even more annoyingly he kept asking me out, but I have my standards and he has dirty finger nails. Must be from his job I suppose so I might forgive him that but he also has a missing front tooth from a fight.

Otherwise he has a heart of gold and it was him that suggested I sell the tyre to make a bit of money and I need it because who knew you have to pay to have a car scrapped?

Ridiculous state of affairs if you ask me.

But I thank my lucky dice that I escaped from the accident relatively unscathed, just a chipped nail. Mandy at the nail bar fixed it for me good as new for free, she could see I was distraught and in shock so she added three spoons of sugar to my tea for good measure.

The Shadow Child

How many stories begin with the words, last night I had a dream?

Recently I’ve been having dreams that are so real I wake already tired as I start the day.  But most fade into a distant haze as I get up. A vague memory you can’t quite grasp.

Last night I had a dream that has made me want to write it down, an all too rare occurrence these days, a desire to write strong enough to get me out of bed at 5 a.m. to find my laptop.

I was driving, along a road I know reasonably well and it was getting dark.

Suddenly I was aware of shadows in front of me, flitting silently in the dusk.

Kids on bikes, out too late with no lights on, I slowed down as they wove a dangerous path. I stopped as I reached a junction, a bus swung round the corner. Most bikes sped on their way but the driver of the bus hadn’t seen them all in the dark, he clipped the final one, the bike ended on its side, a child tumbled to the ground in front of me.

Our eyes met, although he was a shadow child with no whites to his eyes. He picked up a helmet that I have no memory of him wearing before, he placed it on his head and there were no straps to secure it. He was aware he needed it, remembered some warning he was told long ago but he arose unscathed and rode off to join his friends as if nothing had happened.

There are lights at that junction and they must have turned green because it was my turn to go. The bus had disappeared ahead of me but I soon caught up to the bikes again, weaving as carelessly as before, accident forgotten.

I slowed but the car behind me wasn’t so patient, he never caused an accident but I was aware how dangerously close he followed. I was almost as if he’d not seen me.

Did the shadow child turn round and glare?

The dream shifted gear, I woke up and maybe I would have turned over and gone back to sleep, 4:44 is far too early! But inevitably I needed a wee.

As I climbed back into bed and pulled the covers around me it struck me what was really bothering me about the dream.

There were no lights, I’m guessing there was moonlight or something to create the shadows, but there was no red or green glow from the traffic lights, no glare of headlights from the other vehicles on the road.

The car behind me failed to see me in the dark, in the same way I struggled to see the shadows in front of me.

I was driving a dangerous path with no lights on. And I was not the only one.

Was this really just a dream?

Or a warning from the shadow child?

Table Manners

It was the word “madam” that particularly irked her.

“It is with regret, madam, that we are unable to allow you and your companion into our restaurant for lunch today.”

“But we’ve booked and you hardly seem busy.”

She stretched up tall to see over the man’s crisp shoulder and could see plenty of empty tables. The maitre’d looked back at her sternly. Unquestioning, unmoveable.

Actually it he didn’t look at her - madam - his eyes shifted sideways to glance at her companion from the ruffled hair with its kitchen scissors cut to the down at heel scuffed lace up boots poking out from the unruly hem of the long velvet gown.

Otis had a style all of her own, out of time and out of place.

The maitre’d implied it wasn’t a style appreciated in such an establishment as this.

Melanie’s own style was of course impeccable, coiffured hair, cashmere pashmina, skirt fashionably just above the knee and freshly polished court shoes.

Otis nibbled the side of her thumb nail, a nervous habit. She pulled a bit of skin off between her teeth and spat it with precision at the maitre’d.

It landed on the lapel of his jacket. A slice of moonlight on the darkest night.

He flicked it off with a manicured fingernail.

“Please, madam, it would be advisable for you and your companion to leave, without fuss.”  He added.

Melanie wanted to stand her ground in her sturdy, sensible shoes, speak up for the little people, the persecuted, the unloved and unlovable.

The pashmina of convention was beginning to strangle her and she felt the heat rise up from her chest and cause her face to flush.

They had a reservation!

Melanie became more indignant and flustered almost missing the swift movement beside her as Otis reached under her skirts to pull out a sharp dagger from her boot.

It was like no dagger ever seen on earth before; it was translucent and shone brightly like the moon.

Otis plunged it into the man’s heart, removed it with the same dispassionate ease, wiped the blade on her skirt and replaced it safe in its hiding place.

The maitre’d stood for a second, and then tilted his head to one side, quizzically.

After what seemed like an age he slumped to the ground, eyes staring up at them. Melanie couldn’t bear to look and so unwound her restrictive scarf and threw it over his prone body.

“We’d better get out of here,” she said looking around furtively. “We can’t go in now.”

It was Otis’s turn to look puzzled, “but there are tables free and we have a reservation.”

There was logic to her statement and she defiantly stepped over the hurdle she had just obliterated.

Melanie took a last look down, it seemed as though a scarlet rose was blooming on the discarded pashmina. Something new had been born.

Lifting her head, all fears and propriety swept aside, she entered the restaurant to eat.

A story inspired by this song