tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1096371626113075842024-03-13T08:24:06.778+00:001_LovelifeI love life. And I love my life. It’s a modern fairytale. Occasionally it’s scary as hell: a white knuckle roller-coaster ride and then it can be fabulous fun. In-between these extremes it can be mundane and ordinary sometimes. I love writing because this allows me to develop flights of fancy or record important events that affect my life.Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.comBlogger328125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-47558408293881956502020-04-21T11:00:00.001+01:002020-04-21T11:04:29.437+01:0040 Days & 40 Nights in #LockdownI'm starting to feel as if I’ve been cut adrift. There is no definition to a month, no weekends or weeks as each day blurs one into the other, and I'm going to bed later and later as I stay up to watch late night films, not something I usually do.<br />
<br />
While the weather is good I spend hours pottering in the garden and sitting in the sun but then the rain closed in around me I became more achy and less optimistic but this was a brief change, the weather's improving this week.<br />
<br />
I need to find a different way to schedule my day so I'm going to make ideas cards with options to choose a more flexible timeline or timetable to suit my mood versus the weather.<br />
<br />
Boring jobs and interesting activities with occasional treats for good measure and each card will have a time frame so that I can switch in / out my choices to find away to make each day a little different from the previous.<br />
<br />
I haven’t left the house for 40 days and eventually I'll get braver and go out for a walk perhaps just to the post box and back because it’s strange that the highlight of my week is putting out the bin and joining in the clapping for the HNS.<br />
<br />
The only visitors to my front door are delivery people, postman and food supplies for which I'm grateful.<br />
<br />
I'm struggling to settle to read so for now I'll focus on listening to stories online until my focus returns. <br />
<br />
Each day my aim is to be kinder to myself as I don’t have to be anywhere except in the moment.<br />
<br />
If you had told me a year ago that I'd spend time alone at home without leaving the house for more than a month I'd have looked at you askance and said: 'don't be daft.' But here we are. <br />
<br />
I'm not the most sociable creature under normal circumstances but I do miss visiting my grandchildren, my family and friends now. So staying in touch is vital for me, FaceTime is the new normal for my grandchildren and I've resorted to snail mail for all family birthdays. <br />
<br />
#Coronavirus<br />
#Lockdown<br />
#Self-isolation<br />
#Happiness<br />
#FunKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-10465127327634214292020-04-11T17:09:00.004+01:002020-04-11T17:16:37.318+01:00One month of #LockdownThe last time I ventured out was 11th March. I saw my grandchildren. <br />
<br />
I've been indoors on #lockdown for one month now. <br />
<br />
I'm coping okay and quite surprised that I'm not going stir-crazy yet, probably because I've accepted that I don't have any real choice in this matter other than to hunker down because I don't want to get Covid-19. There's no one to look after me if I get ill and that prospect is a tad scary. <br />
<br />
I'm lucky that I have a garden and the weather has been good these past weeks so I'm keeping myself occupied by pottering in the garden. I'm no gardener but now I have planted seeds and the coming weeks are going be interesting. Watering these pots and fighting an imminent slug war might be my new hobby. I'm no gardener, I buy plants from the garden centre usually and plant them. If they survive all good and well. If they don't make it, hey ho, I put it down to experience. So growing from seed is going to be a new experience. <br />
<br />
However, I'm going to miss seeing my grandchildren the most. Maya crawled for the first time this past week and I'm sure that by the time I get to see her in person, she will be walking and talking! Charlie and I are close and for now he understands that I can't visit him because of the Virus. My fear is that I may not be able to see either of them for possibly six months. <br />
<br />
The way this epidemic is being handled here in the U.K. worries me that I'm going to have to remain in #lockdown for entire six months, and that means I will miss Maya's birthday and may not even make it to Charlie's! <br />
<br />
As I post this note I can hear a Woodpecker drumming, it's still outside and calm. <br />
<br />
#Coronavirus<br />
#Lockdown<br />
#Self-isolation<br />
#Happiness<br />
#FunKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-69082038973361299492020-04-03T21:01:00.002+01:002020-04-03T21:01:32.598+01:00Finding happiness in these troubling times I've decided to start writing again to try to make sense of how I feel during these worrying times. The Coronavirus has changed all of our lives in a heartbeat and few of us knew it was coming. My lockdown and self-isolation started a little over 20 days ago because I'm a Carer. I can't afford to become ill as there's no one to look after me if I catch this virus.<br />
<br />
There are people I am going to miss during this period of isolation, namely my grandchildren. Usually we are close and I am lucky to see them frequently but that stopped abruptly on the 11th after making my decision to self-isolate. <br />
<br />
The other night I read my grandson a bedtime story over the phone. It was a first for us and a lovely, fun experience. I read Bringing Down the Moon By Emmett and he had a copy in his room so that he could follow me reading the story, I told to him when to turn each page and then something unusual happened. I ended up helpless, and in fits of laughter. I announced 'the end,' and he hung up the phone! Just like that, no goodnight, no questions, nothing. He's only three but tech savvy which is a worry, they learn so fast and copy their parents. <br />
<br />
This bedtime reading session is going to be a necessary connection for me over the coming weeks as the news grows ever more dark and frightening. An escape from reality just for a short period of time. <br />
<br />
My granddaughter will be one this Spring and I doubt I will be allowed to meet her to to celebrate her first birthday. Thankfully she won't remember this non-event later in her life but maybe I can adopt the Queen's routine and elect to have an official and an unofficial / public birthday date when this pandemic is deemed to be in remission or finished. <br />
<br />
During our last FaceTime call she was trying to climb into the screen, she could see me and wanted to reach out to touch. I wonder if she understands that I am not in the room with her despite her being able to see me and hear me. I will never know. But it struck me that her generation are going to be so tech able because of this need for physical connections via technologic devices during these unprecedented times.<br />
<br />
And now while I've been writing this blog post this evening, a text message with an attached video popped onto my screen. My grandson has asked me to read him another bed time story, tonight, I am made up and I know I am very lucky. <br />
<br />
My heart goes out to all those grandparents who can't see or contact their grandchildren now for whatever reason during this pandemic. <br />
<br />
It's going to be tough to find fun activities away from my grandchildren unless I make a concerted effort to do this by doing something that gives me and them pleasure. And I am going to have to make an accommodation to find time for this new fun activity. <br />
<br />
After reading this do one thing. Smile x <br />
<br />
<br />
#Coronavirus<br />
#Lockdown<br />
#Self-isolation<br />
#Happiness<br />
#Fun<br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-51442079684625508942017-04-22T16:10:00.005+01:002017-04-22T16:14:14.152+01:00My personal ‘Gut Regime’It’s three weeks since I took myself in hand and went to Grayshott Manor Spa in Hindhead Surrey. During my 40’s my health wasn’t great (but I managed) and by my early to mid-fifties I felt my body was falling apart, and there still wasn’t time to stop and draw breath and take stock, until now. As I’m rapidly approaching my sixties it frustrates me that my eighty plus year old Mum is far faster, fitter and slimmer than me. <br />
<br />
For the life of me I couldn’t work why my weight kept creeping ever up and up as I didn’t over eat and when out in company often people commented that I ate less than them, however the weight continued to load up until I reached my heaviest weight ever and being as short as I am, this wasn’t good news. <br />
<br />
I found Grayshott Manor last year (April 2016) and as a newbie to a Spa resort I wasn’t brave enough to sign up to the Gut regime, until now; however last year’s visit did encourage me to do so, in fact almost a year on from my original visit. <br />
<br />
I can only praise the 7 day Gut Regime course. A lot of what is discussed in lectures I knew but had let slip whilst being too busy at work etc, some evidence and specific scientific points were new to me and I did agree with the suggested eating plan. <br />
<br />
The food is superb, I mean completely off the scale good, being waited on at table also helps hugely, not having to think, shop, prepare food, cook: a hidden blessing! All I had to do choose from the menu offered. <br />
<br />
The spa treatments and therapists made me feel pampered and special and during any free time I turned back into my 6 year old self becoming a mermaid in the pool. And my fellow Regimer’s were awesome; all there for a variety of reasons, mostly personal health issues. Our group of 14 gelled well. Even on days when we fasted, we sat after the Bone Broth supper talking, mostly about food and what we were learning. <br />
<br />
On our final day, the final weigh in bought amazing results. The men lost more weight in 7 days than the women, however some of these women’s losses were equally amazing. I lost a lot of weight in 7 days; it’s staggering and likely all fluid; however the significant impact I saw was that the inflammation and swelling in my arthritic left knee significantly and noticeably abated.<br />
<br />
Just this single result alone is sufficient reason for doing the Regime and my original driving force to sign up. I’ve a two pronged attack this summer, either get match fit and slimmer ready for the big knee operation later this year or if I lose sufficient weight just maybe I can postpone and hold off this huge operation as my lovely Surgeon has requested me to do. <br />
<br />
This is the start of my journey. My new clean eating regime at home. A bit like learning to ride your bicycle for the first time without stabilizers…<br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-57013505195574888302017-03-14T12:30:00.002+00:002017-03-14T12:30:31.005+00:00Garden observations...I grow Hostas. Well let me clarify that statement, each year I attempt to grow Hostas. Usually these are poor attempts, smallish plants ravaged by slugs eating the tender green leaves as one of their five a day! Turning my dreams in to a mottled frilly fretwork of uneven holes. <br />
<br />
A few of my friends, who are more gifted than me, grow magnificent plants far larger than mine and I often wonder how they succeed when I view my efforts. <br />
<br />
After some recent heavy rain I noted that one of the pots was water logged and turned it on its side to let the excess drain. Then I did nothing as it didn't cross my mind to right the pot in case it got water logged for a second time. <br />
<br />
In yesterday's glorious sunshine I inspected my garden for the first time this year, as I'm a fair weather gardening, allowing my garden to rest over autumn and winter months. That is the best excuse I can find for not gardening in the cold and inclement weather. <br />
<br />
I righted the pot; to my surprise this pot had a healthy head of live Hosta shoots, far in advance in growth than any of the other five remaining pots! It appears that by turning the pot on its side and placing the crown of the plant in an enforced darkness has encouraged a forced growth!<br />
<br />
I'm off to rescue these tender shots now from a slug invasion as I imagine that within a five mile radius these tender shots will attract many more slugs than I already house in my clay logged soil. And perhaps it might be wise to turn the remaining five pots on their side too, and place them in an enforced darkness now. <br />
<br />
Let’s see how these fare in a week or two…<br />
<br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-89097159127438669892017-03-13T15:18:00.001+00:002017-03-13T15:19:24.802+00:00The great slug escapeThis afternoon was the first time in ages, in months even, that I’ve sat in the garden and done nothing. Well not quite nothing. The sunshine was glorious and its the first proper chance I’ve found to top up the Vitamin D naturally. <br />
<br />
It was a mellow moment. <br />
<br />
Wonderful bird song filled the air. A lot of noisy wing flapping and posturing by two doves as they made ‘whoopee’ in a large bushy conifer close by drew my attention. A big ol’ bumble bee busied itself buzzing around my head looking for nectar, and the blue canopy of sky seemed further away than it’s done in a while and I couldn’t help but notice that my patio was strewn with large lumps and clumps of drying moss, presumably removed from the roof tiles by the early morning birds looking for nest building materials as there’s a lot of dried stringy plant fibre too and I’ve no idea where that’s come from…<br />
<br />
A damp cushion retrieved from the ground was laden with slugs, on its underside, all shapes and sizes, simply Yuk. I pegged the cushion on the line out of the way, while I wandered off to find gloves and removing implements to de-slug it. This was when the moment the conniving slugs made their escape. <br />
<br />
I returned to find an unusual sight and as I stood and watched an elongated slug spun itself a fine sliver of a clear trail and suspended from the edge of the cushion it dangled several feet above the ground. The wind buffeted this slipper strand that stretched and stretched until it finally, under the weight of the slug, it snapped and the slug plummeted to the soft new grass below. I’d not seen these slug acrobatics before and discovered there were none left to retrieve! <br />
<br />
Before settling down to bask in the warmth of the suns rays again I sprinkled seeds a few Love-in-the-mist and Californian Poppies. If the birds don’t find them tomorrow theses seeds might thrive. As I wandered back to find my seat I spotted a splendid fungi right next to the path, a home for fairies perhaps. <br />
<br />
But best news of all is the cherry blossom is in full bud! Encouraged by the warmth of this morning's suns rays a few buds have burst open to reveal soft pink petals. These late winter days, before the Spring solstice, that hold the promise of a Spring day yet to come, is undoubtedly my favourite time of year. <br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-50328765218847547212016-10-25T15:43:00.003+01:002016-10-25T15:47:18.849+01:00A farewell kiss.. (unedited)Being brave...just letting my words fall on the page. <br />
<br />
sometimes there are things <br />
that we didn't realize we miss <br />
<br />
until a sudden flash of memory <br />
recalls the reassuring sound of the sea rolling in <br />
<br />
and then there are people we miss<br />
the people we want to hear from again<br />
<br />
a need to see you in person<br />
yet there's nothing I can do to return this loved one to my presence<br />
<br />
perhaps a good memory can flood our body with a satisfactory moment <br />
to fill that longing and desire<br />
<br />
but that's never as rewarding as the close physical embrace <br />
when arms wrap around warm bodies pulling each loved one nearer<br />
as if drawing them within the whole<br />
<br />
missing him<br />
<br />
missing her<br />
<br />
missing them<br />
<br />
missing from my life<br />
<br />
missing from your life<br />
<br />
missing from theirs<br />
<br />
but what is it I am needing you ask? <br />
confirmation? <br />
<br />
affirmation? <br />
or to hear you laugh again... <br />
<br />
a laugh tinged with excitement <br />
to hear my own laughter respond with joy <br />
<br />
that moment of unbridled happiness when two people share ecstasy <br />
when their lives sync <br />
<br />
to know with certainty that the one place I want to be is close to you <br />
to do nothing in particular accept enjoy each others company <br />
<br />
never be sorry for sharing happiness <br />
never be sorry for spreading joy <br />
<br />
knowing that your smile hides secrets <br />
that have hidden depths <br />
<br />
and once revealed <br />
there's pleasure to be experienced <br />
<br />
remembering a farewell kiss <br />
and longing to see you <br />
once more Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-51666230237739654302016-08-01T11:40:00.005+01:002016-08-01T11:41:21.322+01:00Crushed HopeI was sitting in traffic...my mind had emptied and these words fell into my mind: <br />
<br />
crushed hope <br />
<br />
desiccated blooms <br />
cellophane wrapped <br />
unyielding stems held erect<br />
lashed to rusty railings<br />
bleached blond petals and leaves <br />
ravaged by keen sea breezes <br />
a tissue thin everlasting memorial <br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-44212984759177696912015-10-29T17:21:00.002+00:002015-10-29T17:21:46.878+00:00Malware: Analogy explaining M.E. (Myalgic encephalomyelitis)Over the years, more people than I care to count have asked me to explain how my M.E. (Myalgic encephalomyelitis) affects me, what’s it like, what is it, this illness that has a poor press and bad reputation. <br />
<br />
The thing is, they all expect me to have an easily relatable answer, when the medical community can’t even agree on it. <br />
<br />
So here’s my analogy: <br />
<br />
M.E. is like the next generation malware. It sneaks into your operating system through weaknesses in your firewall you don’t even know you have and it infects your hard drive. <br />
<br />
Your firewall launches your anti spyware, your malware detectors, your anti-virus, tasks clogging up the RAM until the whole thing grinds to a halt and stops working like it should. <br />
<br />
You run diagnostics, but this malware is sneaky, and you can’t remove what you can’t find. <br />
<br />
So, you take your computer to be repaired, but this IT person says they can’t find anything wrong with your computer, tells you to run a scan and it’ll work again. <br />
<br />
It doesn’t. <br />
<br />
You go back to the repair shop, but this time the technician says the system is fine, you’re just not looking after your programs properly. <br />
<br />
Eventually, you go to a different repair man, because whether or not it’s a user error and there’s nothing really wrong, you still can’t get your computer to function like everyone else’s computer. <br />
<br />
This new technician might take a look at the computer and refer you to a specialist, because they think that there might be something wrong after all. <br />
<br />
And when you get to this specialist, who might agree that yes, there is something wrong with your computer, and that no, you weren’t imagining it and no, it isn’t your fault. <br />
<br />
But the specialist tells you, they don’t know how to fix it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Written by CM @ChucktheGremlyn <br />
<br />
Published here with her permission <br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-21961549935163132222015-10-17T10:22:00.000+01:002015-10-17T10:22:01.429+01:00What does 'writing' allow you to do? Writing allows me: to explore ideas mine & other peoples <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to explore my emotions <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to explore my reactions <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to revisit old loves <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to reclaim my past life <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to invent impossible new & yet plausible situations<br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to study relationships & record events <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to do things on paper that I wouldn’t do in real life<br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to be someone I am not <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to do something I wouldn’t easily do as me <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to take a different perspective <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to be honest <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to be less than truthful<br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to be down right deceitful<br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to escape <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to let my imagination run wild <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to share my ideas <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to express my thoughts <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to rewrite my past <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to reframe a bad situation <br />
<br />
Writing allows me: to take a leap of faith <br />
<br />
So <br />
<br />
What does writing allow you to do? <br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-25063194953920760282015-10-16T15:54:00.000+01:002015-10-16T15:54:47.844+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.goring-tennis.co.uk/red-kite_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.goring-tennis.co.uk/red-kite_03.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Driving home yesterday along A280, Long Furlong Road, a red kite swooped in low across the path of my car, came to a halt, looped around and hoovered over head, eyeing its prey. Truly a heart stopping moment and looked just like this photo (borrowed) Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-57761048120895350202015-09-09T09:51:00.002+01:002015-09-09T10:04:43.121+01:00Lucky Strike - Writing exercise Writing exercise: pick up an everyday object & develop an idea for a short story in 500 words or less. I chose a scarf. <br />
<br />
<b>Lucky Strike</b><br />
<br />
All her favourite colours; harsh dark hues, muddy greens and murky grey-blues, with a hint of yellow woven through the weft threads of a lightweight fabric. Neatly rolled to prevent any creases, stored in the middle drawer at the back of the hat stand in the vestibule. A feint hint of jasmine lingered, her much-loved perfume but too sweet for my sensitive nostrils. <br />
<br />
I scrunched the fabric tight into a small ball as I tried to make it crumple. As the fabric unwound itself, the colours sprang back flat. I was disappointed, and as unsettled as she was the last time we had met. <br />
<br />
She hadn’t expected my visit, ‘you’re an unwelcome presence.’ <br />
<br />
I hadn’t known how to reply, yet I patted her hand, attempting to mollify her mood and sat down beside her bed. I smiled but didn’t say anything. <br />
<br />
Out of nowhere her instructions came thick and fast. ‘I want you to disinter him.’ <br />
<br />
I blinked. ‘Pardon?’<br />
<br />
‘You know… dig him up.’ <br />
<br />
I pushed my back deeper into the unattractive vinyl armchair, breathed out slow as I folded my hands in my lap. A few age spots visible, I stroked my taut skin over the back of my hand. I looked at her closely, and made positive eye contact, I was unprepared. ‘I’m not sure that’s legal.’<br />
<br />
Her spider like fingers batted away my reservations, ‘Oh I’m not bothered with legalities. I want you to gather our combined ashes and throw them into the sea, off Brighton Pier.’ <br />
<br />
‘Why Brighton Pier?’<br />
<br />
‘It’s where we had our honeymoon. Two days and one glorious night, that was all the time he was allowed to take off from National service to marry. He hated National Service. We didn’t have a choice either, the last Saturday in December. No big bash. No money back then. We were hungry but we were happy. It was so cold. Inside the hotel it wasn't much warmer. We almost froze.’ <br />
<br />
I hadn’t known they were married. I thought John was her partner. She was candid. Lucid. Her blunt matter of fact manner left me perplexed. Her request was unequivocal. I was about to explain my reasoning, ‘I’m not sure that’s quite the right thing to do...’ <br />
<br />
‘Poppycock girl, you haven’t an ounce of romance in your soul.’ <br />
<br />
Her request marred my day, as unwanted as a thin grey scum clouding the surface of the washing up bowl filled with unwashed dirty dishes. <br />
<br />
Strange isn’t it how the death of a loved one, a favourite aunt, is a problem rather than a solution? <br />
<br />
Alongside the scarf I had found a packet of ‘Lucky Strike’ cigarettes. I didn’t know my aunt smoked and neither did her husband John, as far as I knew so why had she placed the packet with this scarf? Who did the cigarette packet belong too? There was one cigarette left and tucked inside a piece of card, in a stylized script a feint grey pencilled note. Unsigned. Forever Yours x. Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-57873018534928698252015-09-04T13:40:00.000+01:002015-09-09T10:01:54.758+01:00Shoebox LettersExercise: Look outside your window, what do you see? In 100 words or less invent a life story. <br />
<br />
<br />
This is what I came up with... "Shoebox Letters"<br />
<br />
<br />
Spirited sisters, Lizzie and Mabel lived long lives at either ends of the globe. Buried in their ninetieth year, now lying side by side they’ll talk to each other for an eternity. <br />
<br />
Mabel sheared sheep. Lillian baked bread. Both bore six sons, tall strapping lads who went to war. None came home. <br />
<br />
Exchanging long-handwritten letters, comforting expressions in place of hugs and kisses, that breathed life and light into their never-ending devotion. <br />
<br />
These treasured possessions. Tokens of love tied with purple ribbon. Badges of honour stored forever in shoeboxs under each metal bed frame, to be found by another. Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-9494221802782476802015-09-04T13:27:00.002+01:002015-09-04T13:28:08.828+01:00September Reboot As kids go back to school and college students move on up to university I’ve decided to declare this month as the start of my new year and I shall attempt to reboot my writing. <br />
<br />
No foolish promises. <br />
<br />
Just a bucket load of optimism that I can do this… now. <br />
<br />
So here goes. <br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-83839428690393778802015-05-12T09:40:00.002+01:002015-05-29T23:10:58.639+01:00A good day in our houseYesterday was a good day in our house. Actually on reflection it was a great day! C made it in to college, hair, make up & no one would suspect anything was wrong with her. <br />
<br />
Not only did C make it in college but she sat one of her exams too, alone in a quiet spot. I can’t fault her college, in fact I shall be forever grateful to them (<i>explain later</i>) last week we submitted a doctors note for a missed exam, and have no idea how that will work out. <br />
<br />
After her exam she caught up with a few friends, this is important because college will break up in a few days and friends she made last year will disappear into the university world. <br />
<br />
C gets left behind as she battles her illness and works so damn hard to secure her A levels. <br />
<br />
When I picked up from college she was happy, animated. We managed to stop at a small store, she got treats and then onwards to a GP appointment. And then she stopped. <br />
<br />
Parked herself on the sofa and stayed. Fed and watered she watched catch up TV with me before retiring to bed. Like I said – yesterday was a good day. <br />
<br />
Today however is a different matter... <br />
<br />
C’s college took a huge gamble in Sept 2013. <br />
<br />
I wrote explaining that she had little formal education due to illness. She had not attended school from 13-19! An interview was arranged, they met her, liked her and they accepted her application. <br />
<br />
She started college in Sept 2013, three science A levels with no foundation in any of these subjects. She’s bright. She struggles. She loves every second. At first we both thought she was on the up, that she’d conquered her #ME but as the terms progressed it became painfully evident that assumption we had both made was wrong. <br />
<br />
Each day is a battle. <br />
<br />
Every day she makes an extreme effort. <br />
<br />
Exams are based on being fit & able, these 'A' level exams are not easy for someone who has an invisible illness, nor a formal education. The exam timetable is as she puts it... 'is at the arse crack of dawn…’<br />
<br />
If all her exams could be afternoon based she stand a better chance of making it into college to sit them. <br />
<br />
#May12BlogBomb<br />
<br />
#meawareness. <br />
<br />
#ME - Myalgic Encephalomyelitis<br />
<br />
#CFS – Chronic fatigue syndrome <br />
<br />
#SEID Systemic Exertion Intolerance Disorder – new diagnostic criteria <br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-3288916925537995382015-05-10T20:29:00.000+01:002015-05-10T22:29:29.301+01:00Watching Carys #ME #CFS #EDSI bring her this gold liquid, steaming hot with two sugars and sit at the edge of her bed. I talk to Carys in a soft, soothing tone. To wake her slumbering being with gentle affection is the best I can do but, however well-intentioned my conversation, there is often little or no response. Nothing visible. She does not speak. She remains inert, a slumbering heap unable to glide into this reality. <br />
<br />
Watching Carys wake is fascinating, because she's sluggish, slow to come round. This is not her fault, sleep resists her body at night and then waking each morning, at the break of a new day, is virtually impossible. Her body fights her needs both ends of the day. She can’t win; her body sets her up to lose this fight. Melatonin aids her sleepfulness every evening but only tea will revive her. <br />
<br />
I attempt to cajole a reaction. ‘Wakey wakey,’ keeping my tone moderate and calm because there’s little point being harsh with her. It wouldn't help. I know that resistance is not her game. Assistance from me is required. Otherwise she will sleep well past mid-day unaware that the morning has slipped through her consciousness. <br />
<br />
Her head rolls into view, eyes closed. Her hair remarkably tidy for one who sleeps so poorly. Long lustrous locks of auburn hair tumble, casually framing her delicate face. Features symmetrical on pale white skin, its translucence gives her a ghostly appearance; she closely resembles a corpse of the living dead. A string of red contusions picked then squeezed, dotted along her cheek bone, spoil her porcelain complexion.<br />
<br />
Unhurried, in a timorous voice, husky with sleep, she says, ‘I’m getting there.’ Her voice is depleted yet I wonder where ‘there’ is, here or somewhere nicer than this grey heavy morning with its low light level and gloomy greeting? <br />
<br />
Mascara clings to her luscious thick lashes, it has not smudged. Fixed yesterday its precision is remarkable, each eyelash separate and defined. At the outer corner of each eye an exquisite flick of eyeliner, her signature kiss, a sweep of perfection. Then her long lashes flutter. She whispers, ‘They’re open.’<br />
<br />
I laugh, ‘I’d love to see how they look closed.’ My fake sarcasm is lost to her, because if she was awake she would bite with a quick retort. If I listen I can hear a familiar nasal sound, a shallow soft whistle, she breathes the same way a slumbering cat does. <br />
<br />
The shutters open, peering into the bright light to reveal dead tired eyes devoid of sentiment as her eyelids flicker with heaviness. Initial acknowledgement over her drawbridge slides shut. Nothing. Not a murmur. <br />
<br />
A kind nudge rocks her body. I wait. Patient. She mumbles a disjointed sentence, almost inaudible. ‘What was that?’ I ask but she does not repeat her comment. We fail to communicate. The moment passes. ‘Tea.’ I offer.<br />
<br />
Her eyeballs roll round in their sockets, drunk or dizzy until she pulls them into focus. She has the look of a lost soul, sad, and bereft of liveliness. It’s disconcerting to observe, but I can see she’s warm, snuggled under her duvet and I know she’s in no hurry to surface. I indulge her whim and give her a few more moments. <br />
‘Hmmm.’ Her hand surfaces from beneath the cover. A long thin arm stretches out unseeing; it doubles back, bends and searches the bedside table until her hand locates the mug. <br />
<br />
I watch, still and attentive. Ready to react if needed. <br />
<br />
Fingers touch the prized object, unfurl and then curl round the overlarge cup. She holds it, lifts it, and brings the mug to rest on her chest. Her eyes are still shut. This practiced action has been repeated over many mornings until she has it down to a fine art as her additional ability of double-jointedness allows a reach of hand span that I could never match. Her lips pucker as her head rises from the pillow. She sips and tastes the first few drops of nectar. Eyes screw up tight and her nose wrinkles in disapproval, her relaxed expression is suddenly replaced, she wears the pain as an old lady might hug a shawl tight. ‘What’s that beeping noise?’ <br />
<br />
‘A lorry reversing.’ <br />
<br />
Her hand pushes loose strands of hair behind her ear; two tiny diamond studs sit close to each other, one pink star and one turquoise triangle. Pretty and sweet. They nestle in her ear lobe, undisturbed by the pale untanned fingers that secure the stray locks. <br />
<br />
The lorry stops. The unpleasant jolt of noise that jarred her senses ceases allowing her facial muscles to relax again. Then she squints. Another reviving sip of tea is gulped. <br />
<br />
Eyes open one at a time. Then one closes as the other opens, as if she’s testing the mechanism, checking it still operates. Black pools, deep and dark stare at me. Lips thin and devoid of colour murmur, ‘Morning.’ She smiles a tight-lipped smile. The dimple in her left cheek is the opposite of mine. But her eyelids fail to stay open. <br />
‘Sleep well?’ <br />
‘Not sure.’ She huffs, ‘My dream was weird. It doesn't make sense. I’m not sure I want to remember it. Was a bit scary, I think.’<br />
<br />
I don’t pry. I don’t encourage her to revisit this hazy memory in case it unsettles her, spoils her cheerful mood. <br />
<br />
Carys cracks her knuckles. I shudder, ‘Please don’t do that… you know I can’t stand hearing you crack your bones.’ I want to retch. ‘That noise sickens me.’<br />
<br />
Her eyelashes flicker in my direction, ‘Soz,’ her playful manner of apologizing pretending to be sheepish amuses me. <br />
<br />
Long slender fingers flex and hyper extend before they walk up her face, each fingertip painted teal reminding me of Bella, her pet tarantula. Deliberate steps stroll until they reach the bridge of her nose then she softly picks the crusted sleep from the corner of each eye. The twisted leather bangle with its collection of tiny charms, jangles, as her arm settles back on the covers. Her bed layered with a heavy winter quilt covered with a home-made crocheted blanket. A hotch potch of bright jewel colours from a bygone era, her treasured possession, a bargain found at a local charity shop. <br />
<br />
She peers, strains to see, adjusts to the light and then one eye opens less slowly, followed by the other until they stay open. <br />
<br />
She’s back, not fully functioning but willing to communicate. Not yet able to leap out of bed but beyond the point of falling back to sleep on auto pilot. She tugs at the pillows, plumps them in to a shape that supports her neck. She nestles back, smiles a wide silly grin. Carys looks happy, relaxed, perhaps she’s ready to answer questions, but best of all she has woken in a good mood. She wrinkles her nose, ‘Can I smell porridge?’<br />
<br />
She does her best to roll her body up and sit at the edge of the bed inelegantly as she tenses her muscles, sitting knock-kneed and pigeon toed so that her legs won’t fall open and splay apart. Her hands rest on her knees, the silver rings on her fingers she searches out on good days, at vintage fairs or flea markets, are striking modern designs which aren't too hard to find. <br />
She rubs her knees, ‘They ache.’ <br />
‘Is there anything I can do?’<br />
‘Nah. I’ll take some tablets.’<br />
‘How’s your head this morning?’ <br />
‘Bit groggy. Nothing more than usual.’ She manipulates the pale flesh around her knee cap with gentle persuasion, an attempt to relieve this reoccurring pain. Walking into walls happens quite often, her body impacts the door jam and she bounces off in the same way a drunk meanders down the street, after a heavy session of drinking. <br />
<br />
On rare occasions she points at an object, her finger stabbing the air in frustration, ‘what is that called,’ she asks the escalating annoyance isn't hard to miss, ‘I know what it is but I can’t bring forward ‘that’ word.’ <br />
<br />
I suggest, ‘think of an alternative word.’ But her speech slurs. I can’t make out what she says. ‘It’s a dressing table, Carys.’ I try to remain sensitive to her needs and be gracious; I’m grateful because living alongside Carys’ illness has been an ordeal of anguish over torment. I often become frustrated by my own lack of power and watch helpless as I can not repair the debilitating limitations this condition imposes and I can not undo what is done. Week by week. Month by month. Another small step forward, her health imperceptibly improves. Is she getting better? <br />
<br />
I’m in awe of her resilient attitude. She rarely gets down or depressed: she does get confused, even dazed, especially back in the early days when she used to take a tumble and fall down the last few steps of the stairs to land in a tangled heap at the bottom, battered and a little bruised. Stumbling used to happen often when she couldn't put her feet down flat, but on the last occasion she made a feeble attempt to kick a book out of her way, she lost her footing. Fortunately she didn't require hospitalization. Clumsy doesn't come into it, she suffers from a lack of coordination that a professional clown would admire, as her ligaments develop fast, too long and loose in her rapidly growing body, so she collects an array of odd shaped dark bruises, badges of honour. <br />
<br />
‘You need to get up,’ as I hand her the bowl of porridge, and hope the smell of warm familiarity will entice her to sit upright, ‘you have an appointment with your Craniologist.’<br />
<br />
Carys beams at me, her eyes glisten with enthusiasm, ‘Goodie, I always feel better after she’s straightened me out, I’ll get dressed, promise.’ <br />
<br />
‘Do you need me to remind you?’ I know her memory can be poor; she has a frighteningly short attention span and often acts the same way I would expect an elderly woman with a touch of Alzheimer’s to behave. <br />
<br />
‘No. I’m good. I won’t forget. I've set the alarm on my phone.’ She glances sideways to where her phone sits on the nightstand, she’s grinning from ear to ear, the smug smile of a happy soul. I leave the room to give her some privacy. <br />
<br />
As I go downstairs I remember the dark days when I used to walk in front of her and she would place her hands on my shoulders. Each step was deliberate, slow and methodical. In a happy voice, I would sing, ‘me and my shadow walking down the avenue,’ and joke that if she fell… at least she would land on something soft. Me. <br />
<br />
I for one am grateful that we no longer need to do the soft shoe shuffle, when she was too afraid to allow her feet to leave the floor, walking as an octogenarian might, in slippers, that scuff, then drag against the hard wooden surface of this polished floor. Afraid that if her foot raises itself above this slippery surface, it might not make positive contact ever again. <br />
<br />
Sometime later she appears at the door of the kitchen, fully dressed. Her hair plaited in a loose elegant twist and her eye makeup exquisitely reapplied. She looks fresh and young wearing jeans and a silly monkey t-shirt, her favourite and I don’t comment about her odd mis-matched Converse boots, one blue and one black. Perhaps this choice is intentional. Her personal fashion statement. ‘I’m ready.’ Her dazzling smile, the harsh red lipstick heightens the brightness of her even white teeth. <br />
<br />
Carys is animated, talking non-stop, covering a broad range of topics as I drive her to the surgery. She starts out chatting about dictators across the world and I listen, fascinated, hearing everything she has to say, her potted history about despots. I store this information away for another day. And then with a quick flick she changes direction. ‘I've decided…to be a surgeon. No really, I shall be a Doctor. I’m going to Edinburgh Medical College. I’m going to apply, see if they will accept me now that I’m doing my Open University course, it should act as leverage even though I've only one ‘O’ level.’ <br />
<br />
I smile, note a hint of melancholy in her tone, as her voice drops, but say little except to murmur a brief word of encouragement, ‘that’s great,’ I’m please for her. ‘It’s good to have ambition.’ I know she’s a clever girl but I wonder is this specific aspiration is possible? I've no desire to dampen her mood or be the one to crush her dreams. Still a teenager… just, I send out a silent prayer that this brilliant, vibrant woman will soon be free of pain. <br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
To date my prayer is unanswered. <br />
<br />
Legend: <br />
#ME - Myalgic Encephalomyelitis<br />
#CFS - Chronic Fatigue Syndrome<br />
#ME/CFS - <i>as above</i> <br />
#SEID = Systemic Exertion Intolerance Disorder – new diagnostic criteria <br />
<br />
#EDS - Ehlers Danlos SyndromeKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-86521898408686656872015-03-23T09:42:00.001+00:002015-03-23T09:45:06.543+00:00Red KitesOn a day when<br />
barely a branch moves on the <br />
breeze <br />
four Red Kites <br />
circle overhead <br />
wings outstretched <br />
with grace and clarity<br />
they glide, an <br />
effortless ride in <br />
never ending circles <br />
<br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-10032077117178002592015-03-21T15:00:00.000+00:002015-03-21T15:05:32.828+00:00Holy Cows This morning over a cup of coffee I saw cows, perhaps bullocks, charge down a narrow track into a wide open expanse of a lush green field. A full on stampede ensued across the breadth of the fresh meadow grass until herded into the furthest corner they turned en masse and charged back across the field to where the farmer stood and had let them loose.<br />
<br />
The chase was on as groups of cows ran one way then another, it was definitely a special spring equinox day, hooves were flicked and kicked high, a few galloped almost as fast as thoroughbred race horses. <br />
<br />
Others gambolled along the hedgerow, and a few turned into pogo cows boing-ing about the place on fully wound up springs. <br />
<br />
As the skipping and jumping continued a few locked horns, well lowered heads and playfully butted each other before suddenly splintering off to charge in different directions. It wasn't a contest or a hostile act, more an acknowledgement or introduction- so this is what you do in a big green field after being locked up in a barn all winter. <br />
<br />
Once the high jinx had run their course all heads lowered to the ground to munch the fresh greens on offer. <br />
<br />
It's gone quiet in the field now, no more a crescendo of hooves on semi packed earth. There was a definite sense of new found freedom in the air this morning as these lovely creatures thundered down the track and I feel very privileged to have witnessed this small event. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-31862789070250662342015-01-29T10:13:00.002+00:002015-01-29T10:24:38.809+00:00Unexpectedness…A strange notion Nothing in life is certain and the older I get, the more I realize that within reason most ‘events’ in life are beyond my control and my life is about unexpectedness. <br />
<br />
I have choices. <br />
<br />
This morning I chose to sort out my airing cupboard. It’s an easy, simple task that centres me as I’ve always enjoy doing laundry …cool clean sheets do it for me! I’d seen some beautiful bed linen and I thought it might be wise to check whether I did need to buy it or need to splurge or more simply want new linen. <br />
<br />
It turns out I’ve plenty of bed linen but on closer inspection it’s getting old and tired and in fact some of it definitely could do with being retired. <br />
<br />
Almost all of my time I’m a full time support/carer of a young vibrant woman and most days my expectations are modified by external issues not directly related to me. <br />
<br />
Each day now is about ‘unexpectedness.’ I may have an overall plan but that can change in an instance, and this new-revised-situation no longer knocks me off course. <br />
<br />
I’ve adjusted to the uncertainty and the surprise of not being where I thought I might be… according to the overall plan. As a full time caregiver I’ve learned that I’ve absolutely no control over my 'caree’s' condition. However, I do adjust how I react to each new day’s events as my days often consist of some happenstance whereas other days might flow as usual. <br />
<br />
I no longer have a ‘to-do list’- it got scratched a while back, it’s too frustrating to watch a list grow, with little hope of changing things.<br />
<br />
Sleep is always a priority and exercise for me is moderated to avoid flare-ups. With enough sleep I’m human. Without sufficient sleep I’m not worth knowing as I function well below par. I dislike those grouchy-fug-filled-days most. last night for some reason my brain would not shut up talking to me so this morning I'm a more tired and functioning slightly below par. <br />
<br />
So I’ve decided that throughout <b>2015</b> I’m going to dedicate more passion to everything I do, even to my chores. I’ve one life, one chance and I’m going to live ‘my life’ with passion.<br />
<br />
Now I make Choices! This freshly drafted list of choices has a balance of happy events and some tasks. I rationalize which are more important and pick two. <br />
<br />
Events have just taken another turn for the unexpected... I find I've more free time than originally planned. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-72672510107457758102014-12-05T20:47:00.000+00:002014-12-05T20:47:56.083+00:00 Adored…Distracted by iridescent bubbles as they rise on a soft breeze, you chased these appealing spheres and tried to catch one. Hands came together and missed the bubble and each other. Fingers splayed wide you stared at the empty palms of your hands. Astonished you look to me as if to ask where did it go? <br />
<br />
When you were newborn I checked your fingers, delicate tiny tendrils with talons as sharp as an eagles’ claws. I tried to wrap them in soft cotton mittens tying the silk ribbons as tight as I dare round each fragile wrist. That turned out to be one futile exercise as you waved your fists and wriggled those fingers free. Scars, fine spider thin strands decorated your soft velvet skin. Tiny filaments of red lacerations. <br />
<br />
Brushing my hair was a game you enjoyed immensely. Standing behind me on the sofa, you would aim the brush. In your hands my wooden hairbrush was your preferred weapon of destruction as its wooden side cracked my skull. My hair teased and scrubbed until it became a cobbed mass of mayhem. <br />
<br />
The performance involved in blowing your nose always bought a smile to my face. Rude noises. Huffs and puffs. Tissues smooshed up. to be aimed then lobbed at the bin. Invariably you’d direct this squished missile and not notice you had missed the intended target. Discarded the remnants lay strewn across my kitchen floor for me to tidy later whilst the bogey still hung, dangling from the tip of your nose. <br />
<br />
I spent hours on my knees assisting you. ‘Left over right and right over left.’ Spaghetti string laces that were too fiddly for your uncoordinated fingers and you would lose interest after a couple of attempts, to race off with those unsecure laces trailing in your wake. I would watch ever vigilant in case you fell. <br />
<br />
The first day at nursery school as we entered the room hand in hand and you spied the sandpit. Undeterred you made a direct approach, picked up a spade and as I knelt beside you, (to reassure myself) you turned, ‘Go shopping,’ and a balled up fist pushed me off balance. <br />
<br />
I never saw you wipe away tears of frustration with the back of your hand, you would stand there with a lost look in your eye and let the big fat tear drops splash on the ground. And then one day, when a rude man spooked me, you thrust your hand in mine and shouted: ‘Race you home.’ We ran as fast as your legs would allow, holding each other fast. <br />
<br />
Your skin’s fine and brittle like tissue packing paper, nothing like mine and there’s a coolness and an oldness to these small hands that worries me but you seem not to notice or care. As the years passed you grew and the day you tugged your hand free from mine at the pelican crossing, ‘I can cross the road on my own.’ Left me reeling.<br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-67457815550644644772014-12-04T17:37:00.004+00:002014-12-04T17:38:43.152+00:00My Lindor moment“Lindorgasmic"<br />
<br />
30 minutes she said <br />
building a snowman <br />
for two Lindor balls<br />
her favourites <br />
that’d be worth it <br />
surely if nobody saw<br />
me <br />
eat <br />
them <br />
then I could have two more. <br />
<br />
one is never enough <br />
don’t you find? <br />
they soothe my stress <br />
as I hear that hard outer shell crack <br />
to reveal a <br />
soft <br />
smooth <br />
buttery texture <br />
my tongue salivates <br />
waits <br />
irresistible temptation.<br />
Do you dream of chocolate?<br />
<br />
can you hear the red wrapper teasing you? <br />
as it crackles with its <br />
twist to open action <br />
do you split the shell? <br />
or slide it whole… <br />
on <br />
to <br />
your tongue <br />
and wait? <br />
For this chocolate porn to melt<br />
<br />
the pleasure contained within <br />
is mouth-wateringly good <br />
over-riding all common sense<br />
compelling you<br />
me<br />
to eat another <br />
but stop! <br />
How many points is it worth? <br />
<br />
delicious, velvety, smooth, it may be the most seductive pleasure <br />
however,<br />
a mouthful of happiness <br />
is a lifetime on my hips!<br />
it’s not that awesome <br />
at two pro-points per ball<br />
but my weight loss is! <br />
<br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-73641989031071933332014-12-03T13:56:00.002+00:002014-12-03T14:00:38.258+00:00Cherished These hands that touch me… which have the strength to bend copper pipe at a forty five degree angle, yet gentle enough to hold our daughters tiny fingers and guide her faltering steps across the polished beechwood floor. <br />
<br />
Un-tanned, broad spans of palms act as shovels to scoop up Lego bricks, discarded by our son. Large bright coloured bricks that earlier in the day you lay on the floor to build, with care into towers. Only to have them smashed by a single swipe of his hand and as you mockingly complain, ‘Oh no!’ Peels of laughter ring out as he squeals with glee, ‘Again, again.’ <br />
<br />
You dislike public displays of affection they’re not your style. Surrounded by ice cream sundaes and pink roses that same hand trembled as you dipped to one knee to propose. Just for a laugh those nimble fingers snapped the engagement ring box shut, with such a crack I jumped off my seat, before I had time to say yes. <br />
<br />
At our engagement party we were fooling about, you picked up the sherry trifle, turned it upside down and span the glass bowl round my head. The room erupted; our guests couldn’t contain their laughter as dribs of jelly and drabs of custard slopped down my arms. Afterwards you teased out tinned pineapple chunks and cubed lumps of pear as you showered the mess from my hair. <br />
<br />
When there’s a storm brewing and I resemble a small boat tied to a forgotten mooring, you stroke my arm. Your touch calms me, steadies my nerves. These dependable hands that hold me with adulation and after we’ve made love those same hands that hold our bull mastiff on a tethered lead for her morning walk round the village common. <br />
<br />
If I’m nervous you place your hand, in the small of my back, guide me to safety. The same soft fingertips with trimmed nails that before you vacate our crumpled warm bed know how and where to plunder me with a lightness of touch which draws such sweet music. Unable to resist, my body twitches to your love tap, bringing forth moans of joy before I end with a big bang that ensnares me in ecstasy. <br />
<br />
At the end of a tough day when my back aches your experienced fingers massage liniment to dislodge tight knots. This deep kneading action and pungent menthol odour, eases my tension. Your hands work their magic, as balm for my soul. <br />
<br />
Once the children sleep, cradled in your arms I rest. The full length of our bodies touch, skin against skin, as your tenderness traces a never ending pattern across and down my bare back and after we talk through the days events, as I drift off to sleep you enfold your fingers through mine, wrapping each finger, one between the other you cup my hand in yours, and press our enclosed hand together, against your heart. These unwritten rules of your hands, these coded messages fill me with desire.<br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-18158007193370730082014-12-03T13:54:00.002+00:002014-12-03T13:54:45.172+00:00Sharing In the run up to Christmas I thought I’d share some of my writing. <br />
<br />
Pieces I like whether for sentimental reasons or because I surprised myself after an exercise had been suggested at writing group. <br />
<br />
‘Cherished’ was written after class. We had been focusing on ‘hands’ and this short story, a flight of fancy and not autobiographical…came to me. *Enjoy.*Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-62627857714818432182014-10-09T08:59:00.000+01:002014-10-09T08:59:11.842+01:00Change one small thing Well my writing has been a bit hit and miss over the past three months, and recently I asked myself what would happen if, I could change one small thing. <br />
<br />
My hair has been my crowning glory (<i>vain I know, but honest</i>) and often once it’s freshly washed I can’t bear the idea of going swimming, you see swimming is all about the hair. <br />
<br />
A little under twelve weeks ago I was diagnosed with Osteoarthritis and this news came out of left field. No one in the family has this condition as far as I know. So its diagnosis came as a surprise. <br />
<br />
I had ceased up so much, I went out to buy a walking stick, because I was uncertain where my legs were under my hips. I felt insecure every time I stood and then tried to walk!<br />
<br />
As I handled the elegant walking cane with an exquisite carved handle I began to think differently and question if this device was what I really wanted. To be seen leaning on a walking stick, needing support… the stick was replaced and wasn’t purchased. <br />
<br />
Instead I came home and put on my swim suit and took myself off to the local pool. My timing was perfect, my hair was ready to be washed so it didn’t matter or need consideration. <br />
<br />
Since that day I’ve been going swimming twice a week, usually on Wednesdays and Thursdays to keep my hair-washing time to a minimum, seriously I’m not joking. I’ve been lucky to use a Hydro pool too and have physiotherapy regularly. <br />
<br />
The improvement in my whole body has been tremendous. I still need to monitor how long I sit, especially when I sit to write at my computer… or reading and driving too because if I sit too long I can barely stand on rising. It can be quite a scary feeling to be that insecure, when my limbs don’t work as expected. <br />
<br />
I’ve also change my attitude towards food which has been reviewed and heavily edited as I’ve investigated anti-inflammatory foods which I’ve readily adopted into every day meals as I’m certain that activity (<i>the right sort</i>) and good food will go along way to reducing the pain from the Osteoarthritis. So far so good. <br />
<br />
I’m off to the pool this morning and now considering buying a swimming hat…one like Ester Williams used to wear? Perhaps…but have you seen how expensive they are? I’d really like a swim hat that’s a wig all neatly coiffured. <br />
<br />
What would happen if you I could change one small thing? Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-109637162611307584.post-34616978491621375062014-09-26T10:59:00.001+01:002014-09-26T10:59:04.982+01:00#Seenwhiledriving: Random thoughts...Today’s observation whilst driving because I spend far too much time stuck in traffic, journeying back and forth to college as a taxi and to wile away the minutes I take in what’s going on around me.<br />
<br />
Lorries great big lorries with wide expanses of space and very little advertising, today I saw a lorry from my old town. I’d never heard of the company and its name and livery gave nothing away. I was none the wiser. So I’m curious, do companies missing a trick here, could they advertise better? <br />
<br />
And then there’s lorries bearing hieroglyphics that I can’t read or decipher but the curly bulbous lettering have me intrigued. For all I know it could say: driven by a giggling squid. <br />
<br />
But what do I know… perhaps lorries aren't allowed to advertise 'too heavily' and if I spoke foreign languages perhaps I could have a good stab at translating these foreign letters that I find intriguing. <br />
<br />
What do you see from your car window that intrigues you whilst you drive to and fro? <br />
Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17045658407538963829noreply@blogger.com0