Accept the person, reject the behaviour, how many times have I told myself that? I think one of my lessons in this life is to learn how to deal with selfish people. People who don’t understand the concept of conversation, the taking of turns. You know how you bump into someone who you know, and you’re quite pleased to see them, so you ask how they are? You listen for ten minutes, realise you’re late for something and say goodbye. Then you realise that whoever it is hasn’t asked a single thing about you.
Or the ones who get in touch when they have troubles, knowing you’re a good listener. You go round, let them cry on your shoulder, until they feel better, but you’re totally drained. Then don’t hear from them for months.
Do we all have these people in our lives? Or is it just me? Perhaps it’s my role.
Category: January Small Stones
January Small Stone# Twenty
I’ve been ranting today. For the first time ever I wrote to the local newspaper. I’m not a write to the paper type and in fact it isn’t a letter. Since the newspaper became weekly instead of daily, it’s main focus has shifted to the website, where there is the opportunity to submit an article. I doubted that they would publish it. I don’tknow their criteria but lo and behold they did – complete with typos. In fact it’s visible twice because I thought it had disappeared and so I posted it a second time, with most mistakes corrected. One lingers though, the very first word!http://www.thisisexeter.co.uk/City-s-Shame/story-17911321-detail/story.html
January Small Stone# Nineteen
Today began cold, I seriously considered a duvet day and would have liked a share of http://dadirridreaming.wordpress.com/ ‘s scorching heat! I forced myself to move and made some butternut squash and pepper soup before venturing out. I had to top up the fruit bowl and the girls wanted to walk, so we set off to the green grocers close to the river. 
The river was just returning to normal winter levels but now there must be melt water from Exmoor topping it up again. In the far right of the photo is the Mill on the Exe pub, they regularly get flooded and can no longer get insurance.
The dogs had a god run, I saw cormorants on the weir and then turned back to the bridge where the graffiti is vibrant.
This will last a couple of days! After healthy soup, I settled on the sofa with the new book that arrived this morning, all wrapped in a blankie! 
But I’m still cold 😦
January Small Stones# Eighteen
From my office desk I see the evergreens a quarter of a kilometre away; they are peppered with naked orange branches of their deciduous family and gulls retreating from the coast. In the foreground I can see the low roof of the hospice next door, but nothing more except the white sky that foretells snow.
It arrives, a horizontal mix of flake, sleet and rain landing slushily and washing itself away. Soon my vista changes and I get my first clear view of the Haldon hills; where earlier today the A38 and A380 were down to single lane traffic crawling in the wake of gritter trucks. Those hills and the ones to the North West are white and can only be distinguished from the sky by their own dark tree fringe.
It’s just a fleeting glimpse and soon the snow here becomes a fine drizzle followed by heavy rain, which obscures the view again. Hopefully that will be the end of it.
January Small Stone# Seventeen
An eerie sound pervades
like the death scream
of a Dickensian marsh
the clanking of chain
a dog torturing squeal
a relentless flap of flag
against a hundred masts
in the wintering yard
January Small Stone# Sixteen
Today, I’m mindful
of those who really need
to feel confident and secure
to be able to fulfil their role
but often just aren’t
I’m going to try to tread carefully
and remember that I have been in that place
I’m going to remember
that I was lucky enough
to know it could be different
January Small Stone# Fifteen
Coughing my way home
A slightly strange stone today, nevertheless it was the observation of a possiblity of change for me. I have asthma. It was diagnosed around ten years ago, after many, many years of coughing! It isn’t severe, just irritating and must drive other people crazy. Sometimes in public places people will come up and offer me a glass of water, when I haven’t even registered that I’m coughing.
I have inhalers of course, but if I use them as prescribed I get a sore throat and oral thrush. So it’s a fine balance. There are quite a few things that trigger a coughing fit; aerosols, some perfumes, dust, things that have a bad smell, pollen, too much dairy etc, etc. I try to avoid exposure when I can.
A change in temperature, like leaving a warm place to go out in winter, is a real pain, especially when I rush to leave work each day. You know how it is, the freedom after a long day and you just want to go home as quickly as possible!
Recently I’ve tried a simple breathing exercise when I leave. It’s just inhaling through my nose and then exhaling through pursed lips – it’s supposed to slow breathing down. It works for about 200 metres and then I lose it. So today I invented my own version, breath in slowly through my nose (and very cold air hits me), then breath out through pursed lips – but in two stages – it slows me down more. I also walked a little slower than usual, so the walk took 20 minutes instead of fifteen.
Guess what? I made it home without a single cough. I’m hoping it isn’t a fluke, the next few days will tell.
January Small Stone# Fourteen
Arianrhod smiles 
Her silver wheel shimmers in
Deep indigo sky
January Small Stone# Thirteen
group rise fly
glide decide turn
circle descend return
January Small Stones# Ten
A third of the way through January already, winter is creeping darkly along. There is a suggestion from the Met Office that we may have some snow and ice on Saturday, which I really don’t want. Today at eight fifteen, it was a morning for headlights. So different from yesterdays blue, I got wet but it wasn’t raining. 100% humidity and all of it settling on me, turning my hard work curls to frizz.
I walked the usual way to work, and along the path beside a row of Victorian terrace houses, and with nothing but fog ahead, I glanced down. Leaves from the sycamores across the road dotted my way, in various states of deterioration. In August they were rich, bright green – summer’s rain had stopped them from frying, and autumn was late. It was late October before they were yellow, then gold, bronze, brown.
Now a few deep bronze ones had found their way to the edge of the walls. Underfoot, some clear shapes in brown remained, many very dark. Some had felt heavier shoes than others, and had jagged edges. An awful lot were totally trampled into black marks on the flagstones, decayed, disappearing, and waiting for a hard frost or more heavy rain to wash them away. I wonder if they will be visible next week. I must remember to notice.
Lucid Gypsy 