Category: Writing

Good Vibrations but no Haiku

Posted on Posted in WritingTagged , , , , , , , , , 10 Comments

Earlier this evening I read Elizabeth’s post  about four letter words that inspire. She encouraged us to make a list of words of our own, meditate on them and write some Haiku. I chose from Elizabeth’s list because some just seemed right and wrote them in two rows.

Easy                             mind

Life                              pure

Kind                             hope

Love                            wise

Heal                             help

Grow                           give

I meditated on them for a while, I paired and grouped them in my head, added some longer words. I spun and twisted them, counted syllables, got mixed up about five – seven – five, and finally gave up because my saboteur kept telling me I was casting clichés.

Next, someone I’ve been working with for a long time came for her counselling session, she was overwrought, physically and emotionally exhausted. We worked hard for more than half an hour and she had calmed to the point where she was nearly horizontal on the sofa and we talked quietly.

Now I’m side tracking because I want to tell you that I received a very special gift this week, a small bottle of vibrational essence from a blogging friend across the other side of the world. This earth essence is from the Larapinta trail and chosen for me because I said I needed grounding. I have always known that I am governed by the element of air and that at times I need re-balancing, some of you are aware that recently I’ve had a few things rocking around my foundations.

We gradually became silent in our shared space and the energy was buzzing, vibrating even, and my hands were on fire. I asked her to sit with her back to me because I knew I had healing energy to give to her. The way I worked was something like Reiki, I did my first degree a few years ago but chose not to continue to Reiki master – I felt no need to give a name to something that is just there. Afterwards, she said it was the most powerful healing she has ever experienced. I don’t know about that but I do know she needed what I was able to give.

I wasn’t able to write Haiku today but I feel that Elizabeth’s generous post helped to put me into the right space. The essence has already started work on me, bringing me home to myself after a patch where I have been floating anxiously like a butterfly, sometimes trying to settle and hoping for a buddleia. I believe that something shifted as soon as I knew it was flying towards me. It was gathered in an area rich in Heavitree Quartzite, in the Northern Territory, packed safely and sent to me in Heavitree, Exeter. I am blessed, thank you.

Meeting Yuli

Posted on Posted in Art and Design, Craft, Devon, Uncategorized, WritingTagged , , , , , , , , 15 Comments

As some of you may know I am a crafter and I regularly go to country shows and craft fairs with my friend to sell our work. One of the things that makes it special is talking to people I wouldn’t usually get to meet.

And so I met Yuli, a gentle lady part of whose heritage is Norwegian, she touched my heart. She works with wool, creating the most unusual pieces that are functional and decorative. She began as a weaver in the 1990’s, but now makes felt. She lives right in the heart of Devon and her wool is sourced locally, from Umberleigh, a flock of Lleyn Welsh sheep and Hatherleigh, a Devon Close Wool flock, to keep the wool miles down. Yuli feels that it is important to encourage the growth of sheep farming and believes in sustainability.

Yuli has her felt dyed by a friend who uses only natural plant dyes. The soft but intense red comes from the roots of  Madder, or of Lady’s bedstraw. When researching Lady’s Bedstraw I came upon an interesting coincidence, in Norse mythology, Frigg was the goddess of married women, she helped women in childbirth, and Lady’s Bedstraw was used as a sedative that they called Frigg’s grass. A nice link to Yuli’s cultural history.

The other plant dyes used are Weld, which makes yellow, as does onion skin although the latter is not as colour fast. Indigo is used for beautiful blues as it has been for generations of blue jeans and by the nomadic Tuareg of the Sahara.

Her first felted pieces were hats and the off garment but her range has grown in several directions. I bought a bird token that hangs on a wool strand. She also makes horses, and uses both as decoration for tuffetts – yes just as little Miss Muffett sat on, only Yuli’s are each individual layered mats that give you a soft, comforting place to sit on a chair or even damp grass. Tea cosies, lovely little cushion rolls, hot water bottle covers, oven gloves and wall hangings to dream of, all have recurring motifs from nature.

Yuli has worked with schoolchildren, showing them the history of wool, textiles and dyeing, as well as hands on creating of beautiful art work. It was her own childhood experience that led to her most unusual and stunning creations, felt coffins. She experienced bereavement in her early years that had a profound effect on her and believes that death is dealt with badly in the West. The enduring impact of her loss led her to make her first shroud. I was taken aback when she told me but it quickly made sense, after all ordinary people would have been laid to rest in simple fabric shrouds. She told me that in 17th century Britain an act of parliament stated that woollen shrouds should be used, to help develop the woollen trade.

I have always hated the idea that I might be buried in the ground in a wooden box with brass handles taking a beautiful tree to do so. I had a vague idea of a sleeping bag liner or a cardboard box instead. But how comforting to be wrapped in soft felted wool from local sheep and returned to the earth. Yuli calls them Leaf Cocoons and they are carried on a strong wooden frame. This makes far more sense to me than a polished box.

Yuli’s website is here, visit, enjoy her wonderful work. I was so impressed and I’d like to hear what you think. Thank you, meeting you was special Yuli and I hope to see you again.

I’m a blogging failure, will you forgive me?

Posted on Posted in Working world, WritingTagged , , 75 Comments

I want to share with you a little of what’s been happening in my life recently. It’s been quite stressful for some time and all to do with work. I joined my organisation on a year’s fixed term contract in August 2010 after leaping from a job I hated. My contract was renewed a year later, for a further six months, and then three more renewals that took me up to yesterday. A couple of months ago I had to apply for the job I’ve been doing all this time, and I didn’t get it! I was invited to re-apply when it was advertised again and this time around, just in the nick of time I was successful. So here I am with a permanent contract, you wouldn’t believe the relief this has brought me. I’m single, have to support myself and despite paying tax and national insurance for forty years the state would have only given me around £72 per week to exist on if I joined the ranks of the unemployed. Even working I am still poor but my needs are few and my blessings are many, so this isn’t a sob story.

It is a tale of my failure though. My writing has suffered. I’m behind with my blogging. I’m behind with replying to comments. I’m hoping that you won’t all give up on me because I haven’t been present, you’re such lovely, and supportive people that I feel it will be okay. I can never catch up, it would take a week of solid work, so I’m just going to apologise and now that this huge anxiety has lifted I will refocus. I hope I haven’t totally lost my writing mojo because I begin a new writing course soon and need to be able to pull stories out of the bag. Talking of stories, I’ve failed with Madison Woods Friday Fictioneers challenges, missing the last two. Julia’s 100 word challenge for grown ups I might just manage because we have two weeks this time. I’m most sad because I really wanted to support Maggie Elizabeth, with her brand new weekly prompt Maybe some of you will join in with that one; you are all such good writers.

I have a lot of followers, many of you I haven’t said hi to – how rude am I? I can’t stand rudeness and I am ashamed of myself. I wish I could follow you all as well but at present I’m only just managing to visit everyone I do follow.

For the last few weeks a great contest has been going around, Travel Supermarket’s Capture the Colour and I have been invited to join by Blueberrie, and Elisa, and the closing date was yesterday. Guess what I missed it. Actually, time wise I could probably have made this one but after sending an hour trying and failing to choose the photos I gave up. Sorry girls and I really loved your entries.

Anyway, enough of what I haven’t done, enough beating myself up. How do all of you manage to find time to be a polite blogger, thank your followers and reply to the terrific comments as well as posting, working and living your lives? I LOVE to visit you, I’ve learnt so much and had real peoples views of so many wonderful places and insights into lives so different from mine. I get cross and feel I’ve missed out if I don’t visit. What’s your secret? Please share your time management skills!

Last of all, a big THANK YOU – I hope you’re still here 🙂

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 55

Posted on Posted in Cats, WritingTagged , , , , 19 Comments

Julia has been plotting this one for weeks, threatening a really tough challenge and even cackling about it. So we have to write the words that go with this picture!

A Cat in Need

Meow,

Dear human lady person who cooks chicken and salmon for me, please come back straight away. It seems I need you after all, because the beer person keeps throwing dry brown things into my bowl, instead of the gourmet delights you so sweetly prepare for me. And now he has done something to my head, because he’s too lazy to pamper me with the silver hairbrush, I have a scarf that smells like rabbit and something from a Christmas cracker over my eyes. He keeps talking about a Cats Protection League and looking at me strangely. Come immediately.

Meow.

100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups Week# 54

Posted on Posted in flash fiction, Games, short story, WritingTagged , , , , 15 Comments

I’m really late for Julia’s challenge this week. The prompt is ‘Legacy’ , the fourth in a series of Olympic themes, but people may have interpreted it in different ways. Check them here,

http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/08/13/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week54/

Oliver’s Legacy

Dear Oliver

You know, I wept every day for six months, I was so lost.

And now I’m angry. If you had had a car accident or even been attacked it would be different, but you had a choice, and you put diving first every time.

You said it was safe, no one died jumping off a high board. So what do you do? Get your Gold and then fool around, one step too far.

I can’t undo what’s happened. Olympia has arrived now; she looks at me with your eyes. Your legacy, but she will be frightened of water.

 

Sophie

Why take the 15 mile way home if you can take the 30?

Posted on Posted in Devon, Humour, WritingTagged , , , , , 19 Comments

Otherwise known as Lucid Gypsy rambling.

Last evening I went out with two of my closest friends. It’s a monthly event, we take turns driving, so that in theory two of us can have a couple of drinks, but actually we don’t drink much alcohol at all, it’s more about the chat and something to eat in a country pub. Two of us live about four miles apart and the other one lives fifteen miles away out in the sticks, and has done for around ten years. Jackie, the friend who lives nearest to me drove last night and sadly she doesn’t have the best sense of direction. Despite having been to Buckerell some 70 or 80 times she needs directions, but really its one straight main road, the A30, and then four miles up a narrow winding lane. We had a great evening with lots of fun, silliness and too many peas. After dropping Sonja home, we headed back down the lane, gabbling away and after a couple of – turn left – straight up – yes take the slip road, we were safely back on the A30 with twelve miles to go. This is the point where I stop thinking about giving directions and ask instead about her planned weekend in Spain. Mistake.

‘Is this the right way, I don’t recognise it?’

I sit bolt upright, ‘Um no this is the Exmouth road, you’d better turn around and head back to the roundabout, take the slip road back again.’

‘Is this the way?’

I should mention that if I’m driving I wear glasses, without them, in the dark I can’t see well enough to drive in unlit areas. ‘Um, I don’t know but it’s the right general direction, I think it said Rockbeare . . . yep this is the old road, Rockbeare Straights, we came this way once before.’

We drive about five miles. Road works, road ahead closed. We slow down, the road is empty except for the guys resurfacing, and Jackie sees the sign for Sowton Village.

‘Oh that way is okay we can get to Frog Lane from there and then Clyst St Mary’ she said.

‘Sowton is a dead end, I’ve walked across the cow fields to Clyst St Mary but there’s no road.’

‘Yeah there is, there must be’ she was adamant.

‘All right go for it,’ we drive through a silent village, its 11.30 by now and Jackie heads confidently towards a no through road sign. ‘That’s the way to the fields, bear right and try that, but I don’t know where it leads. The single track becomes a grassy track then meets a fence. We can see the lights of the motorway two miles from home just ahead, buts there’s no way through. A difficult fifteen point turn and we head back the lane, to the road workers who give us directions, complex ones that would work if I could read the signs.But we think we get it, and realise that another car who also asked the way, is convinced that we know where we are and is following us. Turn right at the pub they said, then double back towards the  Daisy Mount junction, well it might have been the pub but it was all closed up and it was too late to take the turning. I started to get my bearings though; we were heading back the old road that led to the airport. Jackie agreed and took over again, this was her territory, just a couple of miles cross country from her house.

‘Aylesbeare, that’s it just up here.’ I didn’t think you needed to go to Aylesbeare to get to the parallel Sidmouth road but I left her to it. And we drive quickly with the other car in pursuit, and no sign of life around for a couple more miles. We approach the village and I squint at a right hand turning sign but friend keeps going. We leave the village behind and start a steady climb. Soon the quiet is broken by the petrol warning alarm, 20 miles of fuel left and we didn’t know the way. I’m just wondering if I have enough phone battery left for the sat nav to work when friend says ‘I wish we had a sat nav . . . what you’ve got it on your phone, why didn’t you try that before?’ to be honest I forget it’s there, I don’t get lost! Unless I’m being driven by Jackie, on the way home from Buckerell.

My suspicions were confirmed, we shouldn’t have gone through Aylesbeare, but if we had turned right there, we wouldn’t now be heading for Ottery St Mary. But if this lane reached the common, it would be creepy especially with someone following us, but we should then be able to turn right.

YES! Sidmouth road and we limped to a petrol station. After a – diversion – of about 15 miles, we got to my house having taken an hour and a half instead of twenty five minutes.

Lessons learnt.

Always take my glasses even if I’m not driving.

Never think I need not concentrate on the road myself if Jackie is driving me anywhere after dark.

Remember my phone has a sat nav and take my charger so I can use it.

I have a stranger sense of humour than I realised, most people wouldn’t think it was a huge hilarious adventure getting lost in the deep east Devon lanes at midnight, with not even moonlight to guide us.

100 Word Challenge For Grown Ups Week# 53

Posted on Posted in Creative writing, flash fiction, Gardens, short story, WritingTagged , , , , , , , , , 15 Comments

Julia has given us ‘would seven prove to be too much’ and another hundred words to play with for her challenge this week. Will you join in this time? It’s fun and a good way to see how briefly you can tell a story. Try here, http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/08/06/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week-53/  and now for my entry.

Fiacre’s Seven Seeds

‘Will I be able to look after them all?’ Fiacre counted the seeds in his hand.

‘Ah, would seven prove to be too much? That’s the question I asked myself when I was your size’

‘What if they grow too big for my vegetable plot grandfather?

‘Let’s leave your little garden for a moment child, come, look to the east.’ A vast cultivated valley spread a green carpet as far as the boy could see. ‘The great creator gave my grandfathers grandfather seven seeds. Tell me, are these crops too much, too much too feed our people?

‘Grandfather, will seven seeds be enough?’

Friday Fictioneers: Twin Shells

Posted on Posted in Creative writing, flash fiction, short story, WritingTagged , , , , , , 14 Comments

Madison’s 100 word flash fiction challenge this week is this lovely shell photo, which she credits to Susan Wenzel. This is my entry.

shells

Shells Divided 

Ibiza 2002, they met at a club of course, it had a huge scene back then. They chatted, danced, and then strolled to Matthew’s hotel. A few hours later they caught the sunrise on Es Cavellet, hand in hand.

Gatwick 2012, he headed for departures, tummy fluttering. Ten years ago they’d vowed to bring their shells back to the island. How he had longed for tonight, 10pm outside El Chiringuito.

Mumbai 2012, Rahul pulled a small white shell from a drawer, turned it over in his hands, and dropped it into the bin.

Whatever happened to that funny English guy?

 Check out http://madison-woods.com/photo-prompt-for-the-fridayfictioneers-6/ to join the challenge and read the other entries.

100 Word Challenge For Grown Ups Week# 52

Posted on Posted in Creative writing, flash fiction, short story, Uncategorized, WritingTagged , , , , 19 Comments

Julia seems to think that the challenge she has set this week is easy, maybe you would like to try it out, it certainly wasn’t easy for me. I couldn’t find words to go before together the flames and I think i have cheated because altogether can only be one word? Anyway here goes.

Flames

On the day before I became a widow, I caught the London train for a weekend with the girls. Oh how we laughed that evening, fuelled with cocktails, sharing the events of the last year. New jobs, new grandchildren, and Stella’s new romance with Paul from Woodleigh comprehensive, he wouldn’t get away this time. Paul’s ex-wife had moved to my village, she could be the one I see walking the schnauzer.

Over breakfast we saw the BBC Devon news.

‘The bodies of a man and woman were found in the bedroom of the middle cottage; all together the flames destroyed three homes.’

Link back to Julia’s Place.to see the other entries.

Five Things They Don’t tell You about Getting Older

Posted on Posted in Creative writing, Humour, Old age, WritingTagged , , , , 23 Comments

When you’re young, skirts and trousers with elasticated waistbands are just ‘old lady clothes’ and you take it for granted that they need the comfort, while knowing that it will never happen to you. Wrong. Elasticated waistbands are manufacturer’s way of making some money from older ladies who are not catered for by designers. They fail to cash in on the silver pound, sticking instead to the young, slim or even emaciated because they make their clothes look better. What they fail to take into account is that even really slim women change body shape with age. You can be small but still have a bug tummy, no waist, no bottom and that hip spring – the difference between waist and hip measurement – decreases from about twelve inches when you are twenty five and a size twelve or fourteen to about six inches when you are fifty even if you still have thirty eight inch hips! So your choice is  whether to  buy skirts or trousers that fit your waist and balloon out like a parachute around your hips, never, ever do your top buttons up, or . . . elastic and crimplene.

Your eyelashes start to disappear, what happens is that they grow inwards. They creep down through some special internal follicles until they reach your upper lip and chin where they multiply like cell division and burst out forming a lush growth to warm your face in winter.

Old ladies can’t wear pretty brassieres. Pretty ones are aimed at young women whose breasts have not yet become matronly. Matronly bosoms appear around your late forties. Oh yes they do, even if you always wore a 34A you will suddenly need a 36F, and the wide straps that go with bras in those kind of sizes. Woe betide those of you who successfully seek out The Thin Strap, because you will have deep chasms in your shoulders. Nope, to contain your new found pitta breads you will require inch wide straps and side scaffolding.

Now, we expect to gain some lines on our faces don’t we? They are lines of wisdom and character of course, and a way of keeping the beauty industry going with our futile attempts to stay young. But what is this crepe like thing happening to my forearms? No one told me about that. And why don’t the magazines recommend that you wear gloves twenty four seven, to stop your hands looking like some haggard witch’s? Because they get paid to advertise hand cream!

Granny shoes. How could they wear such ugly things? This generation didn’t invent ridiculous – oops I mean delicious – heels, platforms and wedges that you need a mounting block to climb into. No, I had them too and could walk miles, dance all night and then walk home again in them. I didn’t live in them, I loved flip flops too. They were never as lovely as the ones around now. I have some gorgeous jewelled and sequined ones, in fact several pairs; I keep buying them in the hope that some will be comfortable enough to walk miles in. If I try that, the impact of every step I take resounds its painful way up through my calves and knees, leaving me hobbling slowly the next day. So, it’s nice comfy cushiony soles for me, little heels on occasion, but even then they would have to be Footgloves. What’s happens to our feet? Well apparently we lose subcutaneous fat from our soles as we get older, who knew that? What I do know is where mine went. Around my middle.

If anyone can warn me of any other little surprises I have to look forward to I would be deeply thrilled to know. Meanwhile, where is my foot spa, my feet are killing me.