My grand daughter was less than six months old when I took this first image of her. The directness of her gaze, the questioning curiosity and the delightful innocence is for me 'there before my very eyes' as it where. I don't wax poetical about my photographs. Most of them are taken for pleasure, simple image making to hold a memory closer, to make something clearer ...this image, this was taken because she stared at me .
With an unwavering gaze she kept me enthralled as I lowered myself to her tiny hieght where she dangled from her other Nanas hands like a little puppet doll. With soulful gaze and that intensity which I believe I captured well..I clicked away and she never moved so much as a centimeter.
Taken with an old Pentax, at 4.30 on a cold and dreary afternoon, no flash, and a long exposure because of failing light. Thats almost 17 years ago now. I rushed to the darkroom and processed the film, waiting to see the image as it slowly developed. I had never felt so nervous or so expectant of an image.
I still believe to this day that this single photograph is the best I ever took, the best I ever developed and the best I ever printed. Digital imaging has never held for me the same enchantment and the same excitement as developing and printing my own photos but it is an instant gratification and of course, like all photographers I love to download my pics and do whatever i can with them...but this picture...this is my baby on all levels.
Friday, 12 March 2010
Innocence
Friday, 22 January 2010
Christmas in January!
Celebrating Christmas in January; meeting my family and friends a month after the rest of the world was pretty strange, totally enjoyable and a fantastic beginning to the New Year.
Thanks to the December Dramas' I couldn't have my family visit me and I couldn't get to them. When it wasn't lack of finance the damned snow managed to block roads between here and Merseyside and it became a miserable time for us all.
I would telephone and say hi, chat on Face Book, Twitter and actually write real live letters! but it wasn't the same as actually being 'there'....never the less it was a time of connections and communication and between us all we got pretty soppy about telling each other we loved each other, saying trite little comments like 'never mind' and a wish list for a Four by Four evolved.
Finally the snow melted and I returned to my Mothers home with a small bag of presents to say a belated Christmas Day hello! It felt strange to say the least but it was pretty amazing. I have never been so spoiled in my entire life. Presents mounted up by the bag-full literally and I began to wonder if my car would be able to fit everything in. I felt totally, thoroughly spoiled and that too was an amazing moment.
My friends and family made special efforts to get to see me, those who couldn't sent messages and between everyone we had unchristmas meals, unchristmas celebrations and a good time was had by all.
Any down moments ?......................not a one.
No drunken silliness, everyone was out to make sure I enjoyed being 'back with the gang'. No family arguments....everyone wanted to be happy. Absolutely not a negative time at all. Topped off with some SERIOUS SHOPPING . I even managed to stop off at my favourite shopping centre Abakahn in Tryfannon (Holywell) for a glorious 5 hour shopping fest........truly I have enjoyed my time with everyone, the moments mounted into a joyous bouquet of smiles and memories I shall treasure for a long time.
Would I like Christmas in January again.....absolutely not.
This start to my New Year was blessed and special and wonderful but the upset and emotional hurt at not being with my family Christmas Day itself was rather painful to say the least. I felt cut off, lonely in a way I can't actually describe very well.
On the day itself I spared a thought for the true reason of Christmas but the rest of the day I sat on my own, in a house barely furnished, with no companion, no little dog, not a single person to talk to and worked. That was it. I didn't have so much as a glass of wine because I couldn't afford one.
I watched people scurrying up and down the High street, going to family and friends, to church and to the local pub and all hell bent on enjoying themselves and i couldn't be part of it. I didn't know anyone I could just land myself on for a Christmas Chat, I couldn't go and sit in a pub on my own apart from not having enough money to buy a drink and I couldn't celebrate a service in church because I didn't know a soul going there and didn't want to sit at the back being stared at by strangers...so I sat at the window and watched the world go by. It was a lonely and unforgiving day.
I telephoned my Mum and made my voice bright and chatted about inconsequential things, kept a smile in my voice as I heard my grandchildrens' excited chatter, heard my son home from France laughing and joking with my sister, imagined them all sat round the table, festive hats and crackers and the tree and the pretty lights...and kept the choke out of my voice...because it was getting harder to swallow, harder to stay 'bright' and sending them all my love I put the phone down carefully and cried like a big kid.
I lost my Christmas because of someone elses actions, I won't allow it to happen again. I lost that special time and it hurt and when I finally went home and had my union with my family they did their best to make things happy and nice but the tree had long since gone, there where no carols in the back ground, no pretty lights or glittery decorations and no one was in a festive mood because the festivity was over. The presents had been put away, I didn't see anyone opening exciting looking parcels. the presents I gave where poor and insubstantial in the wake of boxes and bags and I mean literally bags of presents given to me because people had added to my original gifts with January sales stuff...because they could, because they wanted to spoil me, make up for what I had missed.
So Christmas in January is not to be recommended. Meeting everyone yes, that is wonderful but Christmas ? nope it isn't the same. I shall be making Herculean efforts to be home with my family next year and I have begun already....I am making every single present this time, stuff to take my time with, use my creativity and I shall enjoy every moment of that creative process....They won't know what hit them...I am going to have Christmas...on Christmas day.
What the experience itself showed me was the times to come, when i am so old travel will be out of the question, when I may have my family scattered all over the world.Time spreads families thin, who knows what is in store, where my grandchildren will eventually live. Maybe by then technology will have not just Skype so we can wave to each other over the ether, maybe homes will have conference type facilities so we can all link up visually in a multi layered evolvement of telephone and video and we will all sit in our own homes and chat to each other that way...but Christmas as it is suppose to be, as we imagine it should be, all together and sharing ;is becoming a thing of the past as the world itself shrinks and we live in different countries and different time zones.
Added to that I took a strange comfort on Christmas Day itself. I live in a small village, that means knowing how many people where in the same situation as myself. So many single men and women, so many old and lonely people all shut up in their own homes, no one to talk to, nothing to do but open a single self bought special present. To eat a lonely meal and watch through windows the world going by. I took comfort in the fact I wasn't the only one in that situation...but I will strive to enjoy Family Christmases in future for as long as I can.
Memories of times gone past, memories and thoughts become very specific at moments like these, so i shall ...come hell or high water, snow, rain, hail or shine, rich or poor.....be with my family next Christmas !
Thanks to the December Dramas' I couldn't have my family visit me and I couldn't get to them. When it wasn't lack of finance the damned snow managed to block roads between here and Merseyside and it became a miserable time for us all.
I would telephone and say hi, chat on Face Book, Twitter and actually write real live letters! but it wasn't the same as actually being 'there'....never the less it was a time of connections and communication and between us all we got pretty soppy about telling each other we loved each other, saying trite little comments like 'never mind' and a wish list for a Four by Four evolved.
Finally the snow melted and I returned to my Mothers home with a small bag of presents to say a belated Christmas Day hello! It felt strange to say the least but it was pretty amazing. I have never been so spoiled in my entire life. Presents mounted up by the bag-full literally and I began to wonder if my car would be able to fit everything in. I felt totally, thoroughly spoiled and that too was an amazing moment.
My friends and family made special efforts to get to see me, those who couldn't sent messages and between everyone we had unchristmas meals, unchristmas celebrations and a good time was had by all.
Any down moments ?......................not a one.
No drunken silliness, everyone was out to make sure I enjoyed being 'back with the gang'. No family arguments....everyone wanted to be happy. Absolutely not a negative time at all. Topped off with some SERIOUS SHOPPING . I even managed to stop off at my favourite shopping centre Abakahn in Tryfannon (Holywell) for a glorious 5 hour shopping fest........truly I have enjoyed my time with everyone, the moments mounted into a joyous bouquet of smiles and memories I shall treasure for a long time.
Would I like Christmas in January again.....absolutely not.
This start to my New Year was blessed and special and wonderful but the upset and emotional hurt at not being with my family Christmas Day itself was rather painful to say the least. I felt cut off, lonely in a way I can't actually describe very well.
On the day itself I spared a thought for the true reason of Christmas but the rest of the day I sat on my own, in a house barely furnished, with no companion, no little dog, not a single person to talk to and worked. That was it. I didn't have so much as a glass of wine because I couldn't afford one.
I watched people scurrying up and down the High street, going to family and friends, to church and to the local pub and all hell bent on enjoying themselves and i couldn't be part of it. I didn't know anyone I could just land myself on for a Christmas Chat, I couldn't go and sit in a pub on my own apart from not having enough money to buy a drink and I couldn't celebrate a service in church because I didn't know a soul going there and didn't want to sit at the back being stared at by strangers...so I sat at the window and watched the world go by. It was a lonely and unforgiving day.
I telephoned my Mum and made my voice bright and chatted about inconsequential things, kept a smile in my voice as I heard my grandchildrens' excited chatter, heard my son home from France laughing and joking with my sister, imagined them all sat round the table, festive hats and crackers and the tree and the pretty lights...and kept the choke out of my voice...because it was getting harder to swallow, harder to stay 'bright' and sending them all my love I put the phone down carefully and cried like a big kid.
I lost my Christmas because of someone elses actions, I won't allow it to happen again. I lost that special time and it hurt and when I finally went home and had my union with my family they did their best to make things happy and nice but the tree had long since gone, there where no carols in the back ground, no pretty lights or glittery decorations and no one was in a festive mood because the festivity was over. The presents had been put away, I didn't see anyone opening exciting looking parcels. the presents I gave where poor and insubstantial in the wake of boxes and bags and I mean literally bags of presents given to me because people had added to my original gifts with January sales stuff...because they could, because they wanted to spoil me, make up for what I had missed.
So Christmas in January is not to be recommended. Meeting everyone yes, that is wonderful but Christmas ? nope it isn't the same. I shall be making Herculean efforts to be home with my family next year and I have begun already....I am making every single present this time, stuff to take my time with, use my creativity and I shall enjoy every moment of that creative process....They won't know what hit them...I am going to have Christmas...on Christmas day.
What the experience itself showed me was the times to come, when i am so old travel will be out of the question, when I may have my family scattered all over the world.Time spreads families thin, who knows what is in store, where my grandchildren will eventually live. Maybe by then technology will have not just Skype so we can wave to each other over the ether, maybe homes will have conference type facilities so we can all link up visually in a multi layered evolvement of telephone and video and we will all sit in our own homes and chat to each other that way...but Christmas as it is suppose to be, as we imagine it should be, all together and sharing ;is becoming a thing of the past as the world itself shrinks and we live in different countries and different time zones.
Added to that I took a strange comfort on Christmas Day itself. I live in a small village, that means knowing how many people where in the same situation as myself. So many single men and women, so many old and lonely people all shut up in their own homes, no one to talk to, nothing to do but open a single self bought special present. To eat a lonely meal and watch through windows the world going by. I took comfort in the fact I wasn't the only one in that situation...but I will strive to enjoy Family Christmases in future for as long as I can.
Memories of times gone past, memories and thoughts become very specific at moments like these, so i shall ...come hell or high water, snow, rain, hail or shine, rich or poor.....be with my family next Christmas !
Sunday, 17 January 2010
The Dark Side of Me
I remember a line from Terry Pratchett's book Wyrd Sisters where Granny Weatherwax states that if SHE had been the bad one...she would have been very good at it.......and her frustration at having been born the 'good' one. I know JUST how she feels.
We all have that darker self, I view mine as particularly dark because of course there is a side of my capabilities that lends itself to being used specifically to enhance, cause or create hurt in someones life...including my own.
I am not only a practising Shaman-Ka I have an obligation to those who learn from me, who observe my world. to live by what I say. In other words to Walk my Talk.
So spending a lifetime teaching those who seek, that it is good to do one thing and bad to do another means quite literally I have to be seen to be that person.
This week I fought a battle. In relation to the real physical wars in this world, the tragedies of Haiti and so many other dreadful happenings. The acts of depravity and cruelty perpetrated daily by the human race...my battle seems small. Almost insignificant, except it is my own soul I battled for and no one else has mastery of it except me and that was the fight on my hands, a nice clean bright shiny soul...or a blackened wizened thing not worth having.
All because if I was going to be bad...I'd be damned good at it.
To pray is to single mindedly concentrate the whole of your being, mind, body and spirit to the cause of speaking with your Deity. To pray for someone is exactly the same thing plus the request you make on behalf of the person prayed for. My prayers have ALWAYS been answered. Without exception I can honestly say every prayer, every wish I have made, has genuinely happened. This has been a source of great joy and wonderment in my life.
The power to pray is granted to all sentient beings, no matter how it is thought of, worded or created, be it through kneeling and bowing the head in supplication, or dancing like , well Whirling like a Dervish...it is the empowered self, calling on the Universal Consciousness to fulfill the desire of the self.
That it is answered, is the true miracle for prayer is usually enacted when all else has failed and a miracle is needed, wanted,desired. Something outside of the expected, an act or a happening that would not, in the normal way of life, be possible.
That my prayers have always been answered is also a source of fear for me.Why fear? to be absolutely frank with you because I know it works. Therefore if prayer works, the 'other' kind of prayer commonly called a 'curse' also works.Many people would be horrified if they had understood that calling down damnation on someone for a misdemeanor, asking their God to strike someone down, cause the downfall of someone (no matter how justified) is not a prayer but in fact a curse. It is praying for ill will to be manifested into someones life. i know in all of my being that because my prayers have never been ignored that neither would a call to curse be ignored and there lies power of a different kind.
I found myself on several occasions last year placed in a position of being challenged and acts which caused me hurt or harm in some way where done by people who had no justification, no right, no lawful reason. My reactions have caused me a lot of mental anguish.
I so WANTED to curse. Part of me wanted to call down such fury, to rend and tear, to squeeze the black hearts of those responsible. To rip apart their worlds as they had ripped mine. I wanted vengeance. I struggled with it. I tore into my own psyche and demanded submission. I would not curse. And sill that negative part of me wanted, almost needed to be let loose.
Reaction is not good, response is better. Yet my temper sprang from me full charged and raging and each comment, each nasty little act sliced into my heart and it HURT.
I am (believe it or not) usually placid. That most of my working life is spent calming people down, most of my family life is the same...creating peace, that most of my friends see me when things are cool and we can chill together..belies the point of my dark side. When its out...it is damned hard to control and I use any mechanism available to try and release some of the pent up anger, trying to find an inner calm that I have lost sight of.
I look for reasons to feel blessed. Even within the original hurts, I will try to find a blessing, something to be grateful for and in the main it works. When even that fails then there is something else behind it. Something is going on somewhere else, something darker or nastier and that is when I do pray.
I pray for personal strength, insight and understanding, I pray for inner peace and calm to enable me to look at the matter without emotional involvement. I look for me...because I've lost sight of who I am, what I am about, how I am supposed to be as I walk my path, take my journey through life.
That is why this blog is being written now. I lost sight of me.
Basic reason ?
The ex landlord has sent me an invoice. Not only is he keeping my 500 pounds deposit, he has added 105 pounds to it and the list of ills I am supposed to have caused him to remedy is lengthy...and unjust, a lie, a cheat and above all an insult to my intelligence and I am infuriated.
My reaction was equal to his stupidity, that is:- out of proportion and wholly vindictive.
It hurt, to be the focal point of this mans creative accountancy, having already been ill used by this person, so obviously not a gentleman. To pour scorn upon my head because he can, he is a self made millionaire and he does as he pleases secure in the knowledge he is safe. After all, I am no one, I couldn't afford to take the man to court. It is beyond my means...therefore he will do as he wills.
Oh how my anger seethed and boiled.
I have tried to understand.
I do know so many personal details of this persons life and could not equate them with the man I knew and the man he has become. It hurt and it angered in equal proportion.
I was becoming more and more afraid my temper would escape and I would become guilty of doing something really stupid and actually got as far as thinking what way I could word things when I realised i had begun the slippy slope and fled the rooms of my mind. I stayed awake for hours. Afraid to sleep in case I did something in a sleeping state, such was my turmoil.
A friend wrote me, ' I'd suggest you stick pins in a doll of him...except with you it would work' and she is probably right...so no dolls ! I couldn't even allow myself to think his name.
I probably read as if I am a right drama queen...well I am. Things go deep in me, I feel deeply and I think deeply. It has its advantages and its drawbacks. Having a dark and fully charged vindictive side to my nature is one of the drawbacks. My life is literally an open book...why ? because for years I have been judged by what people 'think' I am thinking...so when Blogs became part of our lives I embraced it fully, at last I had a platform to rant, rave or muse to my hearts content...but in every line...it is me. Not someone else's version of me, not someone else's opinion of me...not somone else's thoughts or words i am 'supposed' to have said. These words here in this blog are 'my' me! Brave or stupid ? haven't a clue and I don't really care.
What i do care about is being judged by those who have no right to judge and being unjustly used and abused for I am no mans slave and no mans whipping block...and that is how these challenges have made me feel. I reacted badly. I wanted to curse and I wanted to hate and I wanted to cry in equal proportions.
So what have I done?
Well I didn't curse. I didn't pray either, not for a whole 24 hours, instead I worked hard, then watched a few films to distract my 'head', then discussed and then decided what to do.
I sent love.
Obviously the man doesn't know what love is. Doesn't understand the true nature of love is to heal all hurts, overcome all obstacles, create bridges where there is a divide and to catch the fallen.
With love there is always other options because love does not take prisoners, does not dominate or curtail. With love there is a freedom of the heart to be true to the self. To be honest, loyal, trusting and caring..all these gifts come from a gift of love freely given.
Of course he may refuse that love. When next he feels a tinge of guilt for his treatment of me, he may wish in his heart to apologise and 'talk' himself out of doing so. Thus keeping to his original sin against me. I cannot help him in that decision.
I have sent him love because no matter how many millions of pounds he is worth.
No matter how many houses he now owns or amusement arcades and cafes...
in the end he was so poor of spirit, so mean of good will, so broke of care that he had to enrich himself by actions which impacted on me.
Am I poor of spirit ? Oh by all the Gods I am not, I am richer by far for having found the strength to send him love. For I have beaten the dark side of me...this time.
Am I mean of goodwill ? I do not think so, for I have found enough goodwill in me to genuinely wish he finds his spiritual self and the rewards it brings.
Am I broke of care ? I think not, I cared enough about my souls well being and his safety on all levels to fight this small war between the light and the dark within me.
I will now be able to pray for him properly. Oh I will have to pray. For I have thought ill things in my meanderings, I have spent a lot of waking hours thinking painful thoughts about this man and his actions. I truly believed I had sorted it out. Perhaps I had, it is the receipt of this invoice this week which caused my reactions to flare up again.So I shall pray. I shall ask simply for love to be sent, love and justice.
I can't be fairer than that, and i hope in all my heart and soul that I don't have to fight that battle again.
We all have that darker self, I view mine as particularly dark because of course there is a side of my capabilities that lends itself to being used specifically to enhance, cause or create hurt in someones life...including my own.
I am not only a practising Shaman-Ka I have an obligation to those who learn from me, who observe my world. to live by what I say. In other words to Walk my Talk.
So spending a lifetime teaching those who seek, that it is good to do one thing and bad to do another means quite literally I have to be seen to be that person.
This week I fought a battle. In relation to the real physical wars in this world, the tragedies of Haiti and so many other dreadful happenings. The acts of depravity and cruelty perpetrated daily by the human race...my battle seems small. Almost insignificant, except it is my own soul I battled for and no one else has mastery of it except me and that was the fight on my hands, a nice clean bright shiny soul...or a blackened wizened thing not worth having.
All because if I was going to be bad...I'd be damned good at it.
To pray is to single mindedly concentrate the whole of your being, mind, body and spirit to the cause of speaking with your Deity. To pray for someone is exactly the same thing plus the request you make on behalf of the person prayed for. My prayers have ALWAYS been answered. Without exception I can honestly say every prayer, every wish I have made, has genuinely happened. This has been a source of great joy and wonderment in my life.
The power to pray is granted to all sentient beings, no matter how it is thought of, worded or created, be it through kneeling and bowing the head in supplication, or dancing like , well Whirling like a Dervish...it is the empowered self, calling on the Universal Consciousness to fulfill the desire of the self.
That it is answered, is the true miracle for prayer is usually enacted when all else has failed and a miracle is needed, wanted,desired. Something outside of the expected, an act or a happening that would not, in the normal way of life, be possible.
That my prayers have always been answered is also a source of fear for me.Why fear? to be absolutely frank with you because I know it works. Therefore if prayer works, the 'other' kind of prayer commonly called a 'curse' also works.Many people would be horrified if they had understood that calling down damnation on someone for a misdemeanor, asking their God to strike someone down, cause the downfall of someone (no matter how justified) is not a prayer but in fact a curse. It is praying for ill will to be manifested into someones life. i know in all of my being that because my prayers have never been ignored that neither would a call to curse be ignored and there lies power of a different kind.
I found myself on several occasions last year placed in a position of being challenged and acts which caused me hurt or harm in some way where done by people who had no justification, no right, no lawful reason. My reactions have caused me a lot of mental anguish.
I so WANTED to curse. Part of me wanted to call down such fury, to rend and tear, to squeeze the black hearts of those responsible. To rip apart their worlds as they had ripped mine. I wanted vengeance. I struggled with it. I tore into my own psyche and demanded submission. I would not curse. And sill that negative part of me wanted, almost needed to be let loose.
Reaction is not good, response is better. Yet my temper sprang from me full charged and raging and each comment, each nasty little act sliced into my heart and it HURT.
I am (believe it or not) usually placid. That most of my working life is spent calming people down, most of my family life is the same...creating peace, that most of my friends see me when things are cool and we can chill together..belies the point of my dark side. When its out...it is damned hard to control and I use any mechanism available to try and release some of the pent up anger, trying to find an inner calm that I have lost sight of.
I look for reasons to feel blessed. Even within the original hurts, I will try to find a blessing, something to be grateful for and in the main it works. When even that fails then there is something else behind it. Something is going on somewhere else, something darker or nastier and that is when I do pray.
I pray for personal strength, insight and understanding, I pray for inner peace and calm to enable me to look at the matter without emotional involvement. I look for me...because I've lost sight of who I am, what I am about, how I am supposed to be as I walk my path, take my journey through life.
That is why this blog is being written now. I lost sight of me.
Basic reason ?
The ex landlord has sent me an invoice. Not only is he keeping my 500 pounds deposit, he has added 105 pounds to it and the list of ills I am supposed to have caused him to remedy is lengthy...and unjust, a lie, a cheat and above all an insult to my intelligence and I am infuriated.
My reaction was equal to his stupidity, that is:- out of proportion and wholly vindictive.
It hurt, to be the focal point of this mans creative accountancy, having already been ill used by this person, so obviously not a gentleman. To pour scorn upon my head because he can, he is a self made millionaire and he does as he pleases secure in the knowledge he is safe. After all, I am no one, I couldn't afford to take the man to court. It is beyond my means...therefore he will do as he wills.
Oh how my anger seethed and boiled.
I have tried to understand.
I do know so many personal details of this persons life and could not equate them with the man I knew and the man he has become. It hurt and it angered in equal proportion.
I was becoming more and more afraid my temper would escape and I would become guilty of doing something really stupid and actually got as far as thinking what way I could word things when I realised i had begun the slippy slope and fled the rooms of my mind. I stayed awake for hours. Afraid to sleep in case I did something in a sleeping state, such was my turmoil.
A friend wrote me, ' I'd suggest you stick pins in a doll of him...except with you it would work' and she is probably right...so no dolls ! I couldn't even allow myself to think his name.
I probably read as if I am a right drama queen...well I am. Things go deep in me, I feel deeply and I think deeply. It has its advantages and its drawbacks. Having a dark and fully charged vindictive side to my nature is one of the drawbacks. My life is literally an open book...why ? because for years I have been judged by what people 'think' I am thinking...so when Blogs became part of our lives I embraced it fully, at last I had a platform to rant, rave or muse to my hearts content...but in every line...it is me. Not someone else's version of me, not someone else's opinion of me...not somone else's thoughts or words i am 'supposed' to have said. These words here in this blog are 'my' me! Brave or stupid ? haven't a clue and I don't really care.
What i do care about is being judged by those who have no right to judge and being unjustly used and abused for I am no mans slave and no mans whipping block...and that is how these challenges have made me feel. I reacted badly. I wanted to curse and I wanted to hate and I wanted to cry in equal proportions.
So what have I done?
Well I didn't curse. I didn't pray either, not for a whole 24 hours, instead I worked hard, then watched a few films to distract my 'head', then discussed and then decided what to do.
I sent love.
Obviously the man doesn't know what love is. Doesn't understand the true nature of love is to heal all hurts, overcome all obstacles, create bridges where there is a divide and to catch the fallen.
With love there is always other options because love does not take prisoners, does not dominate or curtail. With love there is a freedom of the heart to be true to the self. To be honest, loyal, trusting and caring..all these gifts come from a gift of love freely given.
Of course he may refuse that love. When next he feels a tinge of guilt for his treatment of me, he may wish in his heart to apologise and 'talk' himself out of doing so. Thus keeping to his original sin against me. I cannot help him in that decision.
I have sent him love because no matter how many millions of pounds he is worth.
No matter how many houses he now owns or amusement arcades and cafes...
in the end he was so poor of spirit, so mean of good will, so broke of care that he had to enrich himself by actions which impacted on me.
Am I poor of spirit ? Oh by all the Gods I am not, I am richer by far for having found the strength to send him love. For I have beaten the dark side of me...this time.
Am I mean of goodwill ? I do not think so, for I have found enough goodwill in me to genuinely wish he finds his spiritual self and the rewards it brings.
Am I broke of care ? I think not, I cared enough about my souls well being and his safety on all levels to fight this small war between the light and the dark within me.
I will now be able to pray for him properly. Oh I will have to pray. For I have thought ill things in my meanderings, I have spent a lot of waking hours thinking painful thoughts about this man and his actions. I truly believed I had sorted it out. Perhaps I had, it is the receipt of this invoice this week which caused my reactions to flare up again.So I shall pray. I shall ask simply for love to be sent, love and justice.
I can't be fairer than that, and i hope in all my heart and soul that I don't have to fight that battle again.
Thursday, 14 January 2010
Remembering me.
I remember me, I can see in my minds eye the image I first saw as a little girl. Actually I was quite cute. Big brown eyes, long curly brown hair and a smile that had two front teeth until I was four when suddenly the enamel wore away and I had two healthy but black teeth !
I remember me because it is important to occasionally trackback in your life and reassess your life, its style and its goals and some of the places you have stopped at and hindered yourself as much as the moments of glory when you 'made it' to the top of your particular tree.
I remembered my four year old self and began smiling at some of the moments that surged into my mind. I can remember that Mum and dad couldn't afford a carpet so Mum would polish the living daylights out of the black tiles in the living room, polish them until they where like black glass...oh I did so love to slide on them. I remember dad had nailed hardboard over the chunky doors, making them smooth and streamlined. Then he loveingly stained them a dark brown and varnished them...amazing! we had two huge mirrors to play all sorts of wonderful adventurous games with.
I do have earlier memories. I remember holding Mum's hand as we went to the shops and a huge Alsation dog stood before me and absolutely terrified me. Mum says this was in Liverpool and that I would have only been about 3 years old..still it is my memory and it is definately there. I have vague recollections of an Italian man throwing me a shiny coin (probably a silver threepenny bit) and I also have a single memory of being in a huge room, running underneath the table without having to bend...and throwing my dummy in the open fire...all tiny snapshots but seemingly I was only two years old. Never the les I have one memory which is definately earlier. I was lay on my parents bed and I clearly remember Mum picking me up and snuggling me close to her. I haven't a clue how old I was, just that I was small enough to be wrapped in a blanket. Strange what the mind hangs onto.
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
Sharing a Memory
I wanted to share my memories before they fade. I suggested to Jon that the group might enjoy blogging about their memories and share some of the historical and living histories we have created and he kindly invited me to write this first blog:-
For my first Blog to be shared with you all I wanted to remember a place and a person , both of which where famous and both of which changed many peoples lives. Provident Hospital is the place and Sister Duffy, as famous as any film star within the boundaries of St Helen's itself...is the person. Though I make no apology for this blog...it will wander off and 'investigate' a few small memories along the way without real cause...but maybe an effect ! I promise to keep returning to my main topic.
St. Helen's sits between Manchester and Liverpool, was an industrial town which when I was a child thrived on the Coal, Brewing and Glass Industries which abounded and Beechams', Pilkingtons' and Greenalls' ruled the family economy. Many a child followed in the parents footsteps and worked for the same firm, and it was a saying then that if you lost your job on Friday afternoon, you could walk into a new job on the Monday. With heavy industry, machinery and tools of the trade which where lethal if used wrongly there was a real need for a good hospital and St. Helen's had two.
We had St. Helen's Cottage Hospital, state run at Peasley Cross, a small but solid little hospital serving the communities needs and Provident Hospital in the centre of town itself; run by Roman Catholic Nuns and financially upheld by donations from every working mans wage packet in the Borough.
My introduction to Provident Hospital was at the tender age of 3years old. Ginger Pop was sold in 'Stoneware' Jugs, I fell on one, sat on it with a resounding thump and my Dad had to rush me to the hospital. Wrapping me in a blanket he ran to the top of the road to telephone for an ambulance which duly arrived and rushed me to the Accident unit . Here the Doctor had Dad hold me down while he stitched my torn flesh back in place. (yes it hurt...a lot !) but I didn't cry because Dad said not too. No such thing as an injection to stop the pain...you got sorted as soon as was possible and off you went back home. I have searing recollections of the needle as it pierced each side of the gash in my flesh...ow ow owwww !My next visit to the place was to see my Dad.
Poor Dad had a Duodenal Ulcer and had to be operated on. He told the story of waking after his operation, on the ward early Sunday morning with no idea that the Nuns held Sunday Service in every single ward. He opened his eyes slowly and in his view was an altar, flowers and the smell of incense, and the sound of Latin being incanted. Opening his eyes wider in shock he saw the vision of a woman dressed from head to toe in white and a Priest smiling at him...and Dad gently raised his finger and pointed to the ceiling a query in his eyes 'am I in Heaven?'. Slowly the Priest leaned towards Dad and smilingly shook his head ,with a thumbs down gesture he whispered, "Mr. Jones your a Protestant." and patted Dads hand in sympathy.hahahaha
Yes Provident Hospital was run by Nuns and those beautiful women made no distinction of religion or need but served each person equally and with true devotion and the Priest...well he understood the Miners and the other workers and had a nicely honed sense of humour. What matter religion when you needed someone to save your life.
Religion was then a real problem in the town, often I would be asked if I was a Catlick or a Proddydog..having broad minded parents I never truly had a problem with any religion, still don't but for some, it was an issue. Especially for some of the families over from Ireland whose history was so much darker than our own where religion was concerned. Still tolerance in hospitals and in our education system (Grange Park Technical School for example had both Protestant and Catholic pupils) seemed to work in our little town. What people really got steamed up about ...was Wiganners ! or Scousers! or...well anyone whose accent wasn't the same as their own....but that too changed in time.
At 23 I had blood poisoning in my foot. A thin red line had begun to grow up the back of my leg. I rushed to Provident Hospital and had my first true encounter with the redoubtable Sister Duffy.
This woman was a legend then and I believe still is. She appeared to me then as a no nonsense woman, a hands on 'fixer of all ills' with complete common sense and an attitude remarkably like the matron that Hattie Jacques acted so brilliantly.When it came to telling you...and anyone else in hearing...to shape up and stop whinging !!! Sister Duffy deserved an Oscar.! With brisk efficiency she stabbed my arm with a needle that looked (to my very squeamish eyes) more like a knitting needle and resolved my poisoning with a hefty shot of Tetanus ...I left with a bandaged foot and leg and a list of do and don't and a telling off....never dig up the garden in silly shoes ever again!
My next encounter was through my friend Barbara whose nose had been punched and broken.According to my friend without so much as an X-Ray Sister Duffy took one look, said almost casually 'brace yourself' and with two firm hands put Barbara's' nose back as straight as ever. Babs' eyes where watering...but the time saved, the energy saved...and the looks preserved she left with a "Thank you Sister Duffy" on her lips...but I still laugh when I think about the look on Babs' face as she recounted this tale.
That wouldn't be allowed now, we all know that, but how many of us have reason to be thankful for the person who can see and do...and does it without any fuss? Sometimes the old days and the old ways really where best.
My young son David had a small accident, a silly scrape but Provident Hospital was open and easy to reach and my Husband also a David came with me as we took our son to the Accident department.
My husband was very edgy, kept walking around when suddenly Sister Duffy appeared. Never before or since have I seen the like. My 6 footer husband, all 18 stone of rugby muscle and as hard as nails suddenly became quiet, almost reverential ;as Sister Duffy proceeded to fix our sons leg; I hear; please, thank you, yes Sister Duffy, no Sister Duffy. I raised an eyebrow at him in surprise and he shrugged and looked down at the floor. In those days the paperwork came after not before you got treated and Sister Duffy begins to fill out some paperwork for David. She asked name? and I said David Swift and she stopped her pen in mid stroke and raised her eyes to look piercingly at my son.
"I know that name, wait a minute your far too young...hmmmm you!" and pointed pen and finger at my husband.
Big David hung his head "yes Sister Duffy " and then smiled as she began to recount a series of 'adventures' which all involved my Husbands escapades as a child and teenager....young David was awe struck, Big David was boyishly embarrassed and with the stern "I don't want to see you copying your father" in his ears my young son , held in his fathers arms left Provident Hospital grinning like mad and asking very uncomfortable questions of daddy...how did you cut your knee open so you could see bone Dad ?
This woman had memory like an elephant!..
I met Sister Duffy a few years later, and yes she remembered me and she remembered my son and my husband...what a woman...and how many more of you out there remember her ? not just for her kindness and her help and her wit...but her service to the towns people ?
St. Helen's has lost Provident Hospital now, its long gone and with it a whole series of memories and small miracles. In its place are flats and buildings and an institution that deserved to stay has been lost forever.
Somewhere in St. Helen's memories lie a thousand, a million little thoughts about both the hospital and all of its staff , not just the redoubtable Sister Duffy but the Nuns who gave such service, care and love to the community. Those memories are rarely brought to the surface, very rarely remembered now. I hope this blog has stirred a kind thought for a woman who gave service to the town for many years. I hope this blog has caused you to remember and in those memories I hope you find a smile.
For those who have no such memories I can honestly say, that with all the modern almost science fictional qualities of modern hospitals...without a Sister Duffy, they are soulless places that inspire nothing of the human soul, nothing of the human spirit to fight, to recover...one 'brace yourself' from a stern but kindly voice can do far more for you than a whole packet of pills ! I trusted that voice, if she had told me to turn back from deaths door and come home...I'd have listened ....maybe some of you out there did.
Long live the memory.
As I ready myself to post this little blog...oh the thoughts that have come streaming back, Josie my friend showing me her legs when the Nun 'strapped her' for not attending Mass, the Jesuit Singing Priest outside of The Co - op 'blow out' the Dominican Priest all the girls fell in love with at St. Anne's...Radio Doom, St. Anne's Graveyard and the midnight walk of the Monks that had 'us' all believing we where witnessing ghosts..Red Rose Rockers, Carr Mill Cowboys...its all still here, I haven't thought of Willie 'dancing on his tank (and falling off a lot)' riding his bike down North Road because we where all going to watch Easy Rider at the 'flicks',. Scarcely thought of memories.....and I am smiling to myself.
Good times, bad times, some downright rotten times, some absolutely amazing times. I can remember so much I thought had long since melted away with time..I must tell you about the Close Encounters of a Third kind moment in Shirdley Park when we lived in Shirdley Hall...I want to tell you..oh...ho...then there is....ah well time is short today, reading for too long becomes difficult another time perhaps. But never the less..welcome to my memories, my history...welcome to my thoughts...Somewhere 'out there' are people I haven't heard of for years, places I haven't been too and then here in the realms of my mind are thoughts I haven't shared for so long.....now have you a few too ?
e mail me at Ravenjehra@hotmail.com mark it St Helen's memories and I would love to hear from you...but in the meantime...this blog is especially for Jon's' site...join in...spread the word...share the moments :)
picture Sunset at Windle 2009 copyrite SusaninHarlech.
For my first Blog to be shared with you all I wanted to remember a place and a person , both of which where famous and both of which changed many peoples lives. Provident Hospital is the place and Sister Duffy, as famous as any film star within the boundaries of St Helen's itself...is the person. Though I make no apology for this blog...it will wander off and 'investigate' a few small memories along the way without real cause...but maybe an effect ! I promise to keep returning to my main topic.
St. Helen's sits between Manchester and Liverpool, was an industrial town which when I was a child thrived on the Coal, Brewing and Glass Industries which abounded and Beechams', Pilkingtons' and Greenalls' ruled the family economy. Many a child followed in the parents footsteps and worked for the same firm, and it was a saying then that if you lost your job on Friday afternoon, you could walk into a new job on the Monday. With heavy industry, machinery and tools of the trade which where lethal if used wrongly there was a real need for a good hospital and St. Helen's had two.
We had St. Helen's Cottage Hospital, state run at Peasley Cross, a small but solid little hospital serving the communities needs and Provident Hospital in the centre of town itself; run by Roman Catholic Nuns and financially upheld by donations from every working mans wage packet in the Borough.
My introduction to Provident Hospital was at the tender age of 3years old. Ginger Pop was sold in 'Stoneware' Jugs, I fell on one, sat on it with a resounding thump and my Dad had to rush me to the hospital. Wrapping me in a blanket he ran to the top of the road to telephone for an ambulance which duly arrived and rushed me to the Accident unit . Here the Doctor had Dad hold me down while he stitched my torn flesh back in place. (yes it hurt...a lot !) but I didn't cry because Dad said not too. No such thing as an injection to stop the pain...you got sorted as soon as was possible and off you went back home. I have searing recollections of the needle as it pierced each side of the gash in my flesh...ow ow owwww !My next visit to the place was to see my Dad.
Poor Dad had a Duodenal Ulcer and had to be operated on. He told the story of waking after his operation, on the ward early Sunday morning with no idea that the Nuns held Sunday Service in every single ward. He opened his eyes slowly and in his view was an altar, flowers and the smell of incense, and the sound of Latin being incanted. Opening his eyes wider in shock he saw the vision of a woman dressed from head to toe in white and a Priest smiling at him...and Dad gently raised his finger and pointed to the ceiling a query in his eyes 'am I in Heaven?'. Slowly the Priest leaned towards Dad and smilingly shook his head ,with a thumbs down gesture he whispered, "Mr. Jones your a Protestant." and patted Dads hand in sympathy.hahahaha
Yes Provident Hospital was run by Nuns and those beautiful women made no distinction of religion or need but served each person equally and with true devotion and the Priest...well he understood the Miners and the other workers and had a nicely honed sense of humour. What matter religion when you needed someone to save your life.
Religion was then a real problem in the town, often I would be asked if I was a Catlick or a Proddydog..having broad minded parents I never truly had a problem with any religion, still don't but for some, it was an issue. Especially for some of the families over from Ireland whose history was so much darker than our own where religion was concerned. Still tolerance in hospitals and in our education system (Grange Park Technical School for example had both Protestant and Catholic pupils) seemed to work in our little town. What people really got steamed up about ...was Wiganners ! or Scousers! or...well anyone whose accent wasn't the same as their own....but that too changed in time.
At 23 I had blood poisoning in my foot. A thin red line had begun to grow up the back of my leg. I rushed to Provident Hospital and had my first true encounter with the redoubtable Sister Duffy.
This woman was a legend then and I believe still is. She appeared to me then as a no nonsense woman, a hands on 'fixer of all ills' with complete common sense and an attitude remarkably like the matron that Hattie Jacques acted so brilliantly.When it came to telling you...and anyone else in hearing...to shape up and stop whinging !!! Sister Duffy deserved an Oscar.! With brisk efficiency she stabbed my arm with a needle that looked (to my very squeamish eyes) more like a knitting needle and resolved my poisoning with a hefty shot of Tetanus ...I left with a bandaged foot and leg and a list of do and don't and a telling off....never dig up the garden in silly shoes ever again!
My next encounter was through my friend Barbara whose nose had been punched and broken.According to my friend without so much as an X-Ray Sister Duffy took one look, said almost casually 'brace yourself' and with two firm hands put Barbara's' nose back as straight as ever. Babs' eyes where watering...but the time saved, the energy saved...and the looks preserved she left with a "Thank you Sister Duffy" on her lips...but I still laugh when I think about the look on Babs' face as she recounted this tale.
That wouldn't be allowed now, we all know that, but how many of us have reason to be thankful for the person who can see and do...and does it without any fuss? Sometimes the old days and the old ways really where best.
My young son David had a small accident, a silly scrape but Provident Hospital was open and easy to reach and my Husband also a David came with me as we took our son to the Accident department.
My husband was very edgy, kept walking around when suddenly Sister Duffy appeared. Never before or since have I seen the like. My 6 footer husband, all 18 stone of rugby muscle and as hard as nails suddenly became quiet, almost reverential ;as Sister Duffy proceeded to fix our sons leg; I hear; please, thank you, yes Sister Duffy, no Sister Duffy. I raised an eyebrow at him in surprise and he shrugged and looked down at the floor. In those days the paperwork came after not before you got treated and Sister Duffy begins to fill out some paperwork for David. She asked name? and I said David Swift and she stopped her pen in mid stroke and raised her eyes to look piercingly at my son.
"I know that name, wait a minute your far too young...hmmmm you!" and pointed pen and finger at my husband.
Big David hung his head "yes Sister Duffy " and then smiled as she began to recount a series of 'adventures' which all involved my Husbands escapades as a child and teenager....young David was awe struck, Big David was boyishly embarrassed and with the stern "I don't want to see you copying your father" in his ears my young son , held in his fathers arms left Provident Hospital grinning like mad and asking very uncomfortable questions of daddy...how did you cut your knee open so you could see bone Dad ?
This woman had memory like an elephant!..
I met Sister Duffy a few years later, and yes she remembered me and she remembered my son and my husband...what a woman...and how many more of you out there remember her ? not just for her kindness and her help and her wit...but her service to the towns people ?
St. Helen's has lost Provident Hospital now, its long gone and with it a whole series of memories and small miracles. In its place are flats and buildings and an institution that deserved to stay has been lost forever.
Somewhere in St. Helen's memories lie a thousand, a million little thoughts about both the hospital and all of its staff , not just the redoubtable Sister Duffy but the Nuns who gave such service, care and love to the community. Those memories are rarely brought to the surface, very rarely remembered now. I hope this blog has stirred a kind thought for a woman who gave service to the town for many years. I hope this blog has caused you to remember and in those memories I hope you find a smile.
For those who have no such memories I can honestly say, that with all the modern almost science fictional qualities of modern hospitals...without a Sister Duffy, they are soulless places that inspire nothing of the human soul, nothing of the human spirit to fight, to recover...one 'brace yourself' from a stern but kindly voice can do far more for you than a whole packet of pills ! I trusted that voice, if she had told me to turn back from deaths door and come home...I'd have listened ....maybe some of you out there did.
Long live the memory.
As I ready myself to post this little blog...oh the thoughts that have come streaming back, Josie my friend showing me her legs when the Nun 'strapped her' for not attending Mass, the Jesuit Singing Priest outside of The Co - op 'blow out' the Dominican Priest all the girls fell in love with at St. Anne's...Radio Doom, St. Anne's Graveyard and the midnight walk of the Monks that had 'us' all believing we where witnessing ghosts..Red Rose Rockers, Carr Mill Cowboys...its all still here, I haven't thought of Willie 'dancing on his tank (and falling off a lot)' riding his bike down North Road because we where all going to watch Easy Rider at the 'flicks',. Scarcely thought of memories.....and I am smiling to myself.
Good times, bad times, some downright rotten times, some absolutely amazing times. I can remember so much I thought had long since melted away with time..I must tell you about the Close Encounters of a Third kind moment in Shirdley Park when we lived in Shirdley Hall...I want to tell you..oh...ho...then there is....ah well time is short today, reading for too long becomes difficult another time perhaps. But never the less..welcome to my memories, my history...welcome to my thoughts...Somewhere 'out there' are people I haven't heard of for years, places I haven't been too and then here in the realms of my mind are thoughts I haven't shared for so long.....now have you a few too ?
e mail me at Ravenjehra@hotmail.com mark it St Helen's memories and I would love to hear from you...but in the meantime...this blog is especially for Jon's' site...join in...spread the word...share the moments :)
picture Sunset at Windle 2009 copyrite SusaninHarlech.
Olden Golden Days
I went trawling round a little Facebook site the other day, St. Helens is an old Industrial Town with an amazingly large amount of people and a huge church so much like a Cathedral
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
Courting A Damned Good Stretch.
When I awoke it was in a warm sunny room, relaxed, no pain in my body that I could sense and I realised I had slept properly for the first time in over a month. The bed was warm thanks to the extra blanket I threw on the duvet last night. The sun had warmed the bedroom itself, it was quite high in the sky so I knew it was late morning. I had shut the curtains the night before, not something I usually do, I like to see the moon and the stars, I love waking to the sight of the Castle or a glimpse of the sea...but shut curtains keep the heat in and last night had been bitterly cold.
I lay thinking idle thoughts and drifted asleep for a little while, that sort of comfy snooze zone where you can hear whats going on outside and couldn't give a flying 'f' what it was...as snoozes go it was particularly nice and enjoyable. I got out of bed with a grace often denied me. No pain means sitting up, not rolling onto my stomach and scrawling off the bed in some abseiling style manoeuvre over the edge of what can become a cliff like obstacle.
I clambered to my feet and stretched...the first time I consciously have stretched my arms and back for ever such a long time; and it felt WONDERFUL, Oh my Gods I had forgotten what a pleasure a good stretch of the body can feel like. I immediately scrambled back onto my bed and did a full 'arm,arm,leg,leg to the corners of the bed stretch and actually arched my back...glorious. What a joy...I curled round into the final wonder a full cat curling ball of muscles, sinews and assorted bits of anatomy gently lengthening around my skeleton and let myself 'flop' into total relaxation...and wandered off into a mini snooze as I wallowed in the sensations.
If you have ever had backache of any description or been held restricted by a plaster cast or a back corset you will know EXACTLY what a joy a good stretch is...that it was available to me today was lovely..it is what inspired this blog to begin with...because I was so AWARE of this action, my skin was alive, my mind revelled and my body appreciated an action long denied it...which had me thinking...just WHAT had I done differently last night to give my body a proper sleep. a genuine relaxing, an honest rest...that ultimately allowed me my indulgent little stretch...hmmmmmmmmm.
I need to know so I can court another damned good stretch...its so nice.
Well I had been terribly disappointed that it snowed yet again, I so want to visit my little Mum who is 120 miles away and the weather keeps defying me. As a result I had stayed awake longer than usual, it was 3am before I went to bed but hey ! at my age I can go to bed whenever I damned well please so it wasn't that.
I woke mid morning...not that either I can sleep all day, or get up at 5am that's my prerogative so there was no undue pressure from society for me to deal with, quite simply I work for myself at my own pace...so it wasn't that.
I had put the little heater on to boost the rooms temperature, but that is something I will never deny myself ever again. Go read Adventures in the Night (October 2009 for why). so it wasn't an unusual temperature.
I had put a video on to drift off too but the video machine is ancient and whines a bit so I had turned it off in the end, and simply lay there with my favourite 'pretend dream..winning the lottery and spending money freely and without hindrance to my ambitions' nothing unusual there. Its a pleasant enough sleep pattern inducing process but one I am familiar with and holding one lottery ticket entitles you to a dream or two until the draw itself.
It was quiet and dark with ambient light from the street below casting a pleasant glow through the curtains....nothing unusual in that.
I had put a simple little blanket between my duvet and the top cover for a little extra warmth...maybe it was that extra warmth as I slept ?
I had given up worrying about travel...maybe it was that ? I hate driving long distance, there are so many variables to the dangers encountered from stupid co users of the roads to the unexpected sudden appearance of drops, cliffs. mountain slides. roaming sheep ad-infinitum...maybe it was that? (2009, Living up a Mountain blog)
I had said goodnight to the Bf with a pleasant little hug n stuff , we have space here and room to be ourselves' his sleep pattern is very different from mine so our own space is vital...it might be part of it, knowing someone I trusted was in the building, feeling safe and secure ? Knowing that little Sparky would bark like a demonised hell hound if someone so much as knocked at the door.?
So many variables and then it struck me, exactly what it was.....a small but telling little thought entered my mind and I have the answer.
During the day I had exchanged e mails with my Landlord. Not known as the most popular person in the village I have found the man to be honest, genuinely an ethical landlord and above all approachable in all matters of business with a sound mind and good intentions. He never over steps the mark, is not overly familiar and has a good and happy home life of his own. He is also undergoing a lot of stuff in his own world and as a result is familiar with the medical procedures I am going through currently and addresses me with that in mind, courteous and sympathetic.
He told me some information, it made sense, it made me realise how much I still held onto my sense of injustice from my previous landlords actions and current behaviour (holding onto my deposit money and so on). His suggestion gave me a possible way of doing the right thing, getting justice and honour restored and I realised I had finally let go of the past.
I hate injustice, I loathe and despise people who use their own position in life to impose on others 'just because they can' When someone exercises power over me from a stand point of unfair and cruel behaviour or become despotic and manipulative I rebel.
Since the end of November my sense of injustice and my personal bewilderment and hurt had manifested itself in tight tension. My back is my monitor, the muscles tighten, the sinews become taught like wire, my neck stiffens and as a result the rest of me suffers from its unco-operative status. I had, for over five weeks been walking round with a time bomb of tension held in my poor old back. As I have Degenerative Spinal Disease it certainly doesn't help matters....and all that tension was gone.
KNOWING I can obtain justice, is the reason. Not that I will or won't but being freed from the oppressiveness of 'nothing you can do', being released from the sense that I would be dominated by this mans choices and behaviours. Being made aware that I can, if I wish, do something to obtain justice...now THAT was in place I was free.
I was no longer under the restrictive and cruel sense of being boxed in, dominated and suppressed by a man who has more money than I, more position in life than I, more arsenal than I ...suddenly gone and in its place came...yes you can, if you want to, free to act.......and the past has stopped ruling me.
Of course anyone with any understanding of Psycho analytical processes will realise that my past has been a series of challenges where domination, violence, and all its attendant little nastiness's has been part of my life...what I DIDN'T realise is how it can manifest itself so much later in life and affect my health and my sense of self so unduly...another battle will ensue for my mind to let this go for ever...but that is ahead of me. What is present now is FREEDOM and it is wonderful.
I am looking forwards to another Damned Good Stretch tomorrow...I will have one, I know I will. I am no longer being restricted, held down, dominated, suppressed or anything else...I am FREE to act if I wish to. That is all it needed, my freedom of will to be genuinely free.
I have no idea what I will do, I have no intentions of looking at it until I have dealt with more pressing issues, the results of my MRI , the Tax Forms for the 31st Jan, The council tax and the bills to be paid...but I am FREE to deal with those issues and I am FREE to decide whether or not to take the old landlord to court for a number of illegal aspects as much as I am FREE to ignore it all and just let it go, if he needs my 500 quid so badly then I may just let him have it, after all he is a poor millionaire...but then FREEDOM oh my...that is what all this was about.
I shall court my Damned Good Stretch again and gain, it is pleasant, it is a small and free enjoyment in being alive, in appreciating my own body and what it does for me .
So when you go to bed, if you don't wake up feeling warm and relaxed and joyful; to the days beginning....take a look back.
Where is it stopped, who or what is restricting you...and deal with it, let it go, be free and you too can enjoy that singularly wonderful gift of your body...a damned good stretch...what a way to start the day....followed by a good coffee and a nice breakfast.. Happy New Year.
I lay thinking idle thoughts and drifted asleep for a little while, that sort of comfy snooze zone where you can hear whats going on outside and couldn't give a flying 'f' what it was...as snoozes go it was particularly nice and enjoyable. I got out of bed with a grace often denied me. No pain means sitting up, not rolling onto my stomach and scrawling off the bed in some abseiling style manoeuvre over the edge of what can become a cliff like obstacle.
I clambered to my feet and stretched...the first time I consciously have stretched my arms and back for ever such a long time; and it felt WONDERFUL, Oh my Gods I had forgotten what a pleasure a good stretch of the body can feel like. I immediately scrambled back onto my bed and did a full 'arm,arm,leg,leg to the corners of the bed stretch and actually arched my back...glorious. What a joy...I curled round into the final wonder a full cat curling ball of muscles, sinews and assorted bits of anatomy gently lengthening around my skeleton and let myself 'flop' into total relaxation...and wandered off into a mini snooze as I wallowed in the sensations.
If you have ever had backache of any description or been held restricted by a plaster cast or a back corset you will know EXACTLY what a joy a good stretch is...that it was available to me today was lovely..it is what inspired this blog to begin with...because I was so AWARE of this action, my skin was alive, my mind revelled and my body appreciated an action long denied it...which had me thinking...just WHAT had I done differently last night to give my body a proper sleep. a genuine relaxing, an honest rest...that ultimately allowed me my indulgent little stretch...hmmmmmmmmm.
I need to know so I can court another damned good stretch...its so nice.
Well I had been terribly disappointed that it snowed yet again, I so want to visit my little Mum who is 120 miles away and the weather keeps defying me. As a result I had stayed awake longer than usual, it was 3am before I went to bed but hey ! at my age I can go to bed whenever I damned well please so it wasn't that.
I woke mid morning...not that either I can sleep all day, or get up at 5am that's my prerogative so there was no undue pressure from society for me to deal with, quite simply I work for myself at my own pace...so it wasn't that.
I had put the little heater on to boost the rooms temperature, but that is something I will never deny myself ever again. Go read Adventures in the Night (October 2009 for why). so it wasn't an unusual temperature.
I had put a video on to drift off too but the video machine is ancient and whines a bit so I had turned it off in the end, and simply lay there with my favourite 'pretend dream..winning the lottery and spending money freely and without hindrance to my ambitions' nothing unusual there. Its a pleasant enough sleep pattern inducing process but one I am familiar with and holding one lottery ticket entitles you to a dream or two until the draw itself.
It was quiet and dark with ambient light from the street below casting a pleasant glow through the curtains....nothing unusual in that.
I had put a simple little blanket between my duvet and the top cover for a little extra warmth...maybe it was that extra warmth as I slept ?
I had given up worrying about travel...maybe it was that ? I hate driving long distance, there are so many variables to the dangers encountered from stupid co users of the roads to the unexpected sudden appearance of drops, cliffs. mountain slides. roaming sheep ad-infinitum...maybe it was that? (2009, Living up a Mountain blog)
I had said goodnight to the Bf with a pleasant little hug n stuff , we have space here and room to be ourselves' his sleep pattern is very different from mine so our own space is vital...it might be part of it, knowing someone I trusted was in the building, feeling safe and secure ? Knowing that little Sparky would bark like a demonised hell hound if someone so much as knocked at the door.?
So many variables and then it struck me, exactly what it was.....a small but telling little thought entered my mind and I have the answer.
During the day I had exchanged e mails with my Landlord. Not known as the most popular person in the village I have found the man to be honest, genuinely an ethical landlord and above all approachable in all matters of business with a sound mind and good intentions. He never over steps the mark, is not overly familiar and has a good and happy home life of his own. He is also undergoing a lot of stuff in his own world and as a result is familiar with the medical procedures I am going through currently and addresses me with that in mind, courteous and sympathetic.
He told me some information, it made sense, it made me realise how much I still held onto my sense of injustice from my previous landlords actions and current behaviour (holding onto my deposit money and so on). His suggestion gave me a possible way of doing the right thing, getting justice and honour restored and I realised I had finally let go of the past.
I hate injustice, I loathe and despise people who use their own position in life to impose on others 'just because they can' When someone exercises power over me from a stand point of unfair and cruel behaviour or become despotic and manipulative I rebel.
Since the end of November my sense of injustice and my personal bewilderment and hurt had manifested itself in tight tension. My back is my monitor, the muscles tighten, the sinews become taught like wire, my neck stiffens and as a result the rest of me suffers from its unco-operative status. I had, for over five weeks been walking round with a time bomb of tension held in my poor old back. As I have Degenerative Spinal Disease it certainly doesn't help matters....and all that tension was gone.
KNOWING I can obtain justice, is the reason. Not that I will or won't but being freed from the oppressiveness of 'nothing you can do', being released from the sense that I would be dominated by this mans choices and behaviours. Being made aware that I can, if I wish, do something to obtain justice...now THAT was in place I was free.
I was no longer under the restrictive and cruel sense of being boxed in, dominated and suppressed by a man who has more money than I, more position in life than I, more arsenal than I ...suddenly gone and in its place came...yes you can, if you want to, free to act.......and the past has stopped ruling me.
Of course anyone with any understanding of Psycho analytical processes will realise that my past has been a series of challenges where domination, violence, and all its attendant little nastiness's has been part of my life...what I DIDN'T realise is how it can manifest itself so much later in life and affect my health and my sense of self so unduly...another battle will ensue for my mind to let this go for ever...but that is ahead of me. What is present now is FREEDOM and it is wonderful.
I am looking forwards to another Damned Good Stretch tomorrow...I will have one, I know I will. I am no longer being restricted, held down, dominated, suppressed or anything else...I am FREE to act if I wish to. That is all it needed, my freedom of will to be genuinely free.
I have no idea what I will do, I have no intentions of looking at it until I have dealt with more pressing issues, the results of my MRI , the Tax Forms for the 31st Jan, The council tax and the bills to be paid...but I am FREE to deal with those issues and I am FREE to decide whether or not to take the old landlord to court for a number of illegal aspects as much as I am FREE to ignore it all and just let it go, if he needs my 500 quid so badly then I may just let him have it, after all he is a poor millionaire...but then FREEDOM oh my...that is what all this was about.
I shall court my Damned Good Stretch again and gain, it is pleasant, it is a small and free enjoyment in being alive, in appreciating my own body and what it does for me .
So when you go to bed, if you don't wake up feeling warm and relaxed and joyful; to the days beginning....take a look back.
Where is it stopped, who or what is restricting you...and deal with it, let it go, be free and you too can enjoy that singularly wonderful gift of your body...a damned good stretch...what a way to start the day....followed by a good coffee and a nice breakfast.. Happy New Year.
Sunday, 3 January 2010
New Year 2010
This blog is late being posted but I started thinking about what I would write on New Years Eve.
The village is noisy everywhere on New Year because fireworks and revellers are around and of course celebrating isn't the quietest of activities but it wasn't a noise that was unwelcome by me.
Instead I found myself realising how much noise has played a part in creating my new life, the challenges and changes seem to have all been sparked by noise in one form or another.
It was the noise generated by myself and the BF that created the tension between us in March, living in a one up one down cottage created an absence of realistic space that in the end forced a decision for myself to move into the flat above the Amusement Arcade. The tiny cottage couldn't contain BF's music and my sewing machine and our joint need for space and peace and quiet at different times of the day and so I moved 100 yards away . We stayed together as a couple but had our own space, made our own noise.
It was the noise of a raucous telephone bell at daft o clock on a Sunday morning that put me in a hell of a mood so that when I answered the phone the person on the other end of it didn't get me 'at my best' and began the change from one contract to another. It also began the journey I made of learning all about my own principles and my own ethics.
It was constant noise at an unacceptable level that caused me to grind my teeth, that put too much pressure on my implants that in the end created the problem with implants that ended in me having an awful lot of expensive treatment and at a huge amount of cost and time. The end result of a smile I can actually enjoy was worth it in the end...but the noise didn't abate.
It was the constant buzz and hum and clang,bang,ring,doing, ding ,dang dong that caused me to ask the landlord' who is obviously not a gentleman' when the sound proofing would be done...hence being told to leave and wallah...here I am in a new home and new type of noise....life !
I had forgotten what life can sound like because of course a village is small, generally quiet and doesn't lend itself to the town size noise levels of living I had been used to.
I had forgotten some sounds and now welcome them with open arms.
I had shut myself off unintentionally and had missed the living that goes on daily whether I am present or not and now I am back in the 'land of the living'...and the noise is a reminder not to close myself off quite so much.
I welcome the sound of a letter box clanging as it brings me new data, new information.
I love the sound of the village as it wakes up, the Boro Da Sut Dachi of the locals as they say good morning, how are you.
I hear the yap or woof of a dog being taken for a walk and the laughter of children or the moans as they go to school. I hear the swish of tyres and the low hum of a car or two as they zoom off to work in the next town or the nearest city..long distance travel isn't a stranger to the locals as they seek work around Wales.
The tip tap of a stiletto, the recent swoosh of toboggans on the fresh crisp snow. The raucous laughter of the revellers in the local pub...all add to the grist of the mill of life...and reminds me not to stay shut away.
In a morning or a late night I turn on my side and burrow deeper into my duvet and snuggle into the warmth and gentle hug of the mattress and smile to myself...its good to be alive and I listen to my new 'noises' they are strangely reassuring.
Yesterday the doorbell rang...not an unusual occurrence in peoples lives but for me it was the herald of new people to meet, new connections to make and as my previous home had neither a door bell or a letterbox those two new sounds are still a novelty to me...and I like it.
Sure there are times when the noise levels are a little too much...so I wander into the kitchen where it is quiet and have a drink or use thew computer, all in all...I like my new noise and it has an added bonus.
It was the noise of my crying which brought my BF into his Knight in Shining Armour stance that caused him to move here with me on December the 31st no longer squashed by too small a place to live and bitter cold room.
Here we have our space and our quiet and noisy times. Here we share magnificent views of Castle, Mountains,Valleys and the Sea. Well blessed by this we have a greater joy in our sharing such beauty and such space and even, yes the noise !
I don't know if 20 odd electrical machines being switched on for 12 hours a day beneath you has an actual health risk attached to it...but the absence of all that electrical fall out...is being assessed by my doctors right now because my health is fighting back, after months and months of feeling ill all the time, feeling drained and nervy and tired...it is fading, not immediately but it is defiantly fading...
So the absence of noise, the introduction of new noise has brought gifts and treasures for me to enjoy.... Happy new Year... I don't know yet but it has definitely started on the right note !
The village is noisy everywhere on New Year because fireworks and revellers are around and of course celebrating isn't the quietest of activities but it wasn't a noise that was unwelcome by me.
Instead I found myself realising how much noise has played a part in creating my new life, the challenges and changes seem to have all been sparked by noise in one form or another.
It was the noise generated by myself and the BF that created the tension between us in March, living in a one up one down cottage created an absence of realistic space that in the end forced a decision for myself to move into the flat above the Amusement Arcade. The tiny cottage couldn't contain BF's music and my sewing machine and our joint need for space and peace and quiet at different times of the day and so I moved 100 yards away . We stayed together as a couple but had our own space, made our own noise.
It was the noise of a raucous telephone bell at daft o clock on a Sunday morning that put me in a hell of a mood so that when I answered the phone the person on the other end of it didn't get me 'at my best' and began the change from one contract to another. It also began the journey I made of learning all about my own principles and my own ethics.
It was constant noise at an unacceptable level that caused me to grind my teeth, that put too much pressure on my implants that in the end created the problem with implants that ended in me having an awful lot of expensive treatment and at a huge amount of cost and time. The end result of a smile I can actually enjoy was worth it in the end...but the noise didn't abate.
It was the constant buzz and hum and clang,bang,ring,doing, ding ,dang dong that caused me to ask the landlord' who is obviously not a gentleman' when the sound proofing would be done...hence being told to leave and wallah...here I am in a new home and new type of noise....life !
I had forgotten what life can sound like because of course a village is small, generally quiet and doesn't lend itself to the town size noise levels of living I had been used to.
I had forgotten some sounds and now welcome them with open arms.
I had shut myself off unintentionally and had missed the living that goes on daily whether I am present or not and now I am back in the 'land of the living'...and the noise is a reminder not to close myself off quite so much.
I welcome the sound of a letter box clanging as it brings me new data, new information.
I love the sound of the village as it wakes up, the Boro Da Sut Dachi of the locals as they say good morning, how are you.
I hear the yap or woof of a dog being taken for a walk and the laughter of children or the moans as they go to school. I hear the swish of tyres and the low hum of a car or two as they zoom off to work in the next town or the nearest city..long distance travel isn't a stranger to the locals as they seek work around Wales.
The tip tap of a stiletto, the recent swoosh of toboggans on the fresh crisp snow. The raucous laughter of the revellers in the local pub...all add to the grist of the mill of life...and reminds me not to stay shut away.
In a morning or a late night I turn on my side and burrow deeper into my duvet and snuggle into the warmth and gentle hug of the mattress and smile to myself...its good to be alive and I listen to my new 'noises' they are strangely reassuring.
Yesterday the doorbell rang...not an unusual occurrence in peoples lives but for me it was the herald of new people to meet, new connections to make and as my previous home had neither a door bell or a letterbox those two new sounds are still a novelty to me...and I like it.
Sure there are times when the noise levels are a little too much...so I wander into the kitchen where it is quiet and have a drink or use thew computer, all in all...I like my new noise and it has an added bonus.
It was the noise of my crying which brought my BF into his Knight in Shining Armour stance that caused him to move here with me on December the 31st no longer squashed by too small a place to live and bitter cold room.
Here we have our space and our quiet and noisy times. Here we share magnificent views of Castle, Mountains,Valleys and the Sea. Well blessed by this we have a greater joy in our sharing such beauty and such space and even, yes the noise !
I don't know if 20 odd electrical machines being switched on for 12 hours a day beneath you has an actual health risk attached to it...but the absence of all that electrical fall out...is being assessed by my doctors right now because my health is fighting back, after months and months of feeling ill all the time, feeling drained and nervy and tired...it is fading, not immediately but it is defiantly fading...
So the absence of noise, the introduction of new noise has brought gifts and treasures for me to enjoy.... Happy new Year... I don't know yet but it has definitely started on the right note !
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