tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47671483347730792472024-03-07T20:22:51.627-08:00Random ScribblingJust a place to put free writing, and hopefully get some suggestions, for further free writesSeahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-37956227254823362432016-05-13T06:36:00.000-07:002016-05-13T06:36:34.012-07:00Not everything has a name.Perhaps I should elaborate on what I mean here. Earlier I was wondering if the shavings left over when you sharpen a pencil have a particular name.<br />
So, I have just done a search, and seeing as there appears to be a community of people who create art from pencil shavings, that must be what they're called.<br />
I really was hoping for something more prosaic. I think that they should have a better name.<br />
What do you think?Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-87345395354372497272010-04-19T08:55:00.000-07:002010-04-19T09:07:39.165-07:00kisskiss, the dictionary defines a kiss as follows;<br /><em><span style="color:#009900;">touch with lips, esp. as sign of love, reverence, etc.; touch lightly. [verb] </span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#009900;">touch of lips, light touch [noun]</span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#009900;">(from the Little Oxford dictionary)</span></em><br /><span style="color:#000000;">When you are small the person ho kisses you most often is your Mum, and possibly your Dad, Grandparents kiss their grandchildren. As you get older people tend to be more conscious of kissing, and before long young boys wriggle to get free of their Mum's and Gran's when they try to kiss them. Little girls dream of the perfect kiss, from the "handsome prince", and that they will then live happily ever after. Bigger girls day dream about the dishy, they think, pop stars, and the "perfect" boy at school. Not being male, I have no idea if boys think of the same thing. Then as you get older there are daft little things that you want. I don't know how, but I have found mine. It sounds really daft but to be held gently and kissed lightly on top of the head makes me feel all gooey inside, and although he's not said so, I could feel the love from the someone special in my life. </span><br />Who would have thought a simple kiss would mean so much?Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-25308561920293746302009-07-12T14:48:00.000-07:002009-07-15T14:37:04.176-07:00Draft of poemThought I'd share this rough draft of a poem with you......I wrote it a couple of weeks back, it needs some tweaking, but it already says what I want it to.<br />Like all my poems, it doesn't yet have a title...to me you don't give a poem a title until it is finished, like you don't name a baby until it is born. I have made a couple of changes from the original whilst just typing it up.<br /><br /><br />Where were you,<br />When JFK was killed?<br />Do you remember,<br />or too young?<br /><br />Where were you,<br />When Princess Di died?<br />Do you remember,<br />or didn't you care?<br /><br />Where were you<br />When Michael Jackson died?<br />Do you remember,<br />or were you too young, or old, to care?<br /><br />Where were you<br />When YOUR Grandad died?<br />Do you remember?<br />You weren't<br />too young,<br />too old,<br />or didn't care!<br /><br />But were you there?<br />or walking on the Moors?<br />Or driving through the snow?<br />Listening to news of John Lennon's death?<br />Where were you<br />When YOUR Grandad died?Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-1567083900403642482009-05-29T09:31:00.000-07:002009-06-03T15:17:32.408-07:00Hand LotionOnly short, Blue gave me this "word" to free write around, it didn't expand so much as some subjects do.<br /><p>Hand lotion, hand cream, call it what you will. I should use it much more often than I do. Working with paper and water makes my hands very sore, and the skin sometimes splits down the sides of my fingers, in line with my nails. ...Ouch! </p><p>After the plaster came off my ankle I massaged my scars with body lotion/hand lotion every night to help the scar tissue become supple.</p><p>Daft thing is the skin on my hands isn't too rough, it just seems to split really easily, which I am sure is for a completely different reason.</p><p>A few years I was treated to a manicure/pedicure and facial massage by a friend who was taking a beauty qualification , and needed a guinea pig. It was my birthday that day, so I felt rather pampered, and no, I haven't repeated the experience since.</p><p> </p><p>I do buy good quality hand cream, and in winter when my skin splits very easily with cold I use Neem cream, a very well kept secret of India. </p><p><br /> </p>Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-28326999400398941612009-03-10T16:20:00.000-07:002009-03-10T16:27:28.919-07:00Why?Why aren't people born complete with a remote control?<br /><br />When children are young, and you haven't had any sleep..you could just press the mute button...and get your much needed sleep.<br /><br />Or later on, after you've spent ages coaxing them to say their first word...and you wish that just for 10 minutes they would give it a rest...you could again...hit the mute button.<br /><br />What if the change channels button could let you see what your child would be like in a few years time....you know....just press +10...and you get an idea what they would be like in 10 years time.<br /><br />The button I would personally want right now is one to turn my feelings on....or off!<br />There is nothing worse than falling for someone, then splitting up..through neither of your faults...and trying to adjust.<br /><br />Yes, that touches very close to something very dear, and has happened to me.<br /><br />Hey...but when the kids were young I would have given anything....at some points to have a mute button for them. <br /><br />Only kidding....they have all three worked out fine...which is something...seeing as my head sometimes seems so muddled.Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-87144728772248643632008-12-23T13:16:00.001-08:002008-12-23T13:18:57.886-08:00ParachuteUsually umbrella-shaped apparatus allowing person or heavy object to descend safely from a height, esp. from aircraft. Yes, that’s what the dictionary says about parachutes. I remember the little parachuting things you could get in a lucky bag when I was young. A moulded soldier, with his own little parachute. If Chris would let us, we would throw them out of our bedroom window. Other toys would have parachutes made from cotton handkerchiefs, and they would be tested.<br /> Most people who parachute have two, one spare in case the regular one doesn’t work, but what if the second one doesn’t work? I know the old joke, cross your legs so that when you hit the ground you’ll screw yourself in, then it’s easier to get you out. It’s not the fall that kills you, well, most of it does no harm, it’s just the last few feet, and the pull of gravity. <br />But what is a parachute? It’s a kind of safety device, like the safety net at a circus, when the acrobats go onto the high wire. Seat belts in a car as well, they are safety devices. I hate seeing people driving around with their kids no belted in, apparently the police can stop the car and charge the driver and standing fee of £25, or thereabouts, for each passenger not wearing a seat belt.<br />Anyway, back to the parachutes, I love the little parachutes on dandelion seeds. Even now I like to blow at a dandelion clock, and see all the seeds blow away. The part of me that weeds the garden doesn’t like me doing that, but the big kid inside me likes it. And I let the big kid have their fun every now and again.<br />Would I like to parachute jump? Well, no, not really, seems to me a very dangerous thing to want to do. If we were meant to jump from planes we would have wings. Although I wouldn’t mind paragliding, or whatever they call it, where you have a huge canopy and get the wind to lift you, and you travel on the thermals. I watched someone doing that at Heysham Head one day, it must be incredibly restful. Then there’s the one’s who have parachute like canopies, and surf boards, kite surfers I think. That looks so much fun, I think the thing that makes me like some activities and not others is the amount of control over a situation you can have. <br />During the war some women got married in dresses made out of parachute silk. Not quite sure where they got their parachutes from, or was it after the war, I’m not sure. If I had a character having their wedding dress from parachute silk I would check up the facts, and make sure I got the timing right. <br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#009900;">I know I haven't posted much here lately, just thought this might amuse.</span>Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-27383345142026700982008-05-25T12:40:00.000-07:002008-05-25T12:42:09.406-07:00DisorientationDrifting, floating<br />Rudderless<br />Soaring, dipping<br />Gliding,<br />Catching thermals<br />No control,<br />Sinking, drowning,<br />Deeper and deeper<br />Lines blur,<br />What is real<br />No longer clear<br />Left doubting<br />All you hold dear<br />When did the world<br />Shift?<br />Elemental forces<br />Guide life<br />Seismic shudders<br />Realign frontiers<br />New appearing<br />None there before<br /> <br /><br /><br />Ok, it has had some re-drafting, but the poem above is almost in the form it first appeared.Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-69118294302372220512008-05-05T08:50:00.000-07:002008-05-05T08:52:40.935-07:00House.I wrote this last year, but it is a piece of freewriting. I have gotten out of the habit of writing recently, really need to get back into it.<br /><br /><br /> <span style="color:#000066;">House! That’s what Mum shouted that day way back…when she was at bingo…she came home with her winnings…all in 10 bob notes..And threw them into the air in our bedroom. The next day she took us to get shoes and coats. Just going out to get them, cos we needed them and not having to save up for them was a luxury to my parents back then. The house we were living in then was a brand new council house. We’d been moved from number 90 to number 17, as soon as it was finished. Back at number 90, even though it was a lovely bungalow, all three of us were ill one after the other; it was not good for Mum or us. So the doctor wrote a letter and sent it to the council, and as soon as the new council houses were built, we were re-housed in one. <br /> But what is the difference between a house and a home? To me? I’ll tell you. A house is a place where people live, but they don’t necessarily belong there, you can tell this by where they say they are going. Are they going “back to the house”, or “going home”? The latter has a more comfortable feel to it. <br /> After my divorce, we moved here, to Tuluz. Tiz my home, it’s not a house..It’s home. When I looked for somewhere to live, I looked at a few places, some were ok, but some were claustrophobic, but Tuluz was different. It was like coming home, walking in through the door. The whole house seemed to welcome me…there was nowhere to sit down, but it was asking me to sit down.<br /> I am trying so hard to make Tuluz into a home, and now I am trying to get it ready for my love and his son.<br /> Home is where the heart is…all the corny samplers says..But tiz true…you never yearn to go to your house…but people yearn to be home.<br /> Silly footnote thought…hermit crabs? Do they sit around watching all the shellfish pondering on what look they would like next?<br /></span>Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-46360055139813212302008-02-04T07:40:00.000-08:002008-02-04T07:43:43.039-08:00The Three PigsA long time ago, there were three pigs, they were brothers. One day they decided that they would like to leave their Mum’s comfortable sty, and find a home of their own. Now, being fairly resourceful pigs they decided that they would build their own homes, just moving in a pre-existing one just wasn’t their style. Besides, where would they get the money to pay the mortgage, they were pigs after all, mind you, this was folk tale land, and people didn’t have normal jobs that were rewarded by normal wages. Money was something that no one seemed that bothered about. So much so that there was only a few people who seemed bothered about cold hard cash, the pieman being one of them, and the three pigs gave him a wide berth, after all, his speciality was PORK pies! <br />So, the pigs set off one lovely sunny day to build their houses, and as they set off they wondered why it was always bright and sunny, apart from the part of town where Dr Robert Foster lived. That man seemed to have a rain cloud follow him around, wherever he went. So, the youngest pig got hold of some straw, and decided to make a house from straw, not the world’s best building material, but hey, he’d got it free, he wasn’t going to argue. The middle pig, he’d found some sticks, loads of them, so he decided his house was going to be made of sticks. After all, there were loads of sticks just lying around in the woods, not as if they were in short supply. The eldest pig decided to make his house from bricks, now where he’d got the money to buy bricks from I’ll never know. Not the sort of thing that you find just lying around is it? I mean enough bricks to build a house, not something you trip over when you are walking down the street. Anyway, the three pigs set about building their houses, and were minding their own business when disaster came stalking them. Now I don’t know why he had it in for the pig brothers, but Big Bad Wolf was bad news, with a capital B. He’d caused problems around and about, and the word was out not to trust him. What the three pigs had done to cause his anger is difficult to say, as when he finally got to the youngest one’s house, he was too fired up to do much talking. <br />The youngest pig had just finished thatching his roof, and the house looked beautiful. He was sitting on his straw patio, drinking a well-earned beer when Big Bad arrived. The first the youngest pig knew of it was all the shooting, he strained his ears to listen. It sounded like someone was shooting him, something like “Little pig, little pig, let me in.” The youngest pig shook his head, “Why can’t folk use the doorbell?” he wondered. There it came again, it was someone shouting, “Little pig, little pig let me in.” That’s flaming rude thought the youngest pig. I won’t be shouted at in my own house. A pig’s home is his castle, by the hairs on his chin it was. He took another swig of his beer, it was good. There went the shouting, again! Sounded like someone was threatening to damage his house, he could have sworn the voice shouted, “Well, I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and blow your house down.” The youngest pig shook his head; cold callers were getting awfully aggressive these days. He pried himself out of the lounger, he’d been hard at work all day, and didn’t need this. Why couldn’t a pig be left to relax in peace? He started to make his way around the side of the house to see what all the noise was about, when there was a rushing noise, like a strong wind, it became difficult to walk against the force. Then it suddenly ceased, and his house fell down. The youngest pig was now face to face with Big Bad, and he’d heard his reputation, not a wolf to be crossed, so the youngest pig ran, as fast as he possibly could do, away from the wreck of his house, and Big Bad. Bet you’re wondering why Big Bad didn’t chase after him, and get his business finished there are then? Yes, I was as well, until I realised that he couldn’t chase the youngest pig, no matter how much he wanted to, as he had just worn himself blowing. Yes, the “force” that the youngest pig couldn’t walk against was Big Bad in full flow, huffing and puffing. <br />Now, whilst the youngest pig had been building his straw house, the middle one had been building a house from the sticks he’d found just lying around. He was relaxing, with a cup of tea, deciding whether to send for a Chinese or Indian, or maybe have a pizza, he was too tired to cook, almost too tired to eat. The first thing that happened is his little brother came racing round to the kitchen door, shouting for help. He let him in. It was difficult to tell what was wrong; his brother seemed so wound up. So, in an effort to get his brother to calm down he poured him a cup of tea. “Here, drink this, take a moment to gather your thoughts, then tell me what is wrong.” The younger pig took a gulp of tea and opened his mouth to tell his brother what was wrong when there was shouting from outside. “It’s him, he’s here now! What have we done to make so sore?”<br />“Who?” asked the middle pig, peering round the corner of his window. “That Big Bad is out there, our kid, and he looks cross what have you done?”<br />“Nothing”<br />Just then Big Bad started shouting again, the middle pig turned looked at his brother and said, “He wants us to let him in. Should we?” The younger pig sat there, quaking so much his tea slopped all over the floor, then in a teeny tiny voice he squeaked, “I think we’d better leave, now.” At the same time Big Bad started shouting something about huffing and puffing, and blowing the house down. The youngest pig though his brother’s stick cabin was cosy enough, but he also knew how hard Big Bad could huff and puff. Without a backwards glance he dropped the mug and ran for the back door, he was a good ten foot away from the door when his brother ran out yelling “Wait for me!” They ran as fast as their short legs could carry them, with the sound of crashing sticks following them. They slowed to a jog, once he’d got his breath back the middle pig asked, “where now?” The younger pig shrugged, then said, “Guess it will have to be big brother’s house.” They headed off towards their brother’s house still jogging.<br /> A short while later the two younger brothers arrived at their big brother’s house, and boy was it impressive. They found him chilling out in his hot tub. “What’s wrong brothers?” he asked. “Care to join me?” The two younger brothers were tempted, but decided they’d better tell him about Big Bad first. When they’d finished telling their big brother, he looked thoughtful. <br />“And you say he just came up to your house, no warning, and blew it down?” he asked his little brother.<br />“That’s right, and then he did same to Middle’s house.” Big brother thought about this.<br />“I don’t like this at all, what have you two done to vex Big Bad? He’s not a wolf to be crossed.”<br />“Nothing.” They both said ”Except…. he was crossing the field when I got the straw from the farmer for my house.” Said the youngest pig,<br />“And he was in the woods when I collected the sticks for my house.” Said the middle pig. <br />“He must think you know something, that’s why he’s after you. Did he see which way you went?” <br />“No, but he does know that we used to all live at Mum’s. Did you see him when you were getting your bricks?” asked middle pig.<br />Before big brother pig could answer there came the shouting the other two had heard before,<br />“Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!”<br />“Who does he think he is?” asked big brother pig “and why can’t he use the damned doorbell, like normal visitors?”<br />The two younger pigs were shaking like aspens. Big brother couldn’t get them to speak, then Big Bad shouted again. The eldest pig just laid back in his hot tub, sipping at his chilled champagne.<br />“Aren’t you worried?” asked Middle pig<br />“No, he can’t blow this house down. I put footings in, and it’s properly built. We could watch to see if he goes blue in the face trying, if you want.”<br />His brothers just sat there, still shaking. Big brother pig clicked the remote control so that the TV showed CCTV coverage of the front of his property. He smiled as he watched Big Bad huffing and puffing for all his might. Hmm? Should he release the Dobermans? No, not necessary, he saw Big Bad walking away. He was puzzled, but he knew people, and knew that Big Bad didn’t give up so easily. He wondered what would be his next move. He’d met people like Big Bad before; he just knew that giving up was not an option. Well, Big Bad hadn’t met big brother pig before, or he’d know that he’d met his match. He made sure the intruder alarms were set, and the CCTV was set to record, with long tapes in, then he suggested to his brothers it was time for bed.<br />“But what about Big Bad?” asked youngest pig<br />“Don’t worry about him.” Said big brother pig, “Just rest, we’ll deal with him when we need to.”<br />“You OK about us staying here?” asked Middle pig<br />“Yep, I guessed you might need to, at some point, so you both have your own rooms. Didn’t figure it would be quite so soon though.” Big brother pig replied. He showed his brothers their rooms. The three pigs settled down for the night. As they were falling asleep, the intruder alarm started to sound.<br />“Nothing to worry about” big pig called to his brothers, “although you might want to see what’s on the CCTV”<br /> The brothers all went into the lounge. There on the screen was Big Bad Wolf, and he had a ladder, he was putting it up against the side o f the house. <br />“Damn! I can’t see what he’s doing” <br />But pretty soon it was obvious what was going on, as soot started to fall into the hearth.<br />“Thinks he’s Father Christmas does he? Well, I’ll stop him.” He piled logs on the fire, and opened the damper up to set them going. The fire roared to life. The pigs expected to hear the scuffles get further away, and then see Big Bad Wolf on CCTV running away from the house, but the scuffles intensified, and the roar of the fire was joined by the roar of Big Bad Wolf, yelling in pain, as he fell into the fire. There was nothing the pigs could do, but watch him burn.<br />“Have you ever had roast Wolf?” the big pig asked his brothers.<br /><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;">This isn't strictly free writing, as it took me several days to write, but I quite like it, so I thought I'd share it with you.<br /></span>Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-75475044169939267002008-01-16T04:12:00.000-08:002008-01-16T04:23:56.431-08:00SnoringWhenever the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">word</span></span> snoring is said , we all conjure up our own mental image related to it.<br />Countless women complain that their husband's snoring keeps them awake at night, but they probably snore themselves, only you don't hear yourself snore.<br />I'm not altogether sure of the reason people snore, but I think everyone must do, at some point in their lives.<br />At the back of your mouth, at the top you have a soft palate, and your tonsils. The air has to get past these, the more loose they are the more they will vibrate when you are asleep. Stands to reason.<br />When I was in hospital a few weeks ago I fell asleep one night to a symphony of snores. Each persons snore was slightly different, and they were all slightly different in timing. Animals snore, at least both my dogs do, which is why I am guessing that everyone snores.<br />It must be awful on the plains of the Serengeti, do you think the zebras go up to the elephants and poke them from snoring too loudly. And what does a giraffe snore sound like?<br />So next time you are about to complain about someone snoring, stop, and think. It could be an elephant lying nearby snoring, keeping you awake.<br />And as I have been writing this there's been a background snoring, as my son is asleep, and he has <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">tonsillitis</span>, his throat is very swollen, so his breathing is blocked causing him to snore. He must keep moving as the sound keeps changing slightly.Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-79206486197384807952007-11-13T14:08:00.000-08:002007-11-13T14:16:42.189-08:00ParrotParrot<br /><br />I need a parrot<br />Not called Polly,<br />Although<br />It could sit on my shoulder<br />Look rather jolly.<br />What colour would I like?<br />Don’t really know,<br />Yet not fond of the grey ones<br />They don’t look <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">parrotty</span></span>,<br />You know<br />Nice bright colours<br />Would suit me fine<br />So long as it looked<br />Where it was shitting<br />And vacated my shoulder in time.<br /><br /><br /><em>I just wrote that after having a discussion with a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">friend</span> about my impending <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ankle</span> operation. I'd been saying that I perhaps should just have a wooden leg fitted and get the parrot to complete the look. To me, I feel it needs some re-drafting, and will probably tweak the words and form , but only slightly, another line or two might appear as well.</em>Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-16149034791421326052007-11-07T07:25:00.001-08:002007-11-07T07:26:40.098-08:00ParachuteParachute<br />Usually umbrella-shaped apparatus allowing person or heavy object to descend safely from a height, esp. from aircraft. Yes, that’s what the dictionary says about parachutes. I remember the little parachuting things you could get in a lucky bag when I was young. A moulded soldier, with his own little parachute. If Chris would let us, we would throw them out of our bedroom window. Other toys would have parachutes made from cotton handkerchiefs, and they would be tested.<br />Most people who parachute have two, one spare in case the regular one doesn’t work, but what if the second one doesn’t work? I know the old joke, cross your legs so that when you hit the ground you’ll screw yourself in, then it’s easier to get you out. It’s not the fall that kills you, well, most of it does no harm, it’s just the last few feet, and the pull of gravity.<br />But what is a parachute? It’s a kind of safety device, like the safety net at a circus, when the acrobats go onto the high wire. Seat belts in a car as well, they are safety devices. I hate seeing people driving around with their kids not belted in, apparently the police can stop the car and charge the driver and standing fee of £25, or thereabouts, for each passenger not wearing a seat belt.<br />Anyway, back to the parachutes, I love the little parachutes on dandelion seeds. Even now I like to blow at a dandelion clock, and see all the seeds blow away. The part of me that weeds the garden doesn’t like me doing that, but the big kid inside me likes it. And I let the big kid have their fun every now and again.<br />Would I like to parachute jump? Well, no, not really, seems to me a very dangerous thing to want to do. If we were meant to jump from planes we would have wings. Although I wouldn’t mind paragliding, or whatever they call it, where you have a huge canopy and get the wind to lift you, and you travel on the thermals. I watched someone doing that at Heysham Head one day, it must be incredibly restful. Then there’s the one’s who have parachute like canopies, and surf boards, kite surfers I think. That looks so much fun, I think the thing that makes me like some activities and not others is the amount of control over a situation you can have.<br />During the war some women got married in dresses made out of parachute silk. Not quite sure where they got their parachutes from, or was it after the war, I’m not sure. If I had a character having their wedding dress from parachute silk I would check up the facts, and make sure I got the timing right.Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-83575582063058187222007-10-16T16:21:00.000-07:002007-10-17T09:41:02.030-07:00Random<span style="color:#666600;">This one just is what the title says. I challenge you to follow my train of thought here! I just let my mind go on the word Random.</span><br /><span style="color:#666600;"></span><br />Random.<br />The name of Arthur Dent and Tricia McMillan’s daughter in Mostly Harmless. She takes Arthur’s watch apart to try to see how it functions/ works. At times I think I should have called Shadow, Random, as sometimes when you walk her she bounces all over the place. She’s still very much a puppy at heart.<br />The dictionary definition is without method or conscious cause. Also without aim.<br />Well that’s how I feel at the moment. Fairly flaming aimless. I wish that I could focus myself on something, totally immerse myself in it and then I might get a feeling of achievement. One day I want to go in a hot air balloon…and fly over the hills, but will I? As I am afraid of heights, and may not even get into the balloon. Perhaps I would more likely get into a sailing boat and sail away, but lets be honest…with my ankle hurting like hell…am not likely to go anywhere….<br />I miss the sound of a certain voice, the smell of baking…cos I don’t do much of it any more. I miss not having a garden, but I don’t miss the weeding that entails. I miss having someone with me…even though I am officially in a relationship. I’m like a jigsaw, that my Mum has taken a piece of…why my Mum? Cos she always took bits out of my jigsaws when I was younger…she’d pick a piece up…when helping us to sort out the edges from the rest…and slip it into her pinny pocket…then come back when we’d almost finished.and PUT THE LAST PIECE in…it took ages before Ann and I caught on what she was up to…. Ann tumbled it first…she’s younger than me. But she is much more “savvy” than I am…nobody pulls the wool over Ann’s eyes and gets away with it. Anyway, a jigsaw with a piece missing…only the bit that is missing is in Spain…and one day…he’ll come back, and put it in place…and I’ll feel real again.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#666600;">The short random quote is fromm Alan and Janet Ahlberg's " Each Peach Pear Plum"</span>Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-46367062955200483752007-10-09T14:28:00.000-07:002007-10-09T14:29:56.712-07:00Peach (by Sea)Peach immediately brings to mind the fruit, peach, with it’s fuzzy, downy “fur” like the fine hair that covers a new born baby’s body. The first time you encounter that it is amazing, and it doesn’t stay long. People say that peaches are like a baby’s skin.<br /> Peach slices with evaporated milk after cold meat sandwiches as a treat on a Sunday teatime. Or sometimes with bread and butter as a meal. Mum says we didn’t have that, so how come I remember having it. At least I never ate sugar butties, although Mum said she had them when she was young.<br /> Granddad had a peach tree in his greenhouse, right next to the boiler. I remember it having tiny fruits on it one year, and when it was Granddad’s funeral the tree was still there. But by the time Grandma died the garden, The Ponderosa, was unkempt. The greenhouse was falling down, but the peach tree growing strong. Guess it didn’t need protecting against Pennine wind as much as Granddad thought.<br /> Peach, peach, peach, each peach, pear, plum, I spy Tom Thumb, Tom Thumb in the cupboard, I spy Mother Hubbard. Oliver loved that book. I love nectarines much better than peaches, but you get some nasty ones. I think they must have been irriradiated as they never seem to ripen, and biting into them is like biting into an apple. Not the lovely experience it should be. The odd thing is, I’ve found that fruit from Netto and Aldi doesn’t seem to have been treated in anyway, and yes it does go off quicker, but when you pick it up, you can smell if it is ripe or not.<br /> Peach, a lovely colour. I always think of it as an orangey – pink colour, but the ones in tins are yellow! Hmm, why?Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-77242888959395856652007-10-09T12:44:00.000-07:002007-10-09T12:45:04.511-07:00Peach (by Blue)Peach fuzz. Peaches and cream. Georgia Peaches. Peach cobbler. Which, by the way, is one of my top five favourite desserts in the whole universe. Especially with a big glob of vanilla ice cream. I could really use some right about now. I haven't had a good dessert in a while. Months in fact. I think I'd even settle for peach pie since it's close. Just pop some in the microwave and add vanilla ice cream. Voila! But now I've made myself hungry. *sigh*Bluehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09885703166674906033noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-60334789584332704882007-10-07T03:50:00.000-07:002007-10-07T03:55:11.857-07:00What is free writing?<span style="color:#ff0000;">For those who don't know, free writing, is where you write for around 1/2 an hour, about anything that comes into your head.</span><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">Directed free writing, is when you start from a specific word or phrase, and then write all that comes into your mind about that particular word or phrase. Sometimes ideas for further work are produced, or the piece may stand alone.</span><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">If you want to leave a word or phrase to be written about, please do so.</span>Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-1456326230390462612007-10-06T04:43:00.000-07:002007-10-06T04:44:12.120-07:00SilverSilver.<br /> Silver, that was the colour of grandma’s hair..And woe betide anyone who said her hair was grey! The chalice and platter in church were made of silver, and Mr Boultbee explained to us why most churches had silver wear rather than gold wear for their communions. Everyone thought he was dirty…he never seemed awfully clean..As a vicar, but being a kid…and not quite understanding…well…there was no Mrs, he lived with his sister and the Major. The Major had an imposing character. Perhaps time has muddled my memories…or the fact that the church has no special significance for me now…if it ever did have. Think the only time was just after Edwin was born, and try as I might…I will admit I was clutching at any straws that might help me keep my marriage together…as when I had gotten married…I did promise myself that I would stay married…and not go through divorce like I’d watched my brother do. Although looking back, Chris’ divorce looked pretty painless on his part …from where I was watching. After all…he had Mum and Dad and myself to help him look after his children, who he’d decided it wasn’t safe to leave with Lyn. And he went on being to all intents and purposes a single man. It was us who picked up the pieces for him. <br />When mine did come around..The circumstances were so different. No unfaithful spouse….unless you could being obsessed with a bank balance. My heart felt like it was falling apart, but I knew that if I didn’t do it..It would be my brain…intellect..Sanity that would suffer. Mental abuse is never visible, and the occasional dip into physical abuse…so swift that a 400 shutter speed would not catch it. <br />It takes so long to recover from all that, but every cloud has a silver lining…and mine is just becoming visible. I have been so patient.waiting for this to come about, it ain’t here yet…but the silver is glinting at me in a very shy way.Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4767148334773079247.post-13981932710479551602007-10-05T02:36:00.001-07:002007-10-05T02:36:41.269-07:00AngerAnger.<br /> The most counter productive of all emotions. Who invented anger? Ok, someone gets you real mad, and you want to get your own back, but getting cross with them just feeds your anger, it makes you tense, can’t unwind, and ninety nine times out of a hundred you are felling worse than you were when the person got you angry in the first place. Granted there are times when anger can help you. How? I hear you ask. Say there’s something you really have to do, anger sometimes gives you the strength to carry out the task. Smashing up the solid lump of concrete where my fireback should have been, anger came in real handy there, after all, I’d been chipping away with a coal chisel and hammer for a few days, not moving much, so abandoning the job. Anyway, one day someone had got me really cross, I can’t remember why, and I thought I’d try again, within 20 minutes the concrete was shifted. I’d seemed to get extra strength from somewhere, and I could only put it down to being angry. The good thing about that was, having broken all the concrete up, it made me happy, so all the negative energies I’d had, because I had been angry were replaced by happy positive energies, as the job I thought would never end had just “melted” away. The only other time I can truly remember being so very angry was when I was having my third child, I’d had an epidural block, and I was beginning to get sensation back, but the baby wasn’t here, and it bloody well hurt. The midwife said that it would be too late by the time they got the anaesthetist there for me to have the epidural topped up. (It was Saturday evening.) I got cross at the pain I was in, and sure enough, within a few minutes my son was born. I wasn’t for one minute cross with him, it was just I was tired, having been in labour for the best part of 30 hours, and I just wanted it to end. And all that anger faded away as soon as I held my youngest in my arms, and again was replaced by positive emotions. <br /> I have been on the receiving end of some anger in my life, and it is terrifying when people just let it take over. I’ve seen a hockey stick snapped in two, a panel punched out of a door, and in both these instances, there was no visible “happy ending”, and as far as I could see the angry person was still angry afterwards. I think he’s always angry. Anger is a red mist if not controlled properly and can be extremely dangerous, I suppose that is why people look for revenge, but my personal take on that is, that sooner or later a person who is always causing anger in others will reap the rewards of their anger. I try to avoid angry people. <br /> I could have got angry the other night when I forgot to put water in my steamer, and cooked the veg with no water in the steamer, but all it would have done is get me stressed, stress causes your blood pressure to rise, also, the Fight or flight instinct kicks in, you can end up not being able to eat properly, and if you do eat, then being sick, as your digestive system is slowed down, and more often than not stopped during periods of “flight or fight” reaction, that is why people feel sick in stressful situations.Seahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17608850359975556815noreply@blogger.com0