re-ravelling

Jesus is an Action Man

2012-02-24T10:12:00.000Z

My post the other day on Men, Women and Church sparked a healthy debate on my Facebook page.

This was one of the comments left…

Jesus isthe ultimate rebel in lots of ways - anti-establishment breaking the mouldcountercultural messiah - that is very appealing to follow a guy who walks onstormy water, feeds thousands, faces down a madman, is comfortable teaching inthe temple and with prostitutes at the table, who fishes better than fishermen,barbecues on the beach, parties, weeps, heals, bleeds and dies then reveals hismajesty and best of all he makes fine wine!

As these words went round in my headI began to form a picture of Jesus as an Action Man, a toy figure from theseventies, I’m not sure if they are so popular now. I grabbed my pen andnotebook. 

I hope my poem isn’t in any way blasphemousor that anyone is offended.  There aresome striking images and I have added an interesting picture I found which will hopefully make you think and maybe challengeyour perceptions. 

I don’t claim to have a definitive picture of what Jesus islike. In fact tomorrow I have a completely different perspective to share withyou. 

Jesus is so much more than any words I can write.

I’d be interested to hear yourthoughts, left here on the blog or on Facebook – there is a re-ravelling pageanyone can “like” and comment on.

Jesusis an Action Man

Jesus isan Action Man

With crewcut hair you have to touch

Eagleeyes

And scars

Jesus isan Action Man

Notafraid to be stripped naked

Or thrownin with the Barbie dolls

With theirhigh heels, spaghetti straps and painted lips

Jesus isan Action Man

A rebel

Parachutingfrom a bedroom window

Dragged throughmud

Wrestlingwith dinosaurs

Challengingthe learned minds

Jesus isan Action Man

Swimmingwith sharks

Walkingon bath water

Jesus isan Action Man

Turning overtea cups at a tea party

Yet makingsure none go hungry

Jesus isan Action Man

Strong

Not pushedaround

Beloved

Jesus isan Action Man

Whosurvives being rejected

Neglected

Abandoned

Entombedin a box in the loft

Jesus isan Action Man

Who rejoicesin the resurrection

Unpackedat last

Are-discovery of the fact

That

Jesus isan Action Man

Grow Your Own

2012-02-23T14:20:00.000Z

Not much to write today, well I was up at 6 to work on my "unravelling" manuscript and I confess I now feel a little sleepy...zzzzz

But before I deliberate whether to have an afternoon nap or get the hoover out I just wanted to show you one of my birthday pressies.

It says

Grow a Prince

Sometimes you have to kiss a few frogs

before you find your Prince Charming.

Save yourself the time and trouble -

grow this potential Prince Charming.

Give him a kiss, drop him in water,

wait 72 hours and see what happens......

It just might be a fairy tale come true

(or maybe you'll just kiss a really cute frog).

So I'm off to find a big bowl to fill with water and drop him in, not forgetting to kiss him first! Then I shall sit down, put my feet up and spend time pondering my future fairy tale life - you never know maybe Prince Charming will be handy with the hoover, a dab hand with the dusting and a whizz with the washing up!

Only 72 hours to find out...

Lent - to give up or to take up?

2012-02-22T14:49:00.000Z

After the merriment of pancakes tossing yesterday today isthe more sober Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent.

A time to reflect and often a time to give somethingup.  I have friends giving up Facebookand know plenty of people who have given up alcohol or chocolate.

I’d manage an abstinence of alcohol quite easily as I don’tdrink very often – it’s not much fun on your own anyway. But I couldn’t give upFacebook, I need the interaction of others. As for giving up chocolate…I wouldn’tcall myself a chocoholic but I am a girl who sometimes needs her cocoa fix tokeep sane! 

Yesterday I made chocolate cakes and ate two straight from the ovenand I’ve been known to stick a spoon into the chocolate spread jar in times of desperation– I blame my Nana!

Of course Lent doesn’t have to be about giving up somethingnaughty, it can be about going that extra mile and doing something nice! Takingup something that will be helpful or beneficial in some way.

Before making my own decisions on “giving up”, or “taking up”for Lent I decided it might be wise to check out how those New Year’s Resolutions are going. After all it was only a little over 6 weeks ago thatthese declarations were made, have I stuck to them?

Open Twitter Account – now a big fan but must admit it is another distraction to my day!
Write more – blog writing going well
Remember birthdays – sent a card this morning to my nephew for his 18th Birthday
Sort out paperwork and filing – what filing? Oh yes I tidied it away to do the jigsaw – moving on…
On-line dating – tried it once - didn’t like it – sounds like sprouts – YUCK!!
More exercise – Dance aerobics class tonight and Zumba on Friday
Read my Bible more – a work in progress
Fondly remember good times – very up and down, ask me on a good day
Make time for friends and family – any excuse for a distraction, had a lovely evening last Sunday, just me and my best friend, bottle of wine and a box of birthday chocolates – yummy!
Laugh – LOTS! I’m not generally glum – writing makes me smile

“Writing makes me smile” – that’s certainly very true, as mybest friend commented only yesterday, I seem to come alive when I write. I knowI am bouncier, more positive and sitting here typing this is the best time ofmy day.

So what about number 2 on my list? I want to turnmy first blog “unravelling-edges” into a book, that's what it actually said on my list. Writing on that little projectis a bit hit and miss. All I have done so far is worked out a structure, anorder for blog posts interspersed with commentary. A beginning, middle andanother beginning – there’s no end to my story!

With this in mind I have decided for Lent I am makingwriting the manuscript for my book my number one priority, the first thing I doevery morning will be write for at least one hour.

Today was easy, it wasn’t my turn to take the boys to schoolso I waved goodbye still in my PJs and then set to work for an hour. There willbe days when I will have to get up earlier to get my hour in before I get theboys ready for school.

Setting my alarm for six instead of seven is not something Irelish but if I am serious about this it has to be done.

It will involve going to bed earlier to make sure I getenough sleep – grumpy me is not a pretty sight. However starting my day doingsomething I love has got to have benefits. 

Including a manuscript ready to send out to agents by Easter– maybe – well at least something viable to enter the Northern Writers Awardand we’ll take it from there.

It’s time to encourage some good habits.

And how about you – “giving up”? Or have I convinced you to “takeup” instead?

Time to polish up that acceptance speech

2012-02-21T19:00:00.000Z

Tonight it’s the Brit Awards. Have we had the BAFTAs and theGRAMMYs recently too? I know very soon it will be the Oscars. There was a time whenI kept abreast of the dates in the glittering award ceremony calendar and wouldwatch and take note because I had an opinion. Those were the days when I had actuallyseen the films and heard the songs that were nominated and cheered the ones Ibelieved deserved recognition.

Suddenly I find myself walking forward on the red carpet, stepping up onto the podium, acceptance speech in hard - well not quite but I have graciously been given my first ever blog award by Cassam. She writes a blog called Is Anyone There? and you can read it here.

My first blogging award!

This award means there are people out there reading this whoI have NEVER met. People who have been touched by what I have to say. Just toknow my blog is read is encouraging but to know that people enjoy reading what I write enough to recommend it to their readers is very flattering indeed.

There are stipulations with this award. I have to tell you 7things about me that you don’t already know … this is a hard one when I am soopen and honest with you, maybe I shouldn’t have been so candid in the past buthere goes…

I can’t make pancakes or Yorkshire puddings – why bother when you can buy both ready-made!

But I can sew and made my wedding dress.

I’ve been a bridesmaid four times.

My first ever school trip was to Colchester Zoo – I don’t remember anything about the animals but I know I fell over and grazed my knee. I’d been running to catch up with a friend.

I can eat a jam doughnut without licking my lips – do you need proof?

I have signed hardback copies of “One Day” by David Nicholls and “Juliet Naked” by Nick Hornby. They were both speaking at the same book festival and I bought and read the books before I went to hear them talk. Usually I wait and buy paperbacks so these are extra special.

The first film Andrew took me to see was The Bodyguard with Whitney Houston in. It was quite poignant to realize that she was the same age as Andrew when she died.

Well that’s an eclectic list of facts.

Another condition of the award is to nominate another 7blogs to pass the award on to. Only I‘m going to cheat here, Cassam onlynominated 4 and I have picked just 4 too.

http://teenagesportsfan.blogspot.com/

A personal one this one as it is the blog my oldest son writes. I am so proud of him and how he is chasing his dream of being a sports journalist. If you like tennis, football or F1 or know someone who does this is the blog for you.

http://craigmackaysblog.blogspot.com/

Craig's story has echos of my own as he lost his wife just over 2 years ago. If you go back to the beginning of his blog you can trace his journey from when his wife was first diagnosed with cancer. Last year he married Ellie who was also widowed and between them they are looking after 5 children - an amazing family to follow.

http://imnotonetomoanbut.blogspot.com/ 

This blog is written by a friend, there are not many posts yet but his observations and stories always makes me laugh. Will be most appreciated if you like your sense of humour very dry. Also can be a bit rude. 

http://thingsweforget.blogspot.com/

Discovered this one as it was once a blog of note on blogger. I love the idea of sticky notes left in public places with short messages on them. A little bit of inspiration.

Now the idea is they pass on an award too and so we all getto read another perspective and share another point of view.

In principal a great idea, not so sure if it always works inpractice but hopefully you’ve learnt something new today and got another littleglimpse into my world.

Men, Women and Church

2012-02-20T16:50:00.000Z

I’m paying heed toNicola Morgan‘s advice today from her blog post making your blog work. She writes “Don'tmake your title too obscure”. Blogs can be found easier on Google ifyour title matches your content.

So no fancy title todayjust exactly what it says on the tin.

OK so it may not bethe most inspiring title but these are some of the thoughts that occurred to meyesterday as I sat in church.

Like mostcongregations ours is made up mostly of women. Single, married, widowed, old andyoung but very few men. Although there are some who come on their own mostare accompanied by their wives and children.

It has always been quite common fora woman to go to church on a Sunday morning and take the children for theirspiritual nourishment and good moral upbringing leaving her husband at home butit so rarely happens the other way round.

For some reason manychurches don’t appear to engage with the male half of the population and as themother of two sons this worries me for the future. I already have one son whowon’t come to church unless I “make” him and the other one only comes to seehis friends.

Not that that is a totally a bad thing, the best way I know toget teenage lads into churches is to make sure there are plenty of fanciablegirls in the youth group. I’ve heardseveral preachers talking about how they started attending church because of aparticular girl. All that sliding along the pews to legitimately get closer.From experience I know you can squeeze more teenage bums in a row than adults.

It certainly alwaysseems to be the females who entice their men to come along. God knew what hewas doing when he created Eve and her tempting ways!

Andrew was a classiccase of a disenchanted male only coaxed back to church by the love of a goodwoman.

He was brought up ina Christian home, regularly going to church. In his teenageyears he was still going or at the very least was attached to the church youth group – from the informationI have gathered and old friends who remember those years.

But as he got older churchbecame less relevant for him and by the time we started dating he was on thevery fringes of the church community, helping out with discos for the youngstersbut not stepping inside the building on a Sunday.

Actually the firsttime I met him I was a volunteer at the church and on my first evening in thearea had been taken along to the youth club disco to meet some of the young people.There he was playing the Bart Simpson record that was popular at the timeconvincing the kids that it was Bert not Bart and he lived next door. It’sfunny the things you remember.

I persuaded Andrewto come to church with me almost as a condition of us going out! His faithwhich had always been there but lain dormant began to come alive. It took manyyears but looking back now with the wonderful gift of hindsight I can see whereGod was working in his life and how God had never let Andrew go.

One of the loveliestsights I spotted in church yesterday was a young couple sat next to each othera few rows in front of me.

I don’t know if itis just a phenomenon in our church but several married couples don’t actuallysit together during the service. The women sit at the front with the kids whilethere is a hard-core male contingent sitting along the back row.

Anyway this couplesat so close together, bodies overlapping, it was easy to imagine them holding hands during thesermon. It made me smile because that was how Andrew and I sat together in church.Fingers often entwined and when Andrew got particularly bored he would write “ILOVE YOU” with his index finger on the palm of my hand.

So there you are –my thoughts from yesterday once more leading all the way back to Andrew.

And one finalthought, a verse from God that’s just popped into my head and I’ve looked up –thanks Google!

“See I have written you name on the palms ofmy hands.”

Isaiah 49:16

Just as Andrew wrotehis message of love on my hand, and it is still indelibly there, so God writesyour name on his – man, woman or child. Whether sitting eagerly at the front orin the pew nearest the door ready for a speedy exit. Those inside the church and outside its walls – hehas no favourites.

He remembers, reachesout and beckons you closer.

If only those of usinside the church could find a way to do the same…

That’s it – I quit!

2012-02-18T10:09:00.000Z

Yesterday youngest son came to a decision. He is quittingpiano lessons.

This conclusion has taken a while to be reached and wasbrought to a head by the fact his grade 1 exam is in a couple of weeks. Hisidea of practicing wasn’t matching up with his teachers and he wasn’t reallymaking the required progress.

His teacher has been amazingly patient with him and I admirethe way she has made him concentrate in his lessons and been firm with him.

I feel I have been too wishy washy and maybe I am the onewho hasn’t put enough effort in? I’ve not been consistent in getting him toknuckle down and play. Bribery has been resorted to on more than one occasion.

In the back of my head I feel like the failure – don’t allwrite back and comfort me with words that I am doing my best and it’s hardbringing up the boys alone etc etc. There's some small part of my brain that knows all that.

Andrew was never a quitter. He was tenacious like theproverbial dog with a bone. Even when things got so bad at work it was damaginghis mental health he carried on. Although things got resolved before he died Iwonder if all that stress was a contributing factor to his heart attack.

It was only when youngest son started to play I found out thatAndrew had piano lessons when he was a child. 

One day he was being carriedaloft by his brother or a friend on their shoulders, he fell and severely brokehis arm in two places; “can you feel the bumps?” he would ask, getting me torun my hand along his arm to find the spots where the bones had knittedtogether. 

He was in plaster for weeks and never had a lesson after that.

I don’t really understand why he never took it up again. Maybe there were other things going on too, there really is so much about myhusband I will never comprehend now.

What I do know is that Andrew regretted not being able toplay an instrument and was so pleased when Ben showed an interest.

If I have failed anyone it is Andrew and I am sorry but youleft me and this is way too hard on my own. I can't get it all right, I never did when then were two of us.

And as for youngest son I hope you don’t regret this and endup blaming me for not making you practice. I tried but some battles are just not worth fighting.

Being a parent is tough – never mind Masterchef and theirhigh pressure cooker kitchens – Parenting and making decisions – it doesn’t getmuch tougher than this!

The W Word

2012-02-17T13:52:00.000Z

There’s one word I loathe with a passion, especially whenapplied to me although I use it all the time on others. It begins with a W.

It’s not widow as you might expect. Oh no I have come toterms with that particular word in a roundabout fashion. It’s been months sinceI changed my relationship status on Facebook to embrace being a widow. Somehowit expresses that although now single I was once loved. There is a tragicelement about it; one word can say so much.

No the word I dislike beginning with a W is WAIT.

It is a word I employ all the time with the boys and theirdemands so why do I think I am a different case? Be honest don’t we all thinkwe should have our needs met NOW?

Wait is a word I keep hearing, it’s whispered and verysubtle but I read it often on Twitter, it is spoken in conversations and Ieven found myself writing about it.

When I wrote the poem At The Bus Stop only a few days ago I wasvery aware that I had jumped from winter to summer in a stanza completelymissing out spring. When I thought about adding an extra verse I knew it wouldbe dull with not much happening.

Waiting for a bus is no more exciting thanwaiting for anything else.

So what am I waiting for?

“Spring is generally a good time to sell houses.”

Well the snowdrops are out, the estate agent tells me myhouse is getting a lot of interest online so where are the potential buyers? Ifeel stuck in a rut and long to relocate my life. I don’t want to play taxiservice forever, I want the boys to be able to walk to school, I want to justpop across the road to see a friend and have a cuppa.

I also long and hope for a new relationship. I miss being partof a couple.

At least on-line dating was being proactive, even if it wasn’ta fulfilling experience. Now I am twiddling my thumbs waiting for my handsomeprince to turn up.

“Don’t you know any single men?” I asked my brother-in-law.

He eventually remembered one who sounds perfect – except helives miles away. After a few days of daydreaming I landed with another bump as nothing is happening.Guess I have to sit and wait it out.

And then there is my writing, waiting for that miraculousmoment when I will be discovered and published. (I really know how to daydream!)

This is the one thing I CAN actually do something about. I SHOULD bedoing something about but I spend too much energy moaning about the things Icannot change, trying to shift the things that I am incapable moving.

Here’s something I found from a blog I follow Thing We Forget

I love writing, every time I sit at the laptop I get a kickout of playing with words on the page. I love that I can type quicker thesedays. Getting positive feedback from friends lifts my day. More and more I hearfrom people I have never met and I am thrilled that my words are reaching outand touching hearts.

And here are some words I found on Twitter

At least as important as the things we wait for is the workGod wants to do in us as we wait

I’m so glad God is not shouting at me but dropping thesethoughts into my consciousness instead. He knows what I really want and I didn’thave to write it here for him to figure it out.  I am sure that writing is the task he has givenme to do and as for all the other stuff … once more I hand it all over, justplease give me some patience as I wait!

Hands up who remembers the seventies?

2012-02-16T15:04:00.000Z

Youngest son and I finished the jigsaw last night. The titleis the “1970s Toy Box Memories”.

While I remembered Starsky and Hutch and took somesatisfaction in completing the CHiPs motorbike my twelve year old had no ideawho they were. 

He kept calling Emu the “big blue bird” – he has never seen thatinfamous interview with Michael Parkinson.

However plenty of characters have stood the test of time.

The Wombles occasionally stick their heads out from underground tobe re-invented. One of the first things I spotted on the jigsawwas the Womble Game. My mum and dad still have it in a cupboard somewhere but Ihave never met anyone else who had even played it apart from us. The idea isyou move around Wimbledon Common picking up pieces of litter, stashing themaway in your tidy bag.  

Another enduring children’s favourite is Paddington and myson could easily identify Humpty too although he would have struggled spottingHamble and Jemima and is far too young to have heard of Playschool. Let's look through the round window.

Star Wars is just as much a favourite toy/franchise now asit was all those years ago – dare I put a number to it, 35 sounds impossiblyhigh!

Nowadays they are filling in the gaps between the films andhave created a whole new era of characters and stories entitled The Clone Wars.Even episodes one, two and three feel retro and the first episode has justundergone the 3D treatment.

Youngest son is going to see it with his uncle. I’m quitehappy to wait until episode 4 is rereleased, Han Solo in 3D just might be worthwatching.

And then there are the Muppets. The new film makes plenty ofreferences to the fact that they have disappeared from our consciousness.Clever marketing has tapped into a new generation and will surely catapultKermit and Miss Piggy back to the top of the toys-every-child-wants-for-Christmaslist.

Not that I am cynical, nostalgia is big business as wefondly remember our childhood heroes.  Itcarries us back to a simpler time when we didn’t have to worry about paying thehousehold bills and the state off the euro and how it will affect our pensions…

The film has reminded me how much I liked Miss Piggy as agirl. I too could flick my hair and do the karate chop. I tried to be feisty, assertingmy feminine charm in the playground – with very little effect it must be said!

The modern Miss Piggy has matured; she is more pragmatic withher true love and doesn’t resort to tossing her hair or fluttering hereyelashes for attention. She is a pig who still knows what she wants and commitmentfrom her frog is top of her wish list.

She really is a pig after my own heart – now where can Ifind a frog to kiss? One that turns into a handsome prince just likeall good fairytale happily ever afters, and preferably one who looks like Han Solo and knowsall the words to Minuetto Allegretto by the Wombles!

Happy Tuesday

2012-02-14T22:27:00.000Z

I once heard a poem all about why February is rubbish! It isa cold month with winter hanging on and the only date in the calendar of anysignificance is Waitangi Day which is celebrated in New Zealand on the 6th.

Oh yes and that other memorable date St Valentine’s Day!

One week after my birthday and most years best forgotten. Ohhow I agree with the author of the poem!

Well sometimes I do.  

It is hard to get excited about a day that is only celebrated by coupleswhen you are well and truly SINGLE.

I can just about count all my Valentine’s cards sent and receivedon one hand…

When I was five I sent two handmade cards to boys in myclass. I still remember writing them in coloured biros from my spirograph set.

Ten years later I was at it again as I delivered a card to atall, blond haired, blue eyed boy also in my class. I especially cycled to hishouse and sneakily dropped the rather large card through the letter box withoutbeing seen. It was a Saturday and I expected to see him the next day at church.

“He’s not avoiding you,” His mother said to me after theservice. “He’s just out with the scouts.”

So much for it being a secret, EVERYONE knew!

I don’t think I actually received a Valentine's card until I was away atPolytechnic. One was silently slipped under my bedroom door in the halls ofresidence. I was quite excited – until I found out who had sent it!

Then there were the cards Andrew and I sent to one another.For the purpose of this post and to fit in with my statement above we willcount them as one. In reality I may have sent two or three and he probably gaveme one or two, but I couldn’t find any when I looked for them earlier so maybeI dreamt them after all.

But despite the lack of cards on my doormat I remain an utterly hopeless romantic.

My mother-in-law goes to a luncheon club on a Tuesday andthere is one particular man she is fond of having a weekly cuddle from.

“You should leave him a Valentine’s card on his table.” Iencouraged her. 

She dismissed the idea but why should the older generationnot have a bit of romance in their lives?

Meanwhile at the other end of the scale I took the boys tothe cinema today to see The Muppets. I also took along my friend’s children asshe was working.

I am a cruel woman always teasing my youngest son and myfriend’s daughter, they make a great team and I would love her to be mydaughter-in-law one day. We engineered them sitting next to each other and thenthis afternoon they spent time doing a jigsaw together – awww young love – so sweet!

If I can’t have any romance in my own life I shall haveto look elsewhere.

And if I can’t play cupid for the older or youngergenerations I will turn my attention to the silver screen and look forinspiration in the great love story I watched today – that of Kermit and MissPiggy, once more happily in each other’s arms.

Happy Tuesday Everyone 

with lots of love xxx

The long and the short of it

2012-02-13T14:10:00.000Z

For no apparent reason the other day I started crying. Griefonce more rearing its head, spitefully poking me until the tears flowed like anunwelcome acquaintance.

At the time I was standing with a friend. She is glamorous,slender, always made up to perfection and wears her hair stylishly short.

Beside her in my jeans and sweatshirt I feel positively oldand frumpy.

Pulling my woolly hat from my head I asked what I should dowith my hair.

It has always been long, apart from once having a bob but Isoon grew it out.

Andrew, a typical man, liked it long and hated me going tothe hairdressers, he worried I would get it all chopped off and how I used totease him that I just might!

My dad is another matter altogether. He likes to stir thingsup a bit and playing devil’s advocate he says I should wear my hair short. “Itwill always grow.” He retorts with glee.

Actually despite their disagreement in how I have my haircut my dad and Andrew really had a lot in common. Andrew had that awkwardstreak about him too. Always being controversial just for the sake of it. Arguing black is white for fun.

Maybe that’s why I married him, maybe girls marry a man liketheir father in the same way we become like our mothers. There is some kind ofinevitability about it.

My friend’s advice was I should grow my hair again. Althoughhers is short she wishes it was longer and claims it is not stylish but a mess!Isn’t that always the way?

So I am caught in the middle of my dad and my husband. Whoseopinion matters most?

I have come to the conclusion - MINE!

And that’s the thing, I can ask as many friends as I wantbut what’s going to make ME feel great?

Yes I can get my hair cut short now without offendingAndrew. I can wear make-up and perfume to my heart’s content, always aspiringto look more like my glamorous friend.

I love to dress up and I sometimes wish I had more time toapply my make-up and do my nails but then there are days when I’m happiest inmy jeans, not having to make an effort before I cross the threshold to meet theoutside world.

Just because I CAN re-invent myself doesn’t mean I HAVE to.

“There was nothing wrong with the old Sarah!” said anotherfriend when I shared these thoughts with her.

And my hair? Well I think it may be a little while before Isee the hairdresser again because personally I like my hair long too! 

At the Bus Stop

2012-02-12T12:59:00.000Z

Winter

At the bus stop

thoughts of you

arrive like a bus

to the wrong destination

or a bus that is so full

and I can't get on.

I'm stuck in a cold part of town

fingers freezing

stamping my feet.

All I want

is to be home

in the warm

wrapped up in you.

Summer

At the bus stop

on a summer's day

sun dazzling

the breeze from the arriving bus

ruffles my skirt.

So long I've waited

is this finally the right bus?

Will it take me

where I want to go?

A single ticket

set for adventure

thoughts of you

still dance around my head

and make me smile. :-)

ECHO

2012-02-11T19:06:00.000Z

After the dedication a couple of weeks ago, performed by theArchbishop, today was the official open day for our new church hall extension. Finally the general public get a good look inside, although I confess I had had asneaky look round weeks ago – you just have to know the right people!

The hall has been re-Christened ECHO which stands forEmmanuel Church Hall Outreach. I think it’s a great name and by itself it doesn’tsound too “churchy”. We want it to be a place where the community feelswelcome. The building is well used and has kept open during the building workas much as possible.

ECHO was a project that Andrew firmly believed in. He wasalways of the opinion that the church should have the best facilities possible.Therefore he was keen to be involved with whatever fundraising he could do including organising a fantastic Christmas shopping trip to York. When hedied I had no hesitation in saying any money donated in lieu of flowers shouldgo towards the project.

As we wandered around the open spaces today we were invited tosuggest a name for each room. I want something to recognise Andrew although hewould probably not want any fuss made and think he wasn’t important enough.

It’s a difficult one with so many people being involved inthe whole project over many years. Everyone wants to carve the name of their loved one somewhere,metaphorically speaking of course.  A fewfaithful church members have died over the past few years and maybe we shouldn’tname rooms after them as it is picking favourites and someone somewhere willget upset and grumble or feel forgotten.

Perhaps we need quirky names that people can find their ownmeaning for, favourites of mine included The Jubilee Room, The Rainbow Room andThe Bus Stop.

OK so the Bus Stop is my own quirky name for the computerroom because Andrew drove a bus and that room would be his favourite spacecomplete with a corner to hide behind.

A bus stop is a place of waiting to be taken on ajourney. A spot to rest at before undertaking a new direction. Somewhere kids hangout and meet their friends.

Have I convinced you it’s a great name?

Meanwhile I looked up the word ECHO in the dictionary. Thereare many definitions but the one I like best is “something that evokes memories”.

Whatever we call the rooms we should never forget the pastand the contribution of the people who have gone before. But let’s hope we are alsocreating happy memories to look back on in the future.

I don’t know how the conversation started but….

2012-02-09T21:25:00.000Z

You know those times when you are with friends and theconversation takes an unusual tack?  Thekind of “what if…?” discussions that ends up going off at a hilarious tangent thatit so bizarre it sticks in your brain forever?

Before we had the kids we would meet friends at the pub forlast orders on a Tuesday evening. The recurring banter was “what would you dowith a third arm?” and perhaps more importantly “where would it stick out ofyour body?” 

This led to discussing the fact that jumpers would need another armhole and there were lots of thoughts on all the multi-tasking you could do with an extra half a pair of hands! I can still remember these discussions almost twenty years later and it still makes me giggle.

Last Friday when I had friends round we started talkingabout watching films over and over again and how they always end the same – at leastI think this was how it started.

“One day when I watch the Great Escape, Steve McQueen willjump that barbed wire fence!”

Sad but true, every time I see the film I can’t help buthope this time he makes it and I am literally cheering him on as I sit on theedge of the sofa.

Everyone laughed and then the conversation got more fanciful.

What if the bike then turned into a flying bike like on ET and Steve McQueen just flew away?

Obviously that’s never going to happen – how absurd! Somepeople have the strangest imagination.

Only my friend took away these mad ideas and made me thisunique birthday card.

The red car in the top corner about to collide with SteveMcQueen isn't the Nazis about to send him back to the cooler but James May. My friend also remembered that I have a crush on CaptainSlow.

Now this is getting more and more ridiculous by the minute and sounds like one of those weird dreams you sometimes have that make no sense whatsoever.

So back to theoriginal far more sensible question…

What would you do with a third arm?

Important Words

2012-02-08T19:47:00.000Z

One of the first news stories I heard this morning on theradio was how the medical profession have identified a particular type of Y chromosomepassed from father to son which increases the risk of coronary heart disease by50%.

Bearing in mind Andrew’s dad had his first heart attack atthe age of 49, Andrew died from a heart attack 2 weeks short of his 49thbirthday and we have two sons I understandably pricked up my ears to listen.

I have just found the report again on iPlayer, it has notmade the news anywhere else and I wanted to check my facts.

A friend of mine “thriving” after breast cancer put acomment on Twitter today that the first word she heard on the radio thismorning was “cancerous”.

Maybe we are just extra sensitive to these words and storiesbecause they touch a nerve. They cut deep, piercing our scars.

Time to switch off the radio perhaps, which reminded me ofthe TV programme from the 70s and 80s “Why Don’t You”. I can still sing theannoying theme song…

“Why don’t you

go and switch off the television set

and goand do something less boring instead.”

It always sounded a silly idea to my brother and I advocating the viewer toturn off the TV just as it was about to start.

Sometimes we need to distance ourselves from thenegative influences and words that wound.

I wrote briefly yesterday about being called "tree trunk legs"one day as I walked home from school. I remember clearly even now the boy who said itand the exact spot along the route where it took place.

“Sticks and stonesmay break my bones

but names will never hurt me.”

A chant my parents taught me to say in the face of bullies,thankfully it is not a phrase we pass on to our kids today because it isabsolute rubbish!

The other week while driving to the hospital for an appointment (read Squished) I listened to a Christian CD by Cathy Burton. Ihad borrowed it ages ago from a friend and had meant to return it but was so gladI had these words to give me hope of a good outcome…

Songs of healing

songs of hope

hands that never letme go

the Father who madeus watches and knows us

carries us through

You can hear Cathy Burton talking about Songs of Healing here.She says she hopes it is a song people will listen to in their car that “willtouch them where they are” – well she has certainly had that prayer answered.

Words can sting and pierce and wound.

Words can heal and sooth and mend.

These are some of my favourite words in the Bible about Godsinging over us.

“God … will take delight in you with gladness. With his lovehe will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”

Zephaniah 3.17

Maybe we should switch off the radio and TV more often, turnaway from the gloomy news and soak up some positive words instead, be they wordsfrom a good book or a positive CD.

The words that bring you peace may be totally different tomine, I’d love to know what’s really spoken to you recently and given you theboost you needed.

Fabulous, Fashionable and Forty-Four

2012-02-07T21:06:00.000Z

I am wearing leggings today on my forty-fourth birthday.

If you had told me twenty odd years ago when I lastdiscarded these stretchy articles that they would make a return to my wardrobeI would have laughed. Leggings were worn by the young and trendy and theylooked best on those with stick thin legs.

My legs have never been my most redeeming feature. Foryears I was haunted by the taunts of being called “tree trunk legs” by a lad inmy class as we walked home from school. I’ve pretty much worn very long skirts and kept my pins covered up for thepast twenty years.

The years roll by and by the time you find yourselfin your forties there comes a peace of mind and more of an acceptance of yourshape. You learn how to dress for the best and arrive at your own style.

My friend calls me “the glamorous one” of our group. I ammost often dressed up for church and I am always colour co-ordinated.

So am I too old at 44 to wear leggings, co-ordinated with along top and knee high boots?

I had some birthday cards that related to my age. One said

Never-mind – you maybe older than you’ve ever been before…

…but you’re alsoyounger than you’ll ever be again!

So profound.

Another card declared

We are not old - We are retro

I particularly like the use of the inclusive word “we”.

The card from my parents alluded to my style with a pictureof a little girl wearing her mother’s high heels!

But one of my favourite pictures was this one from mymother-in-law

The disco diva with not a care in the world, singing herheart out, probably a little off key but with dazzling specs like that and such individual style and panache whowould notice?

When I told someone I was going to be 44 she said, “You don’tlook it and you don’t act it!” I didn’t take any offence. I still am the bubblyyoung girl on the birthday card, inside at least.

Of course now I have remembered why I stopped wearingleggings all those years ago. It wasn’t just that fashion moved on but they areforever falling down and when you go out you have to pop into every public convenienceto yank them up again without causing a scene! A middle aged woman surreptitiously tweaking at her undergarments is nota pleasant sight.

“No I really don’t need the loo all the time, I don’t have aweak bladder honest, it’s not an age thing, I don’t need Tena Lady - it’s justmy leggings!”

I’m sure that something else will be in vogue soon – justhope it’s dresses because I got yet another one today from mum and dad for mybirthday.

But that as they say is another story….

Political Ambition? (that's with a very small p)

2012-02-06T21:14:00.000Z

It all started a couple of weeks ago when I had an emailfrom school; there is a vacancy to be a parent governor. It’s a responsibilityI have held before at the primary school and I thought maybe it was about timeI got involved at secondary level now both boys once more attend the sameschool.

I duly retrieved the form from school and filled it in,delivering it personally so it didn’t get lost in a school bag for the nextthree months. Maybe this is my reason for wanting to be a school governor I canfind out stuff before it is too late!

The other day there was a voice mail message on my phonefrom school; could I please ring them back? It was about my application.

I had already found out there are two of us standing and there hasto be a vote amongst the parents. This is a first for me as I have previously becomea parent governor with no opposition.

My first irrational thought was I had been found out! Theyhave discovered I have been bribing the electorate with offers of chocolatebrownies – sad but true!

When I posted on Facebook that there was to be vote betweentwo parents, one friend replied her vote could be guaranteed by confectionery.Another friend is a decorator and his vote could be bought if he got thecontract to paint my second home that I would undoubtedly purchase on expenses.

OK so it got a bit silly but this is Facebook and in thepublic domain! Some people don’t share my sense of humour. I had visions of myintegrity in tatters before I even get voted into office. 

Time to face the music. Witha little trepidation I rang school back.  

“The head will be counting the votes next Friday if youwould like to be there you are invited to attend.”

Impressive stuff this but fortunately was no hint that I hadoverstepped the mark or wasn’t taking my responsibility seriously enough  – PHEW!

Now I’ve stayed up late and watched “Election Night” on TV.Should I wear a rosette to match my outfit? Actually had I missed a trick atparents evening last week, should I have been canvassing? I was thankful Ididn’t have a deposit to lose but what if nobody votes for me?

These were the thoughts running through my brain but thesensible words that tumbled from my mouth were.

“It’s a PD Day on Friday isn’t it? The children aren’t atschool.”

“Yes.” Replied the secretary.

“OK I don’t think I’ll bother.”

“Most people don’t want to come in. We will let you knowlater in the day or the following week.”

Far better I spend the day with my boys, if I bribe themwith chocolate brownies I’m sure I’ll be onto a winner!

Honesty’s the best policy

2012-02-02T08:44:00.000Z

“Are you going to tell Sarah?” My friend’s daughter askedher mum.

“Tell her what?”

“That you don’t like the bath bombs she gave you forChristmas.”

My friend faced a dilemma made worse by the fact that her daughtermight confess on her behalf.

Her daughter had especially been delighted by the gift setof 3 bath bombs in the shape of cupcakes. They even had the paper cases roundthem and I’d put them in a gift box tied with ribbon. They smelt divinealthough not quite good enough to eat.

My friend had shared one with her daughter the other eveningand decided they were a bit too oily for their taste.

As you may have guessed my friend owned up or I’d still be in thedark and buying her unwanted bath goodies for years to come.

The silly thing is I’d originally bought her a lovelyfragranced candle for Christmas but switched presents at the last minute. The yummycupcakes were too lovely to pass by and I considered they were more of a treatfor my special friend who has supported me throughout the year.

We all get presents we don’t always appreciate – I hold myhands up to taking a few to the church shop in the past. We are not all ashonest as my friend, letting people know what we really think.

My Mum and Dad gave me a box for Christmas with lots ofpresents inside.

(The box itself was recycled, “I gave Mum that box lastChristmas with her present in.” Said my brother!) 

The first gift I came across was a large crosswordbook. Now Andrew and I loved doing thecrossword together but I haven’t made the time to do one lately. I put the bookto one side and delved deeper into the box.

There were all manner of other goodies underneath, a scarf,a necklace, a new road atlas for my new car, a jug for gravy and one forcustard, I’d mentioned I needed something a bit smarter than pyrex to adorn mytable. My mum had stored this information and here was my reward.

When I was ready to leave my parent’s and head backhome they suddenly realised they had no gift to send back for my mother-in-law.

I hesitated for a second and said, “What about thatcrossword book you gave me? I don’t really get time to sit and do the crosswordanymore.”

“That’s a good idea.” replied my mum, “I only got it for youbecause it was three for two.” Like mother like daughter – we can’t resist abargain!

Problem solved - honesty really is the best policy.

And my friend with her unwanted bath bombs? Well I knowsomeone with a birthday next week (hint! hint!) or else I’ve heard there is asilent auction at church soon – I’d bid on them and buy them back for me and we canraise some more money for the church hall at the same time!

cupcake lavender bag

But I don’t want her to be out of a present so I came upwith a plan and made her a cupcake she can’t refuse. Non-fattening, longlasting and made with lots of love xx

(Hope she likes it - can't post this until I see her... sorry for the wait!)

A sign of getting older

2012-01-31T19:57:00.000Z

I have come to the conclusion I am getting older because thefunerals I attend are beginning to outnumber the weddings I am invited too. TodayI was at the thanksgiving service of a lovely lady called Lena.

(Yes I know I normally don’t name people but I’ve set theprecedent before of naming the departed and somehow it seems fitting. ReadHanging by a Thread)

Lena was 93 and would have been 94 next week.  We were born 50 years apart (minus 2days).  I always joked with her that we couldshare our 50th and 100th birthday parties.

Alas that is never to be, but I shall remember to toast herwhen I reach that milestone.

It’s amazing to think that if I live to the same ripe oldage I am not yet half way through my life. I would love to think I will get tothat age with all my faculties intact but more than that I hope I reach out topeople in the same way Lena did.

She loved a good story, her tales were an inspiration.

I remember one day not long after Andrew had died we had ameeting at my house. We sat round the kitchen table and she started on a story…

She had been a teacher and for some of her career had workedin a rough neighbourhood where the girls she taught needed as much love andattention as they did schooling in reading and writing. She often enthralled uswith stories from these hard times. But on this particular occasion her talewas about one of the teachers.

This teacher was a young woman with a child and one day herhusband died unexpectedly. Lena had taken the girl under her wing in much thesame way she did with her students. I can’t recall all of the story buteventually she had remarried, rebuilt her life and she still saw Lena weekly to take her shopping.

I was filling up at this and reached for the box of tissues.

Lena looked me in the eye and said, “I’m telling this storyfor you my dear.” I suppose it was her way of saying my life wasn’t over, thatother people had shared my pain and that she knew what I was going through.

I’m starting to cry as I type. I wish I’d had more time toget to know her, to hear more of her stories and to drink in her wealth ofknowledge.

At least I had the privilege to know this remarkable womanof God, even for a short time and for that I am forever thankful!

Frogs for Breakfast

2012-01-30T20:34:00.000Z

“You must rememberto eat your frogs first.” Declared my friend one day.

Now I’ve heard of“kissing frogs” and them turning into a handsome princes. Was my friend offeringsome kind of dating advice?

“No it means youhave to do the jobs you hate first and get them out of the way.”

“Like my filing?”

“Exactly!”

AH yes number 4on my new year’s resolutions list. Sort out my paperwork and filing.

Everyone laughed atthe idea; it was the least likely item on the list to be achieved. And so ithas proved to be but now we are near the end of the month I decided the timehad come to “eat my frogs”.

There was a box ofpaperwork I had ~~hidden~~ tidied away around Christmas time that I was determined totackle today.

I pulled it out from under the desk and set it down in themiddle of the dining room table – perhaps a cup of tea was in order first?

OK so I did makesome excuses along the way but I had given up my Monday morning walk to getthis done and I was unwilling to admit defeat and have my friends laugh at menext week. Mind you with the snow swirling today I was so glad of being in thewarm for a change.

It took some time, Igot distracted once or twice but I did reach the bottom of the box. I filledhalf a bin bag with rubbish and accumulated a mound of paper to be recycled.

Important paperswere distributed into separate piles all around the box ready to be filed, bankstatement together, phone bills separated from gas and electric bills and a stack of indiscriminatepapers I want to keep that still need final sorting, maybe later.

The oldest bill I discovered wasdated September 2011 and I confess in shame there were some envelopes I’d noteven opened!

Once I could see thebottom of the box I removed it which at least left one clear spot on thenow cluttered table.

Progress? Well a small step forward but I guess I’ll be eatingfrogs for breakfast for the rest of the week!

Here are Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday Frog! Did find a picture of a man eating a frog but it was too disgusting to add to my blog!!

A good old Sunday tradition

2012-01-29T17:36:00.000Z

Yesterday I wrote about how the weekends always seem to meto be a sacred family time not to be disturbed by outsiders. Maybe that comesfrom Sunday afternoons when I was a child. We would either visit relatives orgo for a Sunday afternoon walk.

My dad worked hard as a butcher through the week, always upearly and exhausted when he got home, so his day off was a special time for allfour of us together. Sometimes my grandma would come with us too even thoughshe was already in her 70s (she really was a marvellous woman).  The walks stopped as my brother and I gotolder and followed other pursuits.

When Andrew and I were “courting” and first married, theSunday afternoon walk was also a regular occurrence following our Sunday lunch. Wewould take Andrew’s mum’s dog Spot with us.

The dog died, the boys came along, things change as theyalways do.

Yesterday I suggested going for a walk along the beach toyoungest son.

He didn’t want to go but my friend said she would go for a walkwith me.

Eventually we came up with a plan to go to her house afterchurch for bacon butties and drag the kids out kicking and screamingregardless. Of course when they are withtheir friends the idea of walking is far more appealing and there were no tearsor tantrums whatsoever.

After a lovely lunch of crispy bacon and melted brie on freshbread (delicious!) we set off down the beach.

We had a wonderful stroll and after stopping for hotchocolate and brownies and ice creams etc. we walked back past the park andthrough the woods.

The park is one of those big chunky adventure type placeswhere all the equipment is made of solid wood. Not like the swings and slidesof our day, anyone remember those tall slides with the cage on top? Or theJungle Gym, as we used to call them, that looked like a big square hunk ofscaffolding?

The very last Sunday afternoon Andrew was alive we were allbored at home and he decided we should go for a walk. The boys weren’t too impressed with the planbut I desperately wanted to spend the time together as a family and not alldisappear to different corners of the house.

We walked to the same park which was still relatively newand it was the first time we’d been to explore. I remember Andrew and Ibouncing on the seesaw and me squealing with laughter (how old am I?). Hehelped youngest son ride on the zip wire and probably challenged oldest son toclimb on the highest piece of equipment.

It was a good afternoon, one I will always remember for itslaughter and fun, and one I recalled with fondness today as I could see Andrewsmiling.

The Sunday afternoon “family” walk really is a good oldtradition and I’m so glad we have extended church family to share it with.

And thanks for the bacon butties too – same time nextweek???

The Trouble with Saturdays

2012-01-28T15:28:00.000Z

“I’m bored.”

“What would you like to do?” 

“I don’t know.”

This is a very typical Saturday morning conversation and onewe had again this morning. How are our children so fed up with the worldwhen they have so much?

The fact that there is homework to be done, Lego all overthe floor to be tidied and a piano to practice in preparation for his grade oneexam is all immaterial and uninspiring.

We kind of struck a deal, the kind of bargaining you alwaysvow you won’t do as you slide so easily into its sticky trap. At least I do, Iput it down to being a solo parent but that’s an excuse and I really am apushover.

“Write me a list of three things you would like to do and I’llwrite my list.”

Hoping this would generate a plan for the day I handed overa sheet of note paper. Then I set aboutwriting my own list.

Have a day off from being mum
Go for a walk on the beach followed by hot chocolate and a chocolate brownie at a café
Spend the day knitting and sewing

It was obvious that number one and number three werecompletely unattainable but would a twelve year old boy go for the chocolatyoption of number 2 on this bright sunny day?

His list was shorter as he could only think of two things hewanted.

Have a friend round
Go to a friend’s

Spending the day with his mum didn’t even make his top 3. Ihad suspected a game of something to be added to the list and I wouldn’t haveminded if some homework, tidying up and piano was done first.

The trouble with Saturdays (Sundays and Bank Holiday Mondaystoo for that matter) is they always seem to me to be family days and I don’tlike to disturb other people having a nice time together on their day off.

I don’t know where this idea has come from. Why I believeother families are having a jolly day out together while my boys sit at home -bored!

“Wouldn’t you like a walk and a hot chocolate?”

“No.”

So he now has a friend round to play.

“I was glad you rang,” said his dad, “he was justcomplaining he was BORED.”

So maybe by a strange twist of fate I get to do number 3 on my list after all…

 ...and everybody's happy! 

Eeyore vs Pooh - round 2

2012-01-27T15:09:00.000Z

I woke this morning with an Eeyore head on – not literallyobviously – but I was in a definitely grumpy mood.

The boys left for school and I was still in my pyjamasfeeling very sorry for myself.

You remember last week I bravely went and had that lump removed? (read OUCH!!!!)Well yesterday I was supposed to have the stitches out.

“I think we’ll leave them until Monday.” Said the nurse onexamination, “The outside ones look OK but if I take them out now the insideone looks like it might pop.”

Too much information, the thought is just too graphic andmakes me shudder.

“So I still can’t have a shower or a bath?”

“No, sorry.”

She didn't seem unduly worried about the state of things but it's no wonder I woke in a bad mood. I feel smelly and yucky,especially as I have done a couple of exercise classes this week as part of the“new-year -new-me” plan.  Maybe I hadstretched too much and the scar hasn’t had chance to heal? 

(Not to self – have a restful day!)

“Just have a shower.” Advocated my rebellious bestfriend. 

She had a C section and was positively encouraged to bathe particularlywith an expensive brand of bubble bath that contains healing ingredients. Ibought a bottle of this green fresh fragranced miracle lotion yesterday inpreparation.

So why is my nurse so adamant I can’t get my stitches wet? Riskof infection. Is there NO risk to a C section scar? I don’t understand and ifanyone from the medical profession can enlighten me please do.

My mood turned blacker when I listened to the radio.

Severe Siberian winter weather is heading our way for thenext 4 weeks.  Typical, it’s my birthdayin a fortnight and my parents have promised to visit “if we don’t get snow”.

Here’s a very apt  Eeyore quote for the day

Expect the Worst

Even if someoneremembers to come to your birthday party,

they will almostcertainly eat your present on the way or break it!

I could have curled up under the duvet for the day quitehappily sulking.

But I want to be more positive and cheerful (read eliminate the negative) so this is whatI did…

My mother-in-law who has all manner of medical supplies forher own ailments gave me some adhesive dressings I could cover my wound with. I’dnot actually used them but on closer inspection they proclaimed to be “waterrepellent” – aha!

If I just stuck one on I could probably get away with aquick shower and hair wash without getting too soggy.

It wasn’t the best shower ever but for the first time in aweek I feel CLEAN and on top of the world.

Best of all it worked perfectly, the stitches stayed completely dry andI have enough dressings to see my through until Monday.

So Eeyore you can take a hike with your doom and gloom here's what Winnie the Pooh has to say for the day.

If the string breakstry another piece of string

because 

You never know when apiece of string might be Useful

Think that’s another round to Pooh!

Have a Happy Friday!

A dream of writing…

2012-01-26T18:43:00.000Z

I don’t tend to write much about oldest son. He lives in his own self-contained littleworld of tennis, football and F1. He gives me little grief, generally gets onwith his homework and our lives only really cross at mealtimes or occasionally whenwe sit and watch some good telly together.

At the same age, 15, my favourite TV programme wasFame.  Thursday night directly after Topof the Pops. I also lived in my own little world; mine consisted of legwarmersand leotards, dancesteps and stardom! 

My dreams and aspirations were varied, I wanted to be asinger or a dancer or an actress, depending on day of the week, but ultimatelyI wanted to be FAMOUS, name in lights and live forever. 

My talents in those areas are mixed and I’m hoping I’vefinally found my niche in the Arts as I concentrate on my writing.

My son has a similar a dream of writing. This was totallyunexpected from the child who doesn’t read much and has never excelled inliteracy and imagination. English was just another boring but necessarysubject.

However he is not interested in fiction or poetry, his ownwriting takes the form of sports reports. His dream is to have a career as a sports’ journalist travelling the worldwatching all his favourite sports.

For him it’s not about FAME but it is a passion to writeabout what he enjoys.

In temperament and ambition he reminds me of Bruno in Fame,dark curly hair and beautiful blue eyes…

… sorry you lost me there for a minute as I looked up apicture to add … 

For Bruno fame wasn’t important he just wanted his music tobe heard, to be taken seriously as a composer. Lee Curreri who played Bruno didn’t just look the part and pretend toplay the piano he actually wrote some of the songs used in the TV series -talentedand good looking!

Oldest son, plays a bit of football, plays tennis to areasonable standard, even playing for our local men’s team and he has driven anF1 car (on the playstation) as well as doing a bit of karting. For 15 he has agood knowledge of the sports he likes and sees no reason why the BBC isn’talready hammering on the door to sign him up.

He has started his own blog(you can read it here) and is desperate to get noticed.We had quite a chat about it last night when it was really long past bed time(mine not his). He wants to write the perfect sports report NOW.

Like everything else nothing comes easy and it takes time,practice and patience.

“You want fame, well fame costs 

and right here is where youstart paying 

in sweat.”

I can hear Lydia Grant even now as she tapped her dancingcane forcefully on the floor for full effect. 

It doesn’t have to be fame youare after, you can easily substitute the word “dreams”.

There’s another eighties film I love and frequently quote - Flashdance.

“If you give up yourdreams you die.”

Dreams don’t always come true but that doesn’t mean theyshould be neglected. Someone’s dream is part of their identity, their DNA.  Real life often comes along and squashes themand sometimes the hurdles will look insurmountable but never give them upbecause I know from bitter experience a part of you really does fade away whenyou do.

So my message to you today, oldest son, is keep trying, keepwriting, it may take a long time, just look at your mum, still here and stilltrying to make it after oh so many years.

And remember this - no one believes in you more than me, even whenI criticise your sentence structure.

Love mum xx