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To make it through this year, as I am determined to do. I will strive to fight. The statement to show how I will get to the final day of this extraordinary year, Is “Ellen, Perseveres.” That is my intention.

Wearing an anti covid-19 mask,

I vow to set myself the task

that each day from now until then.

I will rise above the parapet

and repeat it time and again,

until it rings in my ears

and all can see,

she persevere’s.

The last few months I have folded myself into a the smallest space. Closed my eyes and hid, I have begun to surrender to the empty. I feel me fade away as if a smudged pencil sketch. My shape is real enough, my face still there. The essence of me is fading … it feels like whisps, or steam from a cup of tea on a cold day. Not quite sure you saw it slipping silently away. The person that is left is no longer curious enough to find out. So it will be a case of finding … me.

My intention is to learn something new. Today, I signed up to an online class. Together, we the group, will learn how to write and produce an audio play, with the Theatre Royal in Bury St Edmunds. I have also pledged to find myself within the words I write. To see it through, to excel the best way I can. Lock down and health issues have taken their toll, but not any more. Ellen will come through, As I Pledge to persevere.

I want to thank my blogging friend who encouraged me to set an intention and commit to it. https://youcanalwaysstartnow.wordpress.com/2020/09/14/setting-an-intention/

“If you were to chose a word to help you through the last four months, to inspire or motivate what would it be and why?” leave it in the comments I would love to chat.

Ellen’s intention is to Persevere.

Florence wears her poppy with pride.
Only a Bloody Mary to sit beside ,
fag a-dangle from painted lips,
burgeoning breasts child bearing hips.
All a-wobble; she waits for the last post.
Lips tremble; as she drinks a silent toast.

A widow of war; his body unfound.

Buried deep beneath foreign ground.

For peace he fought and lost his life,

Bullets, left lonly, a grieving wife.

Alone, eyes all a puddle, she stands,

Silently clasping her shaking hands.

Photo by Maria Orlova on Pexels.com

While, we all remember them.

Do you think my attempt is too fickle for such a poignant rememberance? Leave me a comment its good to talk.

Thanks to the artist of Florence who holds full copyright, giffy for use of tumbling animation. Both poem and poppies are my own.

While We All Remember Them.

Five Silly Things.

This month I was prompted to reveal and describe five silly things I do or say, so others can get the measure of me. So hold on to your holly hocks and here goes.

Picture of Hollyhocks.

I make stuff up … funny that.

Once I held a conversation about my imaginary childhood in a place called Black Rock. This was accompanied by an Irish accent (very bad). After ten or twenty minutes I smiled nicely and made to leave. That was when the Irish couple I had been speaking to … waved goodbye and hoped I’d call in when next visiting their home town of Black Rock. *smug*

I am bonkers.
I secrete note pads and pencils about my person (see my story glimpes of me here ) pencil in my hair, paper in the top of a holdup stocking.

I can be dramatic.

I lay my hand backwards across my brow, fluttering my lashes as I swoon. Next I hold the pose for three seconds (i know you are doing this) in a breathy voice say “But… you do love mei (pause for effect) dhont yoou dharling” and finally
batting my lashes I drape myself across the husbands lap. This is quite Edwardian in nature and makes said husband blush.

A quirky being am I.

I am an early riser that is my thing. Singing is also a thing; one that most people prefer me not to do. I vocally reproduce the ‘Good morning’ song in the guise of Doris Day at the top of my ( not so crisp) voice, while dancing in a mock hoe – down fashion (at least once a month) to rouse “the husband” from prolonged slumber.

My face full of mischief.

I admit to mischeif.

I frequently Pretend I am of the same origins as people trying to sell me things over the phone. I repeat exactly what they say in their own vernacular… until they put the phone down. Or I have been known to repeat in the most pretentious voice available to me … “Dahhling I am truly distraught” I tap the phone on the mouthpiece. “Frightfully awful I can not hear a word” tapping hard on the mouthpiece again, before cutting them orf!

I am nothing if I’m not inventive.

I have been known to plop myself cross legged on the library floor in the children’s corner and read aloud with voices and actions. This either has parents dragging children away with startled looks or gathers them in front of me; teddies clutched to chests thumbs in mouths… *whispers* and that’s just the parents…

P.s. I can count, but Ellen stylee.

Talking too much (in some folks minds) is my thing. If a story can be told in two words it … in my mind isn’t worth listening to or wasting my breath on. When required to, I listen intently. After all that is how I get the stuffing for a character or inspiration for my book.

~~~~~

Please tell me one silly thing about you, I look forward to your comments.

A Favorite Christmas Decoration.

My idea for this came from here go check out her blog and handsome decoration.
Lindsey left a question on a post yesterday, asking “what is your favourite Christmas decoration and why”.

I thought about the Xmas pud my daughter made at four and the Santa boot my eldest made some thirty years or more ago. The snowflake, it was from my youngest son all white and sparkly made when five; I remember them well, their memories are the ones I treasure with a motherly equality and a sadness when each year I find them gone. The jointed Father Christmas who has pride of place stands two foot tall, he was my own first decoration. My daughter thought I’d like him as I had left so much behind; the beginning of a new life new Christmases to come.

But my own favourite, the one chosen by me… the me I am now, the one I purchased and placed here that is my best.  An angel in a red coat with sparkles on her wooden wings dark neat painted hair with a gold halo and a heart shaped cross body bag. I purchased her at a pop-up shop; a locally crafted display of all things Christmas. My visit was a surprise as I didn’t know it was there… it just popped up. She silently called me, at one point I do believe she winked; that part could be put down to artistic licence *sniff* but none the less drawn we were. At first, I stood her alone in the picture window facing the outside world, when I re-entered the room I turned her facing us. I have had her ten days now and we are getting the measure of each other, up to now she has been the only Christmas adornment to our home but today I will decorate the tree. And my scarlet angel will find her place as I have mine.

After Christmas, I may swap her heart shaped bag for a muff and make a fluffy headband to hide her halo but the wings elude me, maybe a classy fabric draped like a wrap to gently secrete them out of sight. I could put her betwixt my books in a bookcase to watch over us when Christmas has gone. I am not sure why I have become so attached to my scarlet angel but there it is; I am naming her as my favourite Christmas decoration.
What is yours? And why? Leave me a comment or just let me know what you think… And Merry Christmas.

A Place that stirred my Very soul.

The Lotus temple is my favorite building, the one above all others that has come to be the beginning of a new me; a second chance.
Whilst working in India I had the chance to visit this amazing marble clad structure. My visit was the most ethereal moving experience I have encountered.
I was doing a whistle stop, sightseeing, must do on your last day bus tour – not the way I like to do things, but people had presented me with the ticket, and they were so proud of their country and my gift there could only be  graciousness with my acceptance.
I may at another time elaborate on this extrordinary day, but for the moment I will introduce the building in all its spiritual beauty.

This picture  for which i am very greatful is from pixaby link below.
https://pixabay.com/en/photos/

Now for Facts.

Lotus temple is open to people from all religions. It is one of the houses of Bahai Worship.

2. Bahai law emphasizes the universality of all religions. It states that House of Worship is a gathering place for people of all religions.

3. The law further states that only the holy scriptures of Bahai faith and other religions can be read or chanted inside in any language.

4. The readings and prayers can be set to music by choirs as per the law specified by Bahai religion.

5. No musical instruments can be played inside the house of God according to the followers of Bahai religion.

6. Furthermore, no sermons can be delivered. Hence, there is no place for practice of ritualistic ceremonies within this religious community.

7. Like other Bahai Houses of Worship, the Lotus Temple shares certain architectural elements. Some of these are specified in the Bahai scripture.

8. Abhui-Baha is the son of the founder of this religion. He had stipulated that the essential architectural character of a House of Worship should have a nine-sided shape.

9. All the Houses of Worship built by the Bahai community have dome in the central structure. However, the Lotus Temple does not have this characteristic architectural element.

10. There is no place for pictures, photos, statues or images in Bahai religion.

Source: http://www.buzzoop.com/travel/10…

“My Story Can Now Begin.”

The bus pulled up, it was  the middle of monsoon season and every surface glistened  from the rains of the morning. There were racks to leave your shoes and lockers to put your belongings,camera’s, phones, water, food.
I had a purse on a long leather strap across my body under my dupatta,  which is a shawl to cover my shoulders or head; necessary in some of the places I had to visit that day. My purse carried my medication some money and my Id, like the other visitors I had, no shoes,no bags, no camera, just space and myself.

Some of the people were guided outside around the perimeter, and a few inside, so that the space was uncompramised. At first the vastness is overwhelming the silence was unexplainable. I lay as others did on a marble pew or structure, where you looked into the centre of the lotus flower high above me. My breath and occasional rustling as people settled were the only sounds. I lay for maybe fifteen minutes time dissipated, it was as if I was waiting for something; then it came.

A small bird fluttered around the beams and rested as high as he could get, he threw back his head and sang; the notes reverberated off every surface magnifying each note. I realised I’d been holding my breath, as i gasped he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared. My moment will stay forever 2009 in many ways marked a turning point a new life for me, with this experience at the top.
I hope you liked my memory and would love to know if a place holds something special for you all comments are welcomed and answered promptly.
This post was provoked out of me by Niki touch this to see her post please like or comment

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For The Love Of An Anti Selfie

Just the other day it hit me, I can not compete let alone compute with the “selfie” brigade. Each time I look, a new one is posted, a pout, a bat of an eye, a sideways, forward leaning, hide the wrinkles, suck in the chin type of one *Gasp*.
So today, I changed my gravitar to what my husband calls the bag lady selfie, strictly speaking he took it so it probably doesn’t qualify as a Kim Kardashian style Selfie at all. But no one in their right mind would want a photograph of themselves looking (as my Dad god rest him would have said) ‘like a bugger’… would they?

A freezing wind was blowing across the small town of Dinard on this day in March. The rain had been shooting sideways and found it’s way under my eyelids; it was cold.  Just before the photo shoot… We were in an open topped car looking for a super march`e. I was being facetious about driving around in the cold and possibly dying in the attempt to purchase the gubbins required to make an impromptu picnic lunch; so added layer upon layer of clothing while we went along, still maintaining my temperature to be around the nose dropping off frostbite levels. Eventually we spotted a small store with a flickering light on the sqeaking sign. I lept from the car in haste, forgetting or not caring how I looked and entered. Our shed at home would be bigger than the store, but I managed to find ham, pat`e, bread, wine and grapes, as you would in France. After packing my bag I stood by a lamppost waiting  to be picked up. Around and around the fountain he drove taking photo’s, while he grinned and waved, but the crosser I got the more he drove around.
“Click” job done, the cross patch baglady was born. Now I pop it on my gravitar to say,” Hey” so what, it’s me in my ordinariness; if anyone thinks the word “ordinary” is the correct terminology for a loon.
Have you an anti selfie? Is your other half holding it hostage dangling it as a threat? If so why care, just put it up, we can call it “Anti Selfie Day”.

Incase you’re wondering… The only place the photo described is left, is on my gravitar here, a virus wiped out a huge amount of pictures on John’s computer and as yet I haven’t found a way to retrieve it.

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“You’ve got Mail”

I awoke to the flashing, a strobe of light that was winking away… the envelope mail received was pinging on and off.On opening my mail I was excited to see the message below.

We’re pleased to let you know that we’ll be using your story, ‘A Glimpse of Me’ in our January 2016 issue of A Long Story Short. As stated on our submissions page, you’ve already agreed to our terms and conditions. Your piece will be published on January 6th, 2016 Like a child I was excited, like a writer I documented the occasion. 

On my first step of this long journey I began to write too much,as my teachers thought. Being constantly admonished for using text books up, and leaving imagination filled stories where simple answers would suffice; but they never put me off.

 In my second writing phase I produced verses for cards and stories for children; to encourage them to read. Constantly  for myself I penned poems to fall in love with and hid them between pages of books in the bookcase. Winning prizes from magazines encouraged me, I had notebooks full and stuffed in drawers, all with pen names; secretly I put pen to paper as my children napped.

Today’s news means I will be published, me, with my own name, in my own rite. My journey progresses in the most posative way, the begining of 2016 couldn’t be better and this is only the start. Happy New Year everybody.