This is where I am right now, almost exactly. I’m taking my heroine here (she has a lot to learn at this point), to a place that will change her life. Just look at it, who wouldn’t be changed by that?
To be less obscure, I’ve at last sat down at the computer again and started writing /editing the book. It’s taken many weeks of nagging, cajoling, promising and pleading with myself to get me here. Whoopee!
(Thanks Grumpy George, your love is my love)
A collection of short stories from America, Morocco and London. The things ghosts get up too Bahahaha
What do ghosts get up to? Find out - follow the link!
On Burns Night, Algy gazed at Ben Nevis across the upper reaches of Loch Linnhe and thought of all those people in far away places whose hearts are in the Highlands but who are not able to be here.
Listen to this beautiful traditional version of Robert Burns’ song My Heart’s in the Highlands performed by Shona Donaldson and Katie Mackenzie.
For a bird with a frivolous hat and scarf, you’re a sensitive soul Algy. Thank you.
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
Robert Burns
The view from the top of Beinn Chiochan, also known as Lochnagar - Scotland, Summer 2011. Taken after a long but wonderful hike.
It’s a landscape sort of day.
Probably one of my favourite landscape photos I’ve taken.
What a magnificent photo! Prince Charles once wrote a children’s book for his brothers, based here, which is near to Balmoral the royal family’s Scottish retreat. It’s called, “The Old Man of Lochnagar,” and it’s full of secret places and magical people. It’s also suggested that HRH may have been a believer. For more information, click here.
I’m taking a break from my labours; I’ve been getting ready for book club in my home tomorrow evening. The wine has been purchased, food is yet to be prepared and the cleaning is looming on the horizon. It was just as well it was my turn, it gave me the necessary impetus to take down the Christmas tree. Yes, shameful as it is to admit, it only came down tonight. It wasn’t a tree anymore really, just a skeleton of it’s former Nordic glory.
We’ll be discussing ‘The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry,” as I’ve said in previous posts, a book I greatly enjoyed. I know from speaking to some of our group that Mr. Fry was not loved by all, or rather, was slow to grow on some of them. It’s funny how affecting any criticism of a beloved book can be. Book club has taught me to thicken my skin and take all comments in good spirit. I’ve also learned that wine and my opinion don’t always blend to produce tact. Our November meeting had me state (about the “Juliet Stories”) that not only did I “hate the book, but it actually repelled me.” Fortunately, Rachael who had chosen the book was not offended.
On the subject of books, I’m reading a luminous novel, “The Cat’s Table,” by Michael Odaatje just now. His characters would seem to step off the pages and climb into your head, words spare and yet evocative, descriptive and like the best seduction - taking you on a journey that you desperately want to finish and yet, as soon as you do, you wish you hadn’t.
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Natalie Goldberg (via thatmissourigirl) Therapy, by another name. |
On Sunday morning, fueled with nothing but determination and a cup of tea, I started to write my first blog piece in several weeks. In half an hour I’d made a start, but start was all I was to make. The ordinary demands of six pets, two teenagers and one husband intruded but I was confident I would finish. Confidence and all other personal feelings left me when I received a phone call from the hospital; my father was demanding release, not from life but from medical incarceration.
This and other things have been the story of my life for months. I’m sharing this with you, and forgive me if it’s tedious, so that you may appreciate that you’ve been in my fleeting thoughts. At the moment, rather than possessing a strong desire to write, I crave the feeling that starts that process. I long for the mental space to let my thoughts drift, to allow creative impulses to grow, to just sit quietly and be.
Since September I’ve come through a court case where I represented myself, both of my children being violentally threatened by someone, a psychological malaise that I couldn’t seem to shake and now my father’s cancer and rapidly declining health*. I’m not asking for sympathy, many have far worse to contend with and I know that. All of this has something to do with the absence of longer text posts on my blog though.
Inbetween the activities of my day, thoughts swirl by like zephyrs. Some of the things I’d like to write about include; where memories are held, organ transplant recipients who find themselves wholly altered by/with their new organs, having developed characteristics and tastes they didn’t hold previously. Also, there is a peristent thought about what it is to live outside the box, how you are never free from the indefinable ‘norm,’ as people will continually remind you of your distance from it. I’ve been considering the people that represent our interests too, such as lawyers, doctors, teachers and how they react when we take full responsibility for ourselves or those we advocate for. These zephyr thoughts are balm to my overstimulated mind and as soon as possible, they will find themselves a place in this blog.
For now, many thanks again for your patience and I hope to be back with you fully soon.
*For those who like to know the outcome of a story, the court case ended satisfactorily. I learned much about the Canadian legal system and I acquitted myself well.
My teens have both started relationships and the ‘ex’ of one of their new partners threatened them. It was taken seriously as this person has a disturbing and violent past that has already resulted in punitive measures being applied by the police. Both my children are fine and hopefully it was a storm in a teacup.
My father is getting over a medical procedure gone wrong that resulted in emergency surgery. He’s recovering at home now, but the trauma of this and the cancer that has laid seige to his body is taking its toll.
The malaise was eventually beaten into submission, its cause a reaction to many trying events. Self prescribed strong tea every 4-6 hours, plenty of irreverent wit and the best of the BBC are keeping the demons at bay.
((For photo source, click here.)
Writing Table, Leeds, England
photo via things
This is nearly identical to my writing desk, or ‘secretary’ as it’s usually named. The view though, I would love to be looking at that view. My secretary sits against a wall but if I turn my neck I can see the unattractive roof of a shed, some bare trees and today, a very dark sky. I feel I could write a masterpiece with such a view…
