NNR - Poppy Line

Holt to Sheringham

The steaming black giant arrived exactly on time.  Old men in beige jackets hurried towards the end of the platform to click away on their cameras catching a glimpse of nostalgia.  Above them, on the platform, hangs a sign announcing an area for women - a waiting room out of the chill of winds.

As the train came to a halt, passengers scrambled aboard the carriages and seated themselves for the short journey.  Excitement was a long ago feeling, now the elderly calmly awaited the whistle that the station master would blow when all the carriage doors had been slammed shut.

A baby cried, the carriage echoed its screams.  The mother could not calm it and everyone became restless.  Then silently the train rolls forward and the journey began.  Soon the rhythm and rocking motion comforted the child and countryside scenery gave the passengers delights from the windows.  A golf course, a windmill, rotting old boats by a shed in a field, the sea in the distance and soon, a stop at a station where the signal tags were exchanged by the guardsman and station master.  In a buffet café on the station, people sat sipping tea and eating scones - it seemed like time had stood still. 

The black uniform of the conductor and his ticket clipper gives him an air of authority.  He is a volunteer in his 80's.  His friend, Mr Briggs was on the train, hearing aid turned up and shouting across the aisle as his wife made comments about politics.  The carriage heard his views on UKIP, the Prime Minister and the state of the world today.  A far cry from the world it was when, as a lad, he travelled this way before.

When a diesel engine passed by on the other line, full of school children on a trip out, the steam train edged forward again then smoothly continued on its journey. 

At the terminus everyone clambered out onto the platform - no electrically opening doors but passengers reaching out through the pull-down window to the handle that opened the carriage door.

More cameras, more chatter of how the engine would get hooked up to take the carriages back again. They stood and watched as the engine uncoupled from its coaches, shunted forwards, changed line, then reversed to the other end of the coaches to recouple and commence its return journey.

Soon there will be no-one to remember when these beasts were the crème de la crème of transport, only day trippers out for a Sunday ride.

 

A Retreat Day

Coming Home to God – Quiet Day 31.10.15

Booking a Quiet Day is hard when the voice in your head says ‘can I afford to take a whole day out in my busy life’, ‘who will be there, what if I don’t know anyone, I’m not sure where it is exactly….’ Your reward is in the stepping out in faith - ‘Come unto me all who are heavy laden and I shall give you rest’.

It is not like a holiday or a weekend away where excitement builds and baggage is necessary. Any ‘baggage’ we carry mentally melts away in the Hillcrest Centre where, just arriving enables you to sink into ‘space’, ‘time’ and ‘stillness’. You are greeted by white doves on the pathway and a rainbow of cushions on a long, soft sofa in the meeting room. There are other rooms to use – the cosy conservatory, a chapel, a small cottage lounge, an art room and the dining room. There are walks across fields or around the lake where benches and a summer house are strategically placed so that you can sit awhile, reflect and feel part of nature.

No sooner are brief introductions made than the Retreat Day leaders help participants enter into sacred space aided by lit candles, softly played music, a themed picture, bible reading and meditation. Words are sent straight to your soul – something of your situation is silently, secretly touched. You ‘come home to God’ where you are safe, where there are no more hurts, where tender care is and where you are precious. Your spirit stirs within you and you are there – in His Presence. Outside autumn leaves have fallen and brighten up the sadness of the season with their colours – reds, yellows, browns and greens. Dew drops glisten on blades of grass; two ducks glide silently across the water; bulrushes and the reflection of trees appear upside down on the water; holly bushes bare their bright red berries. God whispers, “I am here”.

Hot drinks and biscuits warm me from my walk and again I sink into the stillness and peace of the main room. Such bliss! I am drawn into the picture of the shepherd rejoicing at finding his lost sheep. How special that lamb must feel on the shoulders of the One who carries him. We are so very unaware that God does this for us every day. When we take time to ‘draw near’ He reveals Himself to us in ways we miss on a daily basis. He is our Rescuer – how often do we give thanks? He is the One that leads us Home in this life and the next; He binds up the injured – how many illnesses have we overcome? He strengthens us for the next stage of life.

There are footprints in the picture and it makes me look back to the many times He has carried me and then set me down on a new path – He has placed me in flocks of people, both at home and abroad. ‘Home’ they say ‘is where the heart is’ but it is also a place of refuge, restoration, safety, comfort, healing; it is where you can be yourself, where feelings can flow, where nourishment and cleansing takes place. He has led me to many a Retreat House and Church; He has given me a spiritual home and connected me with likeminded people. How blessed I am.

A Home cooked, wholesome lunch served by lovely ladies who help Stella and Mark at their home enables the group to chat and get to know each other a little better over the kitchen tables. Afterwards, another meditation with an hour or so of silence to read, nap, walk, be creative with art materials or write in a journal. Time passes very quickly and we end the day with song and prayer.

Those doubts in our heads beforehand, long forgotten and hopefully dispelled by the time another Quiet Day is arranged. Thank you so very much, Pippa and Cathy.

Write on!

Well what good morning's work.  My children's books manuscripts are in an envelope ready for the post office and onward journey to a publisher.  Wish me luck!  Then I have made a sticker board and put on post-it notes regarding the planning, writing, typing of my novel.  I read the first few chapters to reacquaint myself with the storyline and feel I now have motivation to continue this work.

Sounds all well and good but this is 'silly season' as I call it.  Strange things happen to prevent me functioning as well as the spring and summer months. The months of October and November are all about ghosts, witches, gunpowder and fires.  I believe the negative energies of these are in the shops selling the commercial goods that grow each year to entice us to have fun in the dark days of autumn.  I have never understood where the fun in spiders webs, black cats, capes and hats, spells, warts etc is?  I can oooh and ahhh at a firework display but get upset about all that money going up in smoke when people need food and shelter in our country and abroad.

That scary energy is brought into our homes via the media and ultimately, I think is channelled through our bodies into some, if not all, electrical appliances, in particular computers.  It really can't be coincidence that autumn each year brings new trials.  It would make interesting research to see which months people call out electricians, TV mechanics, etc and when they purchase new white goods.

So far the dishwasher has broken down and been fixed, the fridge thermostat has gone freezing cucumbers in seconds, and my new laptop has refused to successfully load a virus detector.  Having spent over 3 hours both with on-line and telephone help the problem is unresolved.  My computer-fixer man tells me Windows 10 is not compatible with this well know protector.  So I have wasted money and none the wiser about what to do next.

Weather forecasters predict a hard winter to come.  Well bring it on early I say.  Freeze the unseen evil spirits travelling our atmospheres.  Let's hibernate until spring.  Eat and drink what we have without the excess of celebrations that cause a lot of people to forget the original thoughts behind Halloween, Bonfire night and Christmas.  They are dark months, let's just sleep more as nature intends.  I wish!

A month on.....

Skyros is everyday in my mind.  I can't forget the place, the people, the experience.  It was so special: the people were special, the experience was special - how so?  Let me tell you.

Living in community for two weeks brings a bond as great as, or even greater, than family.  Here we are miles away from our roots, our jobs, our loved ones, our homes.  Because of the personal development element of the experience we get to know each other very well, very quickly.  Our hearts bond from compassion of each other's lives.  We identify with ages and stages of life, the ups and downs that everyone enjoys and endures.  We wash up each others dinner plates, we look for who is missing and who is fun to be around.  We form little groups, perhaps each day acquainting with someone different.  We write, listen, draw, meditate, visualise, learn, dance, sing, eat, drink, be sociable or seek out solitude, we swim in the sea together, phone home, Skype, text or email in snatched moments between gatherings.  It's full on busy-ness.  It was, at times, hard work.  It was physical, mindful, spiritual.  We laughed together and cried together.

Now though, this 'family' are scattered to all corners of the world.  Contact is by email, Facebook, Skype etc.  A sense of great loss, grief even, is ever present.  It was a holiday like no other before it, and for me probably never again to be repeated.  A one off experience.  Photographs evoke the memories but they lack the warmth of sun and souls. 

'Life changing' was advertised as one of its attributes.  I have certainly returned fired up with motivation for getting on with the business of writing and publication.  I have taken to a glass of red wine far more than I used to too.  I feel as though I have stepped into another phase of life and it is fitting that autumn is now all around me.  I am shedding parts of my life that are over, throwing out, giving away, boxing up things that were so important during my working life.  Retirement is here. 

Like the sun rising over the Aegean sea as we departed the Island on our homeward bound journey, a new day is dawning. 

When I connect with those I met we all wish we were 'back there', perhaps we are missing the love and light that engulfed us, perhaps change is uncomfortable, unpredictable, scary.  Trying to get back to normal isn't our normal any more, a new normal is emerging only we have to wait to find out what that is.  This winter and next spring will be very interesting I'm sure!

The Island

Reading through my pre-adventure blogs I see a concern was the Euro situation.  I found, as always, the Greek way of life to be one of honesty and little crime.  There was no fear of being robbed of my cash stash and the one accessible bank on the island, I was told, was functional for withdrawing via a bank card albeit on a hit and miss occasion.

The Island is a mountain in the middle of the Aegean sea.  My apartment was a third of the way up this mountain and the beach was only accessible via a steep journey.  Had I have been younger and fitter it would have been a pleasure to pound the steps up and down, and then another 20 or so steps up to my apartment.  As it was, it exhausted me and prevented more visits to the wonderful beach area and magnificent sea.  On the occasions I did the journey it was wonderful to sunbathe, swim, relax, read, drink coffee and eat ice cream.  Ahhh, now there's a little story to make you smile.

"You want something?" the young waitress girl crouching under my sunshade straw umbrella said.
"Do you have ice cream?" I enquire.  "Chocolate?"
"Yes, we have balls," came the reply. 
I can't print what I thought here but the thought was quickly replaced with an image of vanilla ice cream with mini chocolate maltesers inside, so I said, "Yes please."
"You want 2 balls?"
"Thank you," says I trying not to laugh.

Language is funny isn't it?  What one person thinks is perfectly normal another person thinks is strange.  The 'balls' were, of course, 'scoops' and I enjoyed the chocolate treat most deliciously.

The town of Chora was transport free so having left the port the coach drove uphill and round bends for an hour and dropped us at the foot of the cobbled streets that were to be 'home' for the following two weeks.  Our luggage had been dropped near to the Skyros Centre and we made our way uphill passing shops, tavernas, cafes etc. following our guide.  Having collected my suitcase, which I now wished was smaller and lighter, I bumped it up over more cobbles and steps to Melagona 2 - my apartment with a heavy wooden door that had swollen in the heat and made a very loud noise every time I went in and out!  However, the apartment was just fine and had a fantastic view of the valley and bay below. 

The Island is home to the statue and burial grave of Rupert Brooke, Poet and his statue (a naked pose) graced a high point and was visited by most of our group.  His grave, some distance away, was visited on an evening trip and situated in the shade of a forest.  Members of our group read his poems and I felt very humble to be following in his footsteps (not to be a poet but to have been where he had been so inspired).  I am not an avid poetry reader but will look him up, read some of his works and find other poets as one or two of our group recited poetry after our mornings together at breakfast.  Although I have dabbled at writing poetry, and, though I say it myself, have produced a few goods ones, I have not shared these with others.  I find a voice reading a poem to me is far more rewarding than reading them silently in my head.  I admire people who can quote poetry and 'know their stuff' as it were.

In the pre-adventure blogs I also mentioned looking forwards to 'lazy slow living nights and restful afternoons'.  It was not that sort of a holiday.  It was a working holiday on many levels.  It was personal development which meant delving into the past; it was a workshop of writing from personal experience; it was living very closely with 20-30 people each day and it was trying to fit in fun and relaxation too.  I was, thankfully, not the eldest there as I had feared; we were a mixed age group and gender; there were two couples and people had travelled from all walks of life and countries of the world. 

More Island tales to come ....... tbc

It's Greek to me ....

Since returning from my Big Adventure I have committed myself to write monthly for my local church magazine.  Here is my first article :

It’s Greek to me….

The August sun glistened over the deep blue Aegean Sea, the sound of a clanging bell rose from the valley calling me, calling me.

After the community breakfast in the retreat house, I and two new friends disregarded our dishwashing duty and followed our hearts.  The narrow cobbled side street, on the Island of Skyros, was full of people walking towards the cool shade of the Greek Orthodox Church.  Inside old ladies sat on ancient wooden chairs at the back of the building whilst men stood encircling the front area; two cantors were chanting from enclosed upright wooden booths using chest-high arm rests to steady them through the long service.

The priest, heavily robed and wearing a high hat, sported a long grey beard and swung an incense thurible as he muttered in a language I could not understand.  Icons, gold laminated, gave colour to the service and atmosphere; the sweet smell and smoke rising to the blue sky coloured dome above, where our prayers were heading.  Candles flickered and the congregation ‘crossed’ themselves before the communion was offered.

A baby, about 8 months old, was forcibly spoon fed wine – it really did not want it and was obviously scared by the man with a big beard holding his face towards him, crying and twisting his body over his father’s shoulder.  Bread, a whole cob, wrapped in cellophane, was handed out to everyone from a basket.  I took mine and tears filled my eyes feeling unworthy but included.  Later, I tasted it and it was sweet like saffron cake.

As we filed out into the morning sun we were all handed a plastic cup, filled with a wheat mixture, and a spoon.  My new friends explained it was in honour of the deceased – I had noticed a photograph of a man on a pedestal surrounded by white flowers.  We enjoyed fellowship together in a street café.  Sunday in Skyros was a special day – ritualistic, dutiful, ancient, honouring.

The Journeys - outward

The outward journey began early morning with a two hour drive to Heathrow airport.  A smooth journey and a brief drop off farewell.  Check-in is a whole new process since I last travelled abroad - it's all self service printing off your ticket, boarding pass and luggage labels. 
This done one enters the departure lounge area to find numerous shops and eating places.  I had planned on a vegetarian cooked breakfast but, after scanning all the different menus ended up with porridge and coffee.

Internet access was available whilst waiting to board so a quick farewell on Facebook and Twitter as so many others, with their heads down over mobile phones, iPads, etc, were probably doing.

A four hour uneventful flight and I landed safely in Athens.  The yellow taxis lined up outside the airport taking holidaymakers to various hotels.  Thankfully when it was my turn to jump in quickly, I found I had a lady driver.  We chatted in broken English and I used what little Greek I knew and she was well impressed.  I was dropped at the door of my first hotel.

A dire little accommodation, a budget overnight stop before I moved to a hotel where the Skyros group would gather.  The lift to my 7th floor bedroom was old style - a cupboard door appearance and no inner door so you watched the wall as you ascended to your floor.  The room was tiny, dark but clean and adequate.  Having hardly eaten since the porridge breakfast, aeroplane food and I don't get on, I went out into the street in search of food.  In the nearest cafe I had a hearty salad - one of many more to come.

The following morning I ate breakfast on the top floor which had a good view across the main road to the beach, sea and park.  As soon as I was fed and watered I ventured out again for a walk along the parkway and said hello to the sea (and to a rock, see another blog later).

Then it was time to find the Dorian hotel in the centre of Athens.  Another taxi, this time with a young male driver.  I recognised buildings from many years ago, and more recently from the news on TV.  Stepping into the Dorian hotel felt very luxurious compared to the previous night's accommodation.  Shiny tiled floor, light and airy, a professional greeting.  I was up on the 7th floor again but a proper lift took me there this time.  As soon as I possibly could I was out of my travelling clothes and got my swimwear on.  The pool was on the 14th floor, by the bar and open to a panoramic view of Athens including the nearby Acropolis.  Wow.

The swim was sooooo refreshing and to feel the sun on my skin was heaven.  I relaxed and read my book. I then dressed and went in search of lunch.  The back streets of Athens were a labyrinth of shops and eating places and when I settled in a small taverna with an omelette, 2 young girls from the same hotel joined me and told me about their travels.

Later, whist having an evening meal I met a lovely lady who was to be one my companions for the following two weeks.  We chatted easily and I went to bed happy.  The next day a coach would take us to the port.  My new friend and I got split up after breakfast and piling onto the coach, our cases in the luggage compartment, I settled down to the next part of the trip.  We drove back to Athens airport to collect other passengers, then onwards to our first ferry, a journey of about 1.5 hours all told. 

Two ferry's another long coach drive and a walk up a steep town to our apartments, collecting our luggage and bumping it over the cobbled streets and up about 30 steps and I arrived at my destination.  I'd made it.  I was here.  Wow.

The Big Adventure - afterthoughts 2

Handwritten Blog from Wednesday of the Second Week:

The Writer's have gone to the beach.  The Personal Development group and the Artists are at the Centre.  I am on day 2 of looking after myself and taking time out.  The pace, the heat, the energy has all taken me over and I need time alone, time to rest, read, write, sleep.

There is talk about the last night - Friday will be here soon.  Some want to be on the beach, they want to choose their own ending to the experience they have had here, but there is an agenda and they are outvoted on their idea.  I had promised in the whole group on Sunday night to look after my health and wellbeing and to have some fun.  Fun was dancing on Monday night, dancing like I had not danced for many a year.  It was so freeing, it shifted something in me and probably helped me to decide to opt out of the course for 3 days this week.

I bought crossants, peaches, bananas, yoghurt and bottled water so I could breakfast alone and at my own time and pace.  I amble into town and sat in a taverna alone then ate an omelette for lunch.  Another time I sit in the town square with a beer and nuts and just watch the world go by.  This is my holiday time, I regain some strength and clarity of mind.

The wind finally drops and I sit on the balcony and write about the cats I just watched fighting and screaching on a branch at the top of a fig tree.

The Big Adventure - after thoughts 1

I am back!  I did it!  How pleased am I? Wow and Wow again.

Before I reflect on the whole experience here are some Blogs written from the holiday -

Blog 1 one week into the adventure :

Wow.  Well done Suzanna - you arrived.  You met the group of people who were to be your family and friends for two whole weeks.  You walked the streets alone and ate with strangers who were on the same journey of self discovery.  Women, and a few men, seeking a new way forward in their lives.  So precious, so very precious.

The Coptic Winds have blown for the whole week, as if blowing away our troubles that we packed up in our suitcases.  The sea has bathed and cleansed our bodies and the place has fed our souls.

It's the half way point, tomorrow will be a turning towards an ending.  It has been an uphill climb, not just the physical one returning from the beach, but mentally too.  The personal development part of the course requires engaging with the past again - those in the counselling world will know the depths that this can reach and the energy it can spend in healing the wounds of life's knocks.

The Writer's Course has been amazing - just what I needed and I will be taking away exactly what I had hoped for.  I am unblocked and have a plan.


Blog 2 - Sunday

The church bells of Skyros churches have been calling me.  Little clanky sounds on the breeze rising from a village somewhere below me.  I amble round to the Centre for breakfast and to say a fond farewell toa group member today.  It will be hard for him to leave the feeling of acceptance, friendship and of course, the sunshine but 'all good things come to an end' and he is wished well on his journey.

My two new Greek speaking friends are heading to church and I skip washing up duty to accompany them.  At the church I am handed a white candle to honour a dead person I did not know, and I take a thin brown candle and place it in the votive with my own personal prayer.  The atmosphere and chanting cause a surge in my spirit - tears flow, sobs supressed but both my young companion and I need tissues.  Our souls touched by the spirit of God.  I put an arm around her and say "we're a right pair, aren't we?" and we quietly laugh but it is not long before we are both sniffling again.

A woman hands out bread rolls in sealed clear bags and I observe the priest giving wine on a spoon to even the smallest of children as well as men and women of age.  A toddler cries and they try to force him to face the priest and take the wine but he is scared and keeps turning his head away with a fresh scream.

The man who handed out the candles comes and gathers a handful from the votive.  He breaks them with a snap and discards them in a bin.  It feels brutal - those are people's prayers.  I felt indignant that he should treat them so unkindly but no doubt this is an act of ancient tradition - a practice merely to make room for other candles to be placed in the sand tray.  What a waste, I think, but later learn that they are melted down and recycled.

Women are still visibly seperated from the men in the church.  However, signs of change seems to be happening as two women enter the church without respect for the tradition of having appropriate coverage of clothing over knees and shoulders - they weren't rejected or offered a wrap or shawl.

After the service I sit with my two companions in a nearby taverna and discuss the service as I observed it.  I am glad I went with them and look forward to returning to my own little church once I am back home.

The Big Advenutre 17

So now all the 'should I/shouldn't I go' thoughts, all the will I/won't I moments; all the planning, booking, trips to and from the travel agent, bank, mobile phone shop, websites etc - all the doubts and thoughts of cancelling, all behind me now. Thinking about it is past - doing it is now!

A lot of people are watching me, awaiting news of my trip.

I know, because of who I have been, I have influenced and inspired others in the process of taking risks, changing, trying new things.  One bereaved lady braved going on a short UK break on her own; a friend braved an overnight stay in London joining a group of strangers to attend the Albert Hall for a centenary WI meeting, another younger woman took her young son on a seaside holiday for the first time without the support of a man. Why we fear travelling and being alone is a puzzle - we drive alone every day to and from work or to places we need to be.  Airports are not so different to bus or railway stations, flying is an everyday occurrence for the pilot and crew.  It is as safe to fly as it is to drive these days.  Being alone is a choice, there will be people in all parts of my travelling.  "Strangers are friends you haven't met yet".

I have been wished well by special friends and family.  I feel loved and privileged. 

The Big Adventure 16

And so it is time for the suitcase to have its virgin flight.  These next few days it will lay on the sofa bed, open, ready and waiting.  It will become home to dresses, shorts, beach towel and swimwear.  Toiletries, shoes, underwear etc will be neatly arranged.  Space will be filled to the maximum benefit.  Then it will be zipped up, weighed and labeled - destination Skyros, Greece.

On its journey it will be manhandled, tossed about and loaded into the plane's hold with hundreds of other similarly filled cases.  It will encircle the luggage conveyor belt and be wheeled out of Athens airport for onward transit by taxi, coach and ferry to it destination in a small hillside village on the island of Skyros.

We live such luxury lives, us holidaymakers, when, in comparison, refugees are fleeing their homelands in only the clothes they stand up in with very few or no possessions.

For us we spend a week or two in a foreign land welcomed for our financial presence but for them a lifetime of poverty, striving, being verbally abused and buffeted about, being looked down on, judged, hated even, every day.  They will be desperate to 'fit in', to make a better life, to live without fear of being shot, without the sound of gunfire every day.

I am grateful to God my life is as it is and this life path has already been ordained for me.  My fears of travelling alone are but nothing compared to immigrants at sea in overcrowded boats, in the back of container lorries and scaling fences in Calais to enter the Chunnel in a bid to come to England.  The promised land of milk and honey - but will it be?

Will Skyros be all I anticipate?  Let's go and find out, I'll be back soon.

The Big Adventure - 14

I am nearly there.  It will soon be the end of my 60th year, age 61 will begin a new chapter.  What a great year it has been, not without some seriously heart stopping moments, but after doing a review I am thanking my lucky stars, and God of course, for a wonderful year.

• Went to a fund raising event and met well known Author, Carole Matthews plus upcoming Author Christie Barlow and her friend Kim Nash, a Publicity Manager.
• Attended a Woman's Weekly Writing Fiction Workshop in London with co-leader Della Galton, well-known short story writer and novelist.
• Attended a Quiet Day Retreat in Warwickshire.
• Learnt loads about food allergies and clean eating.
• Achieved Gold Card status at the gym (5 year reward card).
• Retired from Self-Employment.
• Continue to make lovely cards at Craft Group and on-going attendance at Writer's Block group.
• Attended a West Midlands Writer's Workshop.
• Had a magazine article published and received payment for it.
• Gained new 'friends and fellow authors' on Twitter and Facebook including romantic novelist Mandy Baggott and author Mandy Boles.
• Continued to Blog.
• 3 friends had breast cancer diagnosed and treated, 1 friend had a stroke; 1 had stem cell treatment for bone cancer and 1 had a suspected heart attack. A dear friend abroad struggles with early dementia and his family are all pulling together and coping best they know how.
• Enjoyed a lovely week exploring Norfolk - loved Cromer, Wells-on-sea, Holt and Sherringham.
• Met up with lots of friends and family in coffee shops and garden centres for lunch or CAKE!
• I am up to 27,000 words on writing a novel; 15,000 words on memoir/self help book and have retyped children's stories I wrote some 30+ years ago.
• Met the adorable, munchable Ollie Nash, aged 7. 
• Lots of 'time out' at the caravan park, in hotels/B&B's and at friends' homes who live further afield. 

Quite a list, quite a year.  As my aged Aunt keeps telling me "old age does not come alone" and I feel I have been plunged into it with dear friends ill health issues.  Knowing how and when to support has been difficult, flowers, meals, drinks, kind words and a listening ear has, at times been hard but makes me so grateful for my own health and pray long may it continue.

So to round off the year perfectly on the horizon is The Big Adventure.  I will be in Skyros, a Greek Island, for my 61st birthday.  How wonderful is that?  Two whole weeks of guided tuition in writing from the acclaimed Author, Dominique Roffey.  My pen and pad will be well used and I hope on my return to have had such inspired input that I will be more focused, more determined, more self-disciplined in my writing and JUST GET ON AND DO IT. 

The Big Adventure - 15

Doubt creeps in when I least expect it.  I am going along nicely towards my goal and then things outside of myself bring doubts to my head.

• Am I really a writer? 
• Have I left it too late in life to pursue this avenue?
• Am I setting myself up for yet another disappointment in life?
• Is the holiday a waste of money, time and effort?

I ride roughshod over these thoughts and push ever onwards towards my goal, trying to enjoy the journey; the process; and telling myself "NOTHING is a waste in the economy of God" - a phrase I once heard from a lady preacher at Cefn Lea, Joyce Gascoigne, some 28 years ago when I was pursuing a very different life.  Being so much younger then I didn't analyse my actions, I went with the crowd, flowed through the river that was 'church' and all it entailed.

"So what" if I am the oldest person on the Writer's Course?  I am only 60, there is life still yet to be lived.  Any disappointment would surely be from NOT having pursued this avenue; there is no shame in trying, no catching a fish without learning the tricks of the trade as it were.

As for the cost, time and effort - well, it is true I could have bought new lounge furnishings or even a second hand car.  I could have left the money in the bank 'just in case of a rainy day', but I chose to invest in myself, in the belief that I could be a writer.  The time and effort therefore come hand in hand with the cost.  Nothing is free and nothing comes to me - I have to go out and get it.  If, like the fisherman, I come back with an empty line - hooks, rod and net having been in the wrong place at the wrong time, I will move to another spot in pursue of the prize.  Salmon fishing is an art and takes much practise, effort and money, as does becoming a writer. 

I have already thought to go on another course not so far away next year.  This is the beginning of a new direction and purpose of my life.  Until I achieve my goal, admit defeat or life events change my circumstances I will be writing, writing, writing AND learning, learning, learning.

The Big Adventure – 13

“Are you beach body ready?” the advert asks.  (There has been much protest about this poster on the London Underground walls). I 'follow' The Body Coach on Facebook, who I reckon is going to make it big time on our television screens very soon, but his 'posts' has its positives and negatives.  His food – clean, lean and ready in 15, looks simple to cook and tasty to eat.  It is nutritious and healthy, no fat, no sugar, no additives.  Brilliant, we could all do with meals in a hurry sometimes, and fast food does not have to equal unhealthy choices.

 

The not so positive messages are photos of mainly females, comparing their tummies before and after a 90 day challenge.  As yet he doesn’t seem to reveal his ‘programme’ of exercise alongside the mini clips of him cooking foods, but there is no doubt that the participants have undertaken rigorous exercise to change the shape of their tums.  The photos are impressive and I can tell they are all younger than my senior years.  I expect the photos motivate some people, as do the before and after Slimming World photos.  But for some I guess it will be a dampening of spirit and an “I could never look like that” thought.  So some people will, not doubt, scroll on past.

 

Do I need to be beach body ready?  I am not ‘on the pull’ as youngsters see the beach area; I am not ‘body conscious’ or shy.  If you don’t like my body that is your problem, not mine.  Don’t get me wrong, I have fell prey to wanting to look better and have exercised and eaten healthily for many a year but there comes a stage in life where self-acceptance of ALL that you are comes into play.  It doesn’t mean I will cease self-improvement, both mentally and physically, but I actually am ‘at home’ in my body.

 

I do look in the mirror at my tummy and sigh but I love my tummy.  It is the place that held a precious baby that grew and stretched my skin and organs to capacity.  She grew into a lovely girl and self-confident young woman.  My tummy bears the scars also of three operations in that area.  A small one below my belly button where a laparoscopy was performed by keyhole surgery; a medium sized one to remove my appendix and a long bikini line scar that signifies the end of my childbearing days and which threw me into the menopause.  My tummy, or muffin top, does hang over this long ‘zip-like’ scar and no amount of pulling in; tightening muscles etc. will change that fact.   It is literally a ‘life line’.  I have pampered my tummy with creams and cared for it as much as I know how to.  It bloats and subsides as does other peoples, it would seem. 

 

I blame the additives in foods, the chemicals we unknowingly put into our bodies but feel powerless when food merchants tempt us with chocolate éclairs; ice creams that evoke good; childhood memories; fish and chips - our English traditional seaside meal etc. etc. etc.  We cannot deny ourselves these pleasures forever and shouldn’t have too.  When will someone address the gluten in bread and cakes, when will I be able to buy things rather than have to make things myself knowing they are chemical, sugar or fat free?  So many people these days have allergies – when I was young I only knew one person with eczema and one with hay fever.  Now I am older skin complaints and allergic reactions are so popular.  What changed?

 

Anyway, you will be wondering what all this has to do with my big adventure.  Well it was the original question.  Am I beach body ready?  Yes of course I am, like it or lump it, it is the only body I have.  However, I will be going the next 21 days without bread (again) as I swear this is my main culprit.  Then two whole weeks of a Mediterranean diet will be wonderful.  Bring it on.

The Big Adventure - 12

Tweeting has become a daily habit, it takes time away from other things, but is a total pleasure when you connect with another budding author who is on the Greek Island you are about to visit for a writing course.  I am connected to several authors and a publicity manager via facebook and twitter.  Not a bad few months work.  It is very encouraging to read their tweets and postings about writing etc.

My latest 'connection' via a tweet from Mandy Baggott, an accomplished author, is Dunster House Ltd., as I recommended them to Mandy as she was looking for a writing space cabin.  I have had mine for 5 years now and when Dunster House asked for photos I pinned all I had of the cabin to a board on Pinterest.  I had fun doing it and seeing the journey from the dream to reality.  The hard work it took of grafting the garden area, the concrete base being installed, the erecting of the tongue and groove wooden slats, the complicated roof.  I christened it 'Greta's Place' as an Aunt had left me some money and I was at a point in my self-employed career where I could not afford to pay office rent any more.  (You can see these photos on Pinterest - just search for Sue Flint, then see my Garden Cabin Board).

Going back on my story a little more, whilst living in Cyprus for three years,I had two dreams - one was to be involved in a Retreat House and the other to be a writer.  Whilst living in Cyprus I lead quiet days and a ladies retreat, and as a qualified professional counsellor did what little I could using my skills with ex-pats.  I also co-founded a Writer's group in Paphos with the lovely Joyce Sehmi, from Read Mediterranean.  Little did I know then that I would live the dreams.  I returned to the UK and together with my husband, managed a Retreat House in Lancashire.  I also took private clients for counselling and later rented an office in High Bentham to begin what became 'Soul Friend Services'.

My Private Practice business continued back in our home town of Staffordshire a decade ago now.  SFS continued, hosting Craft and Writing Groups too.  Renting a room in the library for card making and writing on a weekly or monthly basis became a little too costly and so, when the Cabin was available, the writers, being a small group, would huddle into the garden room and read our set pieces of work and improve our skills.  Craft Group still meet at the library and I have now retired from counselling and SFS no longer exists.

Seeing the journey of the cabin in pictures, especially the fun fund raising times, has made me proud of the expense of erecting a garden room.  I have had one or two ladies who came and used it for Quiet Days and, should I need a quiet space, it is only a few steps away from the house (great when there is football, cricket, rugby etc. on television!)

I am hoping that my big adventure will have the same result.  It is an expense, an effort, scary even, something that will be enjoyed for such a short time, but I hope, like my cabin, it will give me great joy and a purpose to continue to bring about the second dream.

The Big Adventure - blog 11

Twitter is becoming very useful.  Having avoided it for so long I now feel I have mastered using it over and above Facebook.  I have connected with accomplished and would be authors on Twitter and exchanged tweets.  Yesterday, a tweet appeared from someone on the island of Skyros, beginning their writers course, and attached a photo of her view from the accommodation.  It was a sneak preview of things to come.  It fired my happy and uplifted my spirit.

Of course, I replied to her Tweet and 'followed' her.  She was encouraging and I hope to read more of her time there.  It is crazy to believe I am doing this, technology and my persistence to keep up with it makes it possible - to see how someone else enjoys the very same holiday venue that I will be at in 31 days time.  Not that I am counting down!

My new tweeter gave me a glimpse of the island and that led me to do a bit of on-line research.  I know it will be beautifully breathtaking, all Greek islands are.  But a little insight prior to my travels can only be helpful. 

Skyros is home to a population of approximately 3,000 inhabitants who mostly live around its capital town of Chora.  It is famous for the burial site of Rupert Brooke, English Poet.  Pictures of typical whitewashed buildings, windmills, ruins and lots of sea put me in mind of the film Mama Mia.  Note to self : pack good walking shoes and seasickness pills!  I guess there will be a trip or two but otherwise lazy slow living nights, interesting workshops and restful afternoons will be the order of my time there.

Also yesterday I did an early morning airport run to drop a friend off on the first leg of her journey to USA.  We set off at 6.30 am expecting the roads to be quiet, but where does all that traffic come from and go to at that unearthly hour.  She arrived at her destination at what would have been 1 am UK time.  Travelling alone and in need of disabled assistance that is some journey and if she can do that my 3.5 hr flight to Athens will be a doddle in comparison.  Seeing the planes close up and taking off was really exciting, they pass by our house so high up that they are hardly noticeable, but being in the airport grounds amazes me that so many are flying every minute of every day.  Up, up and away.....

The Big Adventure - 10

So Greece have made an agreement to stay in the Euro zone but they are not out of the woods yet.  It is really quite strange seeing Athens on the TV news each evening and thinking I will be there soon.  I have been there before, many years ago when I stayed at Marathon, when the marathon was being run.  I remember a really old man being the last runner and admiring his determination.  Runners are really inspirational people.  They probably don't realise it as they pound the track, looking ahead, keeping focused on the end line.  But the message they give to onlookers, supporters, cheerers, reporters etc. is something you can't put a price on.  Admiration, wonder, a stirring emotion, a 'willing' them on to achieve the prize of completion.  It is an emotion hard to describe, it is a memory that lasts a very long time.  They are an example to us.  The runners show us what determination looks like, what pains can be overcome with joy.  They remind us that all things are possible if you put your mind to it and that self-discipline has rewards.

Not everyone can run, or cycle or swim or walk even.  Not everyone feels the need to raise money for charity in this way.  But each one of us has something inside that 'calls' us to do.  We have two choices - ignore it or go for it.

Seeing a runner cross the line at the end, whether 99 years of age or their first race at nursery, just fills me with pride for them.  Cheers, clapping and joyful tears from the crowd as the runners near the end and then takes breath of stillness. Smiles from ear to ear knowing they have won their own race regardless of place or timings.  Then they look for someone in the crowd for acknowledgement from someone dear, hugs are given, pats on the back, handshaking, drinks.  Its an electric moment.  Surreal.

I am taking part in my own race, its not a sport but an inner need that needs honing, practising and putting out there for all to see.  It is breathtaking and scary, but like the runners unless you join the race you have no idea of what you are capable of.  Into the unknown of whether you will get cramp and have to give up or whether your body will carry you to your goal. My goal is to be a published writer; one day I will hold a book in my hand with my name on it and I will have crossed the line.  It will be awesome.  Friends are already lining up and cheering me on and this writing holiday is all part of that journey.

The Big Adventure - Blog 8

At least I won’t turn up on the Greek island looking like a lily white tourist.  The sun is out and so am I. 

Today I am wearing shorts and T-shirt, sunglasses and suntan lotion. I am away from the phone, Internet, television, household chores and all other distractions.  I have nothing to do at the caravan save for reading, writing, eating and sleeping.  In between the sun-lounger is being well used.

Excuse me now, I must catch some more rays!  Afaristo.

THE BIG ADVENTURE - BLOG 7

‘The News’ is doing its best to put the fear of God in me.  Two major issues – a terrorist attack in Tunisia where 30 Britons murdered on the beach, and the Greek monetary crisis. 

Tunisia was terrible, horrendous for those involved and survived.  The families of the dead must feel such shock and turmoil right now.  Imagine, one minute you are laying on a sunbed soaking up the sun, just sinking into a much needed rest.  The sea waves are lapping on the golden sands, straw umbrella’s shading you from the glare.  You smother yourself in suntan lotion and pick up your novel unaware that a madman is striding along towards your area.  Then, in an instant, you are gone.  Others around hear the piercing sound of gunshots, screaming, shouting.  Terrified adults ‘play dead’ face down in the sand, hardly daring to breathe sensing their end may be imminent too.  No time for goodbyes or ‘I love you’.  A terrorist in black clothing wielding a gun is your only concern.  He moves on and away.  Carnage is the sight that greets your eyes now.  No beauty, just bodies and blood.  Crying, weeping, and wailing.  People running away, people running towards to help.  It is like a scene from hell.  A dream moment has become a nightmare, one that will last forever.  You would never be the same again.  Cups of tea for shock, clothes – get dressed.  Hospital visiting or home is the only place for you now.  Holiday over.  Living with loss or trauma will take forever to overcome.  Like many here in UK, all we can do is look on, weep inside, and carry on with living not allowing this horrendous act change our habits or daily routine.  It is beyond our comprehension. It is devastating.  It has us all ‘on edge’ a little.  But feeling helpless we live on and do what we have to do. 

The Greek financial situation affects me also.  Advice is not to use the banks and to take loads of cash, which I am sure, will make me anxious.  Having lots of Euros will no doubt trigger a spate of holidaymakers being robbed, although being on a Greek island away from the mainland will help settle me of this fact.   The travel company have sent an email assuring us of their care which was hugely appreciated.

With only seven weeks to departure I am still looking forward to this adventure.  Of course, all the worst case scenarios pass through my mind most of which I am sure will not happen.  And then I think of Tunisia and all the people affected by that tragedy.  My mood and excitement is lowered and I have to remind myself why I am doing this in order to carry on with the plans.  This voice in my head is the voice of reason and brings my mood to an acceptable level again.  I think of all the lone travelling my daughter has done, that my gym buddy does now she is a widow and tell myself I can do this.  I will do this.  I must to do as part of my desire to write.

The Big Adventure blog 9

The Big Adventure creeps ever nearer.  The title makes it sound as if I am going on safari, or parachuting, or going into the jungle and testing my survival skills.  When in fact I am merely taking time out to learn more about writing skills and no doubt, more about myself as travelling abroad alone is out of my comfort zone.

 

The financial crisis continues in Greece but strangely I am unphased by this.  I am looking forwards to the experience.  Money will not spoil that.  As long as I take enough Euros to see me through - buy a few drinks and perhaps a memento or two I will be fine.  Meals are inclusive.  I have clothes and essentials, what else do I need?  The citizens of Greece are having to stretch their cash out, they are limited to what they can withdraw at the bank, if in fact there is any money to withdraw.  What a terribly worrying time for them.  Surely tourists money will be very welcome, spent in shops, restaurants and tavernas.

 

We take our wealth for granted, much like our health, until such disasters occur.  One minute we are muddling along on our wage or income, another we could face poverty.  We never have enough until we have so little and then we realise how rich we were.  When pension pots disappear or benefits are cut, life changes beyond our control.  It is a scary place to be and brings many a different reaction from individuals.

 

So in comparison my big adventure is very small indeed.  It is a fortnight of difference, of change and new learning, it is a luxury to mark the end of my 60th year and what a year it has been.  How lucky and privileged I am to be having this adventure, how blessed and grateful I am to be me.  How random is good or bad fortune, life or death, health or illness.  With that thought, the whole of life is one Big Adventure.