Magazine Subscription

What can you get for £1 today?  Not much, I hear you reply!  Well I have found something very valuable - 140 pages of fortnightly feel good factor reading.

YOURS magazine have an offer on at the moment - it normally costs £1.49 per fortnightly issue, or an exclusive price of £1.25 if purchased at Sainsbury's - but if you subscribe for a year by direct debit it only costs £1. 

It features chatting with 'our age' stars, age appropriate fashion and beauty products; nostalgia articles; leisure pursuits and places to visit; a short story, brain boosters and crafting ideas. 

Not a magazine reader?  I challenge you to a sit down with a cup of coffee/tea and half an hours reading of three or more Yours magazines and see if you don't get hooked.  I'll have plenty of copies to pass on/recycle soon so you can take up my challenge free!  

Getting into print

 

Turning '60' I dedicated this year to be my WRITE year.  I am totally focused, reading Writer's Magazine, seeking out competitions to enter and scanning all sorts of magazines for 'in-roads'.

 

My working life has come to an end and the professional magazines I have subscribed too for many a year are no longer popping through my letterbox.  The only 'woman's magazines' I would read are those you get in the dentists' surgery; occasional purchase with the weekly shopping if something catches my eye; or, as most often is the case, those that get passed onto me.

 

My cousin handed me two very full carrier bags of magazines last time we met up for coffee.  She had acquired them from someone else, so they were 3rd hand and I did not have the heart to put them out for recycling.  So I ploughed through them each morning with my hot drink to hand before getting out of bed.  I am soooooooooo glad I did. 

 

From these magazines I have cut out simple exercises to do; I have booked to go to London to a Woman's Weekly Fiction Writing workshop in March; I have written a piece for Secret Britain in the Yours magazine and have been 'pencilled in' for publication in April with a fee of £50; plus YOURS wanted my details to put on file for future reference with regards to my using the extensive counselling knowledge I have - ie coping with anxiety, negative thoughts, stress etc. 

 

I have to say I am well impressed with YOURS magazine as it has some extremely helpful articles aimed at possibly those of us who are over 50 years of age.  It's printed on paper that has a nice feel to it rather than the shiny thin stuff of other magazines, it is meatier - covering a wide variety of articles which have a very positive outlook, it's colourful, useful and has stuff we 'more mature' people can relate too. It is a fortnightly magazine and I am about to subscribe (see next blog).

 

The magazines have now, all but a few, been scattered amongst my friends for another recycling.  Who knows what helpful tips, enjoyable stories or crafting ideas they may be inspired by?   

 



WRITER'S BLOCK - UNBLOCKED

It is ironic.  I have led a Writer's group for several years called Writer's Block and can honestly say I have never experienced Writer's block as I understood the meaning.  I can write for England.  I can write when I am 'up' and I can write when I am 'down'.  I can write in bed, at home, in the park, by the sea.  I can write anywhere, any time.

As you may know I have decreed 2015 as my big WRITE year.  So far I have sent pieces for competitions, booked myself on a Woman's Weekly Fiction writing workshop in London and a two week Writing Retreat in Skyros.  I have re-acquainted myself with my 27,000 words of a novel I started sometime ago.  And Wham!  Writer's Block hits.  So I press on with another competition piece then when it is complete and ready to send, Wham, there it is again.  That voice in my head that says 'stop, don't send it'; 'it's not good enough', 'you can't have that in print'.  Reasons back up my thoughts and they make sense, so I heed my own advice but then feel lost.  What do I do now?  Even blogging ideas were blocked.

Well, I have been reading things about writing; I have been reading a Man Booker Prizewinner story (I found FIVE 'and's in one sentence - surely this is a no no - but hey what do I know she won awards); I have been pondering what I should do about my novel.  I also watched a You Tube video recording of an author debating the use of 'first person' and 'third person' which was very useful to hear.

Last night I hardly slept.  I'm sure you have nights when something on your mind; something you or someone else said that day, goes round and round in your head whilst sleep evades you.  I used the tactics I suggest others try when insomnia becomes a problem, but to no avail.

A new title, a new way of writing the same thing came to me.  I wanted to leap out of bed at 3 am and start writing!  Such Joy.  So I am thrilled to say, my temporary lapse, hopefully is ended.  I will start afresh using some of what I have already written in a new way.  Hope it works!

ONLY A POUND

Have British shops gone mad with the pound?  Everywhere you look there are signs in all manner of shops and supermarkets advertising goods for sale for ONLY £1.  Do credit us consumers with some intelligence, we are not daft, we can work out that actually you are doing us no favours and that the said item is either marked up or down for your sales pitch.  We will only buy what we need and as the recession hasn't been pronounced ended, we will continue to make rational decisions about whether we pay £1 in your store or go elsewhere.

For example, cherry tomatoes at Only £1 in one supermarket are actually only 49p in another for the same amount.  No sign saying 'Only', they just are very much cheaper.

The store Poundland may have started it all off as they have grown and grown in popularity, followed closely by Home Bargains, Poundstretcher and other similiar stores.  Why do we think we are getting a bargain if it costs a pound or less?  They are making a profit on that theory but actually quality and quantity should always be taken into account.  We may have become accustomed to buying all manner of food and household items under one roof, so it is arguable that 'shopping around' for better value is a waste of time and effort and that the little margin of financial difference is not worth it either.

But people are, it seems, voting with their feet.  They are shopping around more.  Large supermarket chains are suffering as a result.  What goes around, comes around is a saying that fits here.  I remember as a child shopping with mother, going to the grocers, the butchers, the newsagents, the school uniform shop, the bank etc etc etc.  They were seperate buildings, we walked from one to the other.  We had milk and soft drinks delivered to the door, a fishmonger came weekly in a van, and a greengrocer sold vegetable in our street from his vehicle.  Ice cream too could be purchased in the road if you had a big enough container.  We were fitter and leaner, thriftier and just as happy.  Now, however, one does not even have to leave the living room as on-line shopping is available and delivered ready for your cupboards, fridge and freezer making us lazier or filling our time with other persuits, some of us are not so lean or careful with our money, and many are not so happy.

Turn a blind eye to those ONLY signs, turn a deaf ears to those Must Have advertisements on the television and in magazines, be content with what you have, what you can afford and how you live.  You ONLY have one life, be happy.

Nicker or Quid

Listening to a Quiz Show on television last night I heard the word 'Nicker'.  I had missed the question but somewhere in the recess of my mind I knew this word from way back.  I pondered on its meaning then searched on the computer for an answer.  It's my pound!  A 'Nicker' is slang for one pound.  I knew that meaning a long time ago but had forgotten it.  The word doesn't seem to be used anymore.  It sounds more like an undergarment than a currency, or someone who steels stuff from shops!

Perhaps 'Nicker' was taken over by the word 'Quid' - another of our English colloquialisms?  Other words for one pound are:

• Smacker (sounds a bit violent to me!)
• Smackeroo (Australian influence maybe?)
• Oner (not to be mixed up with a onesie)
• Oncer (as above)
• Sovereign (well it does have the Queen's head on it)

All these names for one coin, no wonder the English language is hard to learn!  Hope you enjoyed my insights and humour!

One hunded pennies

Has the younger generation not heard of the saying : 'if you look after the pennies the pounds will take care of themselves'?  I ask this because today a young man behind me in the checkout queue at the supermarket dropped 2p and openly told his friend he couldn't be bothered to pick it up.  It is not the first time I have come across 'copper litter'.  I used to have occasion with my work to go into local High Schools and by the gates, path to the entrance or in the playground I could have picked up 50p or more.  I don't want to appear miserly or hard done by so rarely pick up dropped coins in view of others but it exasperates me.

A purse or pocket full of coppers, granted, is heavy and unwanted but take them home and pop them in a pot.  This is my solution and have done it for as long as I can remember.  When the pot is full count it up and take it to the bank to exchange for 'useful' currency.  Or, these days there are money counter/converter machines in the foyer of some large supermarkets.

Being thrifty isn't just for hard times.  Today I have converted pennies into pounds - £15 pounds to be precise.  £5 in coppers, £9 in clothes (recycling payment from Cash for Clothes £4  and a £5 Marks and Spencer's voucher for recycled M&S items given to Oxfam) and redeemed my scratch card win of £1.

Come on lads and lasses, pick up your pennies and makes some pounds!

A Scratch Card

Spend a £1, Win a £1.  Not much sense in that but we all dream of winning the lottery, don't we?
It's the big question we love to ask, "What would you do if you won the lottery?"  The answer is usually: buy a house, car, holiday, share it with family and friends, give some to charity.  But we all know money can't buy us health or happiness.

We take for granted our sight, speech, hearing, walking, bodily functions etc.   Moments of complete happiness are perhaps recorded on Facebook, in a photo album, written in a journal, shared on the 'phone or secretly stored in our memories.  There is no price of worth for these things.

As we turn into another year let us be mindful and caring to people who, for the coming year, life will be a trial through illness of themselves or of someone close to them.  When we raise our glasses and cheer 'Happy New Year' don't think 'out of sight out of mind' regarding troubles of family or friends.

Let us resolve to be encouragers, helpers, supporters of those who have not won the lottery of taken for granted life but who have randomly been afflicted with cancer, strokes, dementia, autism, miscarriage, sudden death syndrome, grief of any form.  Resolve to visit, write, give to the charities, do what you can when you can.  These New Year resolutions are more meaningful than 'I must diet, I must exercise more, I must stop smoking'.  We all know that resolutions soon get broken and old habits die hard.  Perhaps making a resolution that doesn't look inward, but looks outward may be more inspiring to both yourself and those around you.

I have had some wonderful highlights in 2014 but also great saddnesses for some very dear friends.  Life is a two sided coin, like the one I used to do the scratch card, there are highs and there are lows, that is the complete picture.  You can't have one without the other and no doubt 2015 will have ups and downs too.   If you are celebrating, stay safe, and if not Peace to You and yours........

Taken from Pinterest - you can follow me on this site too! 

Create pin boards and start pinning your favourite pictures, sayings, recipes etc.

60 DAYS ON...

60 DAYS ON from my 60 day challenge the following has occurred:

• I pulled a muscle in my side and then in my back which I attributed to the sit-ups, so that went out the window.  However, I continue to go to the gym weekly and have enlisted the help of a personal trainer who gave me some more, easier exercises to do at home which I have managed three or four times a week.
• A friend, having heard about my 60 day challenge, took on a 30 day challenge for herself before Christmas.  She wrote emails to record her daily progress.  I was so encouraged by the fact that another person found this way of working on personal development helped.  May be there is a book in my blogs?
• There was one whole week where I didn't cook a SW recipe and I really missed it!  Still enjoying food shopping and cooking - the challenge changed my mindset.
• The biggest thing is the writing - I have always had a desire to be a published writer.  Doing the blogs is a great discipline for me.  Having comments is an encouragement to keep on keeping on.
• I met a fellow (new) author and will be meeting her again in the new year.  I have booked a very adventurous Writer's Holiday on the Greek island of Skyros in the summer and have declared to myself that 2015 is going to be my big 'Write' year.

The above picture, and my 60 day challenge, proves that all things are possible if you put your mind and energy into doing what you want to do.  Thoughts and obstacles WILL whisper in your ears or even shout in your head but keeping focused on the goal brings rewards.  My dear friend who did a marathon cycle ride in Tanzania fell off her bike three times during her trip but she got back on each time and completed her challenge.  We can choose whether to give up or carry on, we can choose to manage our lives according to our negativity's or our dreams.  I am all for making dreams come true, and if they don't there are good things to be had instead.

• Oh yes, I nearly forgot, I have lost a further 1kg, so total loss is 7kg, one pound off a stone, which is what I was aiming for.  Trouser tops are now loose and I feel more comfortable.  I don't have a desire for pigging out and even Christmas foods have not phased me, I just choose what to eat, when to eat, mindful of portion size and product contents.  This has been helped by my man having a dairy allergy diagnosed, so we are having to check labels.  We are becoming a healthy option household!   
• I also wrote to three of the main supermarket managers asking them to have a designated area of shelving for dietary items rather than place them throughout the store next to tempting alternatives.  It will be interesting to see what response I get.

Snow

Slowly, slowly, silently as I sleep It falls dusting my path with white
Each flake a beauty, unique, special
To melt on contact, or to stick to another
To form snow.
It grows like candy floss, soft, fluffy
Cotton wool and a tender blanket
Covers the cold earth, making light In the darkness.
It fascinates and thrills, it delights And chills.
Winter arrives and it's still Christmas.
Warm clothes, hot drinks, Log fires and gloves. Snowmen to build, Sledging to enjoy. Trains and planes will stop and roads be a trial.
Winter came in the dead of night,
Whilst warm beds beckoned and embers glowed
The cat stirs, the tele and presents no longer the focus.
Tree lights off and all is calm save for the sneezer, awake with the flu.
The season is not without grit.

£1 to £20,000

THE ONE POUND CHALLENGE

Our friends' son, Alan Radbourne (AJ as we fondly call him) gave himself the above challenge upon finding a £1 coin and turned it into £20,000 gross profit within a year.

Yes, you have read that right!  How resourceful, how amazing, how inspiring is this?  He has even printed his own book sharing how he did it.  For a copy, email Alan at: onepoundchallenge@gmail.com or look him up on: www.myonepoundchallenge.co.uk.

One to Ten

Anyone younger than myself may not remember the UK £1 note.  I have been reminded of it this Christmastide as I wonder what my teenage relatives would make of receiving just one pound for a present.  It seems like only yesterday that tucking one of these green notes inside a birthday or Christmas card was quite an acceptable gift.  Did I get older or the money reduce in value, or both, I wonder?  Not so long ago too, a five pound note was adequate, but now it seems that not much can be bought with a tenner either.  So for pensioners with lots of grandchildren, great nieces and nephews that could mean a small fortune.  At what age is it acceptable not to expect a monitory gift?  When one child reaches 18 or 21 there is another two or three behind or even new babies born, another generation. I guess the giver has to make harsh decisions as to when to stop.

In my work I have often used the scale of  'One to Ten' to measure how people are ie. on a scale of     1 - 10 how happy are you?; on a scale of 1-10, one being low and ten being high, how depressed are you?  Five, being the middle number, is often the reply but sometimes a 2, 3 or lower is offered.  "What would make you a 4 or a 6" I ask depending on the reply, and they answer whatever is missing from their life.  I have used the scale myself: when energy levels are lower than a 5, I know I need to rest and recharge my batteries; "in the grand scheme of things how important is this problem or that decision?"  Giving it a number helps to put it in perspective and perhaps motivate some action.

Things change, nothing stays the same forever.  All things come to pass, they don't come to stay.  So whatever is troubling you today will be a distant memory very soon, or it is something that you learn to accept and live with rather than resent or struggle with.

As one year ends another begins. We can't stop progress, time, change, years, monetary values but we can use our resources wisely, give generously and lovingly whilst we can and receive the joy which comes from doing so.  Christmas cheer, dear readers, may your festive season be joyful and may angels whisper in the wind for you to hear good news and strengthen your soul. 



Charity

I'm not adverse to giving to charity.  I do prefer to choose which organisation, how much and when I give.  I understand that 'tin shakers' are part of trips into town, on the sea front and in supermarkets. 

Once a year Santa visits our street in a motorised sleigh, loud Christmas music chiming and bucket shakers walking alongside.  My 'other half' generally takes care of the giving to the Roundtable\Lions as it means leaving the cosy light lounge to the dark, very cold, wet and wintery windy evening in the street, which I am loathed to do.

However, thinking of my £60 challenge I rose to the occasion.  Now the doorbell had rang alerting us to look outside.  I grabbed a coat and a pound coin but no-one was about to relieve me of my donation.  Santa was 'parked' at the top end of the street and no way was I going to run up there and cheer Santa whilst in my slippers.  I waited, thinking he would be slowly driven past my door in a few moments.  Ten minutes later and chilled to the bone the sleigh sped past with all but one of the collection personnel aboard!  A single bucket lady ran to avoid getting left behind. 

We shouted out 'did she want some money?' and she kindly crossed the road to meet us at the roadside.  Not even a 'thank you' or 'merry Christmas' as she fled after the vehicle wondering if she would be missed.

Next year I will stay warm indoors as there are hundreds more Charities that would be more grateful.

Off My Trolley....

A trip to the supermarket invariably means fumbling in my purse for a £1 coin to use a trolley to wheel around the aisles.  Some people use a 'fob' coin which probably cost £1 to purchase, but nevertheless useful on these occasions especially if you have it to hand on your keyring.  In my experience, however, these said 'fobs' work in some trolleys but not in others.  So, the pound coin is inserted, the chain linking and locking it releases your trolley of the day from the rows of stored contraptions and away you go, list in hand, into the industrial unit with its mirage of clothes, household items and shelves of foods for all occasions and tastes.

Having lived in a little Cypriot village for three years where the only store was a shack with one type of most essentials, the UK shopping experience still overwhelms me.  Do we really need 20 types of soap powders to choose from or several brands of Baked Beans?  Hence my list, go in, get what you need, pay and come out.  Job done.  Well that was before my '60 day challenge'.  Now I like to browse and see what is available and I walk miles just trying to find one ingredient for the recipe I am planning on having for tea.

Anyway, back to the trolley.  No doubt it has happened to us all - sometimes you get a trolley that will not go in the direction you want it to.  You consider taking it back and getting another but decide you can master this metal monster.  The wheels all seem to work against one another until you let go of the handle to reach for some butter from the fridge, then it careers off and crashes into someone else's trolley all of its own accord.  You apologise profusely or laugh and make a joke about having 'L' plates on your back. (Learner driver)

Yesterday I noticed a trolley with a newborn baby in a seat attached to it and a toddler sister was standing inside the said mobility device for parents to shop with.  Mom was carrying a basket for their purchases whilst Dad pushed the children alongside his wife.  I cooed and asked where I could purchase such lovelies only to be met with a silent stare, so I guess a free sense of humour was not available at the baby and children section.  I did wonder about the hygiene of the situation - the toddler had outdoor shoes on and the trolley after all was meant for food purchases.  The next customer would be totally unaware - perhaps I should take disinfectant wipes next time I shop.

In the checkout queue, the trolley again has a dickey-fit not wanting to go into the narrow space between the tills.  I knock the person in front who was holding a dozen eggs ready to place onto the moving counter.  Yes, you guessed, the trolley caused the person to jump, the eggs went flying and the cashier rang a loud bell to get assistance to clean up the mess.  Of course it drew everyones attention to my situation, I flush bright red in the face and hope I am not sued for damages.

So, a long delay in getting through the tills yesterday and when I finally rammed my disobedient trolley back into its storage, retrieving my pound, I decided the plastic baskets on two wheels might have been a better choice for the small amount of purchases I had! 

Note to self : next time steer well away from metal basket trolleys.



In for a penny in for a pound.

What the heck does this mean?  It's an English colloquium, which tumbles out of our mouth from time to time.  It sums up what I hope to do in the coming year.  For example, over many years I have ‘tinkled’ at being a writer.  I self-published a children’s religious book some 30+ years ago and have stored somewhere a series of ‘toys coming to life’ stories that were sent to various publishers but never made the grade.  Since then ‘life’ got in the way of my becoming an author but the desire to write and be published has never left me.  Over that time I have used a journal to vent frustrations, to record significant events, to jot down new learnings, to write anything and everything that my pen leads me to write – some of it, no doubt, neither use nor ornament (another colloquium – meaning rubbish!).

Also during that time, I wrote articles for the local church magazine, entered writing competitions, attended writing workshops, had articles published in a magazine for professional counsellors, and won a prize for a ‘letter to the editor’ of a health magazine.  In 2001-2003 I was a founder member of the Paphos Writers Group, Cyprus and a booklet of our work entitled ‘Write On’ was published in aid of the local Children’s hospital raising over £500.  In 2004-2006 I was a member of the Association of Christian Writers group situated in the Lake District, UK and from 2010 I formed the ‘Writer’s Block’ group in Staffordshire, which gets together in blocks of six fortnightly sessions in the spring and autumn each year.  These groups have been invaluable in keeping up with something that seems to be a natural part of who I am.  Writing exercises and seeing your work in print encourages you to keep doing more - learning new words, punctuation, requirements of competition organisers or publishers, talking the talk of the writing business.  It can be a bit of an obsession rather than a hobby which I experienced during my recent ’60 day challenge’ blog, but the enthusiasm grows and grows so I guess eventually it must blossom or bear fruit.  Where we put our positive energies, so shall our rewards be. 

I started blogging two years ago, I’m not really a ‘techie’ but like to try to keep up to date with all the younger folk – texting, Facebook, twitter, blogs etc.  Being a secretary in my earlier life I find typing is still very much also a part of who I am and what I am able to do comfortably.  Using my faithful laptop is the only time I get to whiz words out on a ‘qwerty’ keyboard as iPads/tablets don’t cut mustard really (3^rd colloquium – means not as good as).

So, NOW is the time for (this) brown fox to jump over the lazy dog.  (For those of you who are not typists – that sentence has every letter of the alphabet in).  Now I have reached retirement I will pursue my writing career more keenly.  I will continue to blog, enter short story competitions, be a member of Writer’s Block group, attend workshops and conferences and, best of all, allow myself the dream that has followed me for so very long – to go to Skyros, a Greek island, for a Writer’s holiday. 

Having written 27 thousand words of a novel some years back, it is time for this to be aired, readjusted, added to, completed, edited etc. ready to present to publishers.  If anyone out there has connections with other authors please do ask them to be in touch so that I can glean inspiration and direction.  If you don’t hear from me for some time, do contact me to see if I’m still working on it and not just sitting at the computer staring into space!  I am clearing the decks of commitments and pairing down my coffee shop visits in order to be - in for a penny in for a pound.      

Postage

FROM A PENNY TO A POUND

I used to collect stamps as a child.  I was copying my elder brother who later made this hobby his career which was very lucrative.  I loved the little blue album and the packets of clear gummed hinges that, when licked and affixed to the back of the stamp, secured the stamp onto the relevant page neatly in a marked square.

The album boasted pages from all over the world; places I had never heard of or, as a child, could ever imagine visiting.  The stamps were colourful with pictures of birds, animals or flowers, places or people of note.  They intrigued me and boosted my general knowledge.  I particularly liked stamps of a different shape - oblong ones with panoramic views on them.

The pages that held the most stamps were of course from my homeland of Great Britain.  It gave me pride in my own country seeing the Queen's head on each and every stamp, no matter what the colour, scenery or picture.  I am not sure I ever acquired the much coveted Penny Red or Penny Black that was spoken about as though it were gold dust.  My Stanley Gibbons price catalogue certainly showed their worth but, unlike my brother I grew out of the pasttime.

Stamps have changed over the years from being lickable and stickable to self adhesive; from small to large; from buying them in strips to purchasing books of six or twelve stamps; from plain colours denoting their worth to topical scenes.  Special Christmas stamps have added cheer to envelopes as has special occasions for the Royal Family.  I was not a collector of  'first day covers' but I knew people, even to this day, who are.  True philatelists. 

It was a Monday when I decided to post my first Christmas card and small gift to a friend in Lancaster.  The post office - well, the counter in the Co-operative supermarket - had a very long queue of elderly ladies (no men interestingly) who I presumed were collecting their pension (I have not reached this status yet!).  I waited and listened to their friendly banter about ailments and weather then approached the counter with my brown envelope.

"What's in it?" came the voice from behind the glass screen.  My mind went blank then I thought, "what does he need to know that for?"
"A Christmas card and gift," I replied.  He took it, weighed it, put it through a letterbox type plastic tool and grumpily stuck a very large gold coloured self adhesive stamp onto the package.  The size of this stamp would have covered a dozen squares in my little old stamp book.
"First or second class?" I was asked and, as I was early for Christmas posting I chose second class.
"One pound," he said without eye contact.  I handed him the coin and away went my post.

We are good at complaining here in the UK.  British people moan about the weather, politicians, our health service and our postal service but really we love them all.  It is what makes this island so Great.

From the days of Penny Blacks or Reds when Shank's pony delivered the post up and down our country, through to rail and road, towns and villages - all still receive post regardless of the growth of technology.  The computer, mobile phones, ipads, tablets etc have taken away the need for letters.  Another childhood occupation gone - no more 'thank you' letters after a birthday or Christmas.  Do children still have 'pen pals' I wonder?  I had two, both called Mary, who lived on the islands of Malta and Gozo.  I met up with them in my twenties when I began to travel for holidays.

It seems a lot to pay for postage but considering the journey of over 140 miles, the number of people who will handle it and the pleasure it will give to its recipient, it is a small price to pay.  So THANK YOU grumpy man at the post office, all the workers at the depot, the train porters and drivers, the sorting staff, the postman or lady on their bike or in their red van.  Thank you for delivering my package.  If I had to pay a pound for ALL THAT, it was worth it because if I had to do it myself it would have cost an awful lot more!
                                         

           

Raffle Tickets

The village hall was buzzing.  People had travelled from near and far.  The guest 'celeb' was one of Britain's most popular novelists who was busy signing copies of her latest book 'The Christmas Party'.  A queue of fans for her latest 'must have' paperback waited patiently alongside a cardboard figure of another celebrity - a known fan of the author Carole Matthews.  A smiling Mary Berry photobombed readers snapshots and watched over the 'Bake off' type fund raising afternoon that was both enchanting and inspiring.

The hall was transformed from the run of the mill meeting place for brownies and the local Women's Institute into a hive of stalls boasting Shabby Chic wares, home made bows and bags, toys and Christmas decorations.  The cake stall boasted all sorts of treats to delight the eyes and palate.  Refreshments were served onto tables adorned with cloths and china ware that evoked memories of bygone days at grandma's house.

The room heaved with supporters of both the charity and the author.  Violets in Bloom are raising funds to make a memorial garden dedicated to Violet Mornington who died of a rare blood disorder.  The garden will provide other grieving parents with a place of solace.  A touching speech was made after the raffle was drawn and tears were shed by those closely involved.  One sensed their loss and a presence of a little 5 year old girl watching over the afternoon's proceedings.

Now I had expected to write that my raffle ticket was a non-winner, as so often is the case.  As an early purchaser of a strip of coloured numbered tickets, I was able to ask for my 'lucky' number (even though most people consider number 13 as being unlucky - and usually it is!)  The pound spent came up trumps, not once but twice (not 13 but other numbers on the strip).  Two gifts were bagged to take home and enjoy.  But something far more treasured was mine for having made the effort to go there and spend that pound.  Something that can not be bought with money - it's free.  I came away with Inspiration and Encouragement, and having experienced Love and Care.

I had sat and chatted with two other ladies who were also from Staffordshire.  One having just written a best seller novel and the other a Publicity Manager.  Carole joined us too.  I felt so privileged, so interested in this new world of literacy with all its new language of agents, editors, promoters, critics etc.  I felt my time had come.  Now is MY time to write.  You can't put a price on that experience.  That pound will metamorphosis into a new author.

Lockers

A new challenge for myself - to write about 60 ways to use a pound.  No this isn't a weight, it's the coin. 

Today was day one.  It's a Friday and for me that means a trip to the leisure centre.  I use the gym then have a swim, sauna and jacuzzi.  If time allows I usually read a newspaper too at the poolside.  Lovely.

I carry a spare pound coin in my gym bag for using in the locker.  The lockers can only be locked by inserting the said coin and removing the key which is on a wrist band.  Why is the locker I choose always in the way of a mother and baby, or a pamper day party of girls, or some other person who squeezes me out of personal space?  Getting dressed after a swim is not an easy affair.  How come I never feel dry?

Sorry I digress.  I have used the same coin for years.  It seems a waste of money.  What else could I do with it?  Hence this challenge.

1.  Locker security.

 

Story time

As you may know I am involved in Writer's Block, a group I started some years back for like minded scribblers.  We are a small group and meet together in blocks of six fortnightly sessions, usually in the Autumn and Spring.   I certainly have not suffered with Writer's Block whilst engaged in my 60 day challenge.  As an ending to the challenge I decided to enter a short story competition, something I don't do often enough.  Here is the piece I submitted:

 

DECISION TIME

Lottie dipped the last ‘soldier’ into her boiled egg.  Sitting at the breakfast table alone her thoughts of his proposal swirled around her head.  She glanced at the clock – “time to move,” she said aloud to dispel the thoughts in her brain.

Lottie prided herself with never being late for work but her body seemed to be on a go slow this blustery autumn morning.  Grabbing a banana and her handbag she headed out from home.  Knowing she had a stash of comforters in her desk drawer cheered her as it would be difficult to work when Mark was waiting for an answer.  He had booked a table at his local pub and she was already thinking about steak and chips as she drove to work.

In the slow moving traffic she ate the banana and pushed the skin into an overflowing rubbish bag on the passenger seat.  She spotted the car well next to her - crisp packets, empty cartons, pop bottles and chocolate wrappers littered the floor.  “I must clear up my life, never mind this car,” she thought.

Turning on the radio a DJ was talking about West End musicals and had a guest in the studio that chose the next record from ‘Oliver’.  “Food, glorious food…” sang out and Lottie changed the channel, she needed something upbeat and not a reminder that she needed to take her eating habits in hand.

Stress made her eat more and Mark was eager for an answer.  They had been together four years now and he had never shown any concern about her size before.  Lottie pulled down the sun visor and, keeping one eye on the traffic, smiled at the image in the mirror.  Her hair and makeup were always at their best, her skin smooth and creamy white, lips full and luscious with lip-gloss. 

When the traffic began to move she suddenly turned off the Cambridge Road and headed out of town.  She nudged her hands free ‘phone and called the office saying she was ill and would not be in today.

It was a recall of the ‘F’ word Mark had used that made her divert.  She pulled into the nearest garage, filled up with petrol then went into the shop to grab some food and take-away coffee.  The cashier took her money and said, “Have a good day.”  She found herself replying, “Oh I will, thank you.”

Lottie was creeping up to 35 years of age.  She had never married nor had any children.  Her job was the only thing she felt good about, her self-esteem waivered.  She had suffered from bullying at school and had several boyfriends before meeting Mark.  He had a troubled background having lost his parents at an early age in a car crash.  Then his foster carers’ marriage break-up forced them to put him back into care where he stayed until he was 18.  He went from job to job never settling down or enjoying life.

At weekends Lottie slept over at his flat.  It was an arrangement that suited them both.  At first they enjoyed close comfort and had passionate sex but now they mostly just slept.  Mark liked lager and the weekends were an excuse to drink excessively.   It dulled his ache, his longing for love and security.  His mates had disowned him for getting into trouble fighting or being loud in the street.

Lottie didn’t see this behaviour but heard about it and tried to ignore it.  He clammed up whenever she tried to suggest perhaps he needed help and so they drifted on in their relationship – not seeing each other in the week but being together all weekend.  She was always coming and going from his flat, bringing bags of groceries, feeding him well and cleaning his kitchen in the process.  When she arrived the fridge would contain a bit of mouldy cheese, a bottle of milk and more cans of lager than she liked the sight of.

Lottie pulled up in Central Park, grabbed her coat and scarf from the back seat and the bag supplies she had purchased at the garage.  She headed for the lake where she planned to sit and really think through what Mark had said and proposed last weekend.  It was too important not to give it the time needed for a right decision.

Now the wind had dropped, a hazy sun shone through the trees.  From the bench she marvelled at the variety of colours on the leaves and their reflection in the still waters of the lake.  It was a quiet spot, only a jogger passed her and on another bench across the lake she could see an elderly couple feeding the ducks.  Even though it wasn’t lunch time she took out the cheese and pickle baguette and placed the coffee cup on the bench.

She took a deep breath, sighed, then ate.  He had said, “Fat.  You have gott’n fat.”  It was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Something snapped inside her.  She had put up with his drinking and negativity, snide remarks and criticisms long enough.  He was draining her of energy and vitality.  He raged at the television when his favourite football team didn’t score goals or win the match; he belched after the meals she made him, he snored in bed.  Sex was a distant memory and soft words and romantic dates were long gone too.

Lottie sipped the coffee and pulled out the bag of three doughnuts.  He was rude to her friends, so much so they had stopped socialising.  He didn’t take care of his appearance and didn’t shower half as much as she would like him to.  He liked loud weird music played in his flat but at her friend’s wedding he had complained the disco music was too loud and stood outside, glass in hand, all evening.  She sighed again.  A tear edged over the brim of her eye lid and ran down her cold cheek.  Brushing it away she drank the last of the coffee.

“I deserve better,” she told herself and reached for the last doughnut.  She stared at it for a moment, then stood up and threw it as far as she could in temper.  Angry with Mark.  Angry with herself.  It landed on the grass verge at the edge of the lake, a dog ran towards it and picking it up in his mouth brought it back to her.  She looked around for its owner but there was no-one about.  The dog sat and waited for the ‘ball’ to be thrown again but Lottie ignored it.

“Sorry is Scottie bothering you?” a male voice came from behind.

“No, he’s fine, he’s just taught me a lesson,” Lottie replied gathering all her food rubbish into the bag and walking off to the nearest bin.  “I’ve been like that dog returning to someone who doesn’t really want me as I am, playing with me, teasing me, pretending he loves me.  I’m going to say ‘No’”.

With renewed energy Lottie strode back to the car.  An inner strength had come from staring at nature she noted.  “I must do it more often,” she thought as she opened the car door.  Before getting in she went around to the passenger side and scooped up all the rubbish from food binges, stuffed them into another carrier bag and again went to the nearest bin depositing them with glee.  “I need to get rid of the rubbish in my life, I need to get out more, see my friends, dance at discos and laugh.”  She felt so strong now that the drive home whizzed by.

Noticing how out of breath she was climbing the steps to her flat, Lottie felt a sense of something big changing within her.  She grabbed the ‘phone and dialled Mark’s number.  He would be under some car doing an oil change or cleaning the boss’s spark plugs, so she felt confident she could leave a message.    

“Hi Mark, cancel tonight the answer is NO.  I won’t be moving in with you; in fact I won’t be coming this weekend or any weekend from now on.  I suggest you get yourself a ‘thin’ girlfriend who likes playing ‘fetch’ like a puppy dog and who will keep coming back for more when all you give is crap.  Don’t ring me back.  It’s over.  Bye.”  She hung up and slumped down on the sofa.  A huge sense of relief washed over her and she smiled to herself.

The rest of the day was spent clearing out clutter in her bedroom and out of date or unhealthy options from her kitchen cupboard.  It was drastic but necessary.  She wasn’t going to ‘diet’, she had had enough attempts to sink a ship but instead went to the supermarket and brought lots of fruit, vegetables, fresh meat and a cook book.  Today was a turning point in her life – like the season, things were changing.

YELLOW the butterfly

This story can be found inside a book entitled Finding Freedom by Joyce Huggett.  Joyce, was at one time my Spiritual Director.  I feel so privileged to be able to say that.  Joyce retired from her Ministry and Writings, left their Derbyshire home and retreat house and took up residence in Bournemouth with her husband David, a retired Church of England Minister.  Joyce has since suffered with Alzheimer's Disease and sadly we are no longer in touch.  Her life changed mine, she was someone I aspired to be like.  Her Quiet Days/workshops/retreats and books were inspirational and touched my soul.  This in particular has had a long lasting affect:

This is the story of Yellow.....  I retype it from Joyce's book not knowing the original author as it wasn't referenced.  Read slowly and thoughtfully;     Enjoy.....

Yellow was a caterpillar who often dreamt of freedom but whose concept of the world of butterflies and flight was blurred and confused.

One day, when, as usual, thoughts of butterflies were occupying her caterpillar-brain, she came across a curious sight: a grey haired caterpillar hanging upside down on a branch.  Seeing that he was caught in some kind of hairy stuff, Yellow offered her assistance.

'You seem in trouble.......can I help?'
'No, my dear, I have to do this to become a butterfly.'

A butterfly! Yellow's caterpillar-heart leapt.  Could this be her great opportunity?

'Tell me, sir, what is a butterfly?'
'It's what you are meant to become.  It flies with beautiful wings and joins the earth to heaven......?

Yellow's heart somersaulted in hope.  'Me! A butterfly? It can't be true! .... How can I believe there's a butterfly inside you and me, when all I see is a fuzzy worm?'
'How does one become a butterfly?' she added, pensively.
'You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar.'
'You mean to .... die? asked Yellow.
'Yes.... and.... No,' he answered.  'What looks like you will die but what's really you will still live.  Life is changed, not taken away.  Isn't that different from those who die without ever becoming butterflies?'
'And if I decide to become a butterfly,' said Yellow hesitantly, 'what do I do?'
'Watch me.  I'm making a cocoon.  It looks like I'm hiding, I know, but a cocoon is no escape.  It's an in-between house where the change takes place.  It's a big step, since you can never return to caterpillar life.  During the change, it will seem to you or anyone who might peep that nothing is happening - but the butterfly is already becoming.  It just takes time!'

Yellow was torn with anguish.  What if she became this thing called butterfly and her friends failed to recognise this new self?  At least she knew that caterpillars can crawl and eat and love in a limited way.  What happens if a caterpillar gets stuck in a cocoon?  Could she risk losing the only life she had known when it seemed so unlikely she could ever become a glorious winged creature?  All she had to go on was a caterpillar who believed sufficiently to take the leap of faith.  And hope.

The grey-haired caterpillar continued to cover himself with silky threads.  As he wove the last bit around his head he called:

'You'll be a beautiful butterfly - we're all waiting for you!' 

And Yellow decided to take the risk.  For courage she hung right beside the cocoon and began to spin her own.

'Imagine, I didn't even know I could do this.  That's some encouragement that I'm on the right track.  If I have inside me the stuff to make cocoons - maybe the stuff of butterflies is there too.'

And, of course, the stuff of butterflies was there.  Yellow eventually emerged a brilliant, yellow winged creature - a wonderful sight!



THE PROCESS

By co-incident my friend Sue and I are completing our challenges today.  Sue started hers well over a year ago training and fund raising.  She is cycling through Tanzania and Zanzibar in aid of Genesis Research Trust, an organisation that are searching for causes of miscarriages, pre and post natal deaths.

We have been through a 'process' in order to get to where we are.  It is 'The Road Less Travelled' as written about by F Scott Fitzgerald.  The process takes you to places you can not imagine and is very difficult to describe to others.  It is a personal journey of self discovery.  The highs of achievements along the way outweigh the depths of the lows of struggle, slow progress, frustration and doubt.

I can only write about my process - Sue's has been so much longer and so much harder as intense blockages and obstacles have had to be grappled with, faced and overcome.  I have written of my ups and downs, mountains and valleys, but process is only something you recognise at the end of your challenge, or when you look back and see how far you have come, what you have mastered and what you have achieved.

I try to explain 'process' to people by the illustration of a caterpillar turning into a butterfly (see ENDINGS blog) or by reading the story of Yellow (see next blog).

Sue and I will be different because of our self-set challenges.  We will have learnt things about ourselves, about others and about the world we live in that no books or teacher could have taught us.  We will have brought about the very change and experience we were looking for/wanting but didn't quite know how it would work.  We threw caution to the wind, took risks, battled with our own heads and bodies, went against our natural or habitual inclinations and broke the mould of the person we were before our challenges.  Because of the challenge we will never be the same again.  A new person is crossing the finishing line, we may look the same but inside we have changed.

In wanting to hug my friend Sue at her finishing line and say a massive "Well Done" (will have to wait for our next visit to Lincolnshire) I offer myself that joy too.  I have not lost the stone in weight I set out to but 5kg is a good result.  I can feel my trouser and skirt tops are loser, my protruding tummy is softer and I am working on tightening the muscles by doing daily sit ups.  I enjoy shopping for food more, cooking meals from recipes and expanding my range of dinners in particular.  So in all of that I feel pleased myself.  If you don't enter a challenge and work within the process you don't get a result.

Sue & Helen ride for Charity