Tag: Blogging

International Women’s day

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A date to remember. Its international women’s day and also one hundred years since the suffragettes’ fought for the vote for women in Britain. The colours of purple white and green were used to signify their struggle.

It should be remembered that when they finally did get the vote it was only for older women who owned property…

International women’s day means freedom to me. The freedom to vote and be part of a democracy. The freedom to control your body and not be forced to do things you don’t want to. The freedom to own your own property and to earn equal pay for work of equal value.

As a woman I have seen years of inequality. I have seen mysogeny and misanthropic behaviour. But not everyone is like that. At the end of the day we need to learn to respect one another. After all women are not another species. Equality is still some distance away, people shouldn’t be judged on the way they look or act. Life can be hard work. With age comes experience. Women don’t need patronising it’s time for equality.

Rocking horse

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Did I once have a rocking horse ?

How fast did it go,

Over hills, over fields,

Up mountain paths,

Down into dales and vales.

If I had a rocking horse

Where did it live?

In stables or a farm yard

Or the back bedroom in our house.

What colour was that rocking horse

Was it a bay?

A white maned charger

A gentle, dappled grey?

I once had a rocking horse,

So long ago

I don’t remember anything-

Where did it go?

Almost midnight

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The green glow outside had intensified and was visible in her living room now. It was almost midnight and she knew if anything was going to happen it would be soon. He heart was pounding and she felt sweat trickle down the side of her nose. All she could do was hide.

She stepped into the old oak cupboard, pulled the door shut and hung on to the catch.

Suddenly the rushing noise outside was everywhere. She stuffed her hand in her mouth to stop screaming.

Gradually the noise calmed down, it quietened  there was a moment of a shrill scream and then silence.

In the morning it was on the news, her neighbour dead of a heart attack.

She never saw the green glow again…..

 

Sleep

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Now I light my way to bed

Lots of thoughts twist in my head.

Have I shut the door and locked it?

Have I done it, or just thought it?

Have I got a book to read?

Till sleep descends within my head.

Will I sleep or will I wake?

Will I see a red dawn break?

Now I wonder what I’ll dream?

Soft and gentle will it seem?

Life is complex when I wake

Sleep reveals a nightmare fate.

Now I need to rest my head.

So I’m off to sleep in bed.

 

 

 

 

Then I forgot

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I don’t remember anything after Saturday afternoon?

Who are you?

Where am I?

So many questions, I remember going to the park for a walk, I can see in my minds eye the youth on a motorbike, then I forget…. Its gone.

Who are you? A nurse? Who are they? My parents…..?

What did I do to get here?

Hello, yes I feel OK, just taking my pulse? My blood pressure….

Yes so you are my doctor?

There was a boy on a motorbike, I can see him in my minds eye. Where was that?

I need to sleep. Dreaming, remembering, she sees the park, the ducks running for the bread she was feeding them. The motorbike comes through the park gate, along the path, speeding, roaring. Breaks and skids to avoid the ducks and hits her hard….

Waking, the memory fades, she sees time reverse, only now she’s further down the path. The ducks are still on the lake. The sun is shining on her face. Heat. Her face is hot…..

Who am I?

Why am I here? I remembered, but then I forgot.

Addicted to blogging!

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I started blogging in January 2018. I’d never really written before. I’d done things in a little newsletter years ago and I’d tried to write a children’s book which I called the swimming dragon about a dragon wanting to get back to its family in South America. But I’ve never had that published and I spent hours over it. I even painted illustrations  But it never went anywhere because I was too nervous. It’s stuck on a floppy disc and on my old computer somewhere .

So I wasn’t expecting to get into this. It’s been a revelation to me. I know I’m only skimming the surface of blogging but I find myself more and more involved, to the detriment sometimes of painting which is what I intended this blog to be about.

I find myself enjoying writing short stories, sometimes with a little twist in the tale. Other times trying to write poems. I think about science and other subjects. I have stopped watching as much TV. I go out more so I can post photos of places. Most disturbing is that I no longer look at Facebook and Instagram as much.

Life is interesting, whether or not I shall continue at this pace I don’t know. But I’m enjoying things at the moment.

Fractal

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This is a form of Broccoli, the pattern seems fractal, where it repeats in smaller and smaller forms but in the same pattern. Another example is the Mandelbrot set. The now famous pattern that constantly reveals and renews itself the deeper you look into it.

Have you heard of Fibonacci numbers? They relate to the spirals on this Broccoli plant too. There are two spirals if you look closely. One is more curved than the other. It’s based on prime numbers. Like 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, and so on.

Now this is where I have to admit only a slight knowledge, I only know about Fibonacci because of programmes I have seen about him and they were based on art. I have also heard of the golden section, which is based on another spiral, and is said to allow you to place objects in a painting into the most beautiful composition. But I am no mathematician.

If you look up Fractals, Mandelbrot and Golden section, you should find interesting information about them all, and Chaos theory which seems to link them all. They are all fascinating.

There are several books out there about Chaos theory. It’s worth reading around the subject.

First and last through the gates. #writephoto

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Image copyright Sue Vincent. From Sue’s #writephoto photo prompt.

This is my first ever ping back so I hope it works……

The stone gateway was imposing, the heavy gates looked too big to push open easily. The first time I walked through the gates I was 10 years old and very nervous. My grandma lived in the big house, but as we had only just moved back after several years abroad I had never met her. Seeing the gates and the stone gateposts made me think that someone very important lived there.

I remembered the long tree lined drive. The dappled sunlight warming the golden gravel. I wanted to know how far it was to the front door so I started counting steps, but lost track around 300. As I turned a bend in the path I saw  short, grey haired lady in horn rimmed glasses, she didn’t look as scary as I imagined her. She was waiting at the top of three steps made of grey stone. I wanted to run up to her, but mom had told me to be polite. So I walked up slowly and quietly said hello.

That had been 40 years ago. My gran must have been about 50 but I had thought she was very old. I remembered her putting a record on for me, a Beatles song. ” Help ” I think it was? From then on she would always play music when I arrived, some pop music, other times classical music like Stravinsky or Rachmaninov. Sometimes we danced together and laughed at each other.

Today was a sad day. The last time I would walk through those gates. I remembered all the happy times I had spent there. Afternoons after school always seemed sunny. Gran would give me a snack and Mom would pick me up when she finished work.

Now both of them were gone. Today I had to lock up grans house and hand over the keys to the estate agent. The funeral had been a week ago. I had her favourite music played at the ceremony.

As I left I shut the gates gently, knowing I would never walk there again…..

Witchery

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Old Belladonna Green watched as the moon rose. It was full and glowing tonight. Just the right time to be abroad for some witchery…..

She stood on top of the hill looking down at the old town. What enchantments could she weave to change people’s lives tonight?

She was a solo witch. A bit like solitary bees. Not part of a coven, but quietly making a difference where she could. The world was too modern for her really. No apprentice had been to see her for twenty years and her stock of charms had worn out long ago. Yes she could go to the local magic shop, but the stuff in there was mainly tat. Who wanted to buy a whoopee cushion to help indigestion?

And the Internet? It spread such falsehoods that no one knew what to believe anymore. When texting arrived she almost gave up. As it was she had to be very circumspect about what she did. All those satellites and droney things. She was good at weaving invisibility which she needed to keep out of sight of CCTV! More than once she had been forced to take the form of a black cat to avoid detection.

She looked over at Larch Street. A small row of terraces which were humble but cozy.

Oh yes. Mr Hughes, he needed some help, he was losing his hair rapidly…. She climbed up the drainpipe. She was still quite nifty at climbing even though she was 74… As she had thought, the bedroom window was open to let the cool moorland air in. She pushed the sash window open and deftly stepped through. Her soft shoes made no sound… She had a pouch of green herbs on her belt and she moved over to where Mr Hughes was sleeping. Gentle fingers massaged the green goo onto his head, he snored and turned in the bed, putting an arm round his wife. Belladonna stood back, approving her own work, then swiftly left the way she had come.

As the alarm clock went off the following morning Mr Hughes went into the bathroom. He was rather shocked to see in the his face in the mirror… A full head of hair…. But why was it blonde?

 

Choir practice

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Singing is part if my life now. I started singing lessons about 15 years ago then joined a choir a few years later. I met a variety of people who loved music and I was swept along. We were all interested in learning music from around the world and the group learned acapella songs by heart so that we don’t need sheet music.

Singing calms me down, excites me, can be really irritating when it’s something I don’t like, or enthralling when it’s something new or an old song I love but had never previously learnt fully.

After being a choir member over several years I joined another choir so now I go and practice at least twice a week. Sometimes I join other groups and sing with them too.

I also try and sing when there are music nights at pubs. It has helped my confidence and calmed my nerves. Without it I don’t think I would have got involved in amateur dramatics. If there is a group in your area why not join?