I Remember

 This is an exercise an exercise for Write On Wednesday at Ink Paper Pen. The idea is to:  Set a timer for 5 minutes. Use "I remember" as your prompt and write down the first words that come into your head for 5 minutes. Stop when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish.  Well, my plan was to do it over and over and post something on Wednesday (and possibly I will still do this) but, this morning I had 5 minutes to spare and this is a part of my childhood that I remember.  

The dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight streaming through the stained glass window. The puddle of green and blue on the stone floor where it ended its journey.

The slight scent of decay in the air from the old timber of the pews and the Lilly’s at the foot of the lectern.

I remember the feel of the soft leather bound hymn book. The embroidery of the prayer cushion etching its pattern of scrolls and text on my bare knees.

The sonorous voice of the vicar delivering his sermon almost by rote. Dipping at the beginning of a sentence and rising at the end, elongating the words so that the message was lost in the pattern of sound he created.

The look in my Grandmother eye as she silently nodded at me, ‘Stop Day Dreaming’, HER message was clear.

Listography - Inventions I wish were real

This weeks listography over at Kate takes 5 is all about Inventions that-would-make-my-life-easier

These are this inventions that I wish were real:

1.  The parallel universe viewer – how many times have you wondered what might have happened had you made different choices. Almost always we assume that life would have been better in some way and we would have been happier. The choices we make are probably for very good reasons so hopefully it would show you that you made the right one.

2. The household waste shrinker. I recycle as much as I possibly can but, having moved to once a fortnight collections and limits on the amount of rubbish the council will take I invariably find myself in the wheelie bin jumping up and down trying to compact it.

3. The automated mind reader – this would only switch on at critical times. I don’t want to be able to read peoples minds at will, but there are times when they are so damned obtuse I haven’t got a clue what the hell it is that they want from me.

4. A precious memory catcher – So you could transport yourself back to special moments. Moments that fade with memory and can’t be fully captured on film.  Maybe with the added option to share precious moments with people who, for whatever reason, should have been but couldnt be there at the time.

5. The kick up the backside prodder – I don’t really like this one but I think I need it.  I envision it being a little like a microchip inserted in the buttocks, it would deliver a sharp shock every time  I’m in danger of making a mistake that I’ve already made in the past, something that I really should have learned from at the time but didn’t.

Gravy

Last night, as I always do, I cooked a meal for the Mac clan.

It had all the elements that make a good meal. It was nutritious, healthy and tasted pretty damn good!  But all the time we were eating I felt that something was missing.

Some other dimension, something that gave it balance and made it complete. Something that gave it that little bit extra but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was.

Cleaning up after the meal I discovered the jug of gravy I'd forgotten to serve. The missing element!

Gravy, it's an optional extra that yes, you could do without and still enjoy the meal but with it, well, with it the whole thing would have made so much more sense.

Sometimes Life is missing the gravy

I don't like green things ...........

And after reading this I can understand why Mark.


I am truly sorry for making you re-live this traumatic episode and I sincerely hope that you found it a cathartic experience and can now put it behind you.

Well Sarah has advised me that she's going to publish my response in its
entirety so I will try and do her wonderful writing style justice...

My fear of green is deep rooted - like many traumatic things that happen in
your early life you try and repress it but you can't always keep it away
from your daily life.... I suffer every single time I go to the supermarket.

The source of the trauma... Something as innocent as a 9 year old's school
trip. My school was one of those wonderfully overcrowded inner city schools
with 1 teacher to every 45 students. They did their best though and often
would take a crowd of unwashed urchins to visit the local farm (where, when
asked the next day what sounds were heard at the farm in assembly, mixed in
with the baa's, moo's and neigh's there was a solitary voice that yelled
'get of that fuckin tractor you little bastard....')

Anyway I digress... During the spring term we were invited to the canning
and processing plant for Sprackleys Processed Peas as part of our science
lessons. In the mid 70's no one had really heard of Health and Safety and 90
screaming kids were encouraged to charge round a canning factory looking at
everything they could and asking stupid questions of a couple of very bored
teachers. In fact the only person who seemed to be asking anything of any
interest was Norman Pettigrew, who at best could be described as dull, he
wanted to know if the peas were picked by hand or by a machine, how long
after they were picked were they canned, how was the lid put on the can, how
was the label stuck on.... The list of questions was endless... One of the
teachers actually asked him why he was so interested and his proud answer
was 'because processed peas taste better than chocolate' (I did say he was
dull...).

Norman spent all day running around the factory climbing the rickety wooden
ladders to the stirring platforms of the pea vats.

At 3pm when the teachers did the headcount to head back to school it was
discovered that we were one person short... After an inordinate amount of
time asking is such and such here and little voices chirruping yes miss it
was finally discovered the Norman was the one missing.

The usual Noooormaaaan calls had no effect and it was decided that we would
all go in different directions to look for Norman. I decided that I couldn't
be arsed to look around boxes and behind cupboards and that I'd get a better
view from the stirring platform on top of the main vat....

Staring around in all directions gave me no further insight and I decided to
make way back down to the rest of the crowd. 


Just as I was about to put my first foot on the ladder I heard a 'gloop' from the vat. 


Being a curious 9 year old (or nosey bugger as my Dad always called me) I decided to look in
the vat.... BIG MISTAKE... It turns out that Norman had been leaning over
the barrier about 30 minutes earlier and had slipped into the vat. 


I don't know if you've ever tried it but swimming in processed peas is like swimming
in quicksand... Norman had been sucked under and over the course of about
half an hour had been worked back to the surface of the vat - the gloop was
him breaking cover... 


The most shocking thing was his hair was green, his
skin was green, his strangely bloated tongue was green and the cream velvet
trousers that he was so proud of were also fucking green.... I still have
nightmares where I am chased by a pair of pea dripping green velvet
trousers....


I went back last year and although the factory is now closed, you can still
see through the grubby windows a faded brass plaque attached to the largest
vat. It's not possible to read the inscription from the window but the
words are forever with me "In memory of Norman Pettigrew - a little man with
a huge love of processed peas" ......

A Different Kind Of Normal

Life’s too damn short to be cleaning the washing machine with a toothbrush but that’s exactly what I found myself doing it this afternoon.

The question is, WHY?

Is it because I’m a clean freak and obsessed with cleanliness?

Do I have a secret desire to live in a sterile bubble where everything is painted white?

Do I get a strange sense of satisfaction from cleaning the dust and fluff from all the tiny little grooves that form the parts of the door (well, hmmm, yes actually, that was kind of fun).

But basically. No!!!

It’s all down to Mark, yes, he who still owes us an explanation for his green phobia.

A couple of nights ago, for some reason, we were talking about washing , Don’t ask me why, I have no idea how we got onto that subject but our conversations have many and varied twists and turns and go off on unusual and sometimes bizarre tangents.

Possibly we had been talking about achieving our goals in life. One of mine being, discovering the bottom of the washing basket.

This is where the conversation started to take on what I consider to be a surreal quality (please tell me I’m right).

It transpired that apparently he bases what he’s going to wear on whatever happens to be in the washing basket on any given day. Now to the average person this might suggest that EVERYTHING was in there and it was a case of deciding which ‘thing’ could possibly pass for one more day.

Not so.

It’s is so that when there is enough dirty washing for a machine load it’s all the same colour and everything can go in together. Now I know all about separating colours and whites etc, but this seems to me to be taking it to the extreme.

For example, mostly back stuff in the basket?  Well, he would choose black pants even if he really wanted to wear these: 

(haha, aren’t they FAB. Can you BELIEVE I found them on Google images).

Now I can see there’s a logic in that but surely that doesn’t make it normal? 

Normal is opening your wardrobe (or checking the ironing basket), standing in contemplation and waiting for something to CALL to you. 

Normal is wearing whatever happens to be clean and, if you’re lucky even ironed. Normal is ……… well, normal is NOT that!  

I happen to have quite a lot of purple in my washing basket at the moment. What am I going to do?  Oh, hang on, I’ll just pop out and buy some BIG PURPLE PANTS to make up the load.  See what I mean, it’s weird!

Mind you, this is a man who arranges his CD’s not only in alphabetical order but then by release date and KNOWS if you put one out of place.

This is a man who owns socks with the days of the weeks on them and not only wouldn’t dream of wearing a Thursday sock on his left foot with a Monday on his right but also only wears them on the correctly corresponding day!

This is the man who regularly vacuums the tops of door frames and claims never to have been licked by a dog.  Well, he HAS now. Lovely Frodo a beautiful ex racing greyhound we saw at my local park took a liking to his crotch and left a lovely slobbery mark all over his leathers.

See, that’s the thing.  In complete contrast he also drinks like a fish, swears like a trooper, loves his inks (tattoos to the uninitiated) and rides a fuck off great Harley.

I am certain that one of us is weird. What I’m not so clear on is which of us it is!

The Winner

I was really please to stumble across Write on Wednesday  at Ink, Paper, Pen.   

So many times I’ve revisited posts that I’ve written and thought of all the things I’ve left out . So, and I hope it is considered in the spirit of things, I’ve taken an extract from an earlier post Slightly Singed (part two)   and expanded it to set the scene a little more clearly.

This weeks Write on Wednesday’s theme is: “Detective Dialogue: For this exercise you need to be a little bit sneaky. And brave. You need to be around at least 2 other people (or a small child who will happily chat to himself and/or imaginary friends). Write down a conversation/dialogue exchange as you hear it.”

So, here is my contribution:

I rested my book in the sand and lay back on the rug. My face upturned to the clear blue sky, one hand shading my eyes against the glare of the sun.

The warmth soaked into my bones, my whole body began to relax.

Gradually I filtered out the sounds one by one. Gulls screeching over head. The distant sounds of the funfair. A mother scolding her child. The faint jingle of the donkeys harness as they slowly plodded up and down the seafront.

Switching off the babble and hubbub of the seaside, retreating into a world filled with only the heat of the sun and the tang of salt in the air.

’Clever Trevor’s going to win’. ‘No, Drop Dead Gary will get there first!’ The high pitched voices of two Brummie lads pierced my consciousness and piqued my curiosity.

I opened one eye. One dark haired, one curly and fair, both kneeling in the sand. 

Damp sand encrusted bottoms in the air, faces peering intently at something I couldn’t see. I rolled over and put my sunglasses on. Now I could observe without being seen.

‘Come on Clever Trevor’.

‘You can do it Drop Dead Garry’.

‘I can see him, look, he’s almost dug his way out.  I was right! Clever Trevor got there first. I’m the winner. I’m the king of the castle, you’re the dirty rascal’.

Then he leant forward and picked up something I still couldn’t see.

Holding out his hand, the sand trickling from between his fingers he shouted joyfully. ‘Fly away Clever Trevor, go back to your family, I’ll always remember you’.

And, with a whir of wings, the ladybird took flight and disappeared.

Yin and Yang

Today's been one of those sorts of days and its only lunchtime!

It started badly, not to mention really bloody early at about 5 o’clock this morning. As I hadn’t gone to sleep 

until after two I wasn’t very impressed.

I didn’t sleep well last night.  Sometimes I suffer from insomnia and don’t sleep at all. Funnily enough, I cope better with no sleep than I do with little or disturbed sleep.

Last night was little AND disturbed!

The main reason for that was knowing I had an early start for a hospital appointment this morning. An appointment that had been playing on my mind. Something I tried to make light of, to even make a joke of but inside, well, inside I was churning

.

It wasn’t a life or death kind of appointment. It was for a relatively simple procedure that might shed some light on my fat foot and hopefully lead to a resolution to the problem that has plagued me for a couple of months now.

The problem was with the procedure itself. It evoked memories of another time. The same procedure for a very 

different reason. It took me back to a place I didn’t want to revisit.

Last night I needed reassurance, I needed empathy, I needed understanding. I got all of those and I was really grateful for them. But, unusually for me, I needed something else, I’m not even sure I can articulate what it was that I needed. I don't think I conveyed my need.

Maybe it was to be the sole focus of someone’s attention.To be told that I came first, maybe not before EVERYTHING, after all,nothing comes before my children. But I needed to be somewhere near the front of the queue. It's not a position I usually crave. I like my independence, I like being self sufficient. I hate being needy and feeling weak, that’s NOT who I am.

Anyway, this morning I looked and felt like shit but, being up early has its advantages. Miss Mac was up, packed and ready for her school trip to the zoo in plenty of time. Master Mac, well, he was up but possibly still asleep, he is NOT a morning person.

The walk to the hospital isn’t far and it’s a great garden nosy opportunity which I took full advantage of on this freakishly warm summer morning.

The doctor was on time, efficient and very pleasant. The experience was not one I would chose to go through again but fairly painless and possibly not worthy of all the angst but it still left me feeling a little down.

So really, I could have done without walking slap into a ‘friend’ from my married life. A ‘friend’ who I had known for over a decade, a ‘friend’ who I had shared Christmas, New Year, Birthdays and  Summer BBQ’S with, a ‘friend’ who disappeared from the face of the earth once the news of our marriage break up became common knowledge.

I have lots of amazing friends, ones that I can honestly say saved my life and (in part) my sanity. But the loss of some friends I felt very keenly. Mostly I guess because they chose not to know the truth. I suppose this was to avoid having to make decisions.  I can understand that and to be honest, I didn’t want people to make decisions. There are always going to be the true friends who stand by you even if you are in the wrong. I guess I needed to accept that this works both ways but it’s a harsh lesson to learn.

I have to admit I was torn. Before me stood a person I had felt very close to, someone I'd trusted and cared for, someone who had let me down. Possibly the best option would have been a polite hello and to carry on our separate ways. In the split second I took to make that decision the ‘friend’ made a different one.

She made a big fuss of being pleased to see me, asking how I was, how were the children, what was I doing now. I stood in silence until she ran out of steam. I was confused, I was hurt,  I was angry. All the emotions that I'd dealt 

with came flooding back and added to the upset I was already feeling. I had no idea WHAT to say.

We stood in silence for just a moment and then she said, ‘I really don’t know what to say’

I found my voice. ‘How about the same thing you’ve been saying for the last 18 months’ I said ‘FUCK ALL’ and I turned and walked away

I don’t know how it made her feel.  For a brief moment it made me feel better, but it was only a brief moment, now I just feel sad again.  Sad at the loss of a friend, sad that she wasn’t really the friend I though she was. Sad that maintaining an illusion was more important to her than I was. 

I sat a while on a bench which bore the inscription “For our only child who was killed by accident” and I cried, I cried for me, for a friendship that didn’t stand the test of time, for the child who had lost their life and for the parents of that child.

And then I counted my blessings. My children, my true friends, the people I love and who love me.

I may not be the sole focus of their attention. But would I really want to be? 

I matter to them. 

They care about me. 

They are a part of my life and always will be. 

That’s all I really need.