Cold Mountain

A few years' ago I read a book called 'Cold Mountain' by Charles Frazier; I believe it was his first novel. It took me a little while to get into his drift of writing, but when I did, I couldn't put it down. Then, shortly after I'd finished reading his novel, I heard that the film was in production. The film was a hit with Nicole Kidman and Jude Law and when I saw it for the first time I cried and cried. The film came out after my lovely man had died and emphasized too, too much the power of love and devastating effects on those left behind. What else can we do, those of us left behind? We struggle on and try to make a life of what's left. In the film, Nicole Kidman says that there were 'clouds and clouds, then there was sunshine.' I'd like to know when my sunshine will come? Perhaps it won't...

As an Optimist am I always deluding myself? Or, am I one of the few fortunate ones that is looking forward instead of backwards? Perhaps my sunshine will come after all...

Holidays

Trying to book a week away for half-term holidays for two daughters, myself and three children is turning out to be a nightmare; it was so much easier back in the 60's when my young brother and I were carted off to a campsite in Cornwall.

I presume too much; how do I know it was easier. Who knows what complicated arrangements my parents had to make in order for me to think it all happened by clockwork. But then again, not everyone was going to Cornwall, unlike now when the world seems to have booked Center Parcs! All accommodation in all four sites are taken for the half-term week. I should have known!

Perhaps we could all go to a campsite in Cornwall instead?

More than Petal-deep

I'm always amazed at the beauty and perfection in a lone flower or petal, whether its shape is misformed, damaged by weather or dying. I have a huge number of photos of all kinds of flowers, berries, plants and leaves which the viewing of, cheers me up on dull days.

As I get older I view people this way too, something I should have done when I was younger, but probably too arrogant, immature and proud to do so.

I am no beauty, as someone pointed out to me a couple of years' ago, when comparing me with a photo of my mother in her twenties. She was indeed a striking woman with high cheekbones, full pouting lips and thick, dark hair; nothing like me at all.

When I look at my four daughters, I see four very striking, beautiful women, who, like my mother, are all much more attractive than me. I must be a throwback to a hard-working, work-weary ancestor; of the tall, fair, plain variety. Nevertheless, I have managed to turn a few heads in my time; probably in disbelief, rather than admiration. And when someone has told me how attractive I am, I just don't believe them. He told me often how lovely and attractive I was, and still I didn't believe him, saying that he was biased.

I now think that we are all like the flowers and plants in my photos; no matter how weather-beaten, stunted, broken, misformed, damaged or dying; we are all beautiful in one way or another.

More than petal-deep.

The right word

I once bought a book for my ex, many years' ago entitled: 'The Right Word At The Right Time', in the hope it would resolve a few problems of communication we both had. Of course, it didn't help - it was a very large, thick book that neither of us read, so it sat on the bookshelf gathering dust.

Over the years, I have listened to comments, (although well-intended - I think), that have in some way, upset me, but not knowing how to redress the problem, or whether it was just me taking it personally, I kept silent. Looking back, I can see now that the real issue was me and the embedded experiences of my whole life that coloured my interpretation.

An example: Just after the funeral I received this comment: "D'ont worry, you'll soon find another man." It really upset me at the time, but now, looking more closely at the person who said it, I can see the words meant something slightly different to them, and that in their own clumsy way, they tried to tell me there was a future.

I no longer get upset by 'iffy' comments but look at the context in which they have been stated. The ensuing problem may not be the actual words, but what an individual interprets them to mean.

I know that I have also upset people with throw-away comments that I haven't taken the time or trouble to think about first; it is a problem for all of us, without exception. I have been thinking about some of the things I have said to my girls and friends both in the past, and recently, and wonder why I still don't think before I speak. I should know by now, that what I say, and what is understood can be so different. I am an idiot sometimes and hope that if I have offended them past or present, they will forgive me.

Dubious phone calls

A day like any other - I thought. Preparing for my friends' visit this friday; cleaning, shopping, tidying garden, deciding menus; then the phone rings. "Can you give me details of your massages?" "Excuse me?" I reply. The line abruptly ceased. Hmmm. Another caller who misdialled. It happens now and again. I have had about a dozen calls of this nature over the last two years, usually at the weekends, never on a Wednesday morning before. Two years' ago, after the first couple of mis-dialled calls, my son-in-law-(in waiting), did a bit of detective work and discovered that my phone number is similar, apart from one digit to that of an Oxford-based sex club. I had thought about changing my number, but that would entail so much hassle. Instead, I have answered the calls with undisguised surprise, sometimes I get an apology, most times the line goes dead. It isn't the only type of misdialled occurrence; on a monday morning usually, I receive calls from people wanting to make an appointment with a doctor; is it coincidence? Is there a link? Is a Widget involved?

I smile as I imagine the expression on the poor caller's face as he realises his mistake; and can almost hear the expletive after he has rapidly hung up the phone.

Perhaps I should re-train as a Masseuse after all!

To bed, with my leg.

After the storm the sun emerged casting its bright life-giving rays over the battered flowers. The orange Geum quivered contentedly in the breeze, smiling despite the tear-drops of water on its velvet leaves; calm had returned.

The owls are hooting again, a fox calls and the nearly full moon struggles to peep out from behind the dark night-blue clouds. Here I am again about to go to sleep; left leg throbbing and twitching like a bag of worms; 'fasiculation' is the fancy medical term. A pinched nerve from the spine? Who knows? The doctors don't! Still, it amuses my two young grandsons. None of their classmates have a Nana with a twitching leg!

I am so pleased that my attempts at the weekend at pasting HTMLs has in fact worked! And, I have now managed to move the symbols to the right-hand bar - wonderful! Now I can sleep - left leg permitting.

Breasts, Sunshine and Lunch

Yesterday was a real moody monday; wind howling across the open field, battering my nurtured verbena bonariensis and bending the last of the chocolate sunflowers to the ground. Only one thing for it: sit at the computer all day and try and paste in HTML codes to my blog - what else would one do on such a day? It was a good day for a breast scan too. My first! Previous tales of squashed breasts against cold metal and of guaranteed intense discomfort preceded my arrival at the travelling van parked outside the Doctor's surgery. Nurses sat drinking coffee, asked me a few questions and in no time I was naked from the waist up and leaning this way and that while the nurse with cold hands squashed my flesh into different positions on the X-ray machine. I'm passed being embarrassed, so do as I'm told without a murmur. In just under ten minutes it's all over, no discomfort, no pain - very clinical and matter of fact - good! I can tick that particular box, but await the results before doing so.

Postman brought an invitation to an interview next Monday - part-time library work at one of the University Libraries. I must brush up on the Dewey Decimal System and the University itself.

Today the wind has subsided, the verbenas have bounced back and the sun is gloriously shining down on my little patch of garden, lifting my spirits as I prepare for lunch with friends at a pub about 45 minutes' drive away. Two friends and colleagues from my past life, when as a Police Trainer in the golden days I met him and fell in love. They have been loyal, funny and there. We have these lunches every two or three months to catch up, laugh and reminisce. A reminder that I was once alive and participating in every aspect of life; and a little hope that one day I will again.

While not a day for pasting HTMLs, it is a day for a short blog, long lunch and smiles.