Thursday, July 31, 2025

Journal Entry 2016

 Journal Entry - 2016


31st July 2025

Hello everyone. How are things for you today? Do let me know. Maybe you will leave me a message. Then, I will probably answer you. 

This morning, deciding  to organise my journals, I find an interesting entry for 13th September 2016. Firstly, the date strikes me as significant given that Peter died on the 12th Sept 2024, and this year it will be 9 years almost to the day, since that entry.

The irony strikes  me when  I see that I' ve reflected on preparing for "our camino", especially, given that Peter died at the end of the one we finally got to do. To be honest, I didn't remember that we'd looked at it seriously at that time. So seriously that we were practicing.


 I write in my journal at that time: 
13th Sept 2016:                                                                                                                               ......"We went out on our first trek this morning to see if we will be able to do the Camino. Going out early, around six thirty, we completed a seven mile walk, to Reculver and back, setting a surprisingly good pace of about  about 3.5 mph. Not bad, I thought. As we walked we watched the golden sunrise in front of us creating a changing yellow light  across the sea, a blueish sky  unfolding  before us with each step we took. We hardly spoke, not wanting to break the meditative silence which was only interrupted occasionally with the gentle movement of the waves. 
We really started yesterday walking the two miles to mass and back. Not much, but it's a start , and Peter is totally behind the project now.  In fact he's more enthusiastic than I am. 
I have another challenge  on my mind. No, it's not my writing . I want to do the London Marathon.  Doing the park run most saturdays has inspired me. That, and Jo was talking about applying for it. Well, I filled out the form and sent it off. Next week Ill find out if I got in. If I have, I'll concentrate on that, putting the walking practice on hold for a while. 
If I don't get to run the marathon, we plan to walk the Camino in the Spring of next year.  And yes, we are mad. 
Peter is now reading everything he can get his hands on about doing the Pilgrimage. We will be so well prepared.”

There is another reference on 24th Sept:
After pages about writing group and the exhaustion of minding grandchildren, 
I think his enthusiasm shines through  here:
..."In the the background to all this , Peter is checking out extra lightweight tents so that we can go backpacking, especially on Pilgrimages. We are now planning our Camino  for next year, and looking forward the the adventure of it all. I hope that I'll be up to the hardship of sleeping in a small tent night after night and carrying everything we need on our backs . We'll see.
Peter's  friend and his wife recently completed the Pilgrim's Way from Winchester to  Canterbury. They camped with a small tent and big rucksacks. They're older than us. Of course he is more eager than ever now  and wants us to do this soon too. He says it could be a first real practice , apart from the long walks that we are already doing , that is.   We'll do more research and when we do it Ill write up the adventure. Look forward to that. Maybe write a book - "Our Camino" . That's  a little way off yet, but not so far that we can't work towards it.   Till next time..."

As I copied this entry from my journal it occured to me that the book , "Our  Camino" has yet to be written.
Obviously it'll  be a very different book now.

We never did get to do the Pilgrims Way from Winchester to Canterbury. I don't remember why. But I'd sure like to do it now, given that it was on his mind. Must look into that.   


 



Friday, July 25, 2025

All over the floor

2nd October 2023

 

All Over the Floor

All over the floor,

From one side of the room 

to the other, 

strewn haphazardly,

lay little mounds of clothes.

She sits in the midst,

her hand reaches for  

a purple jumper,

a tear falls 

and she breathes out 

a slow sigh.

As she always does, 

with black bags that 

are  left on her doorstep,

she tips  them out, 

all over the floor. 

It's something she always 

gets excited about. 

What will she find

among the many clothes, the odd assortment of brick o back,

 the varied collection of books.?

Always something she needs, 

for the children,  the house. 

And  always, the unexpected 

treasure.

This time its no different

nearly Christmas,  it is, yes. 

What does she find?

She finds shoes, 

burgandy coloured,  patent shoes.

Holding them close, she contemplates her reflection

And remembers at time , long ago,

dancing in shoes just like these,

being swirled around the dancefloor, 

laughing with him.

She loved those shoes, 

she loved him, she still does.

As she ponders, she delicately

 wraps her new treasure in tissue

and places them, with love in their box.

She wear them to the Christmas Dance.

A present for him.




This post is dated 1 year before the date of  Peter's funeral. Something struck me about it today. It seems like another life to me, the time i used to write so happily on my blog. 







Monday, July 21, 2025

He died in Santiago

 21 st July 2025

Hello everyone.

It’s been such a long time since I wrote a blogpost.

Since the death of Peter life has been difficult and very different. 

A practical part of that has included the dying of my laptop which I used to work on my blogposts.

I tried working with hubby’s but it wasn’t easy and my attention span has been rubbish.

Now, today, I find myself writing this blogpost using my phone.

Let’s see how that goes.

 It’s not easy, but I am determined to get back to the blog. After all, there might be some who would appreciate my words.




I have to discover who I am.

More than 10 months since he died and I can’t say I’m any nearer to finding out.

His death was sudden and traumatic, but also, in many ways beautiful.

This man of faith completed a Pilgrimage, the Camino de Santiago, a dream he and I held for many years, and which health issues prevented us from attempting sooner.

Though we were married for 52 years, that last year had been our happiest, our most joyful, as we’d grown closer together, and we were crowning that with our Pilgrimage, in Thanksgiving and in petition.

He died on the night of the last walk, having reached the end, having celebrated the Pilgrims Mass, having made many positive plans for the future. 

He went to bed happy and fulfilled, with great hope for the future.

He had no idea, we had no idea, how different God’s plans were, for both of us.

But, folks , what a beautiful way to die. I was and still am happy for him. He is with Our Lord and enjoying his eternal reward.

Me?

I’m still on my pilgrimage.


More to follow. That is , if I get a handle on this working on my phone!!! Not easy!

❤️


Tuesday, August 27, 2024

Any Change?

227th August 2024


Any Change


 All around me

 like a busy beehive, people  hurrying this way and that, 

chatter of voices, 

announcements over the tannoy,

 screeching of suitcase wheels dragged across the ground

 the low hum of the escalator as if straining under the weight,

In the distance, probably out on the street, 

could that be a busker singing folk songs?

The varied sounds of London Victoria Railway Station. 

Though my head is bent over my journal, 

my pen frenziedly  recording family anecdotes

In time with the buzzing that surrounds me,

I become aware, 

of Him.

Slowly, he approaches,

Comes near, a bit to near, 

He asks,

"Any change to spare ma'am?"

I half look up, my pen still in motion, 

I shake my head,

Look down,

Forget what I'm writing , 

but write anyway.

He moves away, 

An empty space, his shape space, his form,  lingers there,

in front of me.

I actually have no change,

Today.

Yet, what, I think, might I have done,

If I had.

As I ponder , I see, the Nat West Cash Machine,

Twenty yards away , maybe.

"Free Withdrawals " it says.

Could I, Should I,

have found  some change? 

Did he really need it, I wonder.

I pray he will have what he needs. 


 

 

Monday, March 25, 2024

The House was Full of the Scent of the Ointment

 25th March 2024


The House was Full of the Scent of the Ointment

"...Mary brought in a pound of very costly ointment, pure nard, and with it anointed the feet of Jesus, wiping them with her hair; the house was full of the scent of the ointment..."



These words from the Gospel today made me think. Mary's gesture was most extravagant in that the ointment was so precious. She used so much of it that the whole house was drenched in the sweet perfume. Judas would question the reasonableness of spending all that  money. 

I am struck by her generosity and her love. Of course her generosity is born out of her great love. I am reminded of Mother Teresa saying "Give until it hurts and then,  give some more." Like Judas, I question the Wisdom of giving too much. I calculate what I should give, how I should give, when I should give. Where is the Love in that?  And as I quibble about being asked for more, I find that I'm in a quagmire of grime and stench that stops me moving forward, that keeps be bound to myself.

Lord help me, during these days of Holy Week,  to be like Mary, to Love you more, to give without counting the cost. Help me Lord to fill my house with the sweet aroma from the ointment of  self giving, so that I can  rise with You at Easter  into the Light of Your Love.

 

Thursday, March 21, 2024

Actually it's Eleven


21st March 2024

This section of my memoir has touched many people. I've had a great deal of positive and emotional feedback from it. Thank you to all who contacted me . 



4th June 2020


Ten Things Of Thankful.




I thought for the TTOT today I'd share a chapter from my memoir. I am enormously thankful to God for all the experiences here.
I could count to many more than ten, but hey, who's counting. And to be fair who can count God's blessings.
Obviously, as it's just a chapter in the middle of my memoir, there is some knowledge that is assumed. If you want clarification please ask.




Actually It's Eleven

October 1982

I enjoyed my pregnancy and planned to do things right this time. My wonderful midwife, Brenda Tucker gave me a book on breastfeeding, “Breast is Best”. It became my bible. The first time round I got mastitis and was advised to stop feeding which put me off trying again the second time.

 With number three I was determined to get it right. Everything natural, including a home birth and no pain relief.  Studying the book, I could see where I had gone wrong before, which made me a bit sad, but also gave me great hope that I could succeed. I read it from cover to cover over and over. 

“I’ll book you into the midwives’ unit. It’s homely and you’ll be out six hours after the birth. It’ll be fine.” She patted my hand. She knew I was  disappointed, apparently, too high a risk for home birth because of the twisted womb that I was left with after Emma.

“And I’ll try my best to be there and if it’s not me, the rest of the team are brilliant too,” she smiled. I had come to rely on her. She understood exactly where I was coming from. I had seen a few of the other midwives. They were lovely, but Brenda was special, we had a bond. Even when I said I’d like to try without pain relief she said she’d help me with that. One of the others just laughed saying, “we’ll see.” I think it was because Brenda treated me with dignity, as an intelligent person, that I was so fond of her.

On the due date, October 1st I went to A morning of recollection in Winton, Oxford with Helena, Sonia, Sheila, and another I don’t remember. Feeling healthy I thought nothing of the forty minute drive and anyway, Helena was driving. I sat in the oratory and prayed. I was thinking about joining The Work (how members refer to Opus Dei) and was asking God if that’s what he wanted. Everything about it seemed to be just for me.

“Lord, if the baby comes tomorrow, then I’ll take it as a sign that I have a vocation,” and I hoped. The next day was the anniversary of the founding of the work,  2nd October 1928, which, obviously was significant. I read all I could about the founder Josemaria Escriva and loved his emphasis on holiness in the middle of the world - so attractive to me.

Sure enough that night I got inklings that baby was coming. Contractions on and off, fifteen minutes apart, then none for an hour. I’d had Branston Hicks contractions the week before, so initially didn’t get too excited.

“Do you think this is it?” Peter handed me a cup of tea.
“Just put it there,” I pointed to the coffee table while pacing up and down the living room. It was a Saturday so he was at home, which I was grateful for. By mid afternoon the pains were every ten minutes and sometimes closer.

“I think I should take you in,” he was getting nervous. His mum who had come up to look after the others agreed.

“No, we’ll wait a bit more.” I wanted to leave it as long as possible before going in.

An hour later we drove the fifteen minute journey to the Royal Bucks Hospital. Brenda met us and stayed with us the whole time, helping me have the birth I’d planned. Peter held my hand, tried to be helpful, always one for solving problems but completely out of his depth in this situation. With the absence of normal hospital equipment, although close at hand if needed, the room was set out like a bedroom, with comfortable chairs, coffee table with books on and pictures on the walls.

I walked about for a lot of the labour but eventually pulled myself  up onto the bed for the last stage.
Yes, the birth was painful, I won’t pretend it wasn’t, but I worked through it with my helpers and Katherine Sarah was born that evening weighing 6lbs 7 oz. She lay on top of me, Peter’s eyes filled up. He looked at me. I put out my hand to his, squeezed, both of us now shedding tears of joy.

As arranged, I was left without any drugs to expel the placenta, wanting everything to be as natural as possible. It wasn’t the normal way they did things, Brenda said and I’d read as much, that it could take quite a while for the placenta to come away. Baby was even still attached by the cord after ten minutes and was happy feeding.

“You’ve done it. And just the way you wanted, couldn’t have gone any better, so proud of you.” He kissed me gently on the forehead. He was right, all had gone well, very well.

“I know, she’s lovely, I’m so happy,” a delicious sense of achievement flowed warmly through my body.
I even got up after half an hour to go to the toilet. We’ll be home soon, I said to myself.

But it was not to be. The afterbirth came away, or so it seemed, but I started to feel unwell and it transpired that some of the placenta had been retained and I’d have to have a manual evacuation under general anesthetic.  We were not going home that night.

“Don’t let them give her anything, not even a drink of water,” I pointed my finger at my husband who stood there stressed, frowning.  I didn’t want to be separated from her and had genuine concerns and fears that they might decide she was hungry and give her formulae, which I was adamant she was not to have.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll make sure they don’t do anything untoward.” He rubbed my back while I gave baby her last feed of rich colostrum.
He was true to his word and when I woke later I heard her little whimper and looking around saw her in his arms, him cooing at her, the two of them totally in love.

Even though I was tired from the operation, I spent most of that first night feeding her. Peter had been sent  home. I was left alone. Staff wanted to take baby away too,  so I could get some sleep.  I knew there was no chance of that.
In those days we weren’t allowed to take the babies into bed with us so I sat in an upright chair, hooked up to a drip filled with IV antibiotics, and watched my baby feed, her little hand  squeezing my finger, both of us locked together in a sweaty embrace. I prayed through that night, thanking God for everything he’d given me.

Life with the  new baby.

“Oh mum, she’s so cute,” I lay on my bed,  Emma sat one side of me, James on the other.

“My turn now,” James positioned himself more uprightly. I prised the baby from Emma and placed  her in James’ outstretched arms. He immediately lifted her to his lips and kissed her forehead.

“She’s so tiny,” he said not taking his eyes off her.
 They loved their new sister form that first moment. They’d waited, peered out of our bedroom window and on seeing us, ran to meet us as we got out of the car.
 One of the first things Peter did was go shopping for some clothes for her. She was so small that the first size baby clothes we had swamped her. He ended up buying dolls clothes, which worked well for a month or so.

She was never without arms to hold her, from Peter’s mum and his sister Chris, my sisters Di and Kay, to all my new friends from church who came round with dinners, clothes, and cards, so many cards. It seemed that she brought joy into the world with her.

Life was good. I settled into a beautiful life, looking after our new addition and growing more and more in love with her as the days went on. Our little family grew close. At nine days, she was baptised, with my good friends Audrey and Jose as her Godparents. Audrey, now a catholic was over the moon to be asked, it was like we were family. They moved to Tenerife a few years later, to start a business. Although I was happy for them, I was also sad, especially as we couldn’t afford to go see them. We kept up contact by Christmas cards and the odd letter, but It would be  thirty two years before we’d see  them again, when in in 2016  Peter and I had week’s all-inclusive holiday in a hotel near where they live. We went for coffee had meals together and it was like the years just melted away. We definitely won’t leave it another thirty-two years.

When she was just eight weeks, I took Katie on retreat with me to Wickenden Manor, an Opus Dei house in Sussex. Helena took me down and had her four month old daughter, Mary Anne, with her. Three days of peace, praying, time to think, to work out with the Lord what this chapter of my life was going to be. Although we were in silence in the house, Helena and I found time to wander the grounds with the babies and chat. And sometimes I would keep her awake late in the evening with my enthusiasm to hear more about what it meant to live my vocation.

Life with our new baby was not only a great joy, but also so much easier than I expected. The feeding went well and I fed her anywhere, discretely, of course.  In fact, I had a better social life than ever before, visiting friends, going to prayer groups and church meetings. Nobody minded baby coming, quite the opposite, it was always a conversation starter.

-------------

“I need you to come home,” I never phoned him at work. Any problem or disaster could usually wait till he got home.

“What’s up, what’s the matter?” I could hear the machines in the background and the office door being shut. “That’s better, I can hear you now. What are you saying?”

I told him I was bleeding, that my tummy hurt, but not like when you have a period, that I nearly passed out.
By the time he got home I was in tears in the bathroom.

I’d thought I might be pregnant but as I hadn’t had any bleeding in the ten months since Katherine was born, I didn’t mention it.

“I’m sorry love, I was worried, I suppose it could be just the first period after so long, but it doesn’t feel right.” I knew in my heart it wasn’t.

“What do you want me to do?” he stood on the landing, looking at me.

“I’m not sure. Make a cup of tea for now.” I stayed put. He went downstairs.

“Love, can you come up,” I shouted out. He came bounding up the stairs.

 We both stared, both  peered  into the toilet bowl, both not knowing what to say, both linked hands trying to take it in. The fetus was not even the size of the palm of my hand, maybe seven or eight weeks, no more.
 Now, even thirty seven years later I find it hard to think of it, still a wound within me.

 There was only one other time I had a miscarriage. That was ten years later in 1993, in Studland Close. Our neighbour, Molly, helped me that time. There were eight children by then.  I lost a lot of blood, had to go into hospital for a D and C and a blood transfusion. Again, it was early, about twelve weeks. I don’t recall much, I was too ill, but like the first one it’s remained with me and when I tell people I have nine children inside my head I add, actually it’s eleven. 


Wednesday, March 20, 2024

A Long Life

  

 20th March




 A Long Life


Your life is not long on this earth ,

open  your wings,  flutter in royal magnificence,

reaching far and wide.


Your life is not long on this earth,

with patience gather those who are poor,

in kindness bring abundance .


Your life is not long on this earth,

with joy, bring  rest to the weary,

to the anxious , bring peace .


For your life will be long on  this earth, 

according to the love you have for the others, 

according to how little 

you think of yourself.


So here's to a long life lived,

with days spent 

in fullness and joy.

reach for the stars.



Wednesday, January 31, 2024

St John Bosco

 We celebrate the Feast of John Bosco today. I've always had a great love for this Saint.

With a particular concern and care for the young, first with evening classes where hundreds came to listen to his teachings about God and Heaven.

he eventually set up a boarding house for apprentices and workshops for education and training, which is wonderful , thinking about them working and doing well and not just thinking about their spiritual lives. After all it's all one , our struggle with sanctity and our whole life is part of that. 




Some of his sayings:

"My children, jump, run, and play and make all the noise you want but avoid sin like the plague and you will surely gain Heaven"

"learn to flee from bad companions and bad books"

"Without confidence and love , there can be no true education. If you want to be loved ... you must love yourselves, and make your children feel that you love them."

"Act today in such a way that you need not blush tomorrow"

"Servite Domino in laetitia!" (serve the Lord joyfully)


Friday, May 19, 2023

Memoir

 17th May 2023

How's The Book Going ?

That's a question I'm often asked .

So:

Let me tell you how things are going with the book. xxx

The short answer is , amazingly well, thank you. In fact way beyond my expectations!!




Without any real marketing or advertising,  lots of orders are coming in for my memoir. This is both surprising and truly unexpected. 

However, as I find it virtually impossible to promote myself, it's also  been helpful.

  My old friend, Imposter Syndrome, finds many reasons why people wouldn't be interested in my story.    You know how it goes:                                                                                                                    "Who do you think you are, you're not a real writer."                                                                                                                            "You're a rubbish writer, so immature," he continues, "You've absolutely nothing interesting to say," and, "Who on earth would want to know about your life?" And so it goes on. 

Well,  Mr Imposter Syndrome, judging by the feedback, apparently lots of people want to know about my life.                                                                                             And, what's more, My Imposter Syndrome , I actually went and did it. I did.  I went and  wrote the book!  So there!!

Anyway, I'm no longer friends with him. I'm letting him drift quietly, out of my life. Or, maybe he'll cause a scene.  That doesn't matter. All I know is, he has to go. He's taken up far too much time and energy and is no real friend at all. If he comes knocking at my door I'm going to firmly tell him to get lost. 

So, dear friends, those who read my blog regularly and those who have stopped by on the off chance, let me share with you a sample of some of the beautiful comments I've received about my memoir, "Nun to Nine".  

The blurb on the back says:

The  title  brings  the question over and over, " Were you a nun , then?" , to which the answer is variations of , "Well now, you'd have to read the book to find that out, wouldn't you?" And this is encouragement enough for some.

Some comments from those who've read it:

  "There is Plenty to recommend about this book.... It is deftly written, with an eventful and entertaining life story and has pace and vitality...                                                                    I think Marian's storytelling is, by far, the strength of her writing. She writes effortlessly, with believable dialogue and with an eye for good storytelling. The reader is drawn into the story immediately with the account of the death of her parents... The story is both lively and interesting throughout, and maintains the readers  interest from start to finish."  ( C) (Part of a much longer piece!)

"Finished! A really good read and I didn't want to put it down. I completely "got " the characters, you're so clever! You took such a risk, opening your heart as you did. Your courage has be in absolute awe. I hope you have already started the next book... Thank you for such a beautiful and heartfelt memoir. It will remain with me for a long, long time!" (M)

A friend says:

"It is very much your voice: direct, personal, honest. And the  thread that runs throughout is your and Peter's love for each other. God knew that your vocation was to marriage - with all the sacrifices that entails - not to a nunnery. It wasn't blind chance that brought you together; it was the providence of God... " (F)

"...what an opening chapter. Emotional and beautifully told 💓😭 in pieces." (K)

"...the first chapter has me in floods of tears! Do I dare continue? 😟" (J) Rhetorical question, obviously.

"Thoroughly enjoyed reading the fabulous Marian Green's recently published memoir. It was as though she was with me, on my train journey, telling me her story." (C) 

"Had to contact you to say I started reading your book and love it." (M)

"Dear Marian,                                                                                                                         just started   reading your book last night and was   in floods of tears at the picture you painted of your parents' deaths.

You are very good at making the scenes come alive by describing the little details. For example, the purple blanket that you and Peter first bought in London which you couldn't bear to get rid of. 

You seemed such a warm and plucky person full of determination and full of fear simultaneously. I can relate to that!. The early times in Northampton when you felt the darkness inside you before you found Faith. And Peter's steadfast love for you even when you annoyed him!

I am hooked by the story and find it very heartfelt ... I haven't finished the book yet  as I want to savour it for a bit longer. " ( E)

      "Finished reading your memoir. I didn't want it to end . I was hooked from the beginning and wanted more..   Marian that was a well written memoir ... (Name) keeps asking me about your book and if I've read it...I loved reading it and hope you write a further book ..." (K)

"Hi, I just finished your book. Loved it...I thought it was a triumph. I found myself engrossed in the beauty of seemingly ordinary life. It's charming, conversational pattern warms the reader. What I loved most about it was, well, while it is of personal interest to me, its social commentary highlights the wider human experience. Its ontological truth it highlights on human nature is fascinating , like holding up a mirror to what intrinsically makes us human.                                            PS.  I might use it with my philosophy class next year..." (M)

" Wow, what a lovely memoir. I definitely wanted to know more about your life. So interesting." (F)

"I so loved reading your memoir Marian. I took it on holiday and it was like having a friend with you telling all the stories of their life. x  I can't wait for next one " (K) 


And  many people ( well, probably over  ten ) have said  they passed it on to others, (some two or three times) to a family member, or friend.   

Someone came up to me and said she'd been reading my memoir - her friend gave it to her and told her it was brilliant.

Another person told me , "your memoir is doing the rounds of all my friends. I'm sure they'll love it. " (W)

And a friend caught me after church one morning and said, "Marian, I am loving your book. I've known you for how many years now, is it twenty something? Well now I know you better. You were very brave being so open. It's wonderful and I'm passing it on to ..." ( C) 

And from Marnie Summerfield Smith , my mentor:

"This is an absolutely wonderful memoir. I am very proud to have assisted Marian, who came to one of my writing retreats and invited me to read and feedback on her work. A wonderful woman and a very insightful memoir, full of retrospection, thoughtful writing and emotion. Bravo, Marian!"  ( www.yourmemoir.co.uk ) 

Well, thanks Marnie. 

I am absolutely blown away by such wonderful reactions.

So, if you're wondering how to get your own copy, email me at:

marian-green@hotmail.com