The Best Gift

The Best Gift

I asked for the gift of love,

And it was delivered

In a large box.

I opened it slowly, with care

And found

Many packages within,

Each one making up the whole

Gift.

They were a surprise.

There was joy -

To share with those who are sad;

There was kindness -

To give to all who hurt;

There was mercy -

To offer to the ones who hurt me;

There was patience -

For those who I find difficult;

And I kept opening the packages....

Opening ...

The many parts of love...

Bank Holiday Weekend

4th May 2016

Bank Holiday Weekend


Again, looking back to last year and it's coming to the end of the April challenge. For both 28th and 29th April I responded to the prompt.
But there is a little story there as well about a grandmother who is not ready to die.
We've just been away with some of the family on a long weekend and I also am not ready to die. No one is, of course. We need to make the most of life and especially of those ones that we love . I am conscious that we are giving them memories that they will treasure after we are gone ( hopefully) , much in the same way that I treasure so much those times that a smell or a word can bring to mind memories of happy times with my own grandmother and now my mother and father.
When we arrived at the caravan park my main concern was that we would be close and that the caravans would be clean - they were amazing. More than big enough and scrupulously clean and although not all together they were within easy reach of each other, as I found out after doing a lot of complaining while studying the map the girl in pink was showing me.
Although it was quite cold, it was mainly dry and we had some lovely moments during a relatively short three days. Just walking together and chatting as we took in the amazing scenery of Dorset brought tears to my eyes. My children enjoying each others company as we ate a meal,  a simple pleasure but such an important glue for family life. The young ones playing games, getting to know their cousins and laying the foundations for future friendships.  The three babies who were with  adapting to the strange circumstances so well that our plans were never held up because they were with us.
It was indeed good. We need to do more of it.
I came home a bit tired but happy .



Day 29:  29th April, 29th Poem
Prompt: to use the idea of a bridge.


                                          Ponte Vecchio

Alone...

She walks out of Cretella's,

Most expensive Jeweller's on

The Ponte Vecchio bridge

Alone... as she wants

Ring given back

Him given back,

Each step lighter than the last,

Head held high,

Drinks in future possibilities

With each autumn breath.

New colour wraps her in  

Promise of adventure. 

She looks down the Arno River

Still,  blue, 

Reflections,

Like a painting,

Forms beautiful, but not real,

Was that how she was ?

Not  now,

Not now
No,

Now she  feels more than real 

If that can be.

Yes, that can be

And,

Now she  is free

Day 28:  28th April, 28th Poem

For the prompt:

In The Shade

Cold, 

Like marble,

Having hot bath

And also for today, a story:

                                Birthday

             My grandmother would much rather be running the London Marathon, especially as this was to be it's final year. Having already taken part seven times before, it was one of the things she most looked forward to.
             But, instead,  today being her birthday and also the last time we would see her, she is having a party.
             "Grams , what about this one?" Bright pink lipstick in hand,  hair dyed purple and gathered on top of her head,she looks away from the mirror as I hold up her  red dress decorated with tiny gold butterflies around the top.
             "OK, yes, that's fine. Get me a cuppa please, would you,  dear?"
             "In a minute, I just want to help find shoes to match your dress"
              The truth is I want to spend as much time as I can with her before she leaves for good.
Before I can bring the tea back to the bedroom she is standing beside me in the kitchen.
              "Wow, you look great. Well, you always do, but today..." I turn,  fiddle with the cups and quietly wipe away tears  that I can't hold back.
              "I never told you how I met your grandfather, did I?" she sips her tea, enjoying a moment of wistfulness. I try to compose myself as I answer,
               "No, but you better do it now or I'll never know." So she did.
               A tale of young love enfolds and we are both surprised when an hour later the doorbell rings. Mum and dad have come to take us to the venue.
               As we walk into the Sianuthe Hotel, balloons, music and about one hundred and fifty people give us  a cheery greeting. Grandmother smiles warmly as she is escorted through the adoring crowd, to her table, where she sees her close family gathered.
             "Happy birthday, Mum and huge commiserations. I wish it could be different" Auntie Rathuna  throws her  arms around her mother sobbing, as the others mutter their agreement with her heartfelt words. Two more daughters, one son and  five grandchildren take their turn in similar fashion. I try to sit next to my grandmother, but that place has been taken, on one side by my father, the eldest and on the other by Nick, my cousin and the eldest grandchild.
             We enjoy the most wonderful meal , with excellent service and even better food.
             "I think that salmon was the best I've ever tasted" Grandmother says pushing  her empty plate to the side and carrying on her conversation with my cousin Nick. She is always interested in hearing about his research into the  new  drugs programme. She has been closer to Nick since his Dad went three years ago after they found out that he had cancer of the bowel.
             It didn't used to be this way. In 2015 when grandmother was forty, dad told me that people were looked after when they had  these sort of illnesses and nursed till they died a natural death . He also said that people often lived till they were eighty or ninety or even a hundred. I couldn't imagine what that was like, what kind of world it was then . I mean who would look after all those people.
              My grandmother has been lucky. Today is her seventy fifth birthday. The age people are allowed to live to if they are fit and healthy.  If they didn't interfere she would probably live many more years. Maybe she'd be one of those who lived to be a hundred. No, that's too weird.
            The meal  over we hit the dance floor where my  grandmother, who loves dancing, doesn't sit down  till it's over.
The end of the evening comes much too soon  for my liking. But it's the way it is. The way it has to be.     We say our goodbyes, waving at the car as dad drives his mother to the Gryndiomo Centre where they will give her an injection and she will die.

Bacon and Cabbage

27th April 2016

Well , this day last year I wrote the poem "Hungry" for the poem a day challenge.
It's interesting looking back . Today, I'm going to talk about food. In particular Bacon and cabbage.

We had bacon and cabbage for dinner today, with
Potatoes and butter and creamy white sauce.
As the steam filled my kitchen I was momentarily  brought
To my grandmother's cottage in Thurles.
Nan in her apron waddles about the kitchen,
legs little sticks holding her round frame.

Black range cooker,  pots sitting on top
One with the bacon bubbling away-cabbage added later
Another with potatoes, always the floury kind.
Peat fire, bacon, oil from Casey's yard
I breath it in slowly.

As butter melts into my potatoes,
I remember my own mother too, making the ritual  meal
 "Kerrygold", the only buter for her.
The cabbage water she'd always save for dad
"That's where all the goodness is"

My bacon tastes of family-  history made
Future stories to come , for
Even the grandchildren look forward to,
Grandma's Bacon and Cabbage.


You can see we didn't go hungry today...





Day 27:  27th April, 27th Poem

We can be hungry in so many ways. I have not done justice to my original idea, but:
Oh, and by the way, notice that each line starts with H or F .. Any thoughts ???

                                              Hungry

How hungry suffers, he's

Hungry for food, but also

Hungry for a roof, for clothes to wear

For warmth, good health and friendship

For self esteem, for work,

For education, appreciation, he's

Hungry to be needed,  to belong,

Hungry for a smile, a touch, he's

Hungry for love, for the sun,  for the spirit,

Hungry to be free, to be normal,

Hungry for love.

Response to "Hole in my Shoe"

26th April 2016

Hello everyone,

I was hoping to do the poem a day for April but have been unable to focus in the aftermath of the deaths of both my mother and father in the last couple of months.  I believe that  I will see them again and for that reason I am at peace, but emotional feelings overwhelm me along with a debilitating tiredness  and vagueness. 
Most days I would like to stay in bed and pull the covers up around my head and not move, not get up. I do get up and I do get on with life, I'm just saying what it is I feel like doing.

So here I am playing around on my blog.
Looking back at this day last year I find I've written a quick fun poem about a true situation. My shoe did actually have a hole in it. Since then I've inherited my mothers shoes - some of which I like and others I like less.  So I have enough for now. 

By the way, I threw those ones out, the ones with the hole in...



Day 26:  26th April, 26th Poem - 2015

I was just thinking about having nothing to write about and this just tumbled out.    So, for better or worse: 

Hole In My Shoe

Stuck for something to write about
I search on the web for a clue
And  finding nothing that interests me
I can only think of my shoe

There's been a hole for some time now
In the sole of my favourite pair
And buying  new being out of the question,
I'll have to do a repair

So what do I do, where do I start
It's all a mystery to me
I've got some glue, but not the right sort
Time for a cup of tea

I remember what grandma used to do
To make her shoes last longer
She took some card and put it inside
It made them that little bit stronger

For a while,
Till the rain got in

Sitting on the Beach

23rd April.
Good morning everyone.
Yesterday we put new grass down in our front garden. It's made a big impact. Later I intend to go and plant my lavender.
Today we remember Shakespeare and also my husbands lovely mother, Win, who's birthday is today. Although she died twenty odd years ago she has left a lasting and deep impression on the family whom she loved so much. We often say things like:   " Mum always did it this way,"  "mum would be proud of that," "that 's the song mum used to sing in the kitchen,"  " nan would love this." and many more. She was always there for us even though she didn't always understand our reasons for doing things. I was very fond of her and learnt a lot from her that I carry on doing today.

Sitting on the Beach

Scarcely a ripple - like glass- blue, grey blue, green blue,

In horizontal strips from East to West.

A few moments to spare, we sit on the pebbles,

Drinking in the healing air.

There are others on the beach

But they don't know,

How can they, 

Why should they.

We look up to clear sky,

Then out to white sails, in the distance,

Yachts moving, but going nowhere.

Later they'll be back at the club.

Silence sits well with us,

We watch as gulls squabble and squawk 

Over bits of fish found, just in front of us.

This now, couched between the living of life,

Is life - for us.

This present moment our home, our security,

Protecting from the cruelty of time.

But now too, it is over.

We get up, reluctantly,

And walk back down the beach.

21/4/16 The River

21st April 2016

Just pondering on how things are never really gone only changed.

  The River

All things change , matter takes on new form.
The river winds, bubbles, meanders
Round bends , this way, then that,
Bound for the sea
High up waterfalls drop fiercely
into
Still, slow moving pools,
Stealing,  picking up  loose attachments,
Absorbing the colour of porous stone,
Until, eventually,
It opens out to the ocean
It is not gone,  it has been transformed.


Day 21:   21st April,  21st poem
The sun is shining, the sea is like a millpond - a springlike morning.

Just to follow the prompt I have given my poem a title that has a truth that cannot be refuted ( up to you). I had fun with this today. Thought it was a bit Joyce Grenville-ish. It's a bit tame in comparison to some of the times when I tried to gather my own children together, but...

Children Are Sometimes Irritating

Ah here's the book

Right let's sit down 

I'll tell you a story.

Need the loo mum ...

OK, Sam, 

Hurry up then...

No... you guys

Stay here

Keep still, 

He won't be long.

Here you are...

Come on.. sit , sit...

Now where were we??

No, you can't ..

Sit next to me,

Alex, 

It's Georgie's turn today,

But mum,

I can't see 

the book,

Well look,

Come sit on my lap

Now... 

Wow, 

Guys...

This wonderful story...

Yes, I see you've 

Cut your finger Chris, 

Mmm...

Oh dear, oh dear,

I'll get a plaster

When we're done...

OK, Alex, get Chris a plaster

Would you love!

Quickly mind!

No, don't cry,

No, I'm not angry..

Let's snuggle together...

Ok, everyone ready  ???

Yes...

Let's begin...

Once upon a time...

Brrring... brrring...brrring,

Bloody phone!!

Snip

16th April. 2016.

Along with the robin, the blue tits, the many sparrows and the two collared doves, which are an absolute delight,  we now have goldfinches gracing us with their presence in the garden.  My husband says we need finer birdseed for them, to encourage them to keep coming. Of course, I'd love that.
And did you see the programme about the brain and how to keep it healthy, in particular to combat the onset of dementia. Apparently we need to eat lots of purple fruit and veg - they mentioned blueberries, red cabbage and aubergines. The study they did , also found that exercise, especially walking briskly for two one hour sessions a week can be enormously beneficial. It is just the motivation I need to get up and get going. So today I will go for a long , brisk walk. Oh, and maybe buy some red cabbage.

Snip

Let me explain about the thread,
No, actually
Let me explain about the many
Threads.
The thread of my grandmothers tongue,
Falling from my mouth
On to baby birds
Those young ones waiting
To learn how to fly -
They look eagerly for wings
To flap,
To take to open skies.
They watch ones gone before,
Stretch the threads that hold them
A little further each time.
One by one
I cut them loose
They fly
Far from the nest
I fly too
Till finally
A last snip
And up
 Up
Up
I go
Where nothing holds me down
There is soaring
And freedom
And new horizons
Waiting for me.
Until, I realise , I need to find
Another thread
To make sense of who I am,
To know where I might be going.
I will look now.

15th April

15th April 2016


Looking back at my blog for this day last year, I see that it was a warm sunny day, very different to the one we've just had.
When I traveled  into Canterbury for the Writing for Wellbeing workshop , it was pouring with rain and I arrived a bit sodden, as did others.
I saw no white sails today, no ice creams, no children throwing stones into the sea.

Instead

Instead, shoppers hurrying
To get where they are going,
Out of the grey wet,
Hoods up, Heads down ,
Some carrying umbrellas.
Visiting students, standing in groups,
Miserably,
Trying to write on damp paper
The answers to "important"
Questions.
School children, uncaring
Ambling, white shirts stuck to skin,
Ties waving,
Weaving
A world of indifference.


What shall I  write about today?

Day 15: 15th April, 15th poem.

Yesterday, we went for a walk in the sun along the coast near our home.

White Sails

The sea a shimmering sheet of glitter,
Sails - white, pointing  skywards,
Formed like swallows returning
Home after the winter.
Watch-Children -
Throwing stones,
Ice creams dripping,
Screaming with delight as
they paddle in freezing water.
Watch -Couples- young,
Embraced  in happy dreams,
Caressed by warm rays..
Breathe in  North Sea health
And- Fish and chips.
Glorious summers day
In April

The Dash

Sorry for posting twice today, but just found this poem by Linda Ellis which I thought was beautiful. Do you know it ???

The Dash

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on her casket from beginning to the end. He noted that first came the date of her birth and spoke of the following date with tears, but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years. For that dash represents all the time that she spent alive on earth and now only those who loved her know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own, the cars, the house, the cash,

What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard; Are there things you would like to change?

For you never know how much time is left that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough to consider what is true and real

and always try to understand the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger and show appreciation more

and love the people in our lives like we have never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile,

Remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.

So when your eulogy is being read with your life’s actions to rehash…

Would you be proud of the things they say about how you spent your dash?

A Year On

14th April 2016
I was going to do the napowrimo challenge again this year but having lost my dad suddenly two weeks ago, I just haven't  been able to  concentrate . So today, with the warmth from the sun on my shoulder and a small  gap in the clouds of my grief, I thought I'd just take a look back at my blog for this day last year and see if I wanted to say anything in response to it.
I remember that day. We had had a very busy weekend . Lots of family had come for the baptism of little Rose.
We shopped and filled the cupboards , got all the bedding out  and undid some boxes that had kitchen stuff in as we'd been preparing to move and had a lot of things packed away.
The table was overflowing for days, the kettle was continually being filled for the endless cups of tea, the shower seemed to be constantly in use and it was difficult to find a space to sit down. But we loved every minute of it. The conversations with teenage grandchildren the ad hoc poetry sessions with the younger grandaughters  and time spent chatting and debating as only our family can.
We have moved house since then and are no longer just in front of the sea. A year has passed . The new house is a lot smaller, but we are waiting to have the place filled with that life once more.
Rose and her mum and dad have moved  away and now live in Shropshire. Although we wish them well , we miss them a lot.


Day 14: 14th April, 14th poem

Not being able to create a philosophical thought today I will just ponder on the quiet after the busy dance of the last week, which has been enormously enjoyable, albeit a little tiring.

Since You Left

The house is lonely -  the silence so loud.

The shower ,  its constant hum of running water,

Now stands quiet

The baby -early morning cries - a call to live.

Teenage girls spraying perfume- feint hints still  in air,

Talking - echoes of their laughter-  falls  

like timeless ghosts embedded in walls.

Toddler - wandering, following, constant questions 

Table overflowing, bursting , bubbling with chatter.

Singing boys and girls at kitchen sink- never ending dishes to clean.

Every room, every space  full, Fridge tightly packed.

All empty now - all vast , all hollow.

 the silence so loud - the house is empty

Photo of grandparents and great grandparents, with Ryan (Dad) Lucy (Mum) and of course, the star of the show, Baby Rose.