Someone recently asked me, what rules do I try to live my life by? Good question. In no particular order:

• Do no harm

• Be kind at all times

• Ask yourself, is this helpful? Whatever this is

• Don't put off difficult tasks

• Face your fears and understand them

• Try to learn new things

• Try to set yourself realistic goals

• Figure out your purpose

• Think before you (re)act

• And always, always, listen first

Of course, this is just the basic list, there are more I could add but, these are been a good start. And you, what rules, if any, do you try to live your life by?

Today is the day I got a second chance when the surgeon—this time last year—removed a foot of colon in order to exorcise a small cancerous growth. 

I am eternally thankful to be one of the lucky ones. Things could have gone oh so differently if they hadn’t caught this early enough.

One year on, I feel more positive and healthy than I have been in the last four years. And, as a result of this surgery, and everything I went through, I now have a future again. 

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

I was reading Craig Mod’s essay, Walking the Length of Manhattan, this morning, which left me wondered about some of the epic walks I’ve done in my life. I haven’t walked the full length of Manhattan but I must have come close while I lived and worked there back in the 80s. Every weekend I walked and walked and walked. I never really did the metro and rarely bother with the bus. Traffic was as silly back then as it is now. So why not walk? It was definitely faster to get from A to B.

Continue reading…

These are always fun to do, like a reverse wish list of things you haven’t done yet but, might be tempted to do at some future point. Or, maybe not.

Never have I ever:

• Ridden on a camel in the desert

• Smoked pot/ganga/weed

• Drunk a gin and tonic

• Danced the highland fling in a kilt

• Played a penny whistle

• Been scuba diving

• Flown a helicopter

• Swam the English Channel

And you, what have you never done?

Reading one of Robert Birming's post, We Live and We Learn, made me think of something my mother once told me and I don't know if it was something she learnt or was told, but I distinctly remember her saying to me one time:

One of our greatest gift is our ability to forget.

It wasn't till much later in life that I fully understood what she said in the context of why anyone would want to forget, especially the good things in life, but after a handful of painful events in my life I realised her words made perfect sense. While we might not forget the essence of something that happened to us—a car accident, the loss of a parent, a nasty breakup—time and fading memory do a good job of lessening the emotional impact of these events, which is what I think my mother was trying to convey. That, while at the time we're feeling an unimaginable pain or hurt, time really does make the emotion of that moment fade to somewhat acceptable levels.

I think it's one of life's greatest gifts and, in truth, gives us the ability to carry on. So please remember that sometimes, it’s quite okay to forget.

I realised something today while sat in the chair at the hairdressers as Suzanne got out the razor. The fact that, as a child probably from the age of 4 onwards, it wasn’t my mother who took me to the hairdressers to get my hair cut, but my dad.

As in, I went with him and my 2 older brothers to the barbers and then, later, all 4 brothers. No mother or older sister in sight. I was always sat with the boys getting my hair cut by a barber, and cut short like my brothers. 

Right up until I was eleven I went to the barbers and always had short hair rather than the usual long hair most girls had. 

Continue reading…

Dear Writer,

While it might be true, you are the next Truman Capote, budding Frank Herbert, or even maybe the Ernest Hemingway. You really should know that I am unable to give you any advice on how to outline, write, rewrite, market, or even sell your book. I no longer have the connections to refer you to the best literary agent, let alone a competent one. Besides, my limited time does not allow me the luxury of reading any and all material you decide to send me, unsolicited, let alone give you an opinion on. And even if I could, there are only so many hours in the day and like any of my species (a one-time over-worked editor) I have a limited life span. Which, I might add, is getting shorter by the minute having to answer your questions and emails.

Reading a manuscript, appending tracking notes, and giving pertinent advice about it, is not only time-consuming, but is a paid, skilled job performed by professionals. My advice to you is not to ask an editor to do this job for you, for free, unless you're friends, and I mean, a really close friend. Otherwise, you should be willing to compensate the editor as you would your lawyer, your dentist, or doctor, when seeking their professional advice and help.

If you are still looking for free advice and some pertinent articles on writing then, by all means, become a subscriber to my blog.

Yours sincerely,

Alexandra
a retired ex-editor

Today. Today is a day to be quiet. To hold my own. To put the soap box away. To not let something I read online get the better of me.

Today is a day for calm reflecting. For contemplation the quiet moments between doing and not doing. Between being and not being.

Today is a day to let the shit of people’s online opinions not affect me. 

I don’t need to respond. I won’t respond. Life is too short to be caught up in online bullshit. 

Not every opinion needs to be expressed. Not every opinion needs to be shared; especially online. 

My mother always said: “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything.” 

I shall just quietly sit here, look out the window at passing clouds, and reflect on human nature, and how to improve my own life for the better. Be that with poetry, with song, and with kindness.

Always, with kindness.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

It’s raining. A soft drizzle. Gentle in its insistence. Coming straight down. It’s been raining since the wee small hours. I awoke at around 1:30 am this morning to hear its soft plink plink against the window. There was something rhythmic in its random symphony. So subtle it lulled me quietly back to sleep only to wake me again later, at around 5:30ish.

I think it was lonely, wanted conversation. It had been quietly calling to anyone who would listen, ‘hey there, hey there, hey there…’ I spent a few more minutes listening but again, it lulled me back to sleep. A wonderful, dream-free sleep.

And now? Sitting here, once again, it’s mesmerising me, gently lulling me to drift off into a tumble of random thoughts thinking of the ethereal world just beyond ours. Of fairies and gnomes, pixies and sprites. The curtain of rain a thin gossamer divide between two worlds that, if I look hard enough, I’ll see them, there. Waiting. 

Maybe it’s not the rain calling me but the Fay world beyond. Beckoning me to come play. I think I can see the sun shining out the corner of my eye, just beyond the veil.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

Yes, you read right, I’m feeling sorry for myself today. Why? 

I got all dressed up early this morning to go to the Botanical Gardens to have a walk in the cool, but also, to take a few floral portraits. My favourite kind of happy snaps.

But did I get there? No. I did not. I locked up, went down the fire escape out into the carpark at the side of our building and made to cross it and … 

Managed to pull a hamstring … I think. I mean, I think it’s the hamstring. As I can flex the muscle okay while I’m sat down. I just suddenly cannot walk. Well, properly that is. There’s no swelling, no bruising I can see. 

Something definitely went wrong between my front door and making it downstairs to the parking lot. What though, I have no idea.

I’ve iced my calf muscle and slathered it with Valtaran cream in the hope that might help. I’ve also popped a Tylenol for any swelling and pain. 

And now, I’m sitting here with my second brew of the day, feeling sorry for myself. I’m having a moment. I’m walling in a pity party at not being able to go out. A child sulking.

It’s the perfect day to go for a walk around the gardens. The sun’s out in a clear blue sky, there’s a cool breeze, and there’s no humidity. I mean what more could I ask for?

Bah, humbug … stupid muscle … mutter, mutter, mumble, mumble … 

I absolutely love the Great British Bake Off so, when I saw this book challenge I though 'yeah, sign me up for that one.'

ON YOUR MARKS – A Book You Can’t Wait To Read

I can't wait to read The Last Mandarin, a fast-paced, all-too-real thriller co-written by #1 New York Times bestselling author Louise Penny and award-winning journalist Mellissa Fung, global politics become personal for two unlikely heroines.

The Last Mandarin is an electrifying study of absolute power and voracious greed, political terror and personal conviction. But it is also, as to be expected from the minds of Louise Penny, beloved author of the Gamache novels, and Mellissa Fung, an acclaimed international journalist, an intimate examination of choice, of sacrifice, of memory and myths, both cultural and personal. It is the story of a mother and daughter, as well as a compelling international thriller about the precarious balance of power across the world, and within a family. And what happens when both break down.

Continue reading…

Sometimes, the best of intentions is not enough. I started doing weekly notes which, at the time seemed fun, and then? I stopped because I realised I was just rehashing stuff I’d already talked about throughout the week. And let’s face it, no one wants to have links to posts they’ve probably already read.

So I stopped doing them. I write most days and only miss a day or so at the weekends because, you know, life. But then, along game the idea of writing about a handful of Little Things something akin to Three Good Things. And not necessarily having to write them weekly, but whenever some happy little thing happened. Which, again, was fine for a while. 

Sadly, somewhere along the line, I stopped writing those for some reason I’m not sure about. Possibly because me and mine were on holiday for 6 weeks and, well, again, I was writing a lot of posts about what we were up to, and the fun things we’d seen and or eaten. So, these posts seemed redundant.

But, unlike WeekNotes, I actually miss doing the Little Thing posts because if truth be told, they’re more about the little moments throughout the day I should be rejoicing and remembering. So I’ve promised myself, even written a Post-it note to the effect, that I should start writing these again at the end of August, after #Blaugust is over that is. 

Then again, I just might instigate them starting tomorrow. 

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

By the way, we ate here. Lunch was delicious. 

And no, no photos of my meal this time. I simply forgot. 

I swear on my mother’s grave, I am not giving the stiff finger to Frank here. Honest. I was just pointing to his name when the OH snapped a photo …

I read two very interest interconnect blog posts this morning from Jim Mitchell and Sebastian¹, both talking about the why and way they blog. Which, of course, got me to thinking about how others blog and, in particular, how I now blog. 

After a lot of starts, stops and even going as far as to delete various blogs over the years. I think I’ve finally found what works for me: The Garbage Can approach.

Pretty much everything and I mean, everything I want to write about, goes on this blog. A personal post, check. A film review, check, a post about blogging, check. I realised the reason I kept starting and stopping was I was trying to force each blog I started into a tiny set of parameters. 

And me? I like to colour outside the lines. A lot. 

It took me a long while, but I think I’m there. Now I just write what I want. When I want. About what I want. However I want. 

This blog is both my online journal and a place to share things, but also a place to archive thoughts, events, notes and observations. As much is it is about writing in reply, like this post is, to other bloggers.

Why can’t it be everything? 

I found by limiting myself to either one thing or the other, I was putting too many constraints on how our minds work, our thought like butterflies, flitting from one thought to another, and back again. 

So that it, that’s how I write. Whatever it is that pops into my head, when it pops into my head. I’m sharing it all with you, and, of course, for prosperity.

After all, it’s not written in stone, right? Right? 

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

1. By the way, we all seem to envy how neat and tidy Darren Hester’s blog is, and dream of being this organised and creative. Maybe … one day …

Yesterday, while most people were off out to go see an eclipse, I went into town (well, okay, the city) to go check out a yearly craft fair held in the old quarter, Plein Arts. This year it’s being held in a huge aircraft-sized tent just around the corner from the Parliament buildings. Actually on the old Armoury parade grounds if you want to be exact. I got a bus that dropped my off by the parliament gardens, and snapped a whole load of photos to share with you all. 

Continue reading…

While the OH’s coffee has them thinking of past coffees, and remembering other times, other places, and conversing with cats about the weather. I find it’s that first cup of tea that sparks my brain into life. Especially if it’s a cool morning then, I sip it outside, in the shade on the balcony, listening to the sparrows in our privacy hedge chirruping at one another.

Their frenetic chatter is a constant and I often wonder what it is that they find to talk about, endlessly, as the sun slowly edges its way around our apartment building, bringing glimpses of the day to come. Like this morning, the subtle change from cool through to humid.

I brought out the water bottle this morning, filled the bird bath and sat to one side sipping my mint tea. They came, they danced at my feet. Sipped the water and told me it’s going to be another hot one, and offered thanks for the water.

At least, in my mind, that’s what they said. I tossed them the last of my breakfast toast and came inside, leaving them to it. A mother brought her babies to the water, she showed them how to scoop it up for a drink. I smiled, happy.

Some days, life can be perfect.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

A family of four are suddenly sealed inside their home with no way out, and must work together to survive against both their dwindling resources and the mysterious, looming threat that is keeping them trapped.

The premise for The Last House, a new movie showing on Netflix, made me hope for a good Hitchcock thriller, where it is more about what you don’t see than what you do. And, to begin with, this one started off good enough but sadly, fizzled out midway through as there was just not enough tension or palatable fear.

Throw in the fact the ending was nothing short of head-scratching, and the monster element a little weak, and what you have is, at best, a lacklustre attempt at a horror movie that falls short. Very short.