43

Well I'm 43 now.

It's an odd number, 43 - not only because of it's lack of evenness, but also because of it's all round weirdness. For a start it's a prime number. Nothing goes into it but itself and one. It's like the Billy-No-Mates of numbers. There are no stories that go with being 43. When I was 42 I could console myself that at least my age was the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe and Everything. But 43? It feels like it's an in-between number. A thinking about it but not quite sure yet number. A getting there number.

It really fits me.

I love being 43. I'm over the freaking-out-because-I'm-in-my-40s now. I'm suddenly aware that all the experiences I've had up to this point, good and bad, have really taught me a lot and made me a pretty nice person. I'm so glad to be past the wanting-babies age. Of course I am a mother and I love being one but I can see that as my children grow ever more independent I have to relinquish that role. I get to be Jane again. And actually that feels pretty darn good.

What I've discovered in the last wee while is that the best thing about 43 is that it is in no rush. 42 wanted all the answers because it was freaked out by how large a number it was. 42 had me convinced that I was slacking off, letting precious time slip away. 42 thought I was feckless. It was constantly looking ahead making old before my time. Not 43. 43 is calm. It knows that I'll get there. 43 wants me to enjoy where I am right now. It's not odd or lacking purpose. It's just totally chilled out with being 43.

The first day I was 43 I was woken up to the smell of pain-au-chocolat and tea. My wonderful husband and giggling children brought me gifts and cards. Texts came through from loved ones far away. I got messages all day from friends near and far. Later work colleagues showered me with flowers, wine and chocolate and thirty two gorgeous children sang Happy Birthday to me. My eldest child who has been very poorly for the last 3 weeks began to recover. I shared a wonderful meal with Hubby and my children. Then Hubby and I had a bottle of wine and watched When Harry Met Sally. We laughed big fat belly laughs at one of the best written (IMO) scripts ever. It was a really lovely birthday. I think it was the best one ever. Thank you all for that. It's a lovely thing to be wrapped in good wishes.

Today is my third day being 43 and I'm just as happy. You see 43 has given me a great gift - the gift of being in-between. The space to think about it because I'm not quite sure. The knowledge that I'm getting there. I love being 43.

A Modern Day Knight's Tale

So in my classroom the theme for this term is all about Knights and Castles and all things Medieval. During the morning discussion time on our first day back the teacher asked the children to come up with anything they knew about the topic. We had many and varied suggestions about weapons and armour, turrets and princesses, moats and drawbridges. Then there was a loud fanfare and a six foot tall Black Knight walked slowly and purposefully into the room. He was in full regalia - helmet, chainmail, armour, sword - the whole deal. You could've heard a penny drop (silence like this never happens in my classroom). The Knight handed a parchment to the teacher upon which was written a message from the Queen of a nearby moated castle requesting that the children train as knights and go on a quest. It was all very exciting.

After the Black Knight took his leave, the children were put into groups and asked to discuss how they could train to be a knight. I overheard a boy nearby tell his group...

"Did you know that Mr T. is a Knight?"

"Is he?"

"Yeah - coz he wears all that golden armour?"

"Isn't that just necklaces and stuff?"

"NO! It's coz he's a Knight!" The boy was very forcefully making his point and just make sure that there was no doubt about it he added, "Aaand not only that - he's ackshully the Queen's bodyguard. For real."

I don't know about you but my immediate image was of a blacked-out van screeching up to the door of Buckingham Palace. The door flies open in front of the waiting monarch. When a voice from the front yells,

"What you waitin' for? Get in the van fool!"

That had me chuckling all day.

Ahem!

Sod it. I'm choosing writing. I don't want to be a teacher.

Bad Blogger Checking In...

Hello everyone.

HELLO ... ELlo ..lo..o.

Echoy around here isn't it? Not surprising really. I mean why would anyone else bother to hang around these parts when I haven't even been here in a month myself??? Only I see I have had a few visitors and I am so mortified that I haven't been here to bid you welcome. I've had enough of these hiatuses (hiatii?) for my mates out there to realise that I've been preoccupied by the rest of life. I have a real problem balancing creativity and its pursuit and the more mundane realities of life. And of course I've just gone back to work.

It's good. Work. I fell like what I do is making a difference and I think that I've got a real leaning in that direction. For those who don't know I work in a primary school as a teaching assistant for pupils with special educational needs. And it's going well. I'm doing a few more hours this year. I do still have some time in the day for myself though which I should be using for writing but I'm getting used to the new routine and I've been kinda worn out. I've been finding this last week that things are starting to click into place so I think that I'm ready to incorporate writing back into the day.

There's a real tug of love happening with work and writing (and I include blogging in that). I feel that I'm going to have to commit to one or the other soon and if I commit to further training with education I fear that writing will fall away. So I'm going to give writing one last burst of enthusiasm. I'm going to do a little personal NaNo this year. I'm not signing up but I'm going to commit to trying to finish a first draft of one of my WIPs. So November will be the month I decide whether to carry on or change direction.

I didn't even realise I was going to say that. Yikes. But that feels right. Pick a road.

Yikes.

Anyhow sorry I haven't been visiting you lately. I'm going to try get back into it again. I just hope y'all remember me.

Wassup?

I'm struggling to find anything to post about.

School's back and in full swing again and I'm really enjoying it. In the last weeks of August I did quite a lot of writing and I haven't done much since. I've been giving myself the chance to settle back in at work but actually the truth is I'm not in the mood.

I KNOW!

Honestly one of these years I'll figure out the peaks and troughs of my writing moods and I'll work out a timetable that fits in with the peaks. I find that I'm dreaming a lot. Sometimes it's about my WIPs, sometimes it's about my future and sometimes it's just a little idea that I'm spinning around in my imagination. Did you ever 'take a line for a walk' in art class when you were a kid? Just take a black crayon on a blank sheet and twirl it around any which way to see what shows up. Then afterwards you colour in all the shapes it made to see if you can see a pattern? Well I'm doing that with little ideas, just to see what comes up. Right now it's a lot of scribbles but who knows perhaps there's a Picasso just around the corner.

I read somewhere this week that Mercury - the planet of communication - is currently retrograde. This means (I'm told) that plans get scuppered, things are a bit frustrating and anything to do with communication is fraught with frustrations. On the other hand it's a very good time (apparently) to go over things and check details so all those of you who are revising and editing have the stars on your side. There's always an upside if you look hard enough. Anyway I'm not letting my lack of output frustrate me. I'm just going to take my mind for a walk and see what shows up.

What are you guys up to?

September Starts.

Back to school tomorrow. Poo. Poo. Smelly old poo.

Today is the day for sorting it all out. There are those who have probably had their children's uniforms pressed, their spanking new shoes polished and their bookbags primed with new stationary since the second day of the holidays. But not me. I have learned that being too organised too early makes one complacent. Things get forgotten. More importantly - children grow. They shoot up during the summer holidays like little sprouting beanstalks. They may have some recessive giant genes.

So today it's shoes and bookbags.

I'm pretty sure they are OK for a day or two re uniforms. Maybe. They'll be fine.

They're not back to school tomorrow anyway. It's just me. I have to go in for a morning to go through all the stuff we're doing for the up-coming term. Also I get to meet the teacher I'll be working with next year who is new to the school. I must try to make a good impression.

Things to remember:

1. Be on time.

2. DIARY.

3. Pens.

4. His name.

5. What it is I'm employed to do.

6. Where I work.

Should be fine.

The boys go back on Thursday. Big Son goes into Key Stage 4 and is immediately plunged into all thing GCSE. Poor sod. And Small Son officially leaves the Early Years Foundation Stage and ploughs into Key Stage 1. He's officially a big boy now and even has his first wobbly tooth to prove it. Daughter goes back on Friday. She's just freaking out because she hasn't received her bus pass yet. I should probably be freaking out about that too but until I started to tell you about it I'd completely forgotten. (Must ring the transport people. Must write that in THE DIARY. Must remember to look at THE DIARY.)

Now for the first thing. Clean children who have become practically feral over the summer.

And oh yes - get out of bed.

Dearest Diary

I got back on Friday afternoon from a really, really lovely week away with the Fam. We have mostly good weather (I'm rather pink in odd places where I missed squirting with the factor 50) and just because I'm not a sun-worshipper the weather angels also blessed us with a bit of drizzle too. Perfect. It was tough going being away from t'internet for 7 whole days but as with any fasting (self-enforced or otherwise) I came back to it with a deeper respect and appreciation.

I also took the time to think about how I've let everything in my life slide along, taking me with it. I do truly believe that being in total control of one's life is an illusion. Life is like the sea, big, powerful and all too capable of raging storms. However it's foolish to assume that you have no control over what happens in it. I'm afraid that, in my natural inclination toward going with the flow, I have allowed even the babbliest of brooks and the stillest of streams to carry me in directions I really have no interest in going. I have become the opposite of organised - not disorgainised - anti-organised. I can see that I've always leant in this direction. I even label my slothfulness in a cute way, thinking of myself as 'energy efficient' rather than lazy. In my youth I was given to terrible bouts of stress and bonkersness and I learnt the hard way that swimming against the tide gets you nowhere but knackered. The trick, of course, is knowing when to stand the hell up and march to pool of water you want to be in and when to ride the tide. I'm sick of ending up on the same old stretch of beach with my manuscript no further along, my house a mess, I'm permanently perplexed as to why I have no money and constantly embarrassed that I'm late for everything (if I remember at all).

No more I tell you! - Well not as much anyway. I have taken my head out of the clouds and had a good look around. I have been doing everything in my life half-heartedly. I am a terrible housewife. Mostly because I hate the term and all that it implies I have railed against it by being rubbish at it. But actually I am a total home-bod at heart. Home and family mean everything to me but I don't give it any respect. Yet I know that when I have done it well, it has given me great satisfaction. My negativity toward it is tied up in not wanting to be seen as a housewife - it's a term that has no value. I loathe it. So I have decided to rename it. I am a Homemaking Goddess. Currently I'm a pretty crap one but now that I have rebranded it I am already feeling more enthusiastic.

It's been nearly two years since we moved from our old house. (We moved in Oct '07 and spent a few months in a rented house before finally moving in here in Jan '08). I miss my old home. I miss my old life and mostly I miss my old friends. So much so that I have never bothered to embrace the new place I have found myself in. Instead of becoming part of this community I have spent my time daydreaming about going back to my old one. Instead of making new friends that I can hang out with, I started to hang out almost entirely on the blogsphere. Now please, please don't get me wrong. I love, love, LOVE all my blogging buddies. I ADORE hanging out with you and I am grateful that I have each and everyone of you in my life but none of you live close enough to go to the movies or share the odd glass of wine and a natter. I miss that. I need tangible friends as well as my very excellent virtual ones. It's taken a while for me to really internalize it but this is my home now so I'm giving up longing to be elsewhere. I have a great house in a beautiful place. My children love their schools and my husband actually manages to get home from work in time to have dinner with the family. (His old commute was nearly 5 hours a day!). I am very lucky to have a part time job which gives me the freedom to be there for my children and gives me the time to do other things with my life if only I managed that time better. In short I am a very lucky girl. It's high time I embraced it and appreciated it. Part and parcel of this is that we have started making our mark on the house. As I write Hubby is painting all the woodwork in the hall - including the stairs themselves, having already relaid the parquet flooring and built a new understairs cupboard. My excitement knows no bounds. I may have moved into this house 19 months ago but it's finally becoming a home. This makes me very happy indeed.

The next thing that I have realised is that I can no longer rely on my memory. Time was that I had the sharpest memory going - practically photographic. It got me through the educational system with very little effort although it has to be said that when it comes to physics - memory alone doesn't get you very far.... (college - not so successful). In my career (B.C. - before children) I project managed jobs, orgainised crew, transport and equipment and at any one time could tell you exactly where anything or one was. But in recent years I have found myself totally forgetting stuff. Not just letting things slip my mind but actually losing memories. I have lost count of the number of times I've forgotten about events - both mine and the kids'. It's got to the stage that when the phone rings my first instinct is to panic and think "What the hell have I forgotten now?" I have a diary for work and a calendar on the kitchen wall that sometimes act as a reminder - but I forget to fill them in and when I do - I often forget to look at them. Essentially I haven't been taking my unreliable memory seriously. But no more I tell you! I have bought myself a kick-ass diary which will go with me EVERYWHERE. In it I will keep phone numbers, reminders, lists. It has a page to view and times all along the page.

I am going to keep a schedule. If it says on my diary that should be having a cup of tea - then by golly that's what I'll be doing. But mostly I just want to throw off this awful sense of being utterly unreliable. In my heart I'm wholly dependable - I have just come to realise that my memory - well, not so much.


As for the finances - Thrifty is the new affluent.

Then of course there's writing. I don't know whether I just had a crisis of confidence or was just plain overwhelmed by my out of control life but the biggest casualty has been my writing. I have two MSs on the go right now and both suffered from my apathy and general malaise. But no more I tell you! I am scheduling in 1 - 2 hours of writing every day. It's going in THE DIARY. During this time I will not be ferrying my children hither and yon. I will not be doing laundry or cleaning up. I will not be walking the Pooch. And most importantly I will not be hanging out on Facebook. Whether it's one hour or two - if it's in the schedule, I will only be writing. Even if it's rubbish.

I feel calmer already.

Diary says it's laundry day. I am a Homemaking Goddess. Laundry mountain - here I come.

The List.

I'm looking out the window at the interminable drizzle as I make lists in my head about what I should be taking with me. I've already made actual written lists but you can never rely on those. The kids are all still asleep. Two hours left and the five of us and the Pooch will be confined to the car for 6 hours - or more!

Notebooks
Reading books
Computer
Memory stick

I'm on my way to the Atlantic coast of England for a week. In my opinion it's the best bit. It reminds me of home. Millions of years ago it probably was attached to Ireland but we grew apart. Still the landscape remembers the wild days - the rugged, windswept, squally days of yore. However I'm hoping for summer breezes for the next week. And sunshine. Blue skies and fluffy white clouds would be just the ticket, thank you.

Chargers - phone and computer.
Glasses - (on face)
Sunglasses - (soon to be on face once we drive out of this cloud)

I'm hoping for a relaxing week. The beach, reading and a bit of writing. This isn't one of those doing things holidays. I want to come home from this one without feeling the need for a holiday.
As long as I remember everything now that's what it'll be.

Bags packed (must remember to pack underwear)
Towels - (beach and bathroom)
PENS!! - DO NOT FORGET PENS!
Dog stuff - bed, bowls, food, blankie, lead, towels
Beach things - boogie boards, wetsuits, buckets, spades, windbreaks, chairs, tent
Picnic stuff
Rug

Now first things first. I must get up and get dressed. Breakfast. Start making piles of stuff.

What else?

Oh yeah - the kids. I suppose I'd better bring them too.

See you in a week.

Snack Poker.

Around mid-morning small son came up to me and said,

"I'm hungry."

I gave my stock reply to this statement,

"Did you eat ALL your breakfast?"

"Yup! But I'm still very hungry. Can I have a snack?"

"OK. What kind of snack were you thinking about?"

"Uuuum... Not sure... Shall I have a look at what's there?"

This roughly translates as "I know exactly what I want and I know that you don't want me to have it, so I'm playing for time and I'm hoping if I get it myself, so you don't have to leave your laptop, you'll just let me have it." I know this, but I'm on a roll writing-wise and I know if I get up, the moment will pass - so I say:

"OK - but bring it up and show me before you tuck in so I can see if it's OK."

He seems happy enough with this and takes off to the kitchen. I hear the stepping stool being pulled across the floor so I'm guessing that he's going for the biscuits which are in a tin on the highest shelf. Moments later he appears by my side. In his hand is a can of Coke.

I give him my best poker look. "I'm not sure that Coke is going to take the hungry feeling away."

He looks at the can in his hand then looks straight at me and replies,

"Maybe. But I'd like to check."

Of course I folded.

I'm Baaaaack!

At LAST. At. Long. Bloody. Last. It's the summer break. I have six weeks of no school. I would say I haven't felt like this since I was a seventeen except that I used to get 3 months off when I was in High School and 8 weeks off in primary. The British education system is a tad stingier with vacation time. Still I'm not going anywhere near this gift-horse's gob. I'm just pleased that my jammies and I can get reacquainted with the daylight hours.

Now if I can just convince my children to stop expecting me to drive them everywhere I'd be a very happy bejammied bunny.

So to the news.

Big trumpet fanfare!

I officially returned to writing mode at the beginning of the month when at the very last hour (actually I think I had about 3 hours to spare) I sent an entry into Jason Evan's Clarity of Night flash fiction competition. The prompt was a photograph of a crystal glass filled with red wine and the title was "In Vino Veritas". Truth in Wine. Jason had a co-host for this competition - Jaye Wells, author of Red-Headed Stepchild, who herself was a former entrant of a Clarity of Night competition. I have a huge soft spot for Jason's blog and his competitions as it is the place where I took my first tentative steps into the world of writing and it is through him I have come to know so many of you. How Jason holds down a full time job, writes so much incredible poetry and fiction, manages several blogs (although alas the Book Roast is no more), takes breathtaking photos AND runs these competitions at regular intervals, is beyond me. (Rumour has it that he's a damn fine husband and father too). I can only assume he has wizard magic or he has learned how to bend time.

This is the fourth competition of Jason's I've entered and with each one I have gained insight and learned so much from the other entrants. And with each one I got better. In the last competition, Ascension, I got an honourable mention which for me felt like being shortlisted for the Booker!!! This time around my excitement went into the red zone when I diligently tuned in at 5pm yesterday (local time - noon EST) to find that I got 4th place in the competition. Theeeeen I read further down and blow me if I didn't win the Reader's Choice Award. Oh My Giddy Aunt! I immediately went into "Oscar" mode and started thanking the world. I almost went into Sally Field "YOU LIKE ME" mode, (as we share a birthday I have to blame the stars for that impulse) but 20 years of living in England has taught me something about restraint. Instead I went on Facebook and screamed OMG!OMG!OMG! at the world. Much classier.

So to say I'm a tad stoked is a bit like saying the sun's a tad warm. I'm beaming. But the truly fantastic thing about the competition is the company you get to keep. And I have to offer my warm and hearty congratulations to JR Thumbprints (Jim Tomlinson) whose entry,The Sober Truth About Tyler & Zachary on Bickerstaff Street, won the day. I urge you all to have a read because it's just excellent. The Honorable Mentions list included our beloved blogging buddies - (that our means 'belonging to us collectively' - I didn't mean to sound like the queen) - WHIRLOCHRE with A Full Bodied Red, STEPHEN PARRISH with Through a Wine Glass, Darkly and AERIN with Presage. I'd also like to point out that Absolute Vanilla, Sandra Cormier, Peter Dudley, Sarah Laurenson, J.C. Montgomery, Aniket Thakkar, Catherine Vibert and Sylvia Spruck Wrigley all were inducted into the 40's club (which means that they scored over 40 out of the possible 45 points in Jason's marking system) as well as many many more fantastic entries. I hope that new friends will be made this time too. On top of that, in the reader's choice award Peter Dudley took second place with Judgement Day and Chris Eldin took third place with Brotherly Advice. So can I get a big YEEEEEHAW! And say Well Done Us.

There I'll put my trumpet down now.

I do just want to say a massive big THANK YOU to Jason and Jaye for being so incredibly generous and taking the time to sift through 158 entries. It was an amazing contest and I really appreciate your hard work. I also want to say thank you to everyone who gave me their vote for the reader's choice. I'm gobsmacked and thrilled to bits.

And in case I forget my entry is here.*

*Contains lots of non-PG words of the ear-melting variety.

An Invitation To Get In Touch With Your Inner Beard.

As I mentioned on my previous post I am a regular tuner-in to Facebook. I really enjoy it as, deep down, I'm quite a sociable hermit. You get lovely links on there to articles, videos and news items that are of interest to your friends. I frequently get asked to join campaigns - some of which even make sense to me. Then once in a while a major injustice is brought to light that impassions you so much that there's nothing for it but to jump straight on that band wagon and grow a beard.

Yes you did really read that right.

Today, it came to light that children's author Philip "Beardy" Ardagh (writer of the Eddie Dickens series and the recently published Grubtown Tales) managed to get himself banned from Facebook. Now although I had not 'friend'ed him myself we do (or did) have quite a few friends in common so that we frequently 'met' on a comment trail (most recently a very edifying discussion on why having a large overdue baby is similar to giving birth to turkey) and I have often laughed out loud at his wit and all round good humour. He is (or was) an active Facebooker which apparently is the problem. As author Mary Hoffman explained beautifully in her blog, Book Maven,

....he took it into his head to wish someone a happy wedding anniversary and then compounded the felony by wishing someone else a happy birthday. He received two warnings from Facebook about abusive behaviour and has now disappeared from the site.

All his posts have also been removed.

Apparently being too sociable on this social network is frowned upon by the powers that be. Philip was, to say the least, a tad confused by all this and wondered if perhaps the PTB (powers that be) were in fact a tad beardist. Never let it said that members of British SCBWI will sit idly by while their hairy brother is being thus discriminated against. No! Fear not because the friends of Philip Ardagh are campaigning to have him reinstated so he can further entertain us for no fee.

Basically we want the beard back. And to show the Facebook PTB that we are not to be trifled with, friends (and in my case, would-be friends) of The Bearded One are donning beards in solidarity and publishing them on the group page dedicated to his return www.facebook.com/pages/Beardy-Ardagh/95221544449?ref=nf. And so dear bloggy friends I ask you if you too are on Facebook, to photoshop on your best beards and become a fan. I admit that at the time of posting I have no idea how to upload your hirsute visages (as mine was done by Absolute Vanilla who also created my Grizzly Adams look) but I will find out*.

On a slightly more serious note for writers everywhere who are actively encouraged to use Facebook for promoting and marketing their books, we really do have to stand together and slap those PTB for this outrageously high-handed approach. Beardy needs us. So if you feel the same way, then please, please, beard up and join in.

This is me...


Do I remind anyone else of this?


* UPDATE: Absolute Vanilla tells me that you should be able to upload your pics into the fan album in the normal FB way once you are a fan.

YA Censorship.

I normally check into Facebook in the mornings when I'm sitting up in bed having the cup of tea that Hubby has lovingly made for me (yes - everyday - tea brought to me in bed! I know - I'm lucky!) and this morning my friend Maureen posted a response to something that was happening in Florida regarding one of her novels. I should come clean now and mention that my friend Maureen is none other than Maureen Johnson and in case I might give you the impression that I actually know her or have in fact ever met her in person I should (for clarity's sake) also mention that she has 2,734 (at the time of posting) other friends like me ... on Facebook. Maureen made a video to respond to a Fox News report on a mother and her friend who were trying to get two YA novels (one of which was by Maureen Johnson) moved from the YA section to the Adult section in public libraries because they did not approve of the content. Do have a look at it - it's fairly self explanatory. (Note: if you click on the video so that it actually plays on the You Tube website, Maureen has kindly linked to the news reports and the passages spoken about in them in the sidebar next to the video).



I don't know how you feel about the subject of book banning but personally it appalls me. On many many levels. Now those of you who have watched carefully may now be shouting "but the woman did not ask for the book to be banned!" and this is true - what she asked for was for it to be moved to a section in the library where her daughter could not access it. She is effectively asking the library to censor the content and to act as babysitter for her child.

I have no doubt that the woman in question did not feel that the books her daughter "randomly" chose were appropriate for her daughter. I think she was genuinely shocked at the content of these books. This is her right. It is totally up to her how she choses to bring up her children. However that does not give her the right to censor the reading of other people's children. The thrust of her argument is that the more adult content is not appropriate for younger readers. A twelve year old is far too young for some of the themes, concepts and even more explicit (but y'know - mentioning sex does NOT make it porn Lady) content of these books. The books were clearly in the YA section and that section was clearly marked as 12-18 year-old.

Here's my point - YA does not mean yeah, it means Young Adult. These books are for older teens. Young adults in fact. Personally I have always seen book banding to be like a recommended reading age and that recommendation gives you some idea of difficulty level (both in terms of prose and concept) and content appropriateness. Twelve year olds are what we call middle grade (9-13). There is no doubt that a lot of 12-year-olds will be well past MG books and would prefer to select from the YA shelf. As far as I'm concerned this is how it should be. A child should not feel bound by age bands. These are just recommendations. And there are plenty of YA novels that children of 12 and 13 can happily read without their mothers having a heart attack. However there are also plenty which are edgier and which reflect a more realistic and grittier side of growing older and many parents may not want their 12, 13 and possibly even 14-year-olds exposed to this. This is their choice and I fully respect it. However I feel this means they should teach their children (as I have done) how to chose books. My kids know how to look up reviews and research authors on the net and possibly most importantly, they know that I also am very familiar with YA authors. They know that I'm as likely to read any book that comes in the house as they are. There is nothing more likely to help a child be a discerning reader than the fact that their Mom's going to want to borrow their new book.

And that's the thing isn't it? If you care about the books that your children read you should take an active interest in what they are reading. It is not up to the public library service to monitor what your children read. That is your responsibility as a parent.

I do not believe that my children will be corrupted by literature. I think there are many books out there that might challenge them in the way they feel about certain things, how they think about certain things and how they view the world in which they live. I am not scared by this. I welcome it. I want my children to learn to think and to morally interrogate this world. They should not accept it at face value. They should have values of their own which they arrive at not only by instruction but through their own exploration. And reading - all sorts of reading - in invaluable in growing up a well rounded individual. I hope my kids will never feel they have to hide a book from me (as I did from my mother). I hope they will always know that they can come and discuss with me anything they read that they love, hate, are confused or enthused by. What I hope most of all is that my children will always have books that they will want to read.

I have to admit to you now that I have not read The Bermudez Triangle but I have read several other books by Maureen Johnson and I have to tell you that she is a superb writer. She writes about quite weighty subject matter without judgement, with the lightest of touches and she is also a wonderful humourist. It moved me very deeply that she appreciates so much that her books have touched the lives and helped teenagers who are struggling with issues - whether it is with their own sexuality, or with bereavement or simply with first love. I for one am very grateful for writers like her.

Young adult books are meant to relate to the lives of our young adults and as such will frequently have content which is too grown up for the average middle grader. This does not make it an adult book. It does not make it a smutty book. Our children will be faced with making tough choices in their lives and reading about those subjects can help to equip them to make good choices. And I for one do not want some Pink Jacket Lady with a stick up her ass censoring the books available to my child just because she was too damn lazy to inform herself about the reading material available to her child.

Crossroads.

My husband asked me last night if I'd given up blogging and for a second there I had to think about it. I mean what's going on with me? I've written very little in the way of fiction in the last few weeks, my blogging posts are rarer than hen's teeth and I've even been a bit scarce on the blog-visiting front.

The honest answer is I'm not sure but I know it started with my performance review at work. I was confronted with a big decision about my career. Do I continue down the route I'm on, developing my skills and possibly training further to be a teacher or do I resist that route knowing that it will inevitably take me farther away from my dream of being a writer. I'm so tired these days that I can't get my head around writing a blog post let alone plots and characters. I really enjoy my job but it's draining, physically, emotionally and intellectually. It feels like I'm at a crossroads but I'm just not willing to chose a route yet.

What I decided - pretty much on the spot - was that I would increase my hours but I would still be part time. I elected for more training in special needs with particular emphasis on autism and speech and language development. In the meanwhile I'm going to see how I feel about my writing after the summer holidays. I have six weeks off and that's plenty of time to discover whether this is what I need to do or if there is another path for me to take...

The REAL Reason For The Success of Breaking Dawn

I've just come back from our little town where I was doing some shopping. I was in our local bookshop/stationers when I couldn't help overhearing a conversation. It's hard not to when the participants are speaking that loudly. There were two middle-aged women and a teenager who was the daughter of one of the women. The daughterless woman (DW) was looking for a book.

DW: I'm looking for a book for Jenny by that woman writer - you know, Stevie Mywotsit - who writes about vampires.

Teenage Girl (TG): Oh yeah - Stephanie Meyer?

DW: Uhm - I really don't know. All I know is it's vampires.

TG (leading the way to the teen section which had a whole section devoted to Stephanie Meyer): Is it these ones?

DW: Yes! Yes! Oh but she has all these already she's just missing the last one.

TG: Oh that's Breaking Dawn - it's still out in hardcover. I don't think it's in paperback yet.

Then TG has a good look around the shelves and even goes to the front of the shop to check if it might be with the new releases.

DW: Any joy?

TG: No - afraid not. They tend not to stock harcovers of teen novels in here. The shop's too small and they only keep a small selection. I did see another Stephanie Meyer book over there though - it's in a different section.

OM (Other Mum) suggests they go have a look and they all decamp to another shelf to stand in front of The Host.

OM: You could get that for her instead.

DM: Oh yeah, I s'pose. Is it the same as the others?

TG: No. It's a different genre. This is science fiction. My friend read it though and she said it was brilliant.

OM: And a lot of writers write similar in their different books. If she likes them vampire ones she might like this too.

DM: I dunno. She really wants that last vampire one to see how it comes out.

TG: Just order it online. You could have it in a couple of days.

DM: But she's nearly finished the ones she has...

At this stage a slight quiver of panic was starting to enter her (very annoying and loud) voice. The other two just had blank expressions - clearly they did not understand the problem. So DM continued...

DM: Wot it is - right? When school finished on Friday she came down here and bought them other books and disappeared with them into her room. She loves them. She's had her head stuck in them non-stop. I haven't seen hide nor hair of her since...

Then she took a breath and added....

....It's been lovely.

Hubby's Pretty Pictures

As I mentioned (somewhere) in the previous post (or possibly the comments), Hubby took a few pictures of the bluebells and woods too. I think you'll agree that these pics don't need frilly prose to make them look good. So all I'll say is - Enjoy!
This was taken in The Bluebell Wood in Ashridge on the road to Ivinghoe Beacon.

Ashridge, Bucks.

Mossy logs and bluebells in the woods near our house.

A very English woodland path.

Beautiful green sycamore leaves.

If you took the time to look down, the woodland floor had plenty of gems to offer.
Bluebell.

Buttercup.

Woodland Anemone.

Pretty Pink.

And so ends our little nature walk through Springtime in England.

Woodland Wandering

It struck me as I walked through the woods recently, that there is a magical quality about woodland that you don't find in any another landscape. It's no wonder that fairy stories grow up from this environment. Everything about them stirs the imagination. Free from the pollution of humanity they feel more purely natural and yet, so strangely supernatural. The moss under the trees looks and feels like a luxurious natural carpet - fit for Titania as she plots against her treacherous Oberon. Every step you take is accompanied by an orchestra of bird calls while the breeze gently breathes through the trees.

It is at its most bewitching in spring when the bluebells cover the ground with a purple mist. The sun is still penetrating the burgeoning canopy filling the space with dappled light. You can almost hear the giggles of the fairy folk. There is evidence of them around if you take the time to look carefully.
This is unmistakably the front door to a castle.

A meeting place perhaps - a fairy school.

And what of this? Am I alone in thinking it looks like a discarded spell book or tome of woodland wisdom?

Another thing that I love about the woods is the way that nature has decorated it. The ground is uneven and strewn with debris. Knotted roots plot to trip you. I swear they move and are never in the same place twice. I have a theory that the trees and woodland creatures are in cahoots and our stumbles are their entertainment as they hide in the branches.
The wind plays a big part in forming the woodland and our wood suffered terribly at her hands in the hurricane of 1987. However the myriad of fallen trees have added the most incredible structural beauty to the place. It's as though Nature herself fancied a bit of sculpture.


The combination of sunlight passing trough the canopy while the breeze moves the branches means that there is a constantly changing palette of shadows being cast. The tiny stream that meanders and trickles through this enchanting place is the perfect place to watch them. Sometimes it's so perfectly peaceful you could almost drift away...
But there's always a reminder that we've got to keep going.
Pooch doesn't like to stay still for long.

Howdy!

So… I'm not dead or anything. I thought I'd let you know that. I'm alive and … well … sneezing. Ah the sun, she came out and brought with her all the little polleny harbingers of misery. I'm a bit miffed actually because it's a bit early. I normally get through most of May (which is my favourite month of the year) without the snot monster coming for me. I'm only hoping that as it's started early, it might finish early too. Sniff.

Other than that I'm quite busy at work. This is the time of year for assessments and reviews and planning and all that stuff. It's a bit knackering and time-consuming but mostly it's thought consuming. My mind is so far away from writing that I haven't been able to cobble a blog post together for a couple of weeks. And I have loads of things to write about. I have my annual bluebell post to do (I have 2 posts of photos; the first are the crappy ones I took of my woodland walk and the second are the wonderful ones that Hubby took), I have a post planned to review Cindy Pon's Silver Phoenix, a similar one for Sarwat Chadda's Devil's Kiss - not to mention a very thoughtful and reflective post on household appliances. I just have to find the time..

Ah time ... that slippery little bugger.

In the meanwhile if you don't hear from me - blame the Koala. I hear she's got her claws out and my entrails may soon be on display for all. Sorry McK. It's just that I have this thing called a life...

OW! Bloody hell those things are sharp!

A Lesson in Priorities

I was doing a group activity today at school. It was to teach the children listening skills. I gave them lots of shapes and the idea was that they listened very carefully to my instructions and arranged the shapes to make a picture. At the end we would compare their picture with mine and see how close they came.

The kids actually did very well. Children of their age (4 and 5) often have trouble following instructions as their attention tends to wonder half way through.

Me: "OK children for today's activity you are going to have to listen very, very carefully."

It was at this point that Nutty started interrupting telling me that he knew everything and anyway he'd already done this and his was the best.

Me: "Actually you haven't done this one. What we're doing now is completely different to the game you were playing with during break time. Now you must be very quiet and listen very carefully…"

Nutty: "Anyway I'm the best at listening and I know what to do already."

Me: "I haven't told you what to do yet…"

At this point Nutty turned right around and just talked right over me as I was saying…

"…being very quiet and listening to the instructions I give you is the most important thing with this activity."

I looked at him sternly. He continued to chat away and pay absolutely no attention whatsoever.

"Nutty!"

He looks at me a bit surprised. "Yes?"

"What did I just tell you was the most important thing?"

Without blinking he replied " Urrrrrmmm … Jesus?"


I couldn't talk for at least two minutes I was laughing so hard.

The (Mostly) Minions Meet

Well Sunday was very exciting. I took myself off to London to meet up with some very dear friends from Blogland. We met up at Giraffe on London's Southbank at about midday. It's a very nice part of the world. The river was to our left, the London Eye a hop and skip away, the Tower of London within sight and best of all the sun shone so we could sit outside.
(l-r: Jan, Robin, Gina, Neil, me, Sylvia)

So who was there? Well me (obviously), FairyHedgehog (Gina) and her wonderful husband Neil, Robin and her very lovely sister-in-law Jan, pjd (Peter) and Sylvia. We had such a good time. I was an honorary minion for the day.

Because I didn't have anybody to organise but myself, I was, for once, early. But not the earliest. FHH and Neil were there already and had bagsied a table for us indoors. It's funny, I was worried that I wouldn't recognize anyone but as soon as I spotted Gina I knew her immediately. We said many times over the afternoon how it felt like a reunion rather than a first meeting and so it was from the beginning. The first thing I did (after the intros) was order a bowl of spicy wedges because I was starving. Then I proceeded to choke on one. As I mentioned to Gina, this happens a lot to me. I have no idea why but I imagine it has something to do with talking and eating simultaneously and their basic incompatibility. As we got to know each other (and I downed a glass of water while Gina was probably wondering if the Heimlich Manoeuvre was going to be necessary) we learned that Robin and Jan had arrived and nabbed a table outside. It was such a lovely day that we moved lock stock outside and as we approached the table Robin yelled "Pete!" (and I wasn't even wearing a hat) because Peter had arrived too.

Then the talking started.
(l-r: me, Peter, Sylvia) "What's do you call like - whatsit- a sortof river that runs in an ocean?" Oh yes! - I was THAT eloquent.

Sylvia arrived soon after and then we ordered and the wine started flowing. And the talking continued and the wine continued to flow and flow. Gina and Neil had to leave mid afternoon but the rest of us stayed til 6ish. So much wine. We had a rather dishy waiter who looked after us with great humour and didn't object once to being objectified. Bless him. (That may have been just me though). Peter showed us the correct way to get the attention of waiting staff. You make eye contact and raise your right finger in the air (like ET). We found that this method was most effective when Peter was sitting beside you doing it at the same time.
(Robin: "Just let me put on my sunglasses so people will recognise me.")

Honestly I haven't a clue what we were taking about but we talked a lot. I can't tell you how much fun I had. We remembered all our absent friends. (There were hugs Aerin). There was even talk about possibly doing the same thing Stateside next year. San Francisco was mentioned (and Vegas!). How cool would that be?

My attempts at working out the bill were laughable. The phrase "That can't be right - can it?" was said a lot. In the end I'm 100% certain of only one thing. I owe Gina and Neil lunch and when we all meet again the first bottle of wine is on me. (OK that's two things!)
(The numbers were swimming I tell you - and speaking a foreign language).

I managed to totter back to Hubby and the kids without too much difficulty. I had a cracking headache afterwards but that's what analgesics are for by golly!

Can't wait for next time!

In the fog of all that was said on Sunday I'm pretty sure everyone said they didn't mind having their photo posted. If however you find that you'd rather not feature here then let me know and I'll take it down forthwith.
The top two pics are courtesy of Gina and the one of Robin was taken using Hubby's phone which I had great intellectual difficulty with. Wine and technology - not a good mix!

Thanks for all the Awards!

Here's a quiet five minutes in an otherwise rushed week - time enough to do a long overdue post.

It's awards season on the blogsphere and I have had a few come my way for which I am chuffed to pieces. However I've done absolutely nothing whatsoever in terms of accepting these wonderful thoughts because, to be honest, I am feeling a bit awkward about what to do next.

This whole notion of singling people out because they are special has the downside of leaving others out - which is totally uncool. And yet I'm pleased as punch that I was chosen. So you see the dilemma. I want to pass on the good stuff but I don't want to unwittingly make anyone else feel unspecial.

However those who have gone before have provided me with the answer. So to everyone who has awarded al their awards to everyone who visits their blog I say "thank you" . You have provided me with the means to accept these wonderful awards and not be mean in the process. I steal your idea with gratitude.

First off to all my visitors I award the Light in my Soul award. This was given to me by Absolute Vanilla - so long ago I'm embarrassed to admit it. Thank you AV. Like you, the readers here at Whittersville are warm, loving and giving and I pass this on happily to each and every one.




From Bee of Bee Drunken I have received no less than TWO Awards. Again the first was quite a while ago - before the Oscars actually - which she gave me for being a blog that makes her LAUGH, for VOICE and for giving good feedback (it's very easy to do that because her blog posts are so good).


She gave me another more recently which is brilliant. Brilliant in that I'm thrilled to receive it and also brilliant because well … read for yourselves…

The aim of the Award is to acknowledge writing excellence in the spirit of Jane Austen's genius in amusing and delighting readers with her irony, humor, wit, and talent for keen observation. Recipients will uphold the highest standards in the art of the sparkling banter, witty repartee, and gentle reprove.

Then from Aerin I got this - which, if you read the explanation, is also totally awesome. I'm touched - I really am.

This blog invests and believes in the PROXIMITY - nearness in space, time and relationships. These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement! Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this clever-written text into the body of their award.

Then to top it all off earlier this week The Whirlmeister himself awarded me the Terrific Tootsies award for my Pooh post. It's the love of socks I think that did it or perhaps the heady combination of dancing toes and A.A. Milne. It's wonderful to twinkle in the eyes of another.



So thank you from the bottom of my bottom to Vanilla, Bee, Aerin and Whirl for your kindnesss, generosity and all round loveliness in giving me these awards. And thank you too to all my visitors who come by even though I'm very stop-starty these days. I pass these on, in gratitude, to you.

Hiatus

I'm going on a hiatus for a while. Probably for a few weeks. Have a Happy Easter.

What's The Worst That Can Happen?

There was this particular ice-cream available in Ireland when I was growing up. I can't for the life of me remember what it was called but it was in a cornet shaped see-through container, the pointy end of which was actually rounded because it held an unexpected "delight" - when you'd got through all the ice-cream and delicious dribbly sauces there was a big red bubblegum ball at the end. This particular ice-cream was quite expensive so it took a long time before I actually got to buy one of my own. Sometimes I pooled resources with a friend or sibling but when I shared one I never got the bubblegum! I remember the first time I got to the bottom of that container and scooped out the bubblegum - and it was mine. I eagerly popped it into my mouth expecting it to be filled with raspberry yumminess like the gumballs you could buy 2 for a penny. But this was twice their size so it was going to be extra YUMMY!

Can you imagine how disappointed I was when I realised it was cherry flavoured. I hate cherries. I particularly hate cherry flavoured things. YUCK! From then on I just spent my pocket money on ordinary tubs of ice-cream and, if I felt so inclined, a penny-worth of bubblegum. Raspberry flavour.

The other day I decided to try an new experience. Our good friends Kiersten, Natalie and Renee (otherwise known as the MoMos) are always banging on about how fantastic this drink is. I was absolutely sure that each bottle contained the nectar of the gods (whoever they were). According to the MoMos a bottle of this (preferably with full caffeine) and a bag of M&Ms were the only things I'd ever need to chase the blues away or rescue me from writer's block or possibly fend off an alien invasion. So when I was picking up a sandwich for lunch at the supermarket, and I saw it there in the chiller cabinet I thought "why not? What's the worst that can happen?"

It was cherry flavoured.

A Farm Visit.

Painting by Toni Grote

The day before yesterday my class and I went to visit a farm. It's spring and there are lots of baby animals around and it's always good to get out of the classroom.

Of course I wasn't looking forward to it. Sixteen kids running around hyper, animal poo everywhere and a thousand opportunities to have a finger removed if the rule about not shoving your fingers through the fence got ignored - let's just say I can think of better ways to spend the day.

But actually it was fantastic. The children lapped it all up. Considering they are not the best group for paying attention and listening they were as good as gold. First of all there wasn't animal poo anywhere. The animals and their associated droppings were very securely fenced in and it was very hygienic. The children were given a talk about the importance of handwashing and there were washing facilities with antibac soap in all the barns. We saw all kinds of birds and small animals like rabbits, guinea pigs and chipmunks. And then of course there were all the piglets and lambs. The kids all got a chance to bottle feed a lamb and the had a practical demonstration on lamb birthing. The woman giving the talk told the children all about how a farmer helps a sheep give birth when the lamb is coming out backwards. Nutty Boy (he's a great kid but let's just say that he's got a lot of energy) stood in as the farmer, suitably kitted up with a three-foot-long plastic glove, and helped the ailing Mamma Sheep (a cardboard box, with a funnel at its back end) by shoving the breech lamb back inside the Mummy, turning it around and dragging it back out head first. The then he removed the placental sac (cling film), cleared the gunk from the lamb's mouth (a beautiful bit of mime) before giving it a vigorous rubbing to get it's circulation going. But Oh No!- the lamb ( all 10" stuffed toy of him) was still not breathing so Nutty took him by the back legs and swung him backwards and forwards to clear his obstructed airway until we heard the first plaintive Baaa! The best bit of the whole thing was when the demonstrator said Baa! because the expression of utter surprise on Nutty's face was priceless!

Expecto, of course was in his element, as he comes from a farming background, and he announced to me when we arrived,

"That smell wot we're smelling is sheep's poo-poo. There might be cow's poo-poo too. I've seen it happen you know. It comes out under the cow's tail and falls SPLAT! onto the ground. Then when it is all dry you can just pick it up!"

Cow pat frisbee anyone?

The Voice of Pooh...ish

It's Mothering Sunday over here in this neck of the planet. In honour of the blessed vocation of motherhood we've decided to read our favourite children's story (or an excerpt of) for Robin's voice thingy. I've elected to read a tidbit from the first chapter of The House at Pooh Corner by A.A. Milne. I'm recording using my daughter's camera so the sound is a bit pants. And although I don't have a cold, my sinuses are playing silly buggers so please forgive the nasal whine.

So here I am sitting up on my bed telling this wonderful children's classic to my …um… feet…

Technical Problems

Unfortunately, on account of my being "otherly abled" when it comes to the mysteries of computing, I am afraid that there may be a short (or possibly very long) delay in my posting the Voice Challenge Thingy. It is recorded but my efforts at compressing the video have actually ended up in making the file bigger. (**buries face in hands whilst shaking head in a despondent fashion**) so uploading it to blogger is currently undoable.

My technical advisor (Hubby) is currently working on a golf course in Seville (not jealous - not jealous at all) and has managed to break his phone (I believe him) and is uncontactable. I have sent an email but even if he does manage to get it before the day is out, he'll still have to find a phone to call me. So I'm thinking this probably won't be up till much later once he's back at his hotel.

Poo.

So can you come back later? Sorry!

ST PATRICK"S DAY - Muppet Stylee

I know that I put this on last year too - but it just makes me laugh. So enjoy! Happy Saint Patrick's Day. Oh boy, oh boy , OH BOOOOYYYYYY!

You Always Need A Map.

It's been eleven days since my last post. ELEVEN DAYS! How could I have not blogged in nearly a fortnight? It's not like I haven't been thinking about it. Practically everything I've experienced over those eleven days I've asked myself the question

"Would this make a good blog post?"

And some definitely would but they'd have taken me an age to write and I simply haven't had that kind of time. I've even been avoiding reading too many blogs too often. Why? Well I'll tell ya ... I've been trying to form good writing habits. In the last eleven days I've finished a short story, written the beginning of a new book (more about that in a second) and I've been doing a lot of work (though not much new writing) on my WIP. I should be declaring this every day on the Public Humiliation Challenge thingy but I have yet to figure out how you quantify in word numbers working on the structure of an MS.

In order to keep writing when I'd hit a plot hole that was halting my progress - I simply jumped over it and continued the story further on. At this point rather than writing a cohesive narrative I started writing scenes that had been bubbling about in my head. These scenes have worked very well. It's the process of linking them that I'm having all the trouble with. I have a tendency to waffle and over-complicate everything. Now I need to clear some dead wood from all that mess so I can make a clear path from part one to part two. So yesterday I started writing what I called a "chapter by chapter plot map". I'm trying to get a visual on what I want to achieve so I can build some sturdy bridges over those gaping plot gaps. It's time-consuming and of course it doesn't add to my word count but it's necessary for me to do in order to progress.

The other thing I had to do - just so I could go forward with my MS - was to write the beginning of a story that's been beating on the walls of my brain for ages now. Instead of knuckling down to "Poppy" my mind kept wandering to this story. Although I kept telling myself - "later, I just need to finish Poppy first" - the darn thing wouldn't leave me alone. So I opened a blank document and wrote the beginning. It's down in print now and it seems satisfied for the time being leaving me the headspace to get on with Poppy. Natalie blogged about a similar thing this week and she posted what she'd written. I won't be doing that as it might be many many moons before I can get back to working on it. Ninja Cyborg - I ain't.

So apologies if I'm a bit scarce right now. I'm trying to be a better writer.

FYI - the working title for Poppy's Book is Guardian. I'll just call it that from now on just so we don't get mixed up between the MC and the book itself.

This Post is Brought to You Today By The Letter D

So in line with wonderful Absolute Vanilla and the equally marvelous Bee I have taken on a letter to blog about. Bee kindly donated the letter "D" and this post is an homage to all the "D" words that mean or have meant something to me. Here are but a few...

"D" is for Dreams and Daydreaming. Well I guess I've made no secret of the fact that I'm dozy cow who likes to fritter the hours away in the depths of my imagination. Sometimes I'm thinking plotty things - or plotting (as those more adept at our fair language would say) - but, to me, 'plotting' just seems more sinister than the workings of my mind, so I like to think plotty things. Sometimes I engage in pondering. I like thinking about stuff. It doesn't have to be deep and meaningful - I'm quite a fan of the silly and absurd - just whatever pops in the old noggin that takes my fancy. Yes daydreaming is one of my favourite things.

"D" is for Dinner and Dessert. I adore food. Eating is just a miraculously pleasurable thing to do. And I'm not just talking about treats and sweets here, I get as much joy from a plate of stew as I do from the most delectable of oozy chocolatey treats. Flavour is, for me, one of the greatest gifts to humanity. Occasionally in my daydream meanderings I wonder what luxuries I could be comfortable with if I won the lottery or hit the payload with one of my books, and I have decided that I would have a personal chef because even though I adore food and I'm a reasonable cook, I'm not a happy cook. It just feels like work to me. I wish I liked it better but I don't.


"D" is for Doggie. Oh the Pooch! My fourth child. She's curled up at the end of my bed as contented as a doggie can be and I love her to pieces. She's not actually my dog - she belongs to Hubby - but I'm pretty sure she likes me better. I would love to have another. Poor Pooch doesn't like being alone and even though I'm only out for a few hours in the morning I know she hates it (as is evidenced by the ripped up mail I come home to and her new habit of taking anything she can reach off the counter top)! It's lonely and it's boring. However I have to wait till summer when I'm off for 6 weeks so I'm around to settle any new puppy in. I'm very much a dog person. She's like my sidekick. Whatever the weather, however I'm feeling we are out and about everyday. I can't tell you how much getting her for my Hubby has enriched my life.

I pretty sure he feels the same.

"D" is for Differences. I am constantly amazed how we are pressurized, as human beings, to be the same. We are told how to dress, how to act, what we should look for, what we should strive to achieve - even how we should be feeling. From the second we're born we are being taught to conform to a hive mentality. Now in the broader sense this makes sense. As a species, having shared values and social skills has helped us to be very successful. I have no problem with values that promote respect and understanding between people. What I have a problem with is the notion of homogenization. We are, because of the multitude of traditions and cultures, the thousands of languages, the musical variations across the planet, the profusion of beliefs and so much variation of thought, an incredibly diverse and amazing lot. I love that my children are so completely different from one another. Each has their own unique abilities, each learns in a different way and none of them conform to the jelly mould of the perfect child that the school curriculum is designed for. I value every unique hair on their head and I won't force them into a box and label it up as "generic child". I hope that they grow up to value who they are and they don't get caught up in the teen cloning syndrome so many kids fall prey to. And, let's face it, adults too. Vive les differences I say.

"D" is for Daisies. The perfect flower. So simple and yet so incredibly beautiful. I have very fond memories of sitting in the Park back in Limerick in the warm sunshine making daisy chain after daisy chain and how disappointed I felt the days I arrived to find that they'd mowed the grass and there were no daisies left to pick. Since I've grown up I've fallen head over heels in love with the Gerbera Daisy. It's the vibrancy of the colours - they are so uplifting. And I'm not allergic to them. I love lilies too but they play havoc with my nasal passages so I can't have them in the house - but gerberas I adore.

I love daisies so much that when I was pregnant with my daughter I wanted to call her Daisy. I thought it a beautiful name and that it would be perfect for my beautiful daughter but alas my Hubby had quite a different association in his mind.

"You can't call her Daisy," he said, "that's a cow's name!"

That kinda ruined it for me too.


"D" is for Dentists. Just to prove that not all D words are wonderful, I have to include this kiddie. At the age of 8 I had an extraction of a molar where the anaesthetic wasn't given long enough to work and despite my very loud protestations the git took the darn thing out anyway. Unsurprisingly I'm a bit nervous going to them even now - thirty five(ish) years later. You can read about my last visit here but if you're squeemish I really wouldn't recommend it! Unfortunately this reminds me that I have to make another appointment to go.

Shit.

"D" is for Delight. I just love that word. It makes me happy.

"D" is for Darkness. I sometimes find it hard to believe I was so terrified of the dark when I was a child. I love it now. I find night time and the deep blue of the sky so heartwarming these days I'm at a loss to understand how I could've conjured up so many monsters in the dark when I was little. In fact I like the dark so much I only put lights on in the evening time if I'm looking for something or I'm reading, otherwise my house is filled with inky moonlight.

Then of course there's dark chocolate - another great pleasure.....

"D" is for Dad. In gratitude for mine and for my husband who are both pretty darn fab.

"D" is for Daughter. I adore my three children equally so I feel weird singling out my daughter but I couldn't let a meme about D words that are important to me, go by without mentioning my favouritest D word, now can I? My daughter is eleven. She has long beautiful red hair, is tiny, very funny and terribly sweet. I feel utterly blessed to have had her and I hope that as she grows older she continues to come up, throw her arms around me and say, "Huggie!" Always Honey. Always.

The only other thing to say is that this is the 100th post for Whittering On. I've been trying to figure out why I'm not all Woo-Hoo and super-duper excited, running competitions, hosting parties and whatnot but the truth is, it's not my 100th post. I had that last year sometime on my other (now closed to the public) blog and there was fireworks and champagne. Actually this turns out to be my 219th post. So I guess you can see why I haven't got a marching band.

Still 100 posts is something to be proud of so I want to thank you all for being so kind as to pop by for all, most or the occasional few of those 100 and I hope to see around here for the next 100.

You're the best.

Delightful actually.

I'm Springing!

I went back to work on Monday after three weeks off. People keep asking "Are you better now?" and my answer is "Yeah - really well actually!" - like it's a surprise or something. It's great to feel well again.

And strangely that's probably the reason I haven't been about recently. Having got the energy back I've been missing for so long - the last thing I felt like doing was sitting for hours on end at the computer. I've been flitting about doing this and that, trying to catch up on all the stuff I let slide in the last month and I've been so chilled out you could keep your pint of milk fresh for a week by putting it down next to me.

Luckily I'd fulfilled my month's quota for Aerin's writing challenge weeks ago so I can relax there but I am living in fear of the Koala figuring out how remiss I've been at the Public Humiliation Challenge. Not a word for a fortnight. Nada. I feel those claws sharpening up. I hope my ducking reflexes are well tuned for when that swipe comes.

But you know what? I'm not in the least bit stressed about being wordless for weeks. Normally I wonder where my Muse has gone and I struggle with feelings of 'not quite being up to the job' but this time I feel different.

I had an epiphany. I epiph a lot. This one was so big I practically epiphed all over the place. These light bulb moments generally occur when I'm out walking the Pooch. I barrel along breathing in the country air - often talking to myself out loud. Yes I look like a crazy person but it's during these walks that I uncrazy myself. I've noticed that my energy levels are on the rise and I've also noticed (with considerable joy and satisfaction) that the Earth is Springing back to life. There's more light around, the air is less oppressive and I've ditched one layer of my winter coat. The shoots for the bluebells are through the ground and my garden is filled with snowdrops and crocuses. It won't be long till the daffodils bloom and my Magnolia tree blossoms. It's like the Earth is filled with potential energy and it's champing at the bit to be let loose but it's waiting for exactly the right time.

Like me. I'm bursting with ideas. I'm not in the slightest bit blocky but somewhere, instinctively, I know that the optimum conditions where my energy levels and creativity come together aren't quite here yet. But it's so close. Every morning I wake up and it's brighter and I feel even better.

If the rest of nature is utterly at the mercy of the seasons - then why not us? I was staring at the bluebell shoots when I had my epiphany. I thought about how it was this time last year when I really caught the bug for writing and I realised (DUH!) that my creativity waxes and wanes with the seasons. I'm totally and utterly a child of Nature.

My shoots are up.

I'm looking forward to seeing what flowers I produce this season.