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.