#stockholding memories

I have a confession to make: I hate the whole #makingmemories thing. My reason? My bad health meant that I was rarely able to create or involve myself in outings like that. What usually happened was that I would wait at home for my family to do something and then show me the photos, or I would sit somewhere close to the car and watch for them tramping back. Always, I wanted to be with them, but over time I’ve learned to accept my ‘staying behind’ life, and enjoy hearing the stories of all their adventures without me.

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The blackbird’s song

I couldn’t write my usual blog last week because I saw so many people telling us how to think, feel and behave and I felt yet another one of the same would be too much.

I’m returning to my usual today because I miss the discipline of positive thinking I practise every Monday. I’ve partially replaced it with my daily candle-lighting tryst, but I do have another tiny thought to share with you now…

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He rummaged through the broken pencils, bits of chalk, rubber bands and old receipts to find a thin ring-bound notepad. He took it and the only working pen to the table. He looked out beyond the dripping tap, the empty counter and checked the sky. Grey but not black. He’d be dry at least. The rhyme, Old Mrs Hubbard came to mind as he reached in his pocket to find his money. He pulled out two 50p coins. He had half a loaf of bread and a scrape of butter so that was enough for today. If he got one other thing, that would last him for nearly a week. He didn’t need any more than that. Best to leave the rest for others.

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A pocket full of posies

That nursery rhyme has been stuck on repeat in my head for at least a week now. Did you know that it was only in the mid 20th century that people associated it with the Plague and Black Death? When it was originally sung or chanted in the 17th century, there was no such dark association. Fake news and misinformation again! Anyway, it was the title line that I’ve been fixating on. What do we do at a time like this, when fear, dread and isolation are pressing in on us? Apart from buying so many tins and toilet rolls that the basket-carrying few get nothing?

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Have a go hero.

My daughter is scared of heights. It took her at least seven months to jump off the edge into a swimming pool. Up until that point she stood, knees bent, ready to go. But she always changed her mind at the last minute. It took the swimming instructor putting his hand out for her to grab to persuade her in. The days he tried to let her do it by herself, she always put out her hand, needing him to give her his. Then one day, when no-one was looking, she did it. I heard the splash and there she was. The instructor had been at the other end of the pool, and with no hand to grab, she did it all by herself.

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