Laughter - The Best Medicine

 

“Laughter is the best medicine” is a well-known saying and it is true. We feel better after a good laugh and depending on the reason for the laughter, that good feeling can last. There’s a long list of benefits. This is just a few. Laughter protects the heart, boosts the immune system, triggers the release of endorphins and relaxes the whole body. It even burns calories, apparently.

We need something to laugh at and that is down to personal preference. What might be hilarious to some might be totally unfunny to others. Something happened when I was fourteen. I was on my own watching Steptoe and Son on television. I don’t remember the episode or anything about it, except really enjoying it and loudly laughing my head off when my father’s new wife came into the room. I think she said, “That’s so funny,” or something along those lines, but I’d shut up. I don’t know if I was embarrassed, self-conscious, or just a typical fourteen year old girl bereft of her mother and trying to adjust to changes. It was a turning point, an experience that’s stayed with me.

The first time I saw Billy Connolly in concert – Preston Guild Hall c.1974/5 – I laughed so much and for so long that I had to stop listening to him until I could breathe again. I missed the even funnier end to some stories because of the state I was in. I’ve seen him on stage a few times and he’s always had the same effect. Luckily, I have DVDs to fill in those important gaps. It’s my love for Scotland that goes beyond The Broons and Oor Wullie of my childhood, Billy Connolly for the last fifty years and Still Game more recently. There must be something Scottish in my DNA. Peter Kay gets to me, too. I haven’t seen him on stage, just television and DVDs of concerts. I’m also a survivor of a very long, very late and very funny midnight matinee with Ken Dodd. What a master of mirth.

Put me in a room with my niece and we will both be helpless with laughter in minutes. Add her mother, my sister into the mix and that laughter will only take seconds. If we’re at my house, I’ll be running squealing into the handy downstairs loo. If we happen to be out, they’ll sit me close to the ‘Ladies’. How thoughtful they both are. It’s just how we interact and what starts it often comes from nowhere, unless we’re reliving a previous event that had us in stitches on the ‘Do you remember when…’ memory lane.

Laughter has been in short supply lately. Life is a rollercoaster ride and there are too many dips at the moment. Things will improve. For now I think I need Billy Connolly at his best, some episodes of Steptoe and Son to remind me how far I’ve come and my niece and sister who share my craziness.

A poem from Muhammad Ali,

He took a few cups of love.
He took one tablespoon of patience,
One teaspoon of generosity,
One pint of kindness.
He took one quart of laughter,
One pinch of concern.
And then, he mixed willingness with happiness.
He added lots of faith,
And he stirred it up well.
Then he spread it over a span of a lifetime,
And he served it to each and every deserving person he met.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Hurly Burly - No Mall & No Builders!

As far as possible, I will avoid any commotion, hurly-burly and busy places, especially since I retired from work. Sometimes things happen and I find myself somewhere I’d rather not be with no immediate escape and I have to grin and bear it.

With the exception of Springfield Mall, Virginia – going back many years when such places were new to me – I don’t like shopping malls. Warm and dry on a cold, wet day they might be, but bustling and noisy does not give me a pleasant shopping experience. My friend and I once got lost trying to find a way out of Manchester Arndale. We rushed one way, then another, back-tracked, or thought we were, and eventually asked a security guard. By then we weren’t bothered which exit, we’d find our bearings outside and we did. When our daughter was about thirteen she wanted to go to the Trafford Centre for her birthday treat, shopping, lunch there, everything possible. We had to do it. Luckily, she loved it and enjoyed spending her birthday money, having the promised lunch, but it was all in the over-crowded, loud hullabaloo that made me want to scream. I might be the only person who doesn’t like the Trafford Centre. I can live with that. I would probably hate Springfield these days.

It doesn’t stop at shopping malls. I can’t cope with having workmen in at home. Running repairs are alright and our usual heating engineer is very welcome when it’s time to service the boiler. Workmen with a capital W means builders and a team of them, taking over and making a mess, making a noise, either voices or machinery. As the family grew and more space was needed, it seemed like a good idea to have extensions here, there and everywhere which meant weeks of disruption. The end results were worth it. The house we move into will be staying exactly as we find it.

This Dr John Cooper Clarke poem reminds me of being lost in the hurly-burly of a pre-Christmas Arndale Centre,

Trouble @ t’Mall

 

Daily Bugle – Front Page News

A drunken posse on a booze cruise

Swear me in I got nothing to lose

High five – low morale

Trouble aye trouble aye

Trouble @ t’Mall

 

I heard about it at the Taj Mahal

I nearly choked on me Taka Dahl

I quizzed Chief Wiggum and he said, “Waal

Cuff ‘em boys – trouble at the Mall”

 

Tripe stand bloody fell over

Its covered the place in a beefy odour

Better take a nosegay pal

Trouble aye trouble aye

Trouble @ t’Mall

 

Bury my heart at Clinton Cards

Remember me to the old guard

These days you just gotta be hard

Because like they say in this here locale

Trouble aye trouble aye

Trouble @ t’Mall

 

H & M is full of flunkies

And Tony and Guy couldn’t give a monkey’s

In the dying words of Gore Vidal

‘Appen it’s trouble aye

Trouble @ t’Mall

JCC

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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If Only I'd Known

'If only I'd known.....'

It sounds so poignant, so full of longing and regrets.  And yet I think life should be lived with as few regrets as possible. After all, every experience, good or bad, makes us what we are.  Would we have done things differently if 'we'd known'? Maybe we do regret choices we've made, but then it's up to us to learn from those mistakes.  They're all part of life's rich tapestry. 

I'm not into religion or psychic phenomena or paranormal practices, but I've always been a big believer in fate, in terms of how one event might be the catalyst for a further string of happenings.

If only I'd known….

……when I hid round the back of that building to avoid a first date with a new boyfriend, that he would wander round that way, without thinking, link my arm and lead me, smiling and chatting, into the coffee bar - and still be by my side forty five years later, would I have done anything differently? Would I have hidden more carefully? Covered my tracks? Unlinked my arm? It's unthinkable now that our lives might have veered off in different directions.  I didn't know, but now I do.

We made it....

If only I'd known….

….last year, that using Dave's car to nip to Cleveleys and pick up a few bits for our weekend away would result in a severely broken arm and two operations (for him), a missed wedding and a cancelled holiday.  Would I have been more organised and had everything ready, so no last minute trip was necessary? Would I have left the car and jumped on a tram? Would I have warned him not to hang a carrier bag from the handlebars of his bike? If only I'd known.....but I didn't. The experience was tough but we got through it and I'd like to think it made us both stronger.

If only I'd known….

…..when we booked our joint 60th birthdays celebration trip to Cuba that the husband was about to injure himself skiing, Cuba would be postponed, and having left insurance till the last minute we wouldn't get a penny back. If only I'd known......but I didn't. We went later in the year and met some lovely people, I took some interesting pictures and that led to my first exhibition.  My first exhibition led to meeting more lovely people, gaining in confidence, becoming part of the Blackpool creative set, getting commissions and starting a new career at the grand old age of sixty.  Things really do happen for a reason.  Or is it that we make the reasons after the event?

If only I'd known.......

…..when I thought I had food poisoning that I was actually in labour, and only an hour from giving birth; that there is always light at the end of the tunnel, however distant it seems; that sometimes being good enough is all that's needed; that my babies wouldn't always be tiny and cute; that teenagers grow into adults; and that, even if they don't tell you so often, your children do still love you; that dieting for fifty years wouldn't make me thinner, just hungry and miserable; that people are unreliable; that things aren't always black or white; that failure is as important as success; that marriage isn’t always easy, but it sure is worth battling on; and that family, friends and, above all, love are all that matter.

But I did know that, yes, I really did know that.

If only I'd known by Jill Reidy

That dress did nothing for me

My hair was so brash

The shoes far too high

The rum and coke was a bad idea

He was as nervous as I was

He wasn't worth it

He didn't love me

My tears would eventually dry

My dad was right

In the grand scheme of things

None of it

None of it

Not one little bit of it

Mattered at all

Thanks for reading         Jill

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Splintered Snow

“A writer needs three things, experience, observation, and imagination.”
― William Faulkner

Not wanting to emulate a certain poetic cuckoo (meta-emulation?), I will credit David Riley with the idea for this exercise.  He put me on to the Faulkner quote and I believe he was inspired by a workshop he had himself attended.  Good ideas are like the rabbits of the metaphysical world.

This exercise is intended to help you to turn your observations into kick ass poetry.  If you follow the steps with due diligence you are sure to end up with some shiny words.  

1) Choose an object.  This can be anything you can see with your eyes at this moment, e.g. the Sun, a yoghurt pot, a train, a painting, your left hand.

2) Observe the object as it is right now.  Make note of the following:

• colour, detail - texture, shape
• setting, surroundings
• season, time, light/shadow
• movement or action
• sound

3) Consider your experiences of this object. What do you recognise?  What does it remind you of?  What is it similar to?  
4) Imagine.  What might happen to the object? What is it thinking? What might you do to the object?

5) Shape the words.  Let's write renga!  Using the table below, create a poem in the Japanese renga style.

Subject	Syllables/sound units
Observation – e.g. colour, shape	5
Observation – e.g. setting, time	7
Observation – e.g. light, sound	5
Experience	7
Imagination	7

Here is my attempt:



Pencil Shaving


Torn sycamore fan 
Sleeps in desk's twilight clutter 
White screen, hum of fan

Shrinking tree-snake's rough skin sloughed 
Blown away like splintered snow

OK - take it away poets.  Write me some renga!

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Here's a triolet I made earlier

My first attempt at baking was a disaster. Aged 22, I was making pastry for some pie or other and the pastry just would not form into a ball so that I could roll it out. Cue tears, nigh on hysterics, as time and again the separate crumbs wilfully refused to play ball, literally. I had no-one to tell me, show me how make pastry. (Advice from older self – pull yourself together and rub in a bit more butter or add a bit more water.)

My poor Mum, cook and baker extraordinaire, exhausted by full time work and four kids, never had the time or patience, bless her, to show us the ropes. She was too preoccupied with heaving meals onto the table for the six of us with monotonous regularity to assume the role of a saintly Jamie Oliver on top of everything else.

A few years later, I was churning out the pies, cakes, curries, stews like a good ‘un. This was because I was now experienced. I had tried and failed, then tried again. I had met with triumph and disaster and had treated those two imposters both the same. My love of food knew no bounds and I would have a go at anything, over and over again until I got it right.

 I love everything about food – browsing in food shops, buying it, finding out for myself what goes with what, reading about it, getting bargains, turning disparate ingredients into something delicious – and, of course, eating it.

 Here’s a triolet I made earlier:

Balanced Baking

 

Weigh the eggs, butter, sugar and flour

For a perfect Victoria sponge.

All must weigh the same, same power.

Weigh the eggs, butter, sugar and flour

Whisk and fold and blend and now you

Mix with love to a sloppy gunge.

Weigh the eggs, butter, sugar and flour

For a perfect Victoria sponge

 

I think I was a pretty poor mother at the start, too! I was terrified by these beautiful little scraps of humanity, cast upon the ocean of life with me to protect them. I felt inept and ill-equipped to deal with something so momentous. I can remember pleading with my 4 month old (!) son, after I had fed, winded and changed him and still he was shrieking implacably, ‘Please tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do whatever you want.’  (Advice from older self – pull yourself together and take him for a walk.) My Mum was a tremendous help – these were her GRANDCHILDREN. Do not underestimate the power of that statement! In the intervening years, I hope I learned through experience, to be a good Mum myself, from very shaky beginnings. Again, I learned through all the mistakes, the ups and downs, the highs and lows that contribute to experience.

 Then it came my turn to be a Gran and what a revelation that has been. Somehow, I just knew instinctively what to do with them, all the old self-doubt evaporated and I had confidence from the outset with all three of them.

I am down with the kids, oh yes - I can sing JLS and One Direction's (appalling) songs with the best of them! Amelie thinks I’m cool because I write stories, drive a car and make the best broccoli. (????) Harris thinks I’m hilarious because I make him do Glad All Over, with all the gestures and because I pinion his little arms to the floor whilst bellowing ‘Ah One-ay, Ah Two-ay, Ah Three-ay’ like an old-style wrestling referee. Yes, I know it sounds like child abuse, but he chuckles uncontrollably.  Evie likes singing, reading and saying nursery rhymes with me - and loves doing Asda with me. And I have loved every minute of these special new relationships.  

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