Optimism - 2020 Vision

It was New Year’s Eve. We expected a quiet evening in, just the two of us, but the best things can happen on the spur of the moment, so on our daughter’s suggestion, we walked round the corner to her house.

 My husband and I, with our daughter and son-in-law-to-be settled into their cosy front room for a late evening game of Monopoly before the arrival of the year 2020. We were all full of optimism as we set out the board, nominated my husband as banker and anticipated our individual winning strategies. We had great fun, sprawled on the floor, asking each other to move our counters when they were out of reach. I always end up straggling behind everyone else, regardless of what properties I buy, or not. First I needed to land on something but my trips round the board took me to Chance, Community Chess, Visiting Jail then on two occasions I was sent to Jail. The others were negotiating the purchase of houses before I’d completed my first (my only) set of matching properties. None of that mattered. I was loving the family time and enjoying the carefree banter between us. Upstairs, three infants continued to sleep soundly, undisturbed by our laughter or the New Year fireworks. We took a break from play to welcome 2020, hug each other and start our midnight feast with some delicious pizza. I discovered that I was fixed to the floor. Hips, knees and lower back had given up, despite the restless legs that had kept me wriggling for two hours. The others very kindly brought me food and drink, to save me the trouble of getting up properly. It was the best New Year’s Eve, just a simple evening with the warmth of family.

We wandered home around two a.m. both of us remarking on how unusually quiet the neighbourhood seemed for New Year’s Eve and reminiscing on past times in the local pub, too loud for conversation, too busy at the bar and too full for comfort.

I am optimistic for the year ahead and for the plans of others in my family. I should add that I’m not generally known for optimism, so let’s see.

 

My own poem,

 

I’m greeting New Year with a smile

    As optimism flows
     For hopes and wishes to come true,
     I’d like more highs than lows.

 I want a change of scenery,

     Uninterrupted view
     Of the river and countryside
     And variable hue.

 A welcome change of circumstance

      Is one thing I desire.
      I’d like to re-locate myself
     This year, can I retire?

 Without work place ties to bind me

      My writing spirit’s free.
      It’s what I really want to do,
     This optimistic me.

 So let me loose with fountain pen

     To tell a tale or two,
     And I’ll be fulfilled and happy,
    “To thine own self be true.”

 PMW 2020

 

 

A Happy New Year to everyone. Thanks for reading, Pam x

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The Night Sky - Stars

There are many things I enjoy about staying in Dumfries& Galloway. One thing, free to all in abundance is the total darkness around the vast area of Galloway Forest Park. On a clear night, the sky sparkles with millions of stars, their brilliance natural and clear, unspoilt by the pollution of town lighting. We can step out of our lodge and just look up into the night sky. This is when I wish I had better vision; so much is lost on me. For the sharper eyed or keen astronomers, the Scottish Dark Sky Observatory is situated at Dalmellington in Ayrshire at the far north east of the forest.

It is comforting to feel at-one with nature beneath this celestial blanket, listening to the owls, catching a glimpse of a deer, fox or rabbit and the smaller creatures that come out at night. This is my heavenly, happy place.

Last week was Bonfire Night. It’s not my favourite time of the year and this is the first time that my priority hasn’t been to keep our spaniel calm. I found myself agreeing to stroll down to the park with my eldest grandson, aged four, and his parents, to watch the annual firework display at the cricket ground. We live in a family-popular area so there were lots of fireworks around us. No sooner had we left the house, all of us wrapped up for the cold, than we were subjected to a barrage of bangers going off from all directions around us. My gloved hand tightened the grip on my grandson’s as I reassured  him that the bangs were only noisy fireworks, nothing scary, and if we keep looking up to the sky, we’ll see the lovely patterns and bright colours. And we did. We stood on the perimeter of the park and watched the fireworks from the surrounding neighbourhood before the cricket club started theirs.  Nearby, some people were behaving recklessly with fireworks. We kept moving out of their way until we gave up and made for home. My grandson enjoyed it, which was the main thing.

Soon I’ll be back in Dumfries & Galloway. The night sky might be cloudy, heavy with rain or possibly snow hiding the stars and moon from view. I won’t mind.

Stars by Emily Bronte

 

Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
    Restored my earth to joy

Have you departed, every one,
And left a desert sky?

 All through the night, your glorious eyes

Were gazing down in mine,
And with a full heart's thankful sighs
I blessed that watch divine!

I was at peace, and drank your beams

As they were life to me
And revelled in my changeful dreams
Like petrel on the sea.

 Thought followed thought—star followed star

Through boundless regions on,
While one sweet influence, near and far,
Thrilled through and proved us one.

 Why did the morning rise to break

So great, so pure a spell,
And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek
Where your cool radiance fell?

 Blood-red he rose, and arrow-straight,

His fierce beams struck my brow;
The soul of Nature sprang elate,
But mine sank sad and low!

 My lids closed down—yet through their veil

I saw him blazing still;
And bathe in gold the misty dale,
And flash upon the hill.

 I turned me to the pillow then

To call back Night, and see
Your worlds of solemn light, again
Throb with my heart and me!

 It would not do—the pillow glowed

And glowed both roof and floor,
And birds sang loudly in the wood,
And fresh winds shook the door.

 The curtains waved, the wakened flies

Were murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise
And give them leave to roam.

 O Stars and Dreams and Gentle Night;

O Night and Stars return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn—

 That drains the blood of suffering men;

Drinks tears, instead of dew:
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only wake with you!


Emily Bronte  1818 - 1848

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Resolve - New Horizons

Happy New Year to one and all, let’s see what unfolds in 2018.

When I was younger, much younger and naïve, I looked upon New Year as a new start with everything from the old year forgiven, forgotten and packed away. We wished everyone the best, and still do, always hoping for better times.  Back in the day New Year’s Eve marked the end of a couple of weeks of parties in our pubs. Sometimes my friends and I helped out at a private hotel ran by a family we knew, then joined in with the party until the early hours, looking forward to new beginnings. Fond memories still mentioned forty-odd years later. If only that ‘off with the old, on with the new’ actually worked.

This New Year’s Eve was quiet but pleasant, seeing in the New Year with our daughter, son-in-law to be and our youngest grandson, aged three months. His big brother was in bed. We watched Jools Holland’s Hootenanny and enjoyed a midnight buffet in their warm and cosy lounge then walked back to our house.

Nothing changed with the midnight bells and fireworks. I’m still carrying the illness that has overwhelmed me since before Christmas.  Sore eyes add to my malaise.  My worries and anxieties haven’t miraculously melted away and I’m no closer towards making decisions for the future. What shall I do about work? Do we move or do we stay? I could do with the magic wand I believed existed in my youth. Meanwhile, I wait for recovery and inner strength to help me resolve my issues.

I need a Moody Blues moment.

New Horizons

Well I’ve had dreams enough for one

     And I’ve got love enough for three
     I have my hopes to comfort me

I got my new horizons out to sea. 

But I’m never going to lose your precious gift

It will always be that way

‘Cos I know I’m going to find my own peace of mind

Someday. 

Where is this place that we have found?

Nobody knows where we are bound

I long to hear, I need to see

‘Cos I’ve shed tears too many for me. 

On the wind soaring free

Spread your wings

I’m beginning to see

Out of mind, far from view

Beyond the reach of a nightmare come true. 

Justin Hayward, (from Seventh Sojourn, 1972) 

Thanks for reading, Pam x 

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Volcano - The Day We Missed Vesuvius Erupting

Last week, on my early morning walk along the prom, I spotted an old, spent firework, nestled in the grass on the slope above the sea. I stopped short. It gave me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, something akin to excitement.  I know exactly why. When I was a child there were very few organised firework displays. Most families bought a box of fireworks and a pack of sparklers, made some tinder toffee and parkin and invited in the neighbours. My mum always went one better and made toffee apples too.

One year my dad bought the usual box of fireworks from the newsagent but was obviously lured by an extra large volcano-shaped object, sitting majestically under the glass counter.  This probably sounds strange to anyone under forty but in the nineteen fifties it was rare to splash out on luxuries. This giant offering held such fiery promise that it definitely came into the 'luxury' category. We kids were beyond excited. Scrawled on the side, in a huge red, flame ridden script, was the one word, 'Vesuvius'. Even its name promised something exotic.

Bonfire night arrived, and as was tradition, dad positioned himself in the garden (somewhat reluctantly) with the fireworks.  The rest of us sat inside in the warm, lined up at the window.  Such was the build up to the display that each year we forgot just how quickly it would be over.  Vesuvius was to be the grand finale.

Dad approached the firework with a smouldering length of twisted newspaper and some trepidation.
From the safety of the back room we watched with bated breath.  Vesuvius began to glow promisingly. Dad stepped back. We waited. There was a flicker, a splutter and then.......nothing.  The procedure was repeated several times.  The audience began to lose interest.  It seemed that the display was over. 'Toffee apples?' Said mum. We jumped down from the window and went in search of food.

Suddenly there was a flash of sulphurous light, a loud bang, a whoosh, a crash and finally the sound of a million showering sparks. Dad burst through the back door, a big grin on his face, 'See that, kids?!' he yelled, before stopping short at the entrance to the back room.  Gradually, it dawned on him that we'd missed the highlight of the evening. Not only that, we'd also polished off the toffee apples.

The following day I set about pursuing my favourite activity after Bonfire Night. Searching for the empty firework shells had always held a strange kind of appeal - I think it may be linked to my love of jumble sales - you never knew what you might find. After a quick sweep of the garden, which yielded such gems as bent rockets and mangled Catherine wheels, I ventured out, eyes on the pavement. Halfway down the road, just by Mrs Smith's front gate I spotted a squashed and blackened shape. Just visible was the red letter, 'V'. I'm not sure if it was Vesuvius but I like to think it was.

Dad took a long time to get over wasting a shilling on the 'most magnificent firework never seen,' mum played down her role in luring us away from the window for toffee apples, and I tried to reassure dad that I was just as happy with the empty black volcano shaped package.

We didn't have another luxury for years.

Vesuvius Fireworks!

Volcano Haiku

Explosion of red
Menacing silver river
Ash covers like snow

Thanks for reading, Jill

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In the dark....with Jarvis

In keeping with the greyness of the day and the hopelessness of the political landscape, my mood is gloomy at the moment. Having written several blogs that amount to angry rants at the world, I determined that this week would be different and something gentler and more positive would flow from my laptop. So here we go with er… ‘dark’, the connotations of which are almost all negative – gloomy, threatening, brooding, mysterious, sombre, evil, funereal, menacing, opaque, depressed….. And yet the dark can be a backdrop, an essential foil to an explosion of scintillating light. Without the stark contrast that the dark sky provides, we could not fully appreciate the beauty of the stars, for instance.

In the 1990s I went on holiday to a farm in Ireland. Fairymount Farm in Co. Tipperary was a magical place in the Irish midlands, with a mystical history and was said to be situated on a ley line. We arrived at night and I have never forgotten glancing up at the dark cobalt sky, which seemed to be brooding just above my head. And, set against it, MILLIONS of winking, twinkling, glittering stars, so close that I felt that I could reach up and pluck one for myself, hold the scintilla in my hand. The magic could be within my grasp.

Image by Tim Hadfield - Canada at the World Fireworks Championship, Blackpool 2014

I’ve never liked fireworks. As a child I used to hide myself away from the staccato gunfire racket of bangers and rip-raps. The house felt under siege from heavy artillery and I was relieved when it was all over. Braver now, I’m possibly regressing to the child-like awe and wonder of fireworks, the explosion of life and colour against the night sky, that I never experienced as a child. Along with thousands of others, we went with our family to the World Fireworks Championship on the promenade in September and were amazed by the winning display by Canada. The grace, ingenuity, exuberance, verve and, above all, colour of the display were magnificent. An inky, expectant sky hosted a cornucopia of dazzling, dancing lights of every hue imaginable.

As dusk descends on Glastonbury festival a palpable air of expectancy and excitement envelops the Pyramid stage, reaching a crescendo as the headliners take to the stage. There is good music, and much more, to be found in the festival’s vast acres and numerous stages every minute of every day, but, as night descends, a particular frenzy takes hold of the fun-loving hordes. Once again, the darkness of the sky facilitates a magical transformation, as the pitch-black stage suddenly bursts into life.

In 1995 the Sheffield indie band, Pulp, found themselves unexpectedly propelled into super-stardom, headlining the Pyramid stage on the Saturday night. Summonsed at very short notice to replace the injured and rapidly imploding Stone Roses, Pulp lit up the Somerset sky and owned Glastonbury with their evocative songs of grubby teenage angst and longing, culminating in the magnificent anthem, ‘Common People’. Jarvis Cocker, fizzing and spitting with righteous indignation and contempt, was a wonder to behold. His spleen had never been more……splenetic!

So there, for me, are a few examples of the bright side of dark. And I’ve managed to steer clear of politics!

Thank you for reading,

Sheilagh

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