A Mother’s Love

A-mothers-love-poem

He sits in half silence surveying the scene around him, lips flickering with a smile now and again as some humorous interaction infringes on his somber mood. Hunched slightly forward with arms around his waist he half heartedly joins in the conversation flowing around him although i know he secretly wishes he were back at home. The woman is not fooled she knows his moods better than her own and she leans forward, gently touching his arm. 

”What’s wrong?” She says and he shakes his head, shrugging slightly ”Nothing”

She knows better than to accept his words. A brow creases with concern and fluttering hands beckon him closer and i watch as in an instant the face of the man i know becomes instantly again a small boy. Abashedly he hangs his head and he smiles somewhat ruefully but does as she asks moving instantly to her side.  Those motherly hands reach for the boy within offering comfort and he confesses some small discomfort to the woman at his side. Ever the mother she gathers him close, this man of mine, this child of hers and the caring embrace soothes and pets him and he relaxes beneath her ministrations, smiling at her words. Murmuring softly to him, words i cannot hear she seeks to make this child of hers feel better with the love only a mother can give. He makes a pretence and  shrugs away slightly.

”Mama, i’m fine”

But she knows he is not, this boy of hers and continues to mother him making him smile for despite his protests he secretly  feels better for having her caring arms around him hugging him close. Strange how sometimes all it takes is mother to make it all better again just like when he was small. 

Suddenly i feel very much an outsider. Like some small wistful child looking in a toyshop window on Christmas Eve at the toy she knows she will never get, i watch an unfamiliar scene. Strange that i should miss something that i never had in the first place but then the moment passes and i cannot help but smile at the little boy before me where before i saw a man. He has no idea how endearing he looks as he tries to pretend that he does not need the care she gives yet secretly relishes it all the same.

 A mother’s love it seems brings out the small child in all of us and no matter how old we may be we will always be someones little girl or boy. Just as he is hers and i am glad for the small easement he feels from her gentle affection. It just goes to show that no matter where we go nor how old we become, you really never are to old to be your mother’s son. 

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back when i was ten

Back when i was ten the world seemed like such a weird and wonderful place. I lived in a world of books where rabbits could talk and tales of boarding school and tuck boxes were my things to aspire to. Oh i so wanted to go to boarding school, to be like those merry little characters in my books,causing mayhem and having untold adventures with exciting new friends. I dreamt of smugglers and sleeping on islands just like those five so famous and so real to me when young. For i believed everyone did this and quite happily made plans as sleep eluded me on many a night in bed. I sailed with amazons and fished with huck finn, solved mysteries untold and inevitably always made it home for breakfast as every hero should. Yes the world was a wonderful place back when i was ten.

Flying!! So much i wanted to be Wendy and soar over the tops of houses following a star and the ageless charming Peter, to battle with pirates and crocodiles,nary a care in the world but to live like the heros and heroines i so admired. I danced at the ball and lost my slipper on the stairs, fell in love with a beautiful beast. Cried inconsolably for The little Match Girl and made as merry as any with the infamous Robin hood.

Yes show me a book and i would dream you a dream, back then when i was ten. Yet perhaps i shall always be such an age as with each tale i am transported away finding solace in a world so far removed from my own. So exciting a life i lead within the realms of my own head as stories unfold and imagination takes over, heroine again of a fable not of my creation yet where i feel so very at home. 

As i pick up a book i find things have not much changed from back then when i was ten.

When worlds collide

All of you who read my blog will no doubt have noticed my countdown clock with its gleeful announcement of an impending weekend with my little vampire. I have been excitedly counting down the days to a trip to London to see THE most special person in the world, my best friend Jay. Packing was done and undone,then done again. Clothes strewn across every single spare inch of space as i ummed and ahhed about what to take with me and changed my mind yet again.The result was probably far more than i needed but i am someone who likes to be prepared for every eventuality.

What can i say i’m a girl, this is the norm for someone like me!!

So Friday arrives and in true Amanda style i was at the station far too early, clutching my ritual coffee and determinedly forcing myself to sit in my seat in a composed and ladylike manner when all i really wanted to do was bounce up and down in my seat shrieking with glee. I behaved, i was most grown up and firmly squashed my inner child although the huge grin on my face would not be removed and a gentleman passenger rather startled beamed back at me, believing himself to be the recipient of it. 

Half an hour later i was cursing myself for not obeying my first instinct to get into the quiet zone as children ran screeching up and down the carriage, parents totally oblivious to the antics of their offspring. Increasing the volume on my ipod did little to drown out the noise and i willed the train to go faster and the parents to consider other passengers and curb the rowdiness. My eyes widened as i surreptitiously observed the family at the adjacent table, mother, father and three very young children, noting each time a child became overly noisy he would be handed food to quieten him which was very frequent. I was slightly alarmed at the copious amounts of food consumed by those small  boys and wondered perhaps if the parents could not have thought of a better way to occupy their children.

To say i was glad to leave the train was a little of an understatement and i thankfully hopped from it to the hustle and bustle of Clapham Junction. Here begins the culture shock for the town where i live is very sleepy and rural and the most uneventful of places, predominantly white and so totally removed from the multicultural rush, rush rush of the city. A dozen languages swirled around me as people rushed by totally aware of anyone else and all in such a hurry to be somewhere. A far cry from the slow pace in which i usually live i absorbed it all, watching in fascination as it all wove its way around me. 

I wonder if i was so very obvious, being such a fish out of water although i was far from lost. Trains are a part of my everyday life and to locate my connection was barely a second thought but i did wonder if my very ruralness stood me apart from those city dwellers around me. Were the second glances merely appreciative ones or did i really stand out as being an out of townie?? I shall never know although the woman in me would prefer the former. So as my connection rolled in and i scrambled with the rest to climb aboard i firmly crossed my legs and tried to ignore a pressing need for a bathroom. Of course i could have gone on the train but i was loathe to leave my luggage unattended and more importantly i was rather afraid of missing my stop.

Houses sailed by as fast as the miles and yes by now i was probably earning the label of tourist as my head turned in all directions taking it all in. So many high rise buildings!! Not a common sight where i live at all. Double decker buses and black cabs so alien a sight yet i felt such delight at seeing them and firmly decided that i was liking this lively place, a most welcome change from the slow moving day to day life i usually lead.

 As the train rolled into the station and i waited to alight i couldn’t help but think that we take our surroundings for granted and only really notice it when it is seen through the eyes of someone else. Do city folk see it as i did and feel such a child like excitement at such a carousel of activity.

I loved the whole time in the city, it really captured me, the whole vibrant rush of it and at the end, as i neared my home, i did wonder how city people would see the little town where i return to. Sleepy? Beautiful? I wonder what would you see??

Perhaps i should feel mean but i dont!!

Image

Evening is rolling in and i’m sitting trying to study, my stomach is growling to be fed but im determined to finish this section before i set my work aside. Perhaps it is a heavy workload but i am studying Business and Admin and also taking a Proof Reading and Editorial course, the latter of which occupies my attention and is rather complicated. 

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!!!

This is my front door knocker being hammered against the door with force enough to make it shake upon its hinges. I do not need to answer the door to know who it is for i can hear a very loud bullmoose voice bellowing outside but i am busy working so i choose not to answer. 

”There’s nobody in”

Footsteps fade and i sigh and continue my work and have read no more than five lines when..

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!!!

The bullmoose voice is back and is nothing if not persistent. My eyebrows raise as i hear the letter box open and the voice, louder now as the person looks through my letter box to see if i am home. GO AWAY!! i think furiously, although conscience niggles that perhaps i am being mean. 

BANG BANG BANG BANG (door kick) BANG BANG

Yes you can bet for sure i am rather annoyed now as i reread the same sentence for the third time. So who is hammering so furiously upon my door? Ah well this is easy it is the child next door.

At first i would always answer when this child kicked his ball over my back fence for i have children and my own when small have mistakenly kicked their ball into a neighbours garden before now. Rather differently i would never let them knock on the door to ask for it back but instead told them that if they had been careless enough to let it go over then they would have to wait until the person chose to throw it back , if they even did. 

But nevertheless i would at first answer to this child and obligingly retrieve the ball from my garden which received neither apology nor thanks. Shortly after the ball would come sailing back over the fence and the hammering on the door would commence with a loud request to get the ball back. This child does not have a volume switch, actually he does but it consists of loud and very loud and of an evening i have to close my door and windows in order to hear my tv but i try and remind myself that he is after all a child.

After repeated retrievings of the ball i began to get rather fed up especially since my garden has been very waterlogged for some weeks now and sploshing around in it for a ball is not my idea of fun and i politely asked him not to kick it over and informed him that if he did it would have to stay there until i went outside for something. 

BANG BANG BANG BANG KICK KICK BANG (letterbox opens again)

I know, i know perhaps the easy way would be to go and fetch the ball and thereby cease the kicking and hammering at my door but irritation is prompting me to throw the door wide and bellow ‘ STOP kicking that bl@@dy door’   I may think it but i would not do this and i try my best to ignore it. Footsteps fade again and the child takes up residence upon my driveway with friend in tow kicking another football back and forth thumping it repeatedly against my garage door and house wall. Sometimes i wish i were not so nice natured for i should dearly love to shout as neighbours would have had i behaved so when small and rightly so. 

After six attempts to hammer my door down coupled with frequent peering through my letter box there is finally silence as it seems for now at least he has given up. Of course i will return the ball when i or one of the family does go outside i am not so mean as all that but if i should feel guilty for not answering my door and fetching it when he wished then i’m afraid i do not. I was always taught manners and respect cost nothing even from a very young age and had i hammered on our neighbours doors in that way when i was small you can guarantee i would have felt my mothers hand and further been hauled next door to apologise. 

So do i feel mean?? NO!! 

Castles in the sand….a story of the homeless

                              Image

“Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand: Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!”

(Quote by Edna St Vincent Millay)  

I used to love the sand, back when i was small. I loved nothing better than curling my toes into the sun baked warmth of it, feeling it clinging to my feet as i stood on the shore watching the waves roll in. Watching from afar you would have seen a family, mother setting out a picnic whilst children buried their father in the sand, happily squealing as dad wriggled free and chased them along the beach. 

That is what you would have seen, but appearances as we all well know can be very deceptive.

The truth of the matter was my childhood was about as far from happy as you could possibly get despite the chocolate box performances acted out in public by my parents. We, buoyed with relief, were happy for a short time to be free of the miseries and play along with the scenario and enjoy being carefree for a while.

But all performances eventually come to an end and behind the scenes the highs of the show are obliterated by the normal everyday humdrum that runs inbetween, a crashing low that comes far more frequently than those few happy moments. 

Rolling time forward and once again upon a beach i stand. This time there is no curling of toes nor shrieking of children’s laughter. No parents with picnics or to chase me along the sand as i scream with abandon. This time i am alone. And yet a familiar sense of relief, my long lost friend, flitting in and out of my 16 year old life far less frequently than i would have desired. 

As once so many years before i stand and watch the waves rushing towards the shore, creeping ever closer to my rather improperly shod feet and sigh, for this is now home.

How many of us have excitedly declared we should love to be free and sleep upon a beach and live a life so without care? And for a night that illusion was so for me but a beach in April is no place to call home and so very cold as most of you cannot imagine. No dream filled sleep lulled by the sound of the waves, instead a bone aching inclemency that dominates your waking thoughts. Thoughts only relieved by the intermittent awareness of a gnawing hunger that you know you have no hope of easing until morning.

Sand once so soft beneath your feet makes for a most uncomfortable pillow, the radiant warmth long since faded with the setting of the sun.

Morning whilst welcome for its warmth brings little relief, hurrying furtively into beach front conveniences for the best efforts of cleanliness that i could manage, for I always had such a distaste for being unkempt as to drive me in search of a bath. Ultimate shame in having to beg from those happy tourists aghast to find their idyll disturbed by such a sight. For sunshine strolls upon the sand are not a scenario often coupled with that of a child pleading for change. But to this, as with all other things, i became accustomed and if my sense of shame faded a little as the need to survive superseded all else my awareness of my situation did not.

Days filled with endless walking, nose pressed longingly against the window panes of shops selling all manner of colourful confectionary. The waft of seaside sustenance floating merrily on the breeze, so enticing for those with the means to indulge yet so frequently i was not. The sun sparkled appeal of coastal scenery quickly fades when seen so constantly and from a less than idealistic point of view, making days stretch out endlessly. Nothing changes. Day after day remains the same like some nightmarish groundhog day not so amusing when you are the one on such an endless wheel. 

Yes my castle in the sand was not so much a castle after all but for some weeks i was to call it home and be thankful for it. Until one day a hand reached out and opened the door and i stood upon a beach and waved my refuge goodbye. Even now encountering a beach at sunset small memories will creep in and remind me that it is not always such a paradise as it may seem.

                                                               Such a lifetime away yet i cannot stand,

                                                                   The feeling of my feet in sand.

back when i was ten

Back when i was ten the world seemed like such a weird and wonderful place. I lived in a world of books where rabbits could talk and tales of boarding school and tuck boxes were my things to aspire to. Oh i so wanted to go to boarding school, to be like those merry little characters in my books,causing mayhem and having untold adventures with exciting new friends. I dreamt of smugglers and sleeping on islands just like those five so famous and so real to me when young. For i believed everyone did this and quite happily made plans as sleep eluded me on many a night in bed. I sailed with amazons and fished with huck finn, solved mysteries untold and inevitably always made it home for breakfast as every hero should. Yes the world was a wonderful place back when i was ten.

Image

Flying!! So much i wanted to be Wendy and soar over the tops of houses following a star and the ageless charming Peter, to battle with pirates and crocodiles,nary a care in the world but to live like the heros and heroines i so admired. I danced at the ball and lost my slipper on the stairs, fell in love with a beautiful beast. Cried inconsolably for The little Match Girl and made as merry as any with the infamous Robin hood.

Yes show me a book and i would dream you a dream, back then when i was ten. Yet perhaps i shall always be such an age as with each tale i am transported away finding solace in a world so far removed from my own. So exciting a life i lead within the realms of my own head as stories unfold and imagination takes over, heroine again of a fable not of my creation yet where i feel so very at home. 

As i pick up a book i find things have not much changed from back then when i was ten.

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