The memory box

Folding the letter she gently smoothed the sheet of paper under her fingers feeling beneath them dryness of age that had affected it. Eyes too poor to read it now, nevertheless she knew every word by heart having devoured it so often over the years, now carefully stored with so many others and only now seeing light of day.

HARRY!

Closing her eyes his face flashed into her mind, hazy now as she struggled after so long to keep his features sharp and clear, she was losing him to time she knew that and the thought made her smile sadly. So long ago yet brief moments of clarity would invade her thoughts, his smile cutting through the fog and making it seem like only yesterday and then he was gone again leaving her with only these tangible memories. 

Sighing softly she replaced the pages into the large carved wooden box, fingers brushing a small packet as she did so drawing it slowly towards her before cupping it gently in her wrinkled palms and clasping it to her chest.  ‘Not long my love’ she thought to herself ‘Soon, it shall be soon’

Leaving the packet unopened she returned it quickly to the box, thrusting it inside as guilt burned and she slightly afraid of being discovered although she knew she would not be, nobody came any more. A splash of bright colour caught her eye and she reached towards a garish painted picture of a child’s hand with crude scrawl underneath depicting the artist’s name.

Ella.

Another smile, eyes warming briefly before the light quickly faded, no Ella was long gone and this just yet another memory of things come and gone in her many years of being. Sadness less sharp as each year went by panged momentarily before she dismissed it and returned the picture to lie back along its fellow inhabitants of the cluttered old box. 

Her worn gaze swept over the small grizzled teddy bear and the beribboned letters, oh she had been so popular in her day with her many suitors all begging for a smile, a glance, some sign of recognition from her but almost from the first she had only had eyes for him. Sweeping an errant lock of hair from her forehead she leaned further over the box disturbing the contents in her hunt for the one thing she sought. She needed to find it, to bring him close again before her failing mind refused to remember what she was looking for and left her in that absent place where nothing mattered any more. 

There! There it was.  Her heart leapt as she found the one thing she wanted and fingers rapidly cleared the dust from the front of the small framed picture. Lovingly she gazed at the sun bleached photograph, yellow with age, showing a young couple smiling shyly at each other.He resplendent in some bygone uniform showing duty to his country and she delicately pretty in florals and lace, bonnet trailing from fingers gently clasped between his.

Harry.

Even as she gazed the fog came and eyes clouded over, picture already forgotten falling into her lap and memories of him vanishing like mist in the sun. In the shadows of the room a figure waited, brass buttons shining on a uniform of old, boyish face echoing the love reflected earlier on hers. He could wait, he’d waited such a long time that a little longer would not hurt. 

‘Soon my love’ he smiled ‘ i shall see you soon’ 

There is a happy land

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In the course of my work i encounter many many people. All walks of life, all ages, races and religions. Some of these are your average pleasant examples whilst more often they are sadly the opposite. Whatever the person you meet there are occasionally those who for some reason or another stay firmly lodged in your memory. Up until now it has been my misfortune for all of those of my experience to be of a negative nature rather than a pleasantly positive.

Recently all of that changed when i had a conversation with an elderly man. To begin with he won me over with his lovely chirpy greeting and after a morning of exceptionally rude people he was definitely a balm to my downcast mood. They say that you can hear in the voice when a person is smiling and of this gentleman this was certainly true. Smiling he most definitely was. 

Faintly Welsh with that singsong lilt to his voice he replied that as the sun was shining he was very well indeed and asked after myself in return.  ‘My Lovely’ he called me and that in itself made me smile for it was nice to hear after a particularly harsh day. I explained the purpose of my call and he listened intently before pausing for a moment after i finished speaking. then he began to chuckle and i was taken aback as he announced that he would be glad to help but he really did not see the point for he was not long for this world. ”I’m dying you see” he told me quite nonchalantly.  Like any empathetic person i was horrified and apologised profusely, condolences rushing forth although i wasn’t really sure any of them were enough to befit the situation. Startlingly he dismissed my words with another chuckle and told me that he was ready to go.

”I’ve lived my life you see” he told me ”I’ve lived a very happy life, had a wonderful wife who is waiting up there for me to join her”

Then he began to talk. He told me of his life and his time in the second world war. That he found in me a willing audience there seemed to please him greatly and we talked for some time as he told me of his time as ground crew personnel. Scoffing genially at me as i enthused my love of the B-17, telling me firmly that there was nothing to hold a candle to the good old Spitfire. As he talked he never changed, that same chirpy happy nature shone through and despite his bombshell i found myself smiling too, very much warming to this old man i had never met and he did seem to be genuinely happy. 

Smiling still he told me of his wife, clearly from the gentle affectionate way he spoke of her it seemed he really did love her. That he was looking forward to seeing her again in whatever place exists after passing touched me and made me smile. No clearly this lovely old man had lived a happy life, this much was evident from the way he spoke. He stuck in my memory for his charm and his friendly nature and his gentle acceptance of his lot and i wondered if in my own turn i should feel the same. 

I have always been a big believer in trying to do the best we can with the life we have for we really do only get one try at it. There is no ‘return to go’ for those who make mistakes and get it wrong no matter how much we should wish it. Although many years hopefully yet to go i couldnt help but hope that i should be able to say the same as this lovely man, that my mistakes however many were still nothing compared to the happy parts of the life i managed to have. I have to admit a relief that my time is not yet up for i have not yet reached that place where i can look back and say i have led a happy life. My mistakes are many and i am not so very good at getting things right. Yet there are those things, however few, that definitely make all of the difference and i can truly say i feel i got right. It is so very hard to realise just when something is worth counting and when it is of no consequence at all but just sometimes there are things you just know you have to count. Regrets will follow when you realise you should have counted something that you didnt or in hindsight put too much stock in that mattered not at all.

It is all a question of balance and doing for yourself those things that will make you look back and say you led a happy life. Perhaps you may not have started out that way but the world is full of choices and it is up to us to choose the path to the right memories. For myself i shall remember that lovely old man whom i met only briefly but who made me smile on a very bad day and who gave me faith that if you stay true to yourself and what you believe you really do have the potential to be happy. 

Wherever you are sir i wish you and your wife a most happy ever after. 

Be my Valentine

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Valentines day.

Love it or loathe it, you can hardly avoid it in todays consumerist society. Dash off to the supermarket for a much needed pint of milk and you are assaulted by an array of nauseating pink and red hearts and overly priced greetings cards gushing about how much the intended other means to you. Totally at contrast to the other 364 days of the year when many are infact bickering and hurling abuse at each other, totally forgetting that the previous day they had been besottedly ‘in love’. I expect you think i sound very bitter and cynical dont you? Further still i bet you think im single right? 

Wrong..i am infact very much taken and i wasn’t always so scathing as perhaps i sound now. 

As a much younger girl and then a woman i was very much as you might expect. I believed firmly in love and romance and Valentines day was a crushing event indeed if some token of someones affection did not sail its cupid assisted way to me. With a head full of romance and the ideal that some smitten male adonis was going to sweep me off my feet and declare undying love for me i looked very much forward to the national day of love. Sometimes those tokens did come my way, often from those persons i in fact did NOT wish them to be from leaving both parties regretful and devastated. Many an unfortunate friendship spoiled as my blinkered eyes had failed to see that, at least on the males part, it had not infact been friendship at all. Still i waited, head firmly in the likes of a Pride and Prejudice novel for my Mr Darcy or his like counterpart to fall head over heels for me as the novels suggested were so. Because that, of course, is exactly how it happens.

I waited.

I read.

I dreamed.

I waited some more.

Like anything unused after a while the ideal was becoming a little tarnished. My own choices or non choices were turning out to be far from the princes of my dreams and the idea that perhaps romantic novels were infact just stories after all slowly began to creep in. Rather like when a child discovers that infact there is no such thing as Santa Claus i was at first reluctant to believe it at all and then inconsolably desolate in the way only one with crushed dreams can be. Life infact had not turned out as i had expected and poor choices on my own part left me with only a perfect life in books to escape to. Escape i did as i lived the many lives of the heroines within. Many times i experienced the sweeping love and the crashing lows of some turbulently passionate relationship that i know by now i could only dream of.  

Reality has a way of returning though and even as i try not to let it cloud my optimism, i have grown accustomed to the true existence or not of romance. My thinking has been adjusted from the consumerist and literary ideals of it and have settled into a more pragmatic approach. Perhaps sometimes it is possible to set your dreams too high and spend your life forever being disappointed. Is it then more sensible to lower those expectations and perhaps have some chance of actually meeting them. As i said i expect you imagine me single. Some bitter old maid, so often spurned in love and doomed to a life of nostalgic regret. I am infact far from it and am blessed with a wonderful partner who although totally unromantic does not love me any the less for it, nor i he. I do not expect flowers from him and we have often joked that should he ever give me them i should instantly be suspicious and demand to know what he had done wrong that he was trying to make reparation for. He however does not find it easy to express feelings so those little moments when he does are so very precious, much more so than if they were freely forthcoming. Again this affords the chance for the unexpected, when some little comment or unanticipated gesture has rendered me speechless or emotional. My small but precious hoard of these is jealously guarded and much valued for what they lack in number they make up for in feeling. 

Valentines day. Yes although i admit even in the recent past to having felt a twinge of jealousy as some lovestruck gentleman goes bounding towards his lady love clutching roses, i am a realist with the wiseness and fortitude to be grateful for that which i have rather than longing for that which i dont. As a rather surprised looking bear smiles in my direction from the corner of my room a happy memory obliterates any thought of roses and chocolates to be replaced with another more recent and of much more value. Yes i hate valentines day, i loathe it with a passion and never again will i subscribe to the enforced falsity of it. Think me cynical if you will for i shall not mind a bit. Instead i shall content myself with a memory of brown eyes smiling into mine in some rare unexpected tender moment or of a furry little face emerging from a box causing such a rush of emotion from me as to bring forth tears. 

So as on any other year there will be those who are disappointed. Some with desperately watch the letter boxes hoping for some sign that their partner ‘Loves’ them. Each knock at the door will be met with the anticiaption of flowers or some gift to demonstrate the love or affection of their significant other. Some will be rewarded and bask in the joy of feeling loved, whilst some will be left bereft as no gift is forthcoming leaving them feeling unloved and unwanted. I cannot ever promise myself that i shall never feel unloved again, the future is never certain. What i an be sure of however is that never will it be the result of an empty handed postman. I am sure my boyfriend will surprise me one day when i am least expecting it as he frequently does. Some word or deed guaranteed to make me smile as he has in the past. But not on February 14th when he is ‘supposed and expected’ to. Never then. 

Valentines day…………… no thank you!

A Mother’s Love

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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. 

Austen-tatious

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I know myself to be far from alone this weekend being totally immersed in the screening of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, sighing wistfully as the knee weakening Mr Darcy bestows on the most beautiful Elizabeth Bennet ‘THE look’  A tale much loved by me in both literary form and the visual adaptations which duly followed, i find myself drawn once again into the romance and propriety of Austen’s world with all the ease of donning a favourite cosy cardigan. I am a most old fashioned girl in all things pertaining to matters of the heart but also find great appeal in such decorum and wealth of manners and believe i should have felt most at home in this earlier period of time. Oh how very wonderful to be wooed by some dashingly handsome man emanating respect and to be duly afforded such correct behaviour as was my right. So very far removed from most gentlemen of my acquaintance today, and i hesitate to call them gentlemen, who are more likely with great ribaldry to request that i display some area of my anatomy for the entertainment of all present. So appealing too, those so articulate and eloquent, an art which these days i find is very much on the decline and the talent of conversation and wit is severely lacking in all but a few. Perhaps i move in the wrong circles having neither connection nor fortune to move in a society above my own but this does not prevent me from longing for the stimulation of intelligence and decorum that seems doomed to be lost in a bygone age. Little wonder women the world around sigh disconsolately and  take solace in a world so very far removed from our own. And forgive me if, just for a short while, i  join the ranks and submit to the smoulderingly charismatic charms of the irrepressible Mr Darcy.

Wishing for the moon

Come on lets face it when was the last time you sat down, looked around and smiled because you were happy with what you have? How many times have you been guilty of saying i want? Most of us are so guilty of perpetual ‘i want’ ing that we forget to look at what we actually do have we merely spend our times thinking of all the things we do not. For many that long road from where we have been and where we are now is so long that we forget how to look back along it and remember the journey and the achievements along the way and ultimately celebrate them. A recent quote i read was perhaps most apt and fitting at this point merely stating

‘Appreciate what you have, for if you do not then you can be sure somebody else will’

I have been told i am an unusual woman and perhaps this is so since i will never ask anything of anyone that they do not freely give and whilst i have dreams and aspirations like anyone else i am also mindful to be happy with what i have. If it comes down to a choice between pushing for more when it is not freely offered, risking losing everything, or being grateful that i actually have it in the first place then i will always take the latter option. Perhaps the trick is to remember, especially in respect of relationships, how things were before you had that person who means so much to you and ask yourself do i really want to go back to how i was before? Anyone who loves someone would always answer with a resounding no, of course not and why would you.

Yet despite all this so many are so willing to do exactly that and throw away everything that makes them happy just upon that quest to demand more than is already given. I guess for the most part you do not know what you have until it is gone and often once lost it cannot be retrieved. Perhaps then we would all do as well to sometimes remind ourselves of what life would be like without all the things we have. It never hurts to count your blessings every once in a while, even if you forget they are blessings, for one thing you can be sure of is someone else would value and want what you do not.

Yes an unusual woman i may be but also one who has spent a lot of time waiting for things to appreciate to come along. I can see clearly along my road no matter how long it gets and never will i take for granted those happy things  that make me smile. Offer me things freely and i am often wise enough to take them but never will i ask for them for myself. When you have what you’ve always wanted you do not throw it away trying to get something better for the grass is never greener on the other side it is merely a trick of the light. Never be guilty of crying for the moon to the point that you forget to live in the here and now for you might find one day that here and now is exactly where you wish you were.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but all the better when you do not need it. 

True Romance

Anyone who knows me will know that i am really not one to take particular notice of events in the media but today one particular story really did catch my eye. A Canadian dentist named Sandy Crocker has travelled 8,000km to try and track down a young woman he  met for just two minutes ( yes you read that right) last summer. The lovestruck Mr Crocker was holidaying last year in the beautiful Irish town of Ennistymon when he spotted the Irish beauty at a cafe where he and his brother stopped for lunch.

Not wanting to interrupt her meal he waited until she had finished eating before approaching her and asking directions to the local cliffs but did not pursue the matter further since he was leaving town the next day. However it seems Cupid had other plans for our handsome dentist and after her departure the arrow struck home leaving him changing his mind and desperately needing to find her. In true romantic hero style he and his brother desperately searched the town and cliffs but could find no trace of the woman who had captured his heart. I defy any woman not to melt at the thought of making that much of an impression upon a man, for don’t we all wish we could?

Back home it seems Cupid really was not wiling to let this one go and our poor hero could not get his princess out of his thoughts, so much so that he decided upon a whim to remake that eventful journey and try once again to find her. Our gallant hero does not even know the name of his lady and has only the description of ‘mid to late 20’s, freckles and reddish brown hair’  but is determined to give himself every chance to find her. 

So as the world holds its breath and waits to see what fate has in store for the smitten Canadian you cannot help but wish for a happy ending and hope that he does indeed find the woman for whom he went to so much effort. It seems in this case at least there is such a thing as love at first sight and romance is definitely not dead. Definitely the stuff of romance novels and surely the utmost in compliments, i for one will definitely have my fingers crossed. I would not be so much of a woman if i were not so easily swept away by a little bit of true romance.

Sandy Crocker may you find your girl.

My life without me

Today i was shocked and saddened by the news that an ex colleague and friend had suffered a cardiac arrest. Thankfully due to some twist of fate he was in the right place at the right time and was very swiftly aided and ultimately it seems he is going to be fine. i guess the shock really is that by todays standards this gentleman in question is not particularly old, having not long since taken retirement and settled down to a long earned life of leisure and although it happens this was really not expected.

The loveliest of men always smiling and jolly and such a kind caring nature that my daughter and i long ago christened him ‘Papa Smurf’

It seems we none of us really face up to the fact that we are after all merely limited beings and that eventually whether sooner or later we shall all in the end shuffle off this mortal coil towards whichever end our beliefs may lead us to. Perhaps the saddest thing of all is that this failure to recognise our mortality means many of us just forget to live while we have the chance to do so. It may be that we are afraid or just that have we have forgotten how.

I, like everyone else, simply do not wish to imagine my life without me in it but reality bites and i have to accept the fact that i shall not always be here and life will continue to go on without me as inevitably it always does. Perhaps we all need to learn to live a little more like each day is our last, actually living the life we have rather than drifting with such total complacency and taking it all for granted.

I know Papa Smurf is so thankful he was saved, indeed he said so to all of us and for our part we know the world is far better a place with him in it. Get well papa smurf xxxxx

W. H. Davies

Leisure

WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

A Man just like Grandpa

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When i was young i was never a daddys girl nor yet a mummys girl like most children, right from the off i only had eyes for my paternal grandfather. To me he was grandad although to the world i know he was something else, which makes me sad for i would love to know the man he was and the life he lived. 

But to me he was just grandad.

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Memories of cuddles, cheek pressed against the scratchy wool of the waffle knit cardigans he wore as i sat cuddled up on his lap toying with the wood effect buttons that held it together. Never from Grandad came the scold not to pull at them because i would pull them off. No, never from him. Strange after all these years i remember his car so well, a bright yellow Hillman Hunter rapidly filled by my brother, sister and i as we piled into the back for another adventure with Grandad. ”come on then girls sing me a song” he would say and my sister and i would so happily oblige, squawking out our own rendition of Matchstalk Men and Matchstalk Cats and Dogs’ in the way that only children can. Grandad never cared if we were off key, i bet if you’d asked him back then he would confess he never noticed

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Yes we loved to sing for Grandad but just as much we loved him to sing to us for he was funny in a way that tickled us immensely and always wise to when a little girl needed to smile. We would beg him to sing as he drove around the hills speeding up over them so that our tummies flew up into our mouths as we descended the other side and we would shriek with glee and beg for more. All things bright and beautiful, this was grandads song although i doubt the vicar ever heard it sung so in church. Every time he came to the word ALL it would be sung in a really high pitched voice totally out of character with the rest of the song and guaranteed to have us in fits of giggles and i confess to this day i cannot hear that song without hearing his rendition in my head.

Oh if there were ever a hero of any little girls childhood then my Grandad was mine, my refuge, my rock and the best man i have ever known. Never did i need to explain for he always knew and hindsight makes me wish i had told him so whilst he was alive. But something tells me that if he did not know it then he most definitely does now. Sadly my Grandad died when i was in my early teens and somehow i knew long before my parents told me that he was gone. I remember well the startled look on my parents faces as i blurted out ”Grandads dead isnt he” before they had even said a word. They consoled themselves that i had overheard but i hadn’t, some things you just know. I have but one photograph of my grandad and it hangs on my living room wall where he smiles his gentle smile down upon me. And i know he is there, smiling as my hand reaches for the Radox bath salts that i buy just because he did and i feel him nod his approval as he always did.

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Yes my Grandad was the best of men and maybe someday i will find out his story and if i ever meet another someone i hope with all my heart that he is a man just like Grandpa. 

Sometimes still waters really do run deep

                                                         ”Isn’t that a little dark for you?”

 

This was the comment from a friend this morning when i replied to the standard ”what are you up to?” question with the reply that i was doing my housework listening the new Linkin Park album i bought earlier. Now i totally love Linkin Park, that pure raw emotion that comes from such a great vocalist and many a time when having a bad day i have cranked up the volume on my ipod and selected Linkin Park and speed walked until i feel better. Great rage music..try it and see!! 

But this comment tickled me, for although i am well aware of how people perceive me i take great delight in being a contradiction. This does not mean i am fake, no, i am me and nothing but me but i find it is more down to how much of me i want on display as my public face. Mary Poppins, i have been called this before many times and perhaps it is a very apt description of me, i am sickeningly affable to everyone just because it is in my nature to be so, i am extremely laid back, extremely slow to anger and admit although i dislike many things i will never be driven to hate which is the most ugly of emotions. 

I guess the truth is, a conversation with my best friend made me think about emotions and the displaying of them and having been in a relationship that was so totally devoid of any whether positive or negative i wondered how much i was guilty of this myself. Sure i know on the positive side of things i’m very open, warm, affectionate and giving ( i have been told this so often although the word ‘nice’ makes me want to vomit and i refuse to use it) but the negatives? Mary Poppins or no even i cannot pretend that i do not have them and yet when i examined them in a curiously detached way that i am so good at, i was actually was quite disconcerted to  discover that i never cry. Oh i dont mean in a movie kind of way for put the slightest emotional part in any movie or tv show and i will cry until i sail myself out of the room. That kind of crying i do most freely but otherwise i could not in the last 5 years remember a single time i have really let myself cry, nor yet could i remember a single time when i really lost my temper. I do get mildly angry yes but far from exploding i become very cold and quiet and i am excellent at sarcastically scathing remarks. Lowest form of wit it may be but designed to hurt the most when appropriate although again for me this is extremely rare as i dont often get angry either and i never EVER shout. But really really getting furiously angry? No i find i dont do that either. Yet i have always considered myself to be emotional, when it comes to feelings i really do think i feel them very strongly and passionately. If i love you then i REALLY heart and soul love you, no half measures and if i dislike you then equally i REALLY dislike you for i find there is little point in doing these emotions if you cannot do them properly.

 

Maybe this friend had a point in his deduction that Linkin Park might be a little dark for the me he knows, i suppose you wouldn’t really expect to see Mary Poppins stamping along yowling ‘In The End’ at the top of her voice would you? Yet this thought tickles me for it makes me wonder what Mary really was like underneath and strangely it does not bother me that few people do really know me. Perhaps i am the most strange of women in the fact that i do not actually WANT them to know me, yet i am not entirely sure why. Perhaps it is the appeal of being an enigma, perhaps just simply that it makes it just that little bit more special and meaningful when that odd person does actually know you. I do not know if i am alone in this, whether it is just in my nature and others are more open in revealing who they are  and this is just some oddity unique to me.

So i may surprise you yet then as i turn up the volume and carry myself away to the strains of ‘Leave out all the rest’ , Mary Poppins hat firmly in place and a tendency to keep breaking out into such a delighted grin for it pleases me greatly to be so unexpected. 

                                                           Sometimes still waters really do run deep

The Art of Being Bridget

I’ve never been much of a girl for ‘chick flicks’ .

Usually i find the sickly sweet  ‘boy meets girl, mishap, misunderstanding and all’s well that ends well’  predictability rather nauseating.Two perfect people with a few predictable stumbles along the way finally ending up together in some flowery perfect romance of the most unlikely kind. But this aside i find i have one exception, a great love for Helen Fielding’s book and further movie ‘Bridget Jones Diary’ 

Bridget appeals, is realistically imperfect and blunders her way through life with a literal, endearing charm that leaves you feeling like you just met your best friend.  Add to this the reserved charm of the oh so handsome Mr Darcy ( yes i confess it i have a huge crush on Colin Firth) and you have a book and movie most of us will laugh, cry and sigh wistfully along with right to the very end. 

Bridget is…..well, just Bridget!! You cannot help but love her and right from the start you root for her at every step of the way, cringing at her faux pas and cheering when she gets it right. Everything about Bridget is so very wrong and yet so very right. Who among us doesnt feel an affinity for those ‘big pants’ that we all pretend we do not own yet invariably have hidden in some furtive corner of a drawer. Don’t we all wish some handsome Mr Darcy-esque figure would adore all our failings and announce they like us just the way we are?? I for one certainly would!

Bridget tells it like it is, no frills or fripperies and i cannot not help but laugh for she is very like myself blurting out exactly what is on her mind with no thought of the consequences. And yes i too have gotten myself into many a scrape by doing exactly so. Although i confess i have never drunkenly wailed along to ‘all by myself’ not yet made blue soup i cannot help but feel so in tune with Bridget and laugh and cry along with her life. 

We mourn our weight, bewail our tragic love lives and vow every Monday that we will start a diary of our very own for failings or not we all want,  just like Bridget,  to be just the way we are and to be loved for it. 

Do you miss me

Do you miss me when i’m gone, do you long to be beside me

Do you call me for no reason than just to hear my voice

Do you miss me when i’m gone? Do you dream that we’re together

And know that here is where you’d be if you only had a choice

Do you miss me when im gone, if you do then do i know this

Have you taken time to tell me or think that i should know

For i find when i’m without you things just really arent the same

So i had to let you know, that i miss you when you’re gone

Written by Smilesalot1969 aka Lilyflower- 2001

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