Page 164 of 166

On the way here, a long long time ago…

Time. One thing we have plenty of yet always need more of. I’m still caught up in a whirlwind right now, with time intermittently speeding itself up and slowing itself down again. Within this turmoil, I’m trying to hold the whole fabric of time and space together by bridging this ever widening and ever shrinking ‘thing’ that in reality doesn’t actually exist.

Whilst I had one foot on the brake pedal, I’ve delved backwards into the mists of time to find some of the events that brought me to this very point today. And then I came across this post that I’d made in June 2010, so decided to repost this rather than write a new one. All of the events in this post seem like they happened yesterday, but with some, decades have passed.

Time. Sometimes a second can seem like an hour, and a year from our past can seem like a week. Random. Anyway, here’s to cosmetic surgery, pulp infections and equilateral triangles:

Several years ago, I was sat in work across from a colleague. It was a quiet time of the day, and she nonchalantly said to me “Don’t your earlobes stick out.” I replied, “That’s because I’ve had cosmetic surgery on my ears.”  My colleague then said, “Really? You can’t tell.” To which I replied, “Yes you can. My earlobes stick out.” My colleague fell about laughing, blaming me for making her go purple.

But it was true. When I was a lot younger, I think it was when I was in infant’s school, I went into hospital to have my ears pinned back. I was being teased by some other children because of my ears (notice I haven’t used the word ‘bullied’!) and this was to make me look more like the other children. I was only in hospital for three days, and then wore a bandage around my head for the next ten weeks. For some reason, I thought I looked like a spaceman. It’s funny, the things you think when you are little.

I saw an old photo of me the other day, with my big sticky-out ears, beaming smile and bright eyes. It got me thinking how much I have changed over the years, yet how much of me is still the same. I definitely have not got the same body, that’s for sure. So my mind is still the same. But, my thoughts are completely different to when I was in that picture, so my mind isn’t the same. A new mind and a new body, yet I am still the same person. Life is absolutely amazing when you start to look at it in great detail! I had to apologise to the photo of little me in case I had changed to something completely unrecognisable, but that little one is still there, so I had nothing to worry about! I can’t go about second guessing where I might have been if I’d done something differently, and sometimes certain routes lead to the same place anyway!

I’m not sure whether it was around this time, maybe it was a little later; I had to go to the dentist to have a tooth extracted. I had to be ‘put out’ rather than having an injection. I’ve had many weird and wonderful dreams over the years, and many of them I can remember, but the dream I had this day is one of the weirdest dreams, in my opinion, ever. As I was breathing in the ether, as I called it, through the rubber mask that left an awful smell in my nose and taste in my mouth for a few days after, I started to drift off to sleep. In that moment, I dreamt of some animated dots sweeping around the blackness, creating what I think was an equilateral triangle. I’ve heard of people dreaming of past lives, great adventures and other wonderful stuff when they were ‘going under’, but this was a first. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it since then, so this is the first time. Occasionally, I still get glimpses of those dots and that triangle.

And finally, in this mini montage of my memories, a few years after the dentist trip, I went on a trip of a different kind. We were holidaying in North Wales, and my brother, cousin and I were walking along the sea wall. I spotted a Superman kite flying in the sky, and got caught up in the moment watching it swoosh up and down. Bit of a silly thing to do really, as one side of the wall had a steep drop, with large boulders at the bottom of the drop. The other side was a lesser drop to the concrete pavement. My attention was grabbed by Superman – I was, and still am, a huge fan – and imagined all sorts of things. I imagined I was flying. I wasn’t – I’d actually walked off the wall, but luckily for me, not off the steep-drop side. I crashed to the ground, and then woke up from my daydream. To laughter. I was fine, apart from my right index finger, where I couldn’t touch the finger tip. I had to learn a different way of writing, as I couldn’t even hold a pen. The finger tip ballooned. It was sore and swollen for the rest of the holiday, and when we were back home, I was taken to the doctors, who said I needed to go to hospital to get it checked out. I remembered the three days I spent there with my ears, and wasn’t keen, but this time I wasn’t staying in. I’d had a pulp infection for some reason, and the only way to make it better was to slice the finger tip, which the doctors and nurses did. Whilst squirting water on it which made no difference to the pain whatsoever. I was glad it was over when it finally was I’ll tell you. It hurt a bit more afterwards too… at least it was flat again! The weird thing was I heard one of the nurses saying that my finger was just the same as another boy’s the day before. I imagined him falling off a wall as well to get his pulp infection.

I really must try to think of some more recent tales to tell. These older memories are starting to make me realise that I am not as young as I once was…

I say You may, I may

You may think things are not so good, I may disagree…
You may think of yourself as ugly, I may think you are beautiful…
You may think I am beautiful, I may not agree…
You may have something to say, I may listen…
You may want your own space, I may not notice…
You may be interested in writing, I may be interested in reading what you write…
You may be the centre of attention, I may observe you…
You may have a fantastic future, I may have one too…
You may not be unique, I may be similar…
You may light up the room, I may be in your shadow…
You may dance to your heart’s content, I may dance internally…
You may be in need of help, I may be in a position to help…
You may witness a miracle, I may share the experience…
You may sing like an angel, I may be tone deaf…
You may need support, I may be a rock…
You may do a lot of things that I do not like – but I may well appreciate them…
You may be special, I may be special too…

You may accept this thank-you that I made just for you…

Mystic Springs

Emeralda looked out through the bay window to the road outside. A rather well kept street on the whole, she thought, looking across the road to the houses opposite. Number one had the tree in the garden, and, on the branch that reached out across the road, she could see Tuppence, one of number three’s cats clambering along.

Number three was the garden with the flower beds. Four of them, one in each corner, and a shaped whatzits in the middle. A spiral bush thing that tapered upwards. Fivepence, their other cat was curled up beneath this out of place contraption.

Number five was where the doctor lived. Doctor Felix was a well-liked man, but he wasn’t keen on cats, and was always shooing number three’s away whenever they were on his rather overgrown lawn. He had the brainwave to buy himself a pet dog, which he thought would be the better option to keep the cats at bay, but was dismayed when Bruce, his dog, suddenly became friends with both Tuppence and Fivepence, and they played for hours with each other on the lawn. He left them to it after that.

Number seven is where the family live. Mother, Father, Son, Son, and Daughter. Mother is Maude Grumbells. Father is Clyde Grumbells. And the children are Xavier, the oldest, and the twins Archie and Tulip. Sinister looking, always dressed in black, and never really seen in the daytime. Nice family though.

Number nine is where Adam Mirage lives. Adam is, so he says, a rock star in the making. He changed his name from Montgomery to Mirage last year. He describes his vocal range as unique, and that is one way to describe it.

Number eleven is where Amy Brock lives. A retired headmistress, she keeps herself to herself until something is going on, and then she is always in the middle of everything. She gets on well with Audrey Fothergill, her from number one with the tree.

Emeralda brought her attention to this side of the road now. Working back down the road, number twelve is where the shop is. A little corner shop that sells everything. Open morning until night, Mr Beckwith never stops working. Which is strange for this street.

Number ten is home to Connor and Rezni, a young student couple who have been moving in for the last two years. They are never really there, but there is always a cart outside with something being dropped off.

Number eight is where the boatman lives. And Sydney Feelgood lives up to his name. He makes more than just the curtains twitch as he goes to work. Everything is more revealing when he is around.

Number six is currently empty, but there are a lot of visitors from the mainland arriving daily for measuring and photograph taking duties. And, presumably, to keep Sydney in work.

Number four is home to Agnes Ontario. An elderly lady, a spinster, who is the life and soul of the party. Nothing is too much work for Agnes to help anyone, and everyone stops what they are doing to help Agnes.

And finally, next door is number two. The students. Four people sharing a house. Three girls and a boy. The three girls are known collectively as the Triettes. The boy is the son of the couple who live at number three with the flowerbeds, Muriel and Fletcher Ace.

Emeralda’s attention was brought back into the room as Agnes walked in.

“Hello, Kid!” Said Agnes with a broad smile. She called everyone Kid. “I thought I’d see you here!”

“Hello Lady Ontario!” Emeralda always called Agnes a Lady, for she was. Emeralda too was a lady once, many years ago.

“That’s a nice green you’re wearing, Kid,” Agnes settled down onto her sofa. “I had a dress like that once. Not as green, though. It was more of a blue. And not as long. Mine went to me knees, not to the floor as yours does. Mine wasn’t as gathered in the waist, or as frilly on the chest, or as broad on the shoulders. And I never wore a hat with feathers as big as that. And, tell you what, Kid, I wished I carried a parasol just like that one. You young ones know how to dress nowadays!” Agnes smiled as she reminisced how she dressed when she was younger.

“I’m older than you now,” Emeralda said, “A hunderd or so years older.”

“A hunderd… Oh, that’s right, Kid, you’re a ghost an’ all aren’t you? You look so real you see!”

Emeralda smiled. She was happy that she had come across this delightfully psychic lady, and loved to visit frequently.

“Oh, drat.” Agnes frowned as she knocked her stick to the floor. She leant forward on the sofa, tapping the floor trying to locate where it had gone. “I do wish you could touch things, Kid, rather than goin’ straight through them… you could pass me my stick. Ah, got it.”

A knock came at the door. Agnes stood up, and tapped her way through the doorway into the hallway. Emeralda could hear her tapping her way to the front door.

“Just a minute, Kid,” Agnes shouted, “I’m just trying to find me key.”

Emeralda heard Audrey’s voice at the door, and decided to fade away as Agnes invited Audrey in for a cup of tea. She’d be back later.

The one that got away

The dark. The cool. The shade.
It’s late. I’m alone.
Footsteps ahead.
I hide. Crouching silently. Waiting patiently.
Twigs crack. Birds squawk. Eyes narrow.
I watch. I stare.
It’s now. Or never.
I stretch. I pounce. I reach. I flex. I grab.
I miss.
Next time. I’ll feed.
I’m hungry.


I’ve been doing a little clearing out today, and have been surprised by the amounts of unfinished things I have lying around.

I don’t normally write my posts for my blog in the WordPress thingy, I use Windows Live Writer instead, so I can format, add colour, jazz up pictures etcetera.

Oh, by the way (speaking of adding colour) I have added a new page to my blog – there’s a link to it in the menu at the top, and over there to the right (or below or somewhere else depending on the browser!). For want of a better name, I have called the page Plain Text, and I will add to this page any post I write that may not be displayed clearly in some browsers. Most colours appear wonderfully vividly when viewed with the dark background that I use in this theme, but the theme itself doesn’t always pull through, particularly with mobile browsers, so, if I use white or yellow for the text colour, the words can not be read (or seen, in the case of white!) It’s a showcase page, I believe, and there isn’t an option on that page to leave a comment, so, if you would like to leave a comment for the post, I’ll add a link back to the post in the main blog. The comments will be visible. I like to use colour from time to time, to add a little variety to my posts, so I’ll apologise now if the post can’t be read in your browser, and hopefully this won’t spoil your viewing pleasure too much. Now back to our scheduled programme…

Oh, before I forget. Anyone who uses the link to my Talestream blog will find that the blog has been made private for now. I’m concentrating on this one blog for now, so my tales of Clancy Farquhar and all of her supporting characters are taking a little break. They’re still prompting me to get the next scene of their story written, and when I have more time, I’ll get back to that once again. Now, back to the scheduled…

One more thing. Only joking!!!

Back to the WordPress thingy to start off with. I have quite a few posts in the drafts section which I didn’t know were there. Quite a few of them were links I created when adding a reply to a comment and couldn’t work out how to add the link itself, but a couple are posts that never got to see the day of light. Whether they will or not remains to be seen, I’ll let them stay there for now. Post or Delete. That is the question.

In my Live Writer application, there are several draft posts there too. All unfinished verses, paragraphs, rhymes, stories, and one that I’m working on for posting at the end of the month. This post is taking a while as information needs to come to light before it can be written. No, it’s nothing to do with my 1642 Quest, but it has something to do with one of my challenges in the on-going 101/1001 Challenge I’m taking part in.

That last paragraph has more loose ends than a convoluted soap opera storyline, but at least it means there are plenty of avenues to go down should I find myself with nothing to write about.

The thing with clearing things out, is that there are things you come across that you don’t want to clear out. Long forgotten books, gadgets, diaries. I’ve come across a diary from 1968. There isn’t a lot in it, but how often do you come across a diary from the year you were born?

And so, on to Saturday. Shopping Day. Bad Hair Day. Need I say m