The Station



We recently spent some time away, including a week in Hampshire with our good friends, Jan & Alan Coupe of Wisteria House, Stubbington . One of our days out that week was a trip on the Watercress Line from Alresford to Alton. When we got home and I started looking at my photos, it reminded me of this below the picture.....

'The Station' by Robert Hastings

Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are traveling by train. Out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there, so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loitering - waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

"When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry. "When I'm 18." "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz!" "When I put the last kid through college." "When I have paid off the mortgage!" "When I get a promotion." "When I reach the age of retirement, I shall live happily ever after!"

Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~







A Return to Bruges

Night falls over Bruges [EXPLORED # 102 on 4/06/11], a photo by Eiona.R. on Flickr [THIS IMAGE IS COPYRIGHT PROTECTED]

Not an easy blog entry to make . I'll try to explain........I was stood in Clinton's Cards, Oxford Street, Swansea looking at the 60th birthday cards, thinking to myself, "But I don't feel old enough to be buying a 60th birthday card for my husband." Not the usual upbeat quirky thoughts you'd expect from me. Anyway I bought the card,bought the pressie and a week later departed for Bruges to celebrate Huw's 60th birthday.

There's so much to write about the wonderful time we had but for now a cameo in pictures or the alternative quirky account here

Have a break; have a Kit-Kat

Day 148/365: have a break; have a Kit-Kat, a photo by Eiona55 [having a Kit-Kat] on Flickr.

Back in a bit :0))

If it looks good enough to eat, use it ~ Abe Ajay

Day 147/365: if it looks good enough to eat, use it ~ Abe Ajay, a photo by Eiona55 on Flickr.

Experiencing the Divine

Rhossili Sunset, originally uploaded by Eiona55. [THIS IMAGE IS COPYRIGHT PROTECTED]

We decided to take off into the sunset last night to Rhossili. Oh how peaceful and balmy was it, with a high tide, with no breeze, on a warm evening in April.
Peaceful, did I say? with so many foreign tourists yakky-yakketing, clicky-clacketting with their Nikon-not-Canon cameras, though they didn't stay, bumbling off, yakkety -yakking.

All of this, above the sound of new-born lambs peacefully bleating; the gentle sounds of the waves lapping; the seagull's cry, the grey seal’s bark......

Was Planet Paradise ever meant to be like this ? .....

Spaghetti Arrabiata

I have different versions of this recipe because it's so versatile and can be cooked up in minutes.

Just lightly soften some chopped garlic in a tiny drop of olive oil, add a tin of chopped tomatoes and as much dried chillies as you can tolerate.

Sometimes I cook lean bacon strips along with the garlic and for a veggie alternative I've used chickpeas in the past, or used different forms of pasta, with tagliatelle being my favourite. To round it off throw in some torn sweet basil and sprinkle with dried parmesan.

There! a satisfying meal in minutes!

Oh and serve with a glass or few of Pinot Grigiot or Pinot Grigiot Blush.

Photo project

On Jan 1st I embarked on a Flickr project called 365. It's one where you have to take one photo per day every day of the year. Rainy days can be problematical for some but for me I'm rarely at a loss to find anything. This is today's offering.

Day 90/365:the most painful household incident is wearing socks and stepping on an upturned plug~ Peter Kay

Spring is Springing

'Blossom by blossom the spring begins'

A.C. Swindburne

March 20th 2011

Today is a smooth white seashell; hold it close and listen to the beauty of the hours ~ unknown

Stop, Look, Listen

As a wannabee amateur photographer, I've learned to stop a lot and look to see what is around me. A thought occurred to me though - how many in these stress-riddled days, take the time to listen and absorb the sounds; the sounds of nature in particular?

Take this photo for example. It's a beautiful scene as you can see; you can almost imagine the tranquility but you can't really get the whole essence without hearing the gentle sounds of sheep bleating; the occasional bark from a farm dog; the birdsong, and even voices of walkers the other side of the lake.

One thing we try to teach little chidren in schools and even in places such as Tourist Centres is the touch, feel, smell and sounds of various things. I wish I'd set my camera to movie mode. Another time....

"Shhhhhh! Come here!

   Hold my hand.

    Close your eyes.

Listen!

What do you hear?

"I hear silence. Nothing.

I hear your heart beating."

"How?" saith I.

"I just can," saith he.

Silence............................

The Dawning.............

After a weekend of worries...........

Time

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent.

Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.
-Carl Sandburg

MS Awareness Week 26th Apr-2ndMay 2010

Boo! This is me- ‘tis I! I look pretty much OK at the age of 55, wouldn’t you say? A bit wrinkled maybe, yet I live with a condition called Secondary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis (or MS, to Dai public sic.) and have lived with it since the age of 23. I have as sunny a disposition as this photo, so shan’t mention anything horrible ......besides no one wants to read doom and gloom, now do they?

I’m a lover of life and live it as fully as I can. I even took this photo myself because you can do things like that given the right equipment. Oh and the shades? Prescription sunglasses for long-sighteness, that's all.....well Ok, I can barely see out of one eye but hah! I miss naaathink!

MS is the most common disabling neurological disorder affecting young adults and we estimate that 100,000 people in the UK have MS.Please show your support by raising awareness that it is not a death sentence but a life sentence-and after all, Life is for LIVING, ond yfe, Dai? ;0)

I did it!

Carrying on from my last entry......

On July 5th 2009 I took part in a charity event for The MS Society of Great Britain. This involved abseiling 30m down the main entrance building of King’s College Hospital, London.

As organised as I’d been about everything during the preceding months, the day of the event saw me in a flat panic once I started to get kitted up in my hotel room, ready for the long trek from Central London to Camberwell.

And the reason for this panic?

This was because I suddenly discovered that I’d left my official orange MS Society tee-shirt at home in my airing cupboard, along with half my other clothes (these I’d already noticed as missing and replaced by making a slight detour on the journey to London by stopping off at NEXT on a retail park- just off the M4 at Newport ).
“What to do?” thought I, because the only other tops I had with me were either evening wear or strappy vests. My thoughts turned immediately to staff who work at MS National Centre and who live in London, so I rang my boss at an ungodly hour for a Sunday to inquire if anyone could spare one.
Within an hour and a half, she herself arrived at my hotel carrying her own orange tee shirt for me to wear for the occasion. Within minutes, we got in the car and proceeded to the venue.
Was I nervous? No.
Why? I can only guess that it was because I was so focused on the task in hand.

I’d been allotted the time slot of 1.30pm. After signing in (and signing my life away) at 1pm as instructed, I joined a group of people outside at the bottom of the building; people from other charities and some doing it just for fun.

I had a longer wait than anticipated so stood there with a few supporters until 3pm. We casually chatted as we watched others coming down the wall, some abseiling as if it were as easy as falling off a log, some looking a tad ungainly with their jolting-jerking-spinning, but most worrying was that one young woman injured her arm as she went over the top and lost control, bashing into the brickwork on her way down.

Now, was I nervous after witnessing that? No. Why? Again, a matter of being focused.

Finally, just before 3pm it was my turn to go. As I stood at the top of the building with its spectacular panorama of the whole of London, a view so clear that I could see the white arches of the new Wembley Stadium 30 miles in the distance, I leaned over the edge and smiled excitedly as I waved at Huw standing at the bottom with his camera.

Was I nervous ? Still.... no!

The next thing that happened was that an instructor attached the safety clip and rope to my harness and instructed me on how step backwards and go over the edge very, very slowly – which I did.

Was I scared at this point? Still....no!

After I’d gone over the edge it was merely a matter of me controlling the ropes with my hands in a smooth fashion, and I can assure you that it was the first time in my life with MS that I’ve ever managed anything so smoothly in a physical sense.

Before I knew it, I was standing at the bottom having my harness removed by one hunk of a guy, but were my eyes on him? No they weren’t, because I was grinning, smiling and waving madly at the friends and family who were with me.

Would I do it again? ‘Course I would - without any hesitation.

At the time of writing, sponsorship is continuing to trickle in and I’d hope that it’ll continue to do so until I reach my target figure of £2000.

In the meantime, my thanks go on behalf of the MS Community at large to all who’ve already sponsored me and for the curious HERE are the photos of the event.

Advance Warning-My Abseil

Between now and July 5th I'll be doing my damndest to keep myself fit and well for THIS. Well at least I'll be near enough to an A & E unit. I'll bear this in mind in the coming months......

Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear ~ Ambrose Redmoon

The question is, can I manage to look as sexy as this whilst I'm doing it?

The New Year sees a graceful stumble.....

..... by means of a return to Hereford, but this time for a stayover incorporating the noshing 'n nattering experience as previously mentioned in this blog. It is for the reader to figure out the enigma of my use of accompanying hymn...

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved;
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares,

I have already come;
'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,

And grace will lead me home.

Further photos can be viewed HERE!

Santa Parade

Jude @The Guardian cuts a Christmas No 1?

*mouth zipped* Just click HERE!

and for the pain relief a festive photo..

A Magical Christmassy Tour

This is written by me but published under a different title in....

MS TALENT 2

Oh the feeling! The excitement bubbling up in our stomachs;just like the fizz in a newly-shaken bottle of pop, waiting to explode into the crisp dark air. Late night Christmas shopping in town! The darkened skies illuminated by migraine-inducing neon lights; the music from the street organs totally overwhelms. We are subliminally drawn into the moment. We are on that multi-coloured magical carousel playing its dah-da-da-dah-dah……..

We are aware of nothing but the lights, the music, the thrills and spills and all the fun of the fair; mingling with the eager crowds of shoppers only to find that The Halifax is still open.

But whoever can afford to buy a mortgage at this time of year? As we queue it becomes apparent however, that all like ourselves are excitedly withdrawing money. “Gizz our dosh, please?” we silently beg; and there it is finally, a wad of virgin £20 notes. Ah! but before we spend, spend, spend, let’s go get some Dinky Donuts; their sweet, sickly, pungency pervades the air like the smell of candy floss at funfairs. Oh!… let’s have some hot chocolate as well whilst we’re at it, because the air is getting frostier with each frenzied breath we take.

Through the hurly burly, my thoughts turn to wondering where people come from on this cold December evening; where will they go when their wads of brown, purple and blue paper money lose their virginity as they are handed over tenderly to rough, ham-fisted market stall vendors. Will they return to their warm, cosy sitting rooms with further mugs of hot chocolate or mulled wine like us? Or home to cold, damp, dark flats devoid of Christmas love?

A visit to Santa’s Grotto in one of the big stores is a must-do for children of all ages; we can barely contain our excitement. We part with our £1.50s and join the winding trail snaking into the depths of the labyrinth. “Can I have some candy- sticks, mum?”, a little boy enquires from the front of the queue. “Only if you’re a good boy and be polite to Santa and not kick him in the crotch like you did last year!” “Oh, ma-am, it wasn’t my fault, I tripped!”

The air inside is gets oppressive as we mingle with so many bodies vying with each other for control over the queue. The grey faced man behind our cash-desk sits stony and tired-looking. It has been a long and tedious shift. No thrills and spills for him tonight as he dishes out the change or swipes the credit cards robotically. We venture back outside into the cold air in Oxford Street, with its stripey-roofed, fairy-lit market stalls. Each one contains a treasure trove of el-cheapo goods manufactured in sweat shops and ‘Made in Hong Kong’ labelled goodies. On impulse we buy nearly everything in sight because the lights cry out, “Buy me! Buy me! I’m yours for the taking!” We buy the musical tie, the flashing Santa Badge, the dangly, itchy Christmas bell earrings.

Ah! But there is magic at work here; we are not in control. We are being controlled by the smiling faces beaming at us; the taped muzak; we are walking in a winter wonderland; the aroma of hot-dogs, candy floss, mulled wine, the stale smell of the alcohol which I unwittingly inhale as a drunk bumps into me, “Sorry Mrs!” Very quickly I search my bags for my purse - just in case. Phew! That was a close one; money and presents still intact. Suddenly we realise the dangers which lurk on our 21st Century Streets. ”Come here Steffan, bach! Hold mammy and daddy’s hand in case you get lost!” fearful for his safety on these crowded streets. We fight our way to the Quadrant Shopping Centre – yes each staggering step we take is a fight against the demonic faces seemingly trying to push us back whence we came. Oh yes indeed, we are in the throes of battle here. Someone accidentally kicks my walking stick from me almost causing me to fall. I feel like hitting the perpetrator over the head with it once it’s been recovered from the floor, but do I? No. Instead a vision of a Tom and Jerry cartoon flashes inside my head and I think how wonderful it would be to physically bash everyone senseless in the quest to arrive at our destination.

And our destination? Debenhams! As we squeeze our way through the main door, ear-bashed by “Once in Royal David’s city” we’re also floored by a spray of the most disgusting perfume invented by man or scientist; neither are the males exonerated from this assault on our senses. The heavily cosmetic’d young woman insists, “Try some Opium, please?” Too late! Our throat and airways are constricted by her spray as we weave our way through with stomach muscles unavoidably heaving like waves rhythmically beating on a distant shoreline. My senses react with a sneeze louder than an elephant’s and the path ahead of me is suddenly clear. The battle is won! Our journey takes us to the Kitchenware Dept, my own personal plethora of culinary curiosities. I feel at home here. Everything is strategically placed, seemingly crying out, “Come buy me! Come buy me!” in ghostly whispers echoing around the fluorescent lights. Do I imagine the pale, gentle hand beckoning me into the red-green goldness; matching serviettes and napkin rings; golden cherub candles; golden Christmas tree baubles; golden garlands? I catch a momentary glimpse in my mind’s eye of King Midas; everything has turned to gold.

On turning the next corner, “Oh I just have to get that cute little melon- baller!” “But why?” the voice of conscience asks. The voice is ignored whilst it is dropped discreetly into the glittering chrome basket. “Ma-am! I’m tired. Can we go home please?” My golden bubble has burst; I fall back down to earth with a sobering bump, no longer intoxicated by the now nauseating aromas of cinnamon, Dinky- Donuts and stale beer. We are hurled out of the rainbowy whirlpool of lights into the dark once more. The dream is over; it’s time to go home. We trudge through the now tired streets with heavy legs, heavy bags, heavy hearts but a light purse and wallet, back to our car. We look out into the dark from the black window of our vehicle. Have we been in some fantasy world? All seems dark and dismal - par for the course of a winter’s evening in downtown dismality-land. As the car halts at traffic lights, two sunken eyes in a grey-black face try to shout through our closed windows, “And so it’s Joy to the World? and a Happy Christmas Mr f***ing Rich Man?!”

There she is, curled in a bedraggled heap on the frosty pavement, our familiar local homeless one; scarf wound around her scrawny, emaciated brown-grey neck, accompanied by a scrawny, emaciated brown-grey mongrel. I turn on the car radio to hear strains of Ralph McTell………..”Let me take you by the hand and ………..”

A January Inspirational