Asking Orion

She looked up at the stars in hope that she would see spec of light dance across the sky. She looked up in hope that she would be able to make a wish. She needed a helping hand, an act of the universe to bring her what she most desired.

She had failed to impress on her own, failed to capture the feeling. All she wanted was to be able to hold that feeling in her arms- to love and nurture, to allow it to grow through the warmth of her soul.

In once last hope, she stood in the darkness, away from the haze of a wide-awake town with her head tilted towards a world of unknown. Her eyes flicking from constellation to constellation, across belts, scales and dippers; looking for an answer, looking for hope.

Getting it off my chest

Ever get that feeling where you just want to scream from the top of your lungs and name everyone who has ever hurt or let you down?

I want to do that.

I am not sure whether I am burning out following a very busy start the the year, well actually it is the first half of the year, or whether I am just having a 'moment', but it doesn't feel good.

I was just reading this blog post by Karen, and can totally empathize with the feeling of being a little boat on the big seas. Of late, I have been OK riding the choppy waves, in fact I have enjoyed the buzz and the 'Go Go Go', but all of a sudden, I can see a wave brewing in the distance and I am not quite sure how I am going to ride it or attempt to get over it.

What is stopping me from being able to climb the wave is my past, more specifically, past hurts.
Those that have lied, betrayed me and stamped on my heart and left me with little trust in people, a jealous eye and a barbed-wire fence around my heart.

I know this is a low spot, and maybe all I need is a holiday. It has been almost a year since I had any more than a day off - let alone a decent break. I know that I have taken a nose-dive from where I was three, even two weeks ago and I know I will return to those heights again.

But for now, a little moan and whinge and the acceptance that the past happened and I have to get over it, is all I can do in preparation for the bigger waves.

Oh, and a hug might help.

And the moral of the story is....

There was only one thing she regretted. She stood thinking about it as rested her iron back on its rest, and turned the shirt.

She didn’t regret marrying so young, nor did she regret the pain and hurt of her first love’s betrayal, for his lies and absence had only made her protect her children more and become the woman she was today.

She had never regretted that she had chosen to be a full-time mum, although at times she did wonder what the thrill of the big smoke and the buzz of the rat race felt like.

She never regretted that she had spent so much time in those early years on her own. Nor did she regret the whirlwind lust, romance and relationship with the man across the road.

She had never once regretted having a second family with sixteen years between her first and her last. Four children is a nice number she thought as pressed a strong crease down the arm of shirt. Those early years of the second family had been hard and a wedge was driven through the two sides, but she never regretted it. Her relationships with her children were nothing less than unconditional love. Special.

She never regretted that her second husband, who she loved dearly and so much more than the first, drank too much. He knew when he was wrong. She told him so. She was a stronger woman because of the first.


She never regretted that she gave so much all the time to others and very rarely got anything in return. She knew that she was loved and she knew that others didn’t always mean it.

As she hung the ironed shirt on a wire hanger, she thought about the thing she regretted the most.

Gazing out of the window, palms resting on the ironing board, she thought how she regretted that she had never, ever, learnt to water-ski.

*******

........Regret the things you've done and not the things you haven't.

.... Yourself and No One Else

Just when I thought it was all going to be ok and I was finally being given a little break from the hard stuff, something explodes.

I haven’t felt like this for some time and I thought I had finally put it to bed, that I had tucked it in under a protective soft blanket and said goodnight.

But it looks like it has awoken and proceeded to get out of the wrong side of the bed. With its angry grumpy head it has come crashing back into my life.

It once told me I am far too nice for my own good, that I shouldn’t be willing to give it away so freely.

But what could I do? I gave it to people I thought I was meant to, the relationships which are held together by it and which depend on it.

I didn’t expect them to use it and treat it so poorly and as if it can be replaced without a thought.
And now it scratches at my insides and fills my head with doubt.

Now it stops me believing.

That I will ever use it again.

Not so Perfect Book Launch

I have never been to a book launch before but following Nik Perring's launch of his short story collection: Not So Perfect, I will be making sure I look out for and attend more.

I have been reading Nik's blog since I started this online rambling space. Despite being at the other end of the country, many of the blogs I love to read are all Manchester based, this is due to my lovely friend Sally (who lives in Manchester) who introduced me to blogging and some fantastic writers. Through the power of blogs, Twitter and Facebook, Nik and I have become friends so, needless to say I was excited and pleased to hear Nik was publishing a book. Having never really read short stories, I didn't know what to expect but when I got the perfect sized book through the post, I read the first story, Kiss and was hooked.

Not So Perfect has the ability to connect with everyone. The very perfect stories are insights to minds of everyday people which to some level we can all associate with. I mean, I think there is a Venus in all us females! All 22 stories are fabulous and although Kiss is my ultimate favourite, others become more loved depending on how I am feeling. My mum loves Angels in the car park, but I think that is because she can see herself lying in the snow to make angels.

I was so pleased when I knew I could make it to the launch and it didn't disappoint. I met some lovely people and now have some new blogs to read such as Kim's, Carol-Ann and Annie's. I got to hear Nik read five stories: Kiss, The Mechanical Woman, My Wife Threw Up a Lemur, Seconds Are Ticking By and In My Head I'm Venus. All fantastic. The questions were great too and it was interesting to hear where the ideas for the stories came from, and the process of working with Roastbooks to publish the collection.

I definitely need to seek out some local writers and attend more events like this because I thoroughly enjoyed it. Well done to Nik :)

XX

a kiss at the end of a story
a beautiful
perfect story

a kiss across the sky
the bluest
breath-taking sky

a kiss at the end of a note
a sincere
pencilled note

a kiss at the end of an evening
a perfect
lovely evening

A change....

......is as good as a rest

I don’t think I have laughed so much and so hard as what I did over the weekend. My stomach and cheeks still hurt.

I took a little trip over to the Isle of Wight to stay with my mum, stepdad and younger brother who are on holiday for the week in a lovely little caravan, right on the beach near Brighstone. I have my sister staying with me because she didn’t want to go on the family holiday because it is “boring” and they go there “every year... do the same thing and go to the same places” Despite her feeling this way, we headed over to the island early Saturday morning for the weekend and caught up with mum, Sam and the dog on the beach. Mum looked so pleased to see us, I know how she loves having her brood all together, just such a same we were missing one.

We did the usual: walking, pub lunch, stroll along beach, afternoon nap (well I did, I need my nana naps!) and dinner at the local pub followed by drunken games of I Spy and Charades.

Here are the highlights that made my belly split:

My mum leading us on a walk to Steephill Cove (the name of the cove is more than obvious!) with the promise to my stepdad (who had a knee replacement 2 years ago and still struggles) that there was a pub at the bottom where his efforts down the hill would be rewarded. There wasn’t. She was thinking of somewhere else.

Whilst having a pub lunch on Saturday afternoon (after walking back up from Steephill Cove) My younger brother, who actually says very little – just grunts (he is 14) stated, how he thought it was clever how the pint glass had a map of the IOW on it. I was drinking a Fosters shandy – apparently Australia and the Isle of Wight look the same.

We had dinner on Saturday evening at a very nice homely, traditional pub and as we were all tucking into our meals, the silence was interrupted by my stepdad, who, as he leant forward to put a fork full of fish and chips in his mouth, broke wind. There were two tables of people behind him. He blamed the dog, Lucy who was crashed out under the table. We couldn’t eat for sometime through the laughter and tears. I have never seen him so embarrassed.

There was the field full of cows who were overly friendly and transfixed by my stepdad, now named the Cow Whisper.. It was funny but a kind of ‘had to be there’ moment so I won’t try and explain.

Back at the caravan, more wine was opened and the games started. I Spy had never been so interesting with one guess being a ‘blue veined chicken’. Erm.. in the caravan?? I think not. We then moved onto Charades which sister Flossy made up as she went along but her Antiques Roadshow was the best and had us rolling about on the floor. My Jungle Book went down pretty well too.

It was such a good break and just what I needed. I feel refreshed and have certainly got some of my head space back thanks to the 7 mile beach walk and the laughter. Sometimes, family is all you need.