Some of us are Shadow People

I’m currently reading one of those self-help books. You know the ones – about living your best life.  The author is well-known as a motivational writer and speaker.  Came from nothing, had a traumatic childhood and background and is now living the dream.

How? Because he says he just decided to and that you can decide to change too.  You just need to change your thinking.  If you are feeling really bad it’s because you are thinking it yourself. You are out of alignment with the universe.  You will keep feeling really bad until you change your mind-set.

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Ideas in the Ether

“In every work of genius, we recognize our once rejected thoughts.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

I recently read an article or post somewhere that suggests that there are hundreds and thousands and millions of ideas all floating around in the ether.

That every ‘new’ idea ever thought has been thought somewhere else by somebody else and because time is not linear this thought might not be thought for hundreds of years.

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Wild Woman

I met a wild woman at the weekend. What makes her a wild woman?  Her whole self. She’s eighty next week and can’t walk more than a few steps without having to sit down and take a breath from her inhaler.  She insists on doing things around the house even though it’s physically impossible for her now.  She won’t use the walker her family have bought her, says it makes her look old.

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Minding your own acre.

The author, Anne Lamott, writes that a friend once told her that ‘every single one of us at birth is given an emotional acre all our own.  You get one, your awful Uncle Phil gets one, I get one, Tricia Nixon gets one, everyone gets one.  And as long as you don’t hurt anyone, you […]

The author, Anne Lamott, writes that a friend once told her that ‘every single one of us at birth is given an emotional acre all our own.  You get one, your awful Uncle Phil gets one, I get one, Tricia Nixon gets one, everyone gets one.  And as long as you don’t hurt anyone, you really get to do with your acre as you please.  You can plant fruit trees or flowers or alphabetised rows of vegetables, or nothing at all. If you want your acre to look like a giant garage sale, or an auto-wrecking yard, that’s what you get to do with it.  There’s a fence around your acre, though, with a gate, and if people keep coming onto your land and sliming it or trying to get you to do what they think is right, you get to ask them to leave.  And they have to go, because this is your acre.’ (Bird by Bird – Some Instructions on Writing and Life, Lamott, A. p44, First Anchor Books Edition, 1995)

As I read this passage I was struck by the thought, ‘how was I tending my own acre?’  Was I actually looking after my own acre or was I standing at the gate taking note of everyone else’s acre?  Perhaps I am too busy noticing that others are tending their acre much better than I am.  They have beautiful flowers while mine is overgrown and choking with weeds.

Maybe I just happen to like the wild garden look and am happy for it to be overgrown but then I also feel that other people secretly complain and judge me and want me to tidy it up.

Or it could also be that some people are jealous of my acre because I spend a little bit of time tending it and they tell me not to waste so much time on it.  Just pour concrete all over it and be done with all that mess.

Are people invited in to my acre or do they ask nicely if they can visit?  Do they just walk in and trample all over the few pots I have lovingly tended and minded? And if so, why do I let them do that?

Note from the quote she says that the acre has a fence around it.  It also has a gate.  This means that it is my space and no one else’s. I am the one who gets to decide who comes in and is allowed to stay.  I am also the one who decides who is not invited in at all or if they do come in and disrespect me, I have the right to tell them to go.  But not just me, all of us have this right.

What does your acre look like?  Do you take the time to look at it from time to time? Maybe you could take some time to do a little meditation and find out?

Put on some nice music or sit in silence if that is better for you.  Settle your breathing and try to imagine yourself standing in a garden.  What does it look like? Is there a house or cottage in it?  What does that look like?  Is it homely and comfy and maintained or is the paint peeling and the doors and windows are dirty.

What does the garden look like?  Is it well planted and maintained, are things growing nicely or is it overgrown?  Can you see yourself walking through it easily or are your legs being snagged by thorns and bushes?

What about the fence and the gate?  Are the posts neat and upright or broken and falling down?  Does the gate open and close smoothly or does it get stuck and squeak on opening and closing and perhaps need some oil?

Do you see yourself looking around in awe because of its beauty or despair because it is in such a mess and is going to take ages to clean up? If it is the latter remember that there is no pressure on you do clean it all up in one go, it is always there ready for you to visit at any time.

Perhaps you can make a vow to yourself to visit your acre more often and spend some time there, putting in plants and herbs that you like, strengthening the fences and fixing the gate.  Sitting quietly for a short spell as the bees hum and buzz from flower to flower and the wind gently ruffles the leaves of the trees.

Bring yourself gently back and then, if you can, walk in a real garden or touch a leaf on a house plant or tree on your street.

I think that perhaps we can all try to remember to be careful not to go marching in to someone else’s acre, wearing a big pair of hob-nailed boots, trampling all before us, but to wait to be invited

Mostly I think we might all gain from minding our own acre and not taking note of anyone else’s. I think it’s also important to remember that just as we want others to be mindful of our little acre then we should try to be mindful of theirs.  To notice and admire their acre whether it is an award winning flower garden or a concrete patch with a few straggly plants in pots because everyone’s acre is different and special – just as they are.


This is Sally.  Sally is a Staffordshire Bull Terrier.  My little friend and accomplice.

Sally getting cosy

A gentle sweetheart who loves nothing more than to crawl on to my lap for cuddles and love.

She’s incredibly nosy and wants to know what everyone is up to.  She especially loves children and playing with other dogs. Her favourite thing to do is go for long strolls on the beach for a dip in the sea and a roll around in the sand with the ultimate treat of an ‘ice cream’ cone at the end.


Egypt – Land of magic and beauty

20170324 - Eye of Horus

I have just returned from a trip to Egypt that I’d like to share with you. I don’t think I can fit everything into one post simply because there was such much to the journey and I don’t want to put you to sleep. So I’m going to simply share my favourite spots and perhaps come back to add to it another time.

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Who wants to read anything you write?


This is what the self-critic says when I am scribbling in my little notebook. ‘Only writers write and you aren’t a writer’ and yet it’s all I can think about, it’s what I feel I have to do.

So don’t write. Except, except – words flow, ideas, thoughts, little stories. They wake me in the wee small hours and urge me not to go back to sleep but to get up and write them down. Sometimes when I’m really tired I try to ignore them and say I’ll do it in the morning but when that happens I can’t recall them so I know now to get up and do it there and then.  Sitting on the top of the stairs with a notebook so I don’t wake anyone else up

When I look later I’ll have written a few key words and from them more thoughts and musings appear. This is when I spend the time crafting it, expanding on it.

I’ve always felt that I wasn’t supposed to write. When I was ten we had to write a poem for homework.  I remember that I spent ages getting it just right, getting the words to rhyme.  I don’t remember any of the lines except that it was a poem about butterflies.

I was so pleased with my work until my teacher told me he didn’t believe I’d made it up myself, he said it was too good. He called in another teacher and the headmaster and all three of them agreed that I must have taken it from a book, they couldn’t remember who had written it but it couldn’t have been written by me.

Imagine the small child sitting at a desk while three big grown men loom over her, all of them trying to get her to admit that she was lying when she knew she absolutely wasn’t. I think what made it worse was that it was eventually put it up on the wall of the classroom but they were still insisting that I had plagiarised it, which definitely took the shine off it.

So even though I still loved books and reading I never wrote anything as I didn’t think that I could.   I think it was this, and similar incidents that lead me to feeling that school wasn’t for me.  So I left at age 14 with no qualifications.

I returned to Adult Education a few years later and was so excited to be back at school. I wasn’t the most popular when I asked for homework and was told to write an essay on any topic.  The poor tutor had to wade through a 300 word essay with no structure, there were no paragraphs, sentences went on forever and hardly any punctuation but I was oh so pleased with myself.

A year or so later I undertook an O Level in English Literature and I really learnt how to read and enjoy poetry and novels. I learnt how to write essays and assignments and to enjoy the process of writing and editing and rewriting.

I learnt to read not just the words but to see how the author had crafted those words, the images they were trying to conjure up. I read everything and anything – fiction, non-fiction, even the back of a cereal packet.

I read because books are a great escape, they will bring you into another world. Sometimes we have to have some space and time out of our own heads and a book can do that for you. There is nothing better than a rainy day, a roaring fire, a cup of coffee and a cosy blanket as you snuggle up with a good book.

So maybe I’m not a writer and maybe there isn’t anyone out there who wants to read what I write but the words are coming and they want expression through me so I have no choice but to put my little musings on paper (or computer) and let them out.