Grannymar

The nicest thing about the future is that it begins tomorrow.

A new beginning, a clean sheet.

Would I change the past?  Nobody can.  Not even God can change the past.

But tomorrow I can make a difference…..

If I get out of bed!

A little Seasonal Singing!

A group of silent monks (High School Students) perform the Hallelujah Chorus.

With thanks to David Braziel from whom I stole it.  Enjoy!

Flame or Flamer

According to Auntie ‘wikid peedia’ - A flame (from Latin flamma), is the visible (light-emitting) gaseous part of a fire.

I like flames.  Whether they are forming dancing images among the coals of my fire or a single flame from a lighted candle, I find them soothing.  Over the years it has become my habit to light a candle for someone who is going through a difficult time.  On occasion I light it simply because I am thinking about the person and they may never know about it, yet for others,  they know or have requested me to light the candle.  This past week the candle was lighting for me as I struggled with a difficult decision.

Flames of passion or desire were not unknown to me; and fortunately they were accompanied by great love.

~#~#~#~

There are flames I do not like.

A building, car or forest set on fire maliciously, simply because somebody holds a grudge.  There is no thought given for the danger that others are in, or the possible injuries or deaths that might result from the original action.

Flames of hatred hidden behind religious or political groups.  We have seen lives destroyed by them over years of conflict here in Northern Ireland and now day and daily across the globe.

There are flames of pure badness and brutality where young thugs beat up little old ladies in their homes for little more than a few pounds of their pension - easy targets.

The world of the media does not escape.  How often have you watched the news on TV when someone refuses to engage in a conversation or are avoiding an answer to a question, unable to debate on points, they resort with flames of anger to personal attacks.

The flames of personal attack are to be found here, on the internet in the world of Social Media - on Discussion forums and in the blogging community.  They are called Flamers or Trolls.

The objective for a Flamer or troll is to be disruptive and take a rise out of people. Mostly they are not interested in the subject matter of the post. They just want to get a rise and annoy people, so if they can accomplish that, in their mind they have won.  They have an opinion and no-one will change that. They thrive on you biting back, and get even more annoyed if you don’t respond and probably get even more vicious at next stopping place. Trolls sometimes have valid opinions but don’t share well.

S. Elizabeth Turnquist  wrote an article at AC Associated Content headed: Avoiding Online Abuse : Dealing with Haters, Flamers, Trolls, Bullies, and Other Mean Posters, in it she said:

I’ve found some very effective steps for dealing with Internet bullies.

Rule #1 - DON’T ENGAGE!

For many people this is the hardest rule to follow. If someone puts up a post, a comment, or a reply that is inflammatory the best route is to not say anything. Mean posters want you to reply, so that is the last thing you should do. This doesn’t mean you’re without recourse, which takes us to our next rule.

Rule #2 - BLOCK USERS!

Most websites that allow users to comment on your posts also have a block user feature. The best reward for someone that is trying to start something with you is to block them. I have a no tolerance policy. I’m pretty clear on the difference between constructive criticism and someone that’s launching an attack. And I don’t believe in giving someone a chance to attack me twice.

Rule #3 - DELETE!

Most websites also allow you to delete comments. If someone posts an inflammatory comment, I block and then I delete their comment. Some people argue that this is a form of censorship. And you could also argue that in some way’s I’m engaging the person by removing what they said. In my mind it’s about teaching people how they’re allowed to treat me. I’m standing up for myself, without giving them what they want.

Rule #4 - REPORT REPEAT OFFENDERS!

Be careful not to assume a person is a troll for disagreeing with your post, the trolls we should all avoid are those who aim for personal attacks.  Generally trolls are unhappy in their own lives, and since misery loves company, they choose to prey on others who they see as happy or popular.

If the troll’s comments are a personal attack on you, just walk away. There is no sense in remaining and giving them what they desire, which is to tear you down.

A blog is like your living room, would you like or allow somebody to behave like a Flamer or troll at your fireside?

I think not.

Do you think the birds are saving the berries for Christmas?

Now I need to chase some dust, I’ll see you at 3pm.

The phone rings and the lady of the house answers,  ’Hello.’

‘Mrs. Sanders,  please.’

‘Speaking.’

‘Mrs. Sanders, this is Doctor James at Saint Agnes Laboratory. When your husband’s doctor sent his biopsy to the lab last week, a biopsy from another Mr.Sanders arrived as well. We are now uncertain which one belongs to your husband. Frankly, either way the results are not good.’

‘What do you mean?’ Mrs.  Sanders asks nervously.

‘Well, one of the specimens tested positive for Alzheimer’s and the other one tested positive for HIV.  We can’t tell which is which.’

‘That’s dreadful! Can you do the test again?’ questioned Mrs. Sanders.

‘Normally we can, but Medicare will only pay for these expensive tests once and once only.’

‘Well, what am I supposed to do now?’

‘The folks at Medicare recommend that you drop your husband off somewhere in the middle of town. If he finds his way home, don’t sleep with him.’

Thank you Bikehikebabe for this one.

I realise that everyone is very busy with preparations for Christmas and the holiday season ahead.  In order not to cause much distraction today, I will go back to the very beginning of my creative journey with some basic stitch samplers we had to produce, proving that we knew how to work each stitch.

And for a closer look:

Oops!  That was the back of the work…. Well at some point the question was asked what the back of the work was like.  I am a dull person…. I tie up all my ends!

So you want to see the front close up?  Well, OK then!

My favourite in the above sample is Velvet or Astrakhan Stitch.

When looking for the book with stitch diagrams, I found this one:

I know that the logo will mean something and bring back very fond memories for one of my readers.  It was published by J & P Coats Ltd., Paisley Scotland.  It was long before the dates of Barcodes and ISBN numbers.  I was bequeathed it when Elly was about five years old by an elderly Gentleman with a great love for needlepoint.

It was daylight when he arrived.

If I had charged Ryanair rates for the luggage, I’d be in no need of a pension.  He left it all over the hall.  We were stepping over bags and bundles to beat the band.

“Is this your bedroom? he inquired as he slipped out of his coat.  Suddenly shy, I nodded my answer.  “Are you sure you want to go through with it?” he asked.

“In for a penny, in for a pound!” I announced cheerfully.  He smiled and pushed open the door.

The bed was turned down and ready.  As he crossed the floor to the bed the sun was streaming in the window.  “I think we should close the blinds.” he said more as a suggestion than an order.  I tilted the blinds and closed the curtains.  As I turned, the zips were open and he was fiddling with his gear.

Cameras both digital and the real stuff, a light meter, laptop, arc lights umbrellas, you name it he had it.  RIGHT HERE IN MY BEDROOM!

I had been warned… it was a slow process.  Like all good things in life, slow and steady is the way to go.  I wanted my evidence but: every time I took a photo my flash killed the arc lights and we were in darkness for a few seconds.  It was like a flash in reverse.

My new found friend with the shoe fetish wanted to see where and how I stored my shoes.  It was supposed to tell him a little about my personality :!:  Boy, was I glad I emptied the bath.

I did it in a hurry so some of the shoes were in a heap on the floor of the cupboard.

It must have taken about an hour to set the whole thing up.  Three tripods to unlock and place at the correct distance and height, the white umbrella positioned on one of them; then there was a large hooded light and finally the digital camera on the lowest one. The little silver spirit level that had belonged to Elly’s granddad, was just the right size to sit on the camera when it was on the tripod.

You thought we were ready!  We had not even begun.  The next stage was connecting the laptop so that the photos went straight to it from the camera so we would see each shot as soon as it was taken.

Then it was down to business….

You didn’t believe me, go on admit it!

The shots of the shoes and boots in the wardrobe, the boxes in to the sides and the clothes hanging above all gave the image he wanted.  A couple of hangers were moved this way or that if they cast shadows.  The actual shots used were not much higher than my knees.  Some were taken at different light levels and exposure.  It was fascinating to watch.  Announcing that the first part was finished, I sighed and offered to make coffee.

Over our coffee we chatted about the project,  I had some questions to answer.  They were the same questions no matter whether you were a 20year old or an old biddy like me.

• Which were my ‘Killer’ heels
• Did I have Love shoes
• My favourite pair of shoes
• My Sexy shoes
• Which pair did I want included and why

I suppose you want my answers.  Was that a yes?  OK. Here we go.

Killer heels are those awful impulse buys that are comfortable in the shop for about five minutes and then become implements of torture.  Out on the town; late at night any weekend you will see so called young ladies with legs half way to heaven, a top that fits where it touches and the shoes being carried as they pick their way round puddles and rough pavement with bare feet.  Thankfully it was a stage I managed to miss in life.  We picked my navy courts with the highest heels.  They are in fact very comfortable, but only worn on special  occasions.

Apparently some of the earlier subjects of this project had Love Shoes.  They were bought as presents by a Fiancé or a husband.  Most of them ended up like a brooch or a scarf, back in the box, only taken out to daydream.   I bought all my own shoes to wear for comfort and because they matched an outfit.

My favourites?  The low heeled dark green pair, bought to go with a suit for a wedding in 1998.

My Sexy shoes?  Well you have seen the footwear I feel most sexy in already on the blog.  What do you mean you don’t remember?  Be patient I will show you in a minute…!

The pair of shoes I wished to include might be a surprise… They were not my  usual style, colour or shape.  They were tomato red.  Are you with me?  The red shoes I wore post-op since September.  Soft wide and secure when testing a new hip and relearning to trust my right leg.  They are the shoes that got me to where I am today.  Steady as a rock on my pins and once more able to wear my usual footwear.

MY Sexy Boots

Then it was on to the next and final stage  Five pairs of shoes each in their box.

Now this was a surprise, all my boxed shoes were covered with tissue.  So a new idea developed.  Several shots of each stage of uncovering with the digital camera and then finally with the REAL camera with film in.

Another stage of uncovering.

So the five pairs of shoes chosen were:

Working clockwise: The red shoes - my choice, The navy courts - with the highest heels. Blue dolly shoes with surface stitching and a leather beige flower - these were chosen as the surprise elements to my character - the outside the box GM.  Brown Mock Crocks - the shoes I wore the first day we met for coffee. and the dark green low courts with mixed textures - my favourites.

All the photos above were mine,  The professional version will go towards a degree project. Perhaps when all is finished I might cadge an odd copy.

Four and a half hours in my bedroom with a strange man was fun, we laughed plenty and I learned plenty of tricks.  Thank you Jim for inviting me to take part. I hope when you graduate that you keep me a Strawberry!

This is the follow up post to More Shoes

Fresh Cranberries are in the shops right now and I love them.  All year long I add the dried variety to my breakfast and I also find them much more tempting as an appetiser than peanuts.  They are also available from the freezer department of most supermarkets, so there is no excuse not to try today’s recipe.

Baked Cranberry Cheesecake

Preheat the oven to 150°C

• 50g butter
• 150g crushed digestive biscuits*
• 500g cream cheese
• 300g mascarpone
• 150g golden caster sugar
• 3 eggs
• 340g fresh, frozen or dried cranberries**

20cm/8inch deep round loose-bottomed cake tin.

In a small pan, heat butter then add crushed biscuits and stir until combined.  Press into the base of the cake tin and leave to cool.  In a large bowl, add cream cheese and mascarpone, then beat the sugar.  Next, add the eggs and lightly beat in. Stir through the cranberries, then pour the mixture into a cake tin.  Put in oven to bake for about 1 hour until golden and set.  Turn oven off and leave cake in oven for 1 hour to cool down.  Remove from tin and place on serving plate, dust with icing/confectioner’s  sugar and serve with whipped cream.

*I sometimes use Nice or Richtea biscuits for the base

**Alternatively you could try cherries or raspberries.

Coffee & Croissants with home made jam, in front of a real fire.

Music softly playing in the background and the only other sound is the rustle of the newspaper.

“Yes please!  I will have more coffee!”

Your arms are almost too short to read the newspaper.

You buy sensible shoes with rubber soles.

People ask you what colour your hair used to be.

Your car must have four doors.

Your biggest concern when dancing is falling over.

Your Christmas gifts include those slender trays of fresh dates.

You know all the warning signs of a heart attack.