Time once more for our Loose Blogging consortium of Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, Ramana and I, to turn our thoughts to the topic for the week, chosen today by Ashok.

The Opposite Sex

The world is full of them.  The opposite sex.  My life was full of them.  The opposite sex.  The house I grew up in seemed full of them.  The opposite sex.  Where would we be without the opposite sex?  Nowadays some women seem to think they can live without men altogether.  They would tell you they (men) are redundant.

I disagree!

Ok, so here in Ireland, the days when we women were treated as servants are fast disappearing and it is not a day too soon.  It is my opinion that women are treated as subservient in countries where religion holds sway.  Since most religions are or were the invention of or propagated by men, is it any wonder.

Now stop right there!

I am not and never have been a feminist.  I believe we are all of equal value and should be shown the same level of respect.  We each have our own talents and they all combine and contribute to the coat of many colours that is life.

Down the years I have known women who suddenly found the door to the vast abyss of widowhood had closed behind them.  They were lost without their soul-mate, stranded because they never learned to drive - ‘Ah sure I don’t need to drive.  Isn’t he always there with the car to take me where I want to go!” NOT any more.  I knew one lady who didn’t know what bills were, or indeed how to write a cheque!!! Her husband took care of all that (it was the days before ATMs).  NOT any more.

Thankfully long before I found myself on the edge of that great black hole, Jack made sure I was able to cope with most situations.  “Come here ’till I show you how to do this!” was a phrase used with great regularity.  “You will not always have me to help you!” and how right he was.  He covered items such as his simple method of book-keeping, DIY, all aspects of decorating, how to change the oil in a car, or the tyre with a puncture.  I never change a tyre these days, I find it impossible.  I no longer have the strength.  Even some men would not be able to do it either, because the nuts on wheels nowadays are tightened with pressure machines.

In my first place of employment it was a totally female environment.  I cannot say I hated it, but I did not really enjoy it.  Back biting and bitchiness often raised their ugly heads, I kept my head down and worked all the harder to help the day pass a little faster.  I was told more than once to slow down.  Why?  Because I was upsetting the average for the team I was with!  I stuck that job for three years because back in the middle sixties changing jobs after a short time was taken to mean you were flighty and not good employment material.

From then on in three different companies I was fortunate to work with a large team of men.  Very often I was the only female in the department.  I treated all of them like I would my own brothers and they in turn looked after me.  I learned their back stories and was privileged to share in the highs and lows of their lives.  The new romances, marriages and when a baby was on the way.  I covered for them when they needed to attend hospital appointments, school meetings or a family funeral and they in turn pulled out all the stops when I was under pressure with a customer.  Those days were good.  We worked hard and on a Friday we finished early and all headed for the pub to wind down with a couple of drinks.

I am not totally anti women!  There are many that I have great respect for and try to emulate.

This is rather special week.  I rejoiced in celebrating on Monday 8th - International Women’s Day for 2010 - On another day I tip-toed over the boundary of another year, and look forward to Mother’s Day in our part of the world this coming Sunday.

So to Mother’s everywhere, a state we would not have reached without our men, I wish you

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY

Today we welcome the return of Anu and Ashok to our group of the Loose Blogging consortium which includes Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, Ramana and I, and most of us will pen our thoughts on the topic for the week, chosen today by Judy.

“If I could travel in Time, I would……..”

“Look at me, I’m in another world - a dream world that invites oblivion. People take drugs to achieve such freedom from their daily cares. I’ve never taken drugs. I’ve never needed them. I achieve a high through work.” ~ Erté

If I could travel in Time, I would like to go back….  Back in time to the world of Erté.

He was born Romain de Tirtoff in Saint Petersberg but liked to call himself Erté after the French pronunciation of his initials. Destined for a military career, Erté surprised a number of people by creating his first successful costume design at the age of five.

In 1912, some say at the age of 14, others say19, his father finally allowed him to move to Paris to fulfil his dream of becoming a fashion illustrator.  He was one of the foremost fashion and stage designers of the early 20th century.

His time in Paris covered a stint in the Haute couture house of Paul Poiret and a twenty-two-year association with Harper’s bazaar to the beginning of World War II.  During that period, Erte produced 250 covers for Bazaar; innumerable drawings for the magazine’s pages; fashion designs for some of the world’s most glamorous women; costume and set designs for Hollywood movies and stage productions ranging from scenes in Ziegfeld Follies of 1923, many productions of the Folies-Bergere and the Paris Opera. George White’s Scandals followed in 1988.

Erté pursued his chosen careers with zest and creativity for almost 80 years.  His appreciation of the sinuous and lyrical human figure was amazing, as well as the music-hall, Erté also designed for the traditional theatre.

Erté began a second career when he met London art dealer Eric Estorick in 1967.  Impressed by the superb work in the artist’s Paris studio, Estorick was determined to relaunch Erté’s career.  This effort was crowned with spectacular success in New York and London exhibitions of gouache paintings and drawings.  The demand for his work by not only those able to afford originals but young people of limited means was too large to be satisfied by the existing works.  This led to the decision to create multiples - first graphics and, later, bronze sculptures.

During the twenty-five years of Erté’s second career he achieved again the level of fame that he had in an earlier generation, but with an even wider public.  Those years saw also the publication of many books on Erté’s work, including two large-format books on the graphics, “Erte at Ninety” and “Erte at Ninety-Five”, and one on the sculpture “Erte Sculpture”.  By far, his best known image is Symphony in Black depicting a tall, slender woman draped in black holding a thin black dog on a leash. The influential image has been reproduced and copied countless times.

His work may be found in the collections of several well-known museums, including the Victoria and Albert Museum in London,   and the Metropolitan Museum of Art and a sizable collection of work by Erté can be found at Museum 1999 in Tokyo.

On his death in 1990, he was hailed as the “prince of the music hall” and “a mirror of fashion for 75 years”.

The genius of Erté

Some of the following Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, Ramana and I, all part of the Loose Blogging consortium will dip into our pasts to share once more our thoughts or deeds on the topic for the week, chosen today by Gaelikaa

The Wildest Thing I Did in my Youth

When does Youth begin or end?  ‘One can be old at an early age and young at a late age’, this is a phrase I learned from Ian.  I sometimes think I missed ‘youth’ on the first time round, but these days I feel younger than I did forty years ago!

It’s never too late to have a happy childhood,
But the second one is up to you and no one else.

If it is up to me, I intend making the most of every moment of this second childhood.  My youth began about five years ago!  It did.  Really.  I am telling you, because I decided it did!  So let me think…. Ah!  I remember.

I WAS PICKLED!

No Nancy!  Not with vinegar, that is for beetroot!

It was a couple of years ago now, and I was a raw youth remember.  I had a date.  There were would be Toyboys - PLENTY OF TOYBOYS!  I would have competition. Nimble nubile little beauties…

I needed all the help I could get.

It was the month of February filled with endless dreary bleak days and there was no sign of Spring.  Alas I spent most of the time indoors.  Indoors makes for pale people and ‘pale’ is certainly not my colour. I was becoming as grey as the weather and overtaken by Gerty Gloom!  A week in the sun was what I needed but it was out of the question, so I would have to find another way….. The mirror taunted on a daily basis and after a lengthy debate of at least five minutes, my pride took over demanding that drastic measures be taken.

An appointment was quickly made at my local beauty salon. It had worked for Elly & George’s wedding the previous year, everyone remarked that day about how well I looked, so why not just repeat the performance once more!  I had it all worked out, easy peasy…. a couple of hours and I would be the Belle of the Ball!

Stage 1 was to have the now greying eyebrows and eyelashes dyed to add definition and once all was dry I went to the spray paint shop for Stage 2. My instructions were clear and simple: I wanted a healthy glow and not to look like I was marinated in carrot and orange juice for a month! The beautician seemed quite efficient and worked in a steady way around my body.  It looked a little darker than I intended, but that was probably my eyes playing tricks since I was so pale before she began.

The colour seemed to become stronger as it settled and by morning I was certainly not anaemic! The beautician must have been distracted or misheard my message, because after thirty years living in Northern Ireland I had become an Orange Woman!

Holy mother of the the vestal virgins, what on earth was I going to do?

“Shower”! I shouted.  I have no notion why I was shouting since I was the only person in the house.

I scrubbed, I rinsed and I scrubbed again, to no avail.  Even my salty tears had no effect.  I was contemplating taking the veil.  I was desperate!

Having arranged to meet Elly by lunchtime I decided to set out and she would come up with a solution for me. Little did I realise how punny and funny that would turn out to be!

The eyelashes were the correct colour but alas the eyebrows looked as if they were painted with an inch wide brush and the colour was completely wrong for me. If I was no picture to look at, then Elly’s face sure made up for it! “OMG! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU MUM?” replaced the usual excited welcome and hug.

While I sipped coffee frantic calls were made to Elly’s good friend Ena at Isis Beauty Salon, and appointments were juggled about to accommodate me. Ena set to work and sorted the eyebrows.  Using alcohol soaked pads she gently started to rub my face. “Yes its working”, squealed Elly, and I am not sure if it was encouragement for Ena or to appease me. Since I was lying down with my eyes closed I had no idea if I was now striped like a Zebra or spotted like a Leopard!

“VODKA!” said Ena. “Buy some on the way home and use it to bleach the skin”

We did!  And within the hour I was stripped, dipped, and went a step further than Cleopatra!’  She bathed in Asses’ milk, but Grannymar bathed in Vodka!

It worked and I did go to the Ball

Once I entered the Alexander Hotel the Toyboys were surrounding me and falling to their knees.  We had fun, we had laughter and met amazingly talented people, it was an honour to be there and the memories will linger for many a long year!

Late in the evening I was interviewed by Conn Ó Muíneacháin!  We finished with the story of the young gentleman who earlier shook my hand and told me I made his night, (now you don’t expect me to name him here, do you?). I told Conn that it was many a long year since I made any man’s night! With that his tape ran out and it was time for Cinderella to return to the ashes.

Once again Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, Ramana and I, all part of the Loose Blogging consortium (Helen is on sabbatical & Ashok might be otherwise engaged right now) once more dip our pens as we prepare our offering on the topic for the week, chosen today by Maria.

” Fifteen Minutes of Fame“

I am struggling here, since my moments of fame never last longer than five minutes.  Most of them have already been documented right here on my blog.  A lazy option might be to just link to one or two and leave you with all the clicking and work to do….

Nah!  That would not be fair, so I will tell you a little story.

In October 2008 I wrote a post called Is it in the Bag? One of the comments was a little surprising:

Hi Grannymar,
I was wondering if you could contact me please. My name is Dearbhla and I’m writing from RTE’s The Afternoon Show. I’d love to have a chat with you as possible as you seem to have lots of tips etc that we would be interested in hearing.
This seems like a somewhat unconventional way to get in touch with someone but you didn’t have contact details posted on the blog.
My number is Dublin 01 XXX XXXX. My email address is dearbhlaXXXXXX@XXXXXX.ie
If you could send me a mail with some more info on your background etc and maybe even attach a photo, that would be fab.
Regards,
Dearbhla Lennon

I replied

Hi Dearblah,

It is good to hear from you again so soon.

You found me as Grannymar and that is how I like to be known in public.   Born and reared in Dublin, I moved north to County Antrim when I married.  In fact I have been in Northern Ireland longer than my years down south.  The connection with the south is still very strong as my daughter is now married and working there and I have siblings and friends scattered across the country.

I am not shy about my age, it is after all written in the lines on my face! At 61 I am now officially a senior citizen. In the UK women retire at 60 and men at 65, although that will change over the next few years and women will work as long as their male counterparts.

I started blogging in 2006. It grew slowly and at this stage I try to post something everyday. Now I am rather overwhelmed by the visitors to my blog who range in age from 17 years old to over eighty years young! I also follow about 120 other bloggers, they do not all post every day. The variety of their topics are amazing, they cover technology, music, photography, health, politics, sport, beauty, crafts and of course food. They all add colour to the rainbow of daily life and I learn something new from each visit. It might be the latest tekki widget or plug-in, a new angle on a news item, a story to pull on your heart strings, a photo that takes your breath away or a humorous tale that will have you laughing for the day.

I was honoured to jointly win the award for the Best Personal Blog in the Irish Blog Awards in March this year. In April I was the recipient of the first Blog Post of the Month Award – also from the Irish Blog Awards stable; for: The light went out. 

Dearblah you ask about household hints, part of my young life was spent at my mother’s side as she reared her large family. Mammy taught me to cook, mend and deal with all class of household chore. While running my own home and in my working life I suppose I picked up a few tricks along the way.

For recent photos and a little more information about me, try here and here

I hope you find this helpful

Lán grá

Grannymar
aka Marie

The emails were flying backward and forward for a few days and we soon moved to phone calls.  Then suddenly I was asked late one Monday evening if I could appear on the Wednesday edition of The Afternoon Show.  By now most of you are familiar with the video clip that Elly added to the link for the show.  I suppose in total my air time lasted about 15 minutes, but from that came 40 weekly postings on my blog about handy hints.

We never know when we hit the publish button where it will lead,  I have been interviewed for several newspapers and attended a photo-shoot for the Irish Times Magazine, I have been contacted by at least three Sculptors whose work I featured in posts with further details about past or future pieces.  One of my posts was featured in the book in the sidebar and a couple of recipes found their way into another book. Oh!  Hold on a minute, I almost forgot about Mr Shoes: His project is complete and the book printed and it includes six photos of my shoes - even a shot of all of them in the bath!

None of this would have happened if I was not pushed off the cliff.

Thank you Elly for the push and more than the Fifteen Minutes of Fame!

This week Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, Ramana and I, all part of the Loose Blogging consortium (Helen is on sabbatical & Ashok might be otherwise engaged right now) once more dip our pens as we prepare our offering on the topic for the week, chosen today by Magpie 11.

” A Person, a Place, a Thing and/or an Idea”

The room had a wide bay window that overlooked the garden, a large tree that blossomed in springtime stood inside the boundary and acted as a shield from the road and traffic beyond.  The fashion at the time was to dress the windows in lace curtains.  They acted as a modesty cover without reducing the daylight.  When the lights were switched on it was possible to see into the room from across the street or from the top deck of a bus.  Lace curtains needed laundering several times a year.

This was high summer, not glorious scorching hot summer, but high summer never the less.  The days were sultry and the natives restless.  Boredom was setting in.  The novelty of the long school holiday had worn off after the first week.  Tasks were needed to provide distraction, so the room was cleared first thing on Monday morning, lace curtains set to steep and the dust sheets spread over every immovable surface.

Three times as the emulsion was stirred and divided into two buckets, mammy noticed there were several visits made to look through the window.  By the chat she realised that the local young lovelies were sauntering up the street.  What goes up must come down, so at this rate the room would take forever to decorate and mammy did not have the time to stand around all day cracking her whip.  Not one to be beaten easily, she had an idea! She covered the glass with a thick layer of Windowlene - when the room was decorated, all she had to do was polish off the Windowlene and the windows would sparkle.  Bingo!  That was before we heard of the wonders of vinegar,

Setting the boys to work in opposite corners she stayed until happy and satisfied they knew what they were expected to do, then she headed off to rescue the curtains.  Checking back at intervals and with the initial “You missed a bit there!” or “Do that bit again.”  They soon copped on to the fact that it was easier to do things properly the first time, and settled into a steady rhythm.

The small fly windows were open for air and naturally the sounds from the avenue filtered in…. the cars, motorcycles, buses and the odd lorry.  Birdsong too, and the human voices of women greeting each other as they went to and fro to the shops or to catch a bus.  There were unmistakable girlish giggles as the young lovelies in short skirts made they way to play tennis.  Now what young man can ignore the girlish giggles?  Not my brothers!

They tried peeping out the fly windows, but they were the wrong angle.  Tell a guy he cannot do or have something and it only makes him more determined…. The brothers thought about it….. for about half a minute! 

They had an idea! Pressing a forefinger against the glass and rubbing it in a small circle they had a spy hole to watch the passing talent unnoticed.  They took it in turns to keep up to date on what was going on in the outside world.  The work progressed slowly and as the afternoon passed they became rather bored, back they went to the window, but the world outside was quiet.

Idle hands and all that… itchy fingers were drawn to the obscure glass before them, they saw it as a clean canvas waiting for their handiwork.  Yet again they had an idea.  Write a message!  They realised that to be read from the street they would need to put the letters in the reverse order.  Now what would they say?

One brother moved to the right hand side and at a 45° angle he placed two words.  Meanwhile his accomplice matched him with two words on the left.  Then they moved to the large expanse of glass underneath…  Three words.  Just three words in large print right across the pane! They laughed enjoying their handiwork, and satisfied that the work was complete they returned to the last few strokes of the task they were sent to do.  The form was upbeat now and they quickly finished.  The aroma of dinner was wafting through the house and it would soon be dinnertime.  Suddenly they were hungry and eager to clean the brushes and clean up ready for the evenings entertainment.

At that stage of my life I was working, and heading home tired and hungry from my days toil.  About to cross the avenue with my door key in my hand, I glanced up at the window.  I did a double take and inwardly flamed!  My steps quickened and once the door was open I mounted the stairs two steps at a time.  The fire in my head matched the colour of my locks.  As I reached the landing the call of nature interrupted my thoughts and I changed direction.

While sitting on the throne, I had time to contemplate.  Charge in there and cause a fuss, the message might be cleared, but knowing the minds of my siblings, it would be replaced with worse on the morrow.  I decided to ignore the message, pretend I never saw it.  Nobody said anything… not even mammy!

Life continued as normal.  The worker bees left in the morning and returned in the evening.  Food was prepared, cooked and eaten.  The chat at the table was as lively as normal, issues of the day were discussed and the films and TV programmes reviewed.  Permission was sought and sometimes given for a late pass, but only when details of the usual ‘Who, What, When and Where’ were furnished satisfactorily.

On Friday evening the worker bees returned to the hive happy in the knowledge that they were free for two days.  Daddy arrived last of all.  He was angry.  When he was serious and glum, his tall dark frame made him seem intimidating.  He went straight to the kitchen.  Uh oh!  That was a no no for him, he never went into the kitchen…

“Did you see that window missus?” he fumed

“Have you not been home since Monday?” was mammy’s quick return.

“Who put that there?” he queried.

“The lads when they were decorating.” she answered as she dished up the dinner.

“Why did you not clean it off?” he asked looking at me.

“I thought about it on Monday” I answered adding “But if I had done so, they would have won!”

“Well, see to it that they clean it off tonight” he growled and he turned on his heel and headed for the dinner table.

MEN!

I suppose you want to know what they had written?

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SPECIAL OFFER

GOING CHEAP

MARIE FOR SALE

The brave souls Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, Ramana of the Loose  Blogging consortium (Helen is on sabbatical & Ashok might be otherwise engaged right now) once more entertain us with their offering on the topic for the week, chosen today by me.

Visitor or Visitors

We had the yanks coming home to visit, from time to time.

They were relations who had emigrated many years earlier, flute relations that might have emigrated many years earlier, friends of the relations who emigrated many years earlier and sometimes friends of the friends who emigrated many years earlier.

Some how they all landed on our doorstep at some stage of their visit. The landing at our door always coincided with or included invitations around mealtimes. Sure it was easy, the door just pushed open and the kettle was always on the boil. . I often wondered if there was a hidden mark on the gate post announcing – ‘Drop in Centre’ or ‘Free fresh home made food here’.

Dublin was the hub, and we were no distance from the airport, sea ports or major train stations with tracks that headed north, south, east or west.

Back in those days if Mary Kate* was travelling from Cork to visit her married sisters in London or Birmingham, sure she had to come to Dublin by train to catch the boat to Holyhead in Wales with onward travel to her destination by train. It was a long journey and the poor girl would need a rest along the way. It would also be insulting to go to Dublin and not visit her uncle and aunt.

Naturally she would phone a few nights in advance to ask if it was alright to call in for a short visit. Mary Kate was not daft, she knew full well that if her uncle heard he would offer to collect her from the train and bring her home to a 5 star meal made by my mother. Once she was fed and watered daddy would call time and Mary Kate was whisked away to catch the boat. As daddy waved her on her way, he assured Mary Kate of a repeat performance (in reverse order) on the return journey.

When the yanks were coming things were a bit different.

Well they were coming from AMERICA, and we all knew they were living in great big white houses with decks and dens and basements. They wore long sparkly dresses and dinner jackets and bow ties all day long while sipping on Martinis! Their bedrooms were the size of a warehouse with beds as big as football pitches dressed in satin sheets and large animal print rugs on the walls and the floor. Plenty of space too practice the tango and not a dirty sock in sight.

We knew all this was true, sure we saw it on the movies.

So when the yanks were coming……  It was time for a coat of the whitewash!

Living in Dublin we had no outhouses, so there was no whitewashing to be done, but we had to give the place a lick of paint and plenty of spit and polish. The best china was washed and the silver put out on display.The orders were dished out; the girls sent to the kitchen to bake up a storm while the windows were cleaned and the garden tidied up by my brothers.  There were plenty of moans, the boys were never very fond of working in the garden in the summertime, never mind on a bleak dull and dreary February day.

On one such visit the ‘yanks’ were friends of friends and they arrived early…. ‘too early’ was written on mammy’s face as she removed her apron on the way to open the front door. We never met these people before, daddy was forever dishing out these invitations, telling mammy what to cook and how to cook it, but of course he never lifted his hand to help. My mother was left to organise everything but today there was no time to check the handiwork of her sons.

The visitors were welcomed in and since it was a cold February day, they were ushered up close beside the fire.  Mammy sat and chatted as I carried in the tray of tea things.  The warm glow from the flickering flames, the tea, along with the scones and the cake fresh from the oven, soon had the visitors feeling like returned prodigals as they relaxed into a life where they felt they had always belonged.  Looking around the room their eyes were drawn to the view through the French windows…… With surprised exclamation they remarked on how colourful the garden was for this time of year, and as Mammy looked out, to her horror she noticed the garden was sprouting a rainbow of plastic flowers.

Brothers!  They would hear all about it when mammy returned to the kitchen to make a start on the dinner!

*Any one of my paternal relations

The contented band of Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, Ramana and I, of the Loose Blogging consortium (Helen is on sabbatical & Ashok might be otherwise engaged right now) once more entertain us with their offering on the topic for the week, chosen today by Ramana.

The Perfect Life

Playing in the background as I type is a CD of Gregorian Chants – Sacred Hymns of Peace and Inspiration – I wonder if it will bring inspiration to my fingertips?

For some the silent life of contemplation and prayer would be the ‘Perfect Life’, and although I do spend long hours on my own, I certainly would not consider it perfect. Perhaps my fathers teasing when I was a young girl, of me joining the Poor Clares has something to do with it. His description of the life included: silence, a rough woolen habit and bare feet, waking to dig 2 feet of my own grave every day at 2am and never seeing my family again or being allowed to go home. They would of course visit once a year and speak to me through a covered grille. Is it any wonder I still have trouble sleeping!

Right! Time to change the record I think.

Back in March 1965, Ireland had not heard of the Irish Blog Awards and the great craic that that event was to become (It is such great fun that I have my bed booked already).  Instead our little nation joined the 18-strong line-up for the first time at the Eurovision Song Contest in Italy. There was fierce competition in Dublin for weeks as every showband and soloist worth their salt wanted the honour of performing Ireland’s maiden song and a free trip to Naples for a slice of the action. After a series of heats, that honour went to local hero Butch Moore with ‘I’m Walking the Streets in the Rain’. Just look at the suit, the shirt and tie… pay special attention to the haircut… my mother would give him points for that alone!

We sat round the fire and watched in perfect harmony as each entrant was announced and sang their little hearts out for their homeland. The eighteen names had been drawn out of a hat before the proceedings started and we all had special interest in the names on those scraps of paper in our hot little hands. Well at 1s. per name, the pot stood at 18 shillings! There would be a First, second and third place divvy at the end of the evening. If I won… I could buy a new pair of nylons for the dance the next week!! Ireland came sixth but I have no recollection of which countries I was shouting for, or indeed who won the pot at the end of the night. It didn’t matter; the fun was in the banter. And for those few hours life was perfect.

There is no doubt that Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, & Ramana are all members of the Loose Blogging consortium (Helen is on sabbatical & Ashok might be otherwise engaged right now) but once more the rest of us, without regret give our offering on the topic for the week, chosen by Conrad.

Doubts and Regrets

Doubts

I doubt the world will ever be free of famine and need, until we learn to share unconditionally; and teach what THEY (the poverty stricken) need and not what we think they SHOULD need.

I doubt the world will be free of strife and war, because most if not all is caused by man’s greed.

I doubt I will ever see 21….. Again!

I doubt red meat is bad for you. Fuzzy green meat is bad for you.

I doubt I will ever stop laughing at myself.

#+#+#+#+#

Regrets

Regrets are a waste of time.

The past happened, nobody can change it, not even God; so accept and move on. Live now and make it matter.

Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, & Ramana (Helen is on sabbatical right now) - all members of the Loose Blogging consortium faithfully turn out once more with their take on the topic for the week, chosen by Anu.

Faith

You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty. ~ Mohandas K.Gandhi (1869-1948)

)( * )( * )( * )(

On a lighter note, I think I would need faith to wear these:

I have heard of meals on wheels; but Legs on wheels!!

Well nailed!

Ugh!

Thank you Cynthia, the email arrived in the nick of time.

Another week of the Loose Blogging consortium our members include Anu, Ashok, Conrad, Gaelikaa, Ginger Haag, Grannymar Helen, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria, & Ramana.  For various reasons there may be a couple of absentees this week.

Our topic was chosen by Ginger

Quest

From the moment I discovered our topic for today a song has been running through my head.

In this song composed by Mitch Leigh, the lyrics are by Joe Darion for Man of La Mancha, Quixote explains his quest and the reasons behind it

To dream … the impossible dream …
To fight … the unbeatable foe …
To bear … with unbearable sorrow …
To run … where the brave dare not go …
To right … the unrightable wrong …
To love … pure and chaste from afar …
To try … when your arms are too weary …
To reach … the unreachable star …

This is my quest, to follow that star …
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far …
To fight for the right, without question or pause …
To be willing to march into Hell, for a Heavenly cause …

And I know if I’ll only be true, to this glorious quest,
That my heart will lie will lie peaceful and calm,
when I’m laid to my rest …
And the world will be better for this:
That one man, scorned and covered with scars,
Still strove, with his last ounce of courage,
To reach … the unreachable star …

Well, I am not a man, or scorned and covered with scars, but that should not prevent me from having courage to reach for an unreachable star.  Now which star would it be……

I was never one to chase rainbows( although a rainbow chased us one day) or travel the world in search of treasure like Santiago, a young shepherd in Paulo Coelho’s novel The Alchemist.  First written in Portuguese and translated to into 67 languages, I never actually saw why it was thought to be such a wonderful book.  Why wander the world for what is right there on your own doorstep?  I had spent my early life listening to the phrase ‘The grass is greener far away’!

It is not you know, hop over the stile and if you look at the grass with open seeing eyes…. it will be the same.  The colour comes from within your heart.  I am happy for my heart to lie peaceful and calm as I enjoy the important things in life - my family and friends!