Today is the day ~ Let the day begin

Today is the day ~ Let the day begin

Let the day begin

15th July 2010 (am)

I am sitting here in the dining room contemplating what I shall write about today. So often I just write whatever comes into my head, and wonder if what I am writing is worth writing or whether it is just meaningless nonsensical crap that no one will ever read. I determine I shall aim to write at least 500 words, after all if I am to be a writer I must in fact write. 

It is very windy outside this morning, so much so that the willow tree is swaying heavily from one side to another; a dancing yeti embracing the universe, reminding me that once again another year has passed and we have still to cut it back; something we have been promising the neighbours for the last few years. I was all set to have the tree brought under control by tree surgeons but they turned out to be rogue traders. I was not fooled for long though, and once the price started to increase I knew that they were trying to rip me off and told them so. Once they knew I was on to them, they made a hasty exit but not before they had partially butchered my beloved willow, and left an almighty mess in the back garden. 

I have decided today to try really hard to do things differently, because if I keep doing things as I have been doing them, then nothing will change, and I so desperately want things to change. I am not unhappy but I lack direction just now, and want to find a pathway to follow. I spend too much time sighing and procrastinating over things which is without doubt holding me back. Sitting here with my head held in my hands, and tapping my fingers incessantly on the table whilst looking at the screen, and willing words of wisdom to come forth does not seem to be working. I have already had three cups of coffee which is the same as always. Why oh why did I not begin the day with a lovely cup of tea? 

Anyway, today is the day for change. I have not done my Angel cards for a while so think I may seek guidance from my Angels as to what I should be focusing on today. I also need to change my hair as it is getting on my nerves. This has nothing to do with my hormones. It is simply that I have looked in the mirror and can see a follicle disaster in full swing. 

The willow tree is still waving. I do hope it does not blow down. That would be a nuisance, now to think what to do today. I must go out, as over the last few days I have been somewhat reclusive and not really ventured out unless you include the daily trips down to Sainsbury’s with Steve. We go there everyday and seem to suffer withdrawal symptoms if we miss a day. Sometimes we go down more than once a day, which some may say is a little sad. It is certainly expensive! When we buy our next house we must ensure that we are far away from the local supermarket. We go in for a couple of items and always come out with a trolley full of food that we do not need nor want really. I am not really sure when we became addicted to food shopping but never a day goes by without us making Mr Sainsbury just that little bit richer. I am sure we are their best customers.

Sammy has just been down and offered me a slice of birthday cake. I questioned why she had bought a birthday cake, “Because I like it” was the answer which I guess is a fair response. I declined on this occasion, though to be honest I was a little tempted. However, a slice of birthday cake will do nothing for my waistline or rather, nothing for that place where my waist used to be. I should go out for a really long walk with Syd, that may clear a few cobwebs. I could walk Syd and drop some papers off to the Accountants therefore achieving the completion of two tasks in one go. It might rain but if it does I shall get a bit wet, so what, a bit of rain never hurt anybody, well not unless you think about those people who get hurt in floods and things, then I guess you could get hurt but just now it is a little cloudy and a little windy, and does not look as though it will flood in the near vicinity. 

I wonder if all women nearing the menopause ponder on such trivia as I do on a daily basis. I wonder if all women sigh as much as I do, and wonder what to do with themselves when they are not cooking, cleaning, ironing, dog walking, washing up and looking after the children. Although the children in my house are all pretty much grown up or at least they are when it suits them, and they never do that much for me. It seems to be understood that it is my role or duty to do everything around the house to make everyone else comfortable and content but what about me, who will do that for me? I guess I shall have to do it for myself but it is hard to do things for myself. I have spent so many years looking after everyone else’s needs that I have forgotten how to look after my own. Today though, I shall endeavour to address this balance and put myself first. I shall aim to please myself, not for selfish reasons you understand but for my self preservation. The time has come for ME… ME… ME…

Let the day begin. 

© Liola Lee 2010

‘Today is the day’ …was a collection of musings I wrote during the Peri menopause years. It’s spoken in the first person, and was based largely on my journal entries written around that time. Journalling is a wonderful way to express this, that and whatever else needs to be said whether aloud or silently…

Memoirs ~ The Orange Moon, Wolf Man and Flight of Fancy

Memoirs ~ The Orange Moon, Wolf Man and Flight of Fancy

The Orange Moon sounds like the stuff of fairy tales and magic. The Orange Moon was in fact an orange sandy slope that had its beginnings beyond the bottom edge of our garden at number 5 Hillcrest Road, and that stretched way down towards the newly built Hillcrest Estate, where the new tower blocks had been erected; towering brick built boxes.  The Orange Moon linked the past of a bygone Victorian era with modern 1960s architecture.  I wonder how many children sat on the Orange Moon dreaming of bright futures both before and after me. I am not sure who thought up the name but it was what it became known as and provided a wonderful platform for play, and make-believe. We would meet some of the kids who lived on the estate there, and play and mess about. It was a wonderful slippery slide, and quite steep and was the stage for many stories. The Orange Moon didn’t belong to anyone; it was just there and bought kids together who might not otherwise have played together. It was a childhood haven where there were no visible divisions at least not in my eyes. Issues like class, religion and colour had no place in our childhood; childhood was a time for play and a time for being children; a time for fairy tales and fantasy with the odd argument thrown in for good measure. The Orange Moon was a meeting place and playground all in one. Back then all those issues that now provide meat for myth to ambitious Politicians did not exist or if they did, we as children did not tend to think about such things. 

Hillcrest Road only had a few houses still standing. Those still there and occupied were numbers one through to nine. If there was any house beyond number nine I am none too sure. One through to nine, are the ones I remember. Next to number nine was the wood and in the woods lived the Wolf Man, so –called because of his pet wolf. He was a big man with a dark countenance. He had thick black eyebrows and dark menacing eyes and long messy wiry hair, the original Gruffalo. He had giant shovel like hands that looked as though they could have easily strangled someone to death, in the instance of a breath if he so chose. He looked dirty like he had been crawling through the dirt or had somehow got covered in soot. He must have been dirty as he lived in the woods and probably had nowhere to wash. He looked almost not human like a wild man who was part animal. He never spoke but roared if he caught us near. He didn’t like children and use to chase us away. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he had a pet wolf or wolf companion. Either way it was a ferocious beast with large yellow glinting eyes, and sharp teeth that wouldn’t think twice about ripping you apart limb from limb. It was wise to take heed and not venture too far into the woods. It was common knowledge what had happened to Little Red Riding Hood. It was also known that curiosity killed the cat but as I was neither Little Red Riding Hood nor a cat I felt that gave me some sort of advantage over the situation and decided to investigate. I was always a curious child and liked to find things out for myself. 

One day I was playing outside with Tina who lived with her family in number nine. Tina was a playmate before she too had to go to school. Tina was a pretty girl but had scarring on her stomach where a boiling hot cup of tea had fallen on her and scalded her. I had never seen the scarring but had heard what had happened to her as a lesson never to reach for boiling hot drinks on the side where I could n’t  reach. Now Tina was also quite a curious child and together hand in hand we ventured towards the wood to see what we could see, although what we thought we’d see and how we thought we’d act we hadn’t as yet given any thought to. As we got closer we could smell a fire burning. The fence was a mixture of grey corrugated iron and wooden post railings that had seen better days and beyond that lay the woods. You hear tell that you can’t always see the wood for the trees, but for a wood there really didn’t seem to be that many trees. It was more waste land than woods. So this was where we were supposed not to go. What was all the fuss about? Then, “ROARRRR” it was the Wolf Man and his wolf coming after us chasing us. We turned on our heels and ran as fast as we could screaming all the way back to Tina’s house where we bolted through the door, quickly slamming it shut behind us. We hadn’t looked to see if the wolf man was coming, we didn’t dare in case he caught us up. How long we lay against the door I don’t know but it seemed like ages. I can still recall vividly how breathless we were, how afraid and excited by the fact that we had escaped. We did n’t go looking for the Wolf Man again. 

Following the excitement with the Wolf Man of the wood was another wonderful experience. There was a dog kennel at the side of the house, although Prince, our dog who I was scared of was now living with a nice old lady down the road, although my mum and dad said she had lured the dog away by giving him treats. I distinctly remember flying, that’s right flying from the roof of the kennel to the back door in broad daylight. I can remember the sensation of flight. Although I had only flown a few feet in the air, it gave me quite a thrill and sense of awe and wonder.  Unfortunately, I had no witnesses so couldn’t prove it. You’d have thought they’d have believed me after all, I’m a girl and if I said it, it must be true, mustn’t it? Girls don’t tell lies do they? At least that’s what I’ve heard said in recent years by those that claim to be in the know.

Time turns things upside down and inside out, and addles our brains like nothing else can. The wolf man turned out to not to be a wolf man at all. He was the Watchman whose job it was to keep trespassers and unwanted children away from a waste site, where there was much debris and potential danger to unsuspecting individuals, especially children. The wolf too was a figment of my imagination and was actually the watchman’s guard dog, a German Shepherd. Yet, as a small child I was adamant that I had seen a wolf man and his faithful lupine companion. The reality was he was just a workman but the story of the wolf man and the wolf makes for better reading and was what we told everyone at the time; and at the time it was what we convinced ourselves to be true.  As for my flight of fancy, that is exactly what it was. Perhaps I jumped or dreamed of flying but as to actually flying, you tell me. If I could do it then, I would do it now wouldn’t I? Or just maybe you forget how to fly when you’re an adult.

© Liola Lee 2010



slumbering in earthen graves

some known others not

flesh on bones left to rot

faceless now lost in caves

laying long in dirty trenches

waiting for death to come

bloodied rows crowded tomb

rotting flesh smells and stenches

immobile bodies lay so still

crimson sticky puddles stick

open wounds carrion lick

‘til rats and birds have had their fill

no romance in bloody wars

boys and men go to die

for what? perhaps just lies

just some so-called cause

sleep now hush now darling

little boys one and all

lay you down and gently fall

asleep with Jesus calling

© Liola Lee 2007

I wrote this poem in 2007 to remember all those service men and women who fought in all wars. The imagery in the poem is more in reference to The Great War and the trenches. Please know The image here is of my beautiful Dad who signed up for the RAF at the age of 18. He and many like him served their Sovereign and Country in World War II to keep us free…I blended the image with a field of Poppies to create a dramatic effect. I had hoped to post this on Armistice/Remembrance day but life got in the way. So here it is now…


Today is the day ~ Truth and Integrity

Today is the day ~ Truth and Integrity

Today is the day that I have decided to focus on truth and integrity. Perhaps it was not really my decision but it is what my Angel cards have said, and it seems to me to be pretty good advice. Also, it ties in with my daily secret teachings. I receive these every day. What are they you may wonder? Well, they are little messages sent to me by my request, which help me practice the Law of Attraction. This morning the message I received said I should follow my own heart, and live my own bliss and let other people follow theirs. It also said I should look for the good in everyone which I do try to do​ on most days but sometimes I have to be honest, and admit that I slip up on this one, on occasion, and then I remember that the Law of Attraction says that we attract back whatever we send out into the Universe, and as I believe in this law, I have to readjust my thinking at times, lots of times actually. I have put this law into practice, and it really works but just sometimes I falter, and then things go horribly wrong. I shall have to work harder on this I know but I am in essence a human being, and programmed to make errors. Getting back to truth and integrity, I shall today try to let go of anything that is not working for me and give it up to the Universe and say, “here you are…you have it because I sure as hell don’t want it”. I said that all wrong because the Universe apparently does not hear the ‘don’t’ and will hear the ‘want’ and all those things I do not want will boomerang right back to me. So I shall have to be more specific in my choice of words, as words have power as does the power of thought. I remember I am meant to say what I want not what I do not want. Apparently if I do this I shall make way for a miracle, and trust me miracles do happen.

© Liola Lee 2010

‘Today is the day’ …was a collection of musings I wrote during the Peri menopause years. It’s spoken in the first person, and was based largely on my journal entries written around that time. Journalling is a wonderful way to express this, that and whatever else needs to be said whether aloud or silently…



Memoirs ~ What’s in a name?

Memoirs ~ What’s in a name?

Maureen was always a great lover of shoes and was nicknamed Maureen Pork Shoes by Daddy, ‘Pork Shoes’ referred to the sort of porky crackley noise that the heels made as they clicked and clacked on the ground, similar to the tap, tap, tapping of tap shoes only better. Shivie was dubbed ‘Shivie Shoestring’  because it rolled off the tongue beautifully and Maureen couldn’t have a nickname without Shivie having one as well, and me, well I was Lollipop later to be called Lolly due to my having a head of unruly curls which everyone said (at least the older generations) was like former child star Shirley Temple, today I am just Lolly as the ‘pop’ has long been dispensed with and Sammy was Salmon and Shrimp, now where did that come from?  Like my dad I have given my children pet names when they were small, just terms of affection really. Name calling, whether it is a nickname, pet name, a label or something more sinister is often part of the fabric of our lives. As children, we become familiar with the saying ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me’. Whoever made that one up was obviously never on the receiving end. Children can be cruel to others with no thought to the damage they may inflict. I am no angel and have been as guilty of name calling as the next kid, and I too have been many times on the receiving end.  I was four eyes, glasses girl and sick mouth which referred to me being a sicky baby; both the latter names were taunts by my own sisters. The other I was called in school; it is therefore no wonder that I deliberately broke my national health glasses or left them at home on a regular basis. Even between brothers and sisters there is at times an innate cruelty that exists. Perhaps it is some sort of survival mechanism, a sort of survival of the fittest mentality. Some of us eventually learn that we have been wrong to cast names as if they were stones at vulnerable targets, some of us do not.  Maureen and Shivie’s nicknames have long since been dropped, though never forgotten, just put away in the past with memories of glimmering dresses and seriously sparkly shoes; my nickname has stayed with me like an old friend.

Our names are chosen usually before we are born though sometimes after. Names are perhaps our first label after boy, girl, son or daughter. A first name is like a wish, or in some cases a curse consciously or unconsciously bestowed on us at the beginning of our journey in life. It helps define who and what we are. Often we are named after a favourite relation as a mark of love or respect, and sometimes we are named after places, saints and celebrities. Sometimes we are given names that are unusual or made up but for whatever reason a name is given, it is part of our identity. It is often hoped that certain traits and positive gifts and attributes will somehow rub of on our offspring. Sometimes we like our names and sometimes we wonder how, if our parents loved us they could ever have given us such a name. Sometimes we wish we were called something else, and some even go on to change their names to ones they wished they had been called from the start. At other times we are called names that are other than our own that focus on some caricatured aspect of who we are and what we look like. 

I use to wonder how I had come to be called Liola. To my knowledge nobody in the family had the same name. My parents had disputed how it should be spelt, my mum wanting the Spanish spelling linking it to St Ignatius of Loyola and my dad registered it with the Italian spelling which upset my mum no end at the time, and that remained a bone of contention from time to time thereafter, although not in a serious way you understand. Sometimes I’d wish it had been spelt in the Spanish way as I could have had a more creative flow in my signature because of the ‘y’. Aunty Eva used to write Lyola in all her cards, and Cousin Britta always thought I was Leola until I corrected her many years later. I have been called Leila, Lola and all manner of deviations from the correct spelling and pronunciation. For the most part I have said nothing, purely out of politeness but then as I got older I decided that I would like people to call me by the name I had actually been given. However, there were and are, always those who persist in calling you what they are or were sure they had heard no matter how many times they were or are corrected.  Sometimes people hear what they want to hear, and not what is actually being said. Of course those closest to me would always be allowed to call me Lolly if they so wished.  On that point my younger sister has always called me by my proper name, and has only ever called me Lolly on one occasion; that’s fine too.

A few years ago I heard, quite  by accident that the Italian Playwright Luigi Pirandello had penned a stage play called Liola, although there was a grave accent on the ‘a’. I was intrigued thinking that I may discover that my namesake was a beautiful heroine in some fine romance or literary masterpiece; someone I could perhaps look up to and aspire to. After much searching I managed to obtain a copy on loan from the local library which ordered it in especially for me. A shame it was in Italian; I did n’t understand a word and had to go googling to find out what the play was about. The play was in fact a comedy about a rogue gardener who had numerous romantic liaisons, not quite what I’d had in mind. Recently I found out why I had in fact been called Liola. It was because my Mum  admired a girl of the same name at school who was a really good piano player, and who went on to become a Nun. I am therefore named after a piano playing Nun, so there is a story after all.  The need to find some meaning in my name is to do with my journey of self -discovery. I believe we all at some time in our lives need to make sense of who we are in terms of finding a purpose to our existence. Well, it is true enough of me. I have always felt that there is some greater purpose for me being here but to date I am no clearer as to what it is that I am meant to do. I am still waiting for some sign, some signal from somewhere. Maybe I am totally arrogant to think that I am destined for something more than I have. Perhaps it is better to just be, live in the here and now and fully focus on what we have right now, cease worrying about what has been and what might be. Maybe I am mistaken and am only fooling myself. Only time will tell whether there really is a plan. Perhaps all the signs are there already and I am too blind to see. 

© Liola Lee 2010