Today is the day ~ Grindstone

So far today I have organised the recycling, put out the rubbish, cleared up the dog pooh in the back garden, loaded the dishwasher with last night’s dirty dishes, and put a load in the washing machine. It is Friday and I just do not seem to have that ‘Thank God it’s Friday!’ feeling that Johnny Vaughan and Lisa Snowdon on the radio say that they have. It’s just a day like every other day apart from the fact that it is rubbish collection and recycling day. Whoopee!! How exciting…not!! I have had my first cup of coffee, just two to go. I suppose I could do my Wii Fit but having drunk a whole bottle of Rioja last night I do not fancy it telling me that I have aged by 5 years. It does that sometimes. It just seems to know when you have drunk too much, gorged yourself on a major pig out, and been a couch potato. Don’t ask me how it knows but it really does, and I really do not want to be told I am older than I am today so perhaps I shall leave the Wii Fit tucked away under the telly where it can do me no harm, and I shall not feel guilty. Also, I am sure there is no way that I can balance on one leg today, and I do not need it to tell me what I already know. I have also decided that I shall not sigh today. I spent a lot of time sighing and huffing and puffing, which is a sign that I need to add some excitement to my daily routine. I try very hard to be happy, and to do my various chores with a big fat smile on my face, and to be grateful for the fact that I am alive and therefore able to participate in these necessary tasks of daily life but at times I have to be honest and confess to being more than a little bored with the role of general dogsbody. Call me ungrateful if you will but I really wish that sometimes, someone bloody else would pick things up, put things away, clean the bathroom, take the rubbish out, pick up pooh and just let me have a day off. Oh shit…I just sighed and I said I would not do that today. I did it again. “Stop right there Mrs and pull yourself together”. I am talking to myself again. I seem to be doing this a lot of the time. I wonder if it’s true that talking to your self is the first sign of madness? Now let’s go and get that coffee and think about how I am going to change things today. I’ll have to have a shower first as I feel really sticky after the humidity of last night. At least I think it was humidity or maybe it was a hot flush. How are you supposed to know what it feels like to have a hot flush. They call it a flash in the US. I wonder who invents these phrases. And another thing my breasts feel really tender and yesterday I was crying and frustrated but I have only just finished my period. I have never heard of pre-menstrual tension after the event or then it would have to be called after menstrual tension. Bloody hormones!! I refuse to be a slave to them. I am a calm, rational woman fully in control of my actions and perfectly able to adjust to this time in my life when I am experiencing some changes. Changes I might add that all women go through, although for some reason they never really openly discuss. Who am I kidding, I am a woman and my hormones are totally out of control whether I like it or not. I am having my third and final coffee now, and am trying to decide whether to chance the Wii Fit. After all it might get it wrong for once and make me younger than I am, which if it did would make me feel so much better. Um, we’ll see, I’ll decide in a minute. Oh, decisions, decisions. And, I’ve just remembered that Friday is wages day. The day we have to pay our subbies, subcontractors to you. I better get that done or they’ll all be on the phone moaning. Bless them. My job is Company Secretary to the glazing business set up by my husband. For my sins I get to do all the office admin which sometimes I do not mind but for which most of the time I find a real chore, a necessary evil as it were. Although to be fair it does pay me well but then money is not everything but it does pay for holidays. You really can never have too many holidays. I love going on holiday. Back to the drawing board, the grindstone, I mean work. 

© 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…

And although as mentioned previously ‘Today is the Day’ is to be brought in to the 21st Century. I did say that the past would have it’s place. So here is one for ‘Throwback Thursday’ though in the post it’s actually Friday. 

 

 

 

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Rebel without a cause…

I started this website http://www.roseswrinklesrainbows.com back in September with lots of enthusiasm but not much else. I had absolutely no idea really what to write about. I just wanted to write. I thought for a while after the initial springboard into the blogosphere, I would for now use it as a vehicle to showcase for want of a better word some of my old writings, musings and poems which is precisely what I have done. Whether that is a good thing or not, I am none too sure? It seemed like a good idea at the time.  Apparently, there are it seems rules to the art of blogging of which I knew nothing about. Firstly, it appears a blog post should be no more than 350 words in length; secondly you should post everyday, and if you want to write articles you should move to another format. I am therefore maybe not a blogger but something other than a blogger. Maybe I am a wannabe blogger or just simply a wannabe something, rather than a somebody doing nothing.

Looking back on what I have posted so far I have exceeded the aforementioned word count on most occasions, my posts are more article than blog, and as for posting everyday, definitely not guilty. Therefore, I have by my own admission broken all the rules but then there is an old saying, and I quote, ‘Rules are mostly made to be broken and are too often for the lazy to hide behind’ (Douglas MacArthur (1880-1964). Here, before I dig myself a deep hole, and get myself virtually lynched, I must say I am not calling anyone lazy. I am then perhaps a rebel without a cause.  I have always been a little rebellious, mostly just because I do not always like to be told what to do or how to do it. I like to find out for myself and learn from my own mistakes, at least that is what I have always told myself.

As for mistakes I am definitely a world champion. Many years ago I worked for a retail bank. The bank was one of the big four in the UK at the time, the time being sometime during the 1980s when hair was big, and shoulder pads were in. The bank in its wisdom decided to introduce a uniform to create a more corporate image. If I am to be honest, it was in fact a smart uniform. There was actually nothing wrong with it, other than it was a uniform, and I did not want to wear the same as everyone else. We, the staff were told that it was not compulsory to wear the said uniform. I decided that I would not wear the uniform as it was my choice or so I thought. It may not have been compulsory but I made the wrong decision as I was to find out. The Area Manager was called down, and I was sent in to discuss my decision not to wear the uniform. Rather than just say I did not want to wear it as it was not compulsory, I told him that I would never wear a skirt that length (it was below the knee). I told him I wore short skirts, and that I would just not be happy wearing a longer skirt. It just was not me. I thought by saying that, the issue would be closed and I could go about my business as usual. The meeting came to an end and I returned to work.

A few weeks later I was recalled once more to see the Area Manager. Wondering what I had done this time, I entered the office. I was there presented with my newly altered uniform. The skirt had been taken up a number of inches, and was now pretty much a mini skirt. Did I wear short skirts really? No, not at all but here I was being given the uniform that I had said I would wear if the skirt was shorter. When I said it, I never thought for one moment they would actually do it. They had called my bluff, and now I  had to wear the damned thing. This was just one mistake of many. Sometimes we break the rules for the right reasons, and sometimes we break what we perceive to be rules because we are just being bloody minded. Sometimes we break the rules, and they come back and bite us on the bum.

So, what exactly I am I trying to say here in a really cack handed sort of way ? I think what I am trying to say is that yes, there most likely are rules to blogging, and for the most part they probably work for most people, and that’s great! For me though, I am still trying hard not to wear that uniform. That said, I do not want to wear that mini skirt either. I just want to find something that suits me and fits with the me that I am now.

Copyright Liola Lee 2019

Dick and Jane

Jane’s discharge was absolute. She was better now, healed, a beacon of light to the other residents who still had time to serve. No longer on section, Jane was free to go. No more visits by the psychiatric team. No more case reviews, no more anything in connection with the white coat brigade. She was released without ceremony, to go on her way wherever she saw fit. She was no longer their concern. Jane walked away from the centre. She did not turn and look back. She had things to do, places to go and people to see. Time spent incarcerated delays living. As the doors closed behind her she walked forward with an air of quietude . She knew that she would catch up with everything in the end, and that all would be okay or at least okay in her world.

In contrast to her exit, Jane had not arrived at the centre quite so quietly,  which was more a hospital really, and the residents in truth patients. On arrival at the centre some 24 months or so ago or something like that, she had screamed like a barking mad banshee, and struggled with the nurses who were just guards in disguise with a bit of nurse training thrown in for good measure.  She would not make it easy for them, her captors but would fight them with all the fight within her until they were willing to listen. Days, weeks, months, and finally two years passed.  Jane learnt how to play the game, and now she was free to go. 

Dick had dropped Ella at Nursery, and had returned home. Work could wait. He had more important things to do today, rather than go to the office to work on the new accounts. The accounts could wait, there was something else that could n’t. Arriving home, he noted that the gate was closed. Knowing he had left it open earlier, and also knowing that the Postman also always left it open, he was a little on his guard, though not afraid. After all this was Jane, his Jane. He had been expecting her, though he had thought he may be home before her. 

He opened the door slowly, and as quietly as he could. Walking into the hall he could smell the unmistakeable heavy scent of Yves Saint Laurent’s Opium, Jane’s signature scent; it was heady just like her. The door to the kitchen was open, not wide open, just open a few inches, and not quite enough to see into the room. He hesitated for a moment, then went into the kitchen but there was no-one there. He was a little surprised as he was sure she would be sitting at the table waiting for him. It was what she did or at least what she used to do when she wanted to confront him with something, nothing and anything. It was just her way. He wondered if she had learned her lesson. After all, that had been the point of this last two years.

He walked back out into the hall, stood at the bottom of the stairs, and called out ‘Jane’ .

No reply. Nothing. Just silence, and that perfume. That smell took him back to that first meeting with Jane, back to the beginning.

Where was Jane? She had clearly been here. There was no mistaking that but where was she now? He was both puzzled and even a little perturbed, annoyed even. Predictable Jane was being unpredictable. Dick hated unpredictability. Jane would have to answer for that. Just wait until he caught up with her. He knew he should have gone to collect her and bring her home himself. She could never be trusted to get things right. Back in the kitchen Dick clenched his fists, and punched both down hard on the table. Being solid Oak the table withstood the attack. Dick’s knuckles did not. Dick sat down at the table, looked down at his bloodied throbbing hands. This was not quite the reunion he had imagined for so many months.

Dick looked up at the large clock which hung on the wall on the other side of the table. It was coming up to 2.30pm. Had he really been sitting there for all this time. Taking a deep breath, Dick stood up, he stretched out his fingers. The blood had dried. His hands hurt but nothing broken, not any bones anyway. He needed to pull himself together. Ella finished Nursery in half an hour and he must be on time. He was always on time. Turning the tap on, the water ran cold as he rubbed the blood from his hands. He watched as the now diluted blood washed away down the plug hole. He dried his hands, checked them once more for stains and getting his things together, he went out the front door to get in his car to go fetch Ella. Had he locked the front door. He was unsure, so went back and checked again, and again, and again, his OCD resurfacing from somewhere past,  until he had satisfied himself that the door was indeed locked. 

© Liola Lee 2018

This was a writing exercise set by Stephen King in his book ‘On Writing’. Whether he would think I had hit the mark or not is not up for debate. I have still to finish his book. This I plan to do this year along with the others I have started but not yet completed. That said, this could be the start of a story maybe?

Old Souls

Old Souls

Have you ever seen a baby,

When it first comes to this world?

All wizened, wrinkled, wonderful,

An Old Soul promptly hurled.

Not all of them are Old Souls though,

But there are some and many,

Who chose their parents this time,

Where before, they had not any.

They travel through a tunnel,

From a warm place called a womb;

This is just the physical,

Sensation – we assume.

Yet, there is so much more,

To this process of creation:

Revelations do unveil a plan,

Mankind’s celebration.

Old Souls travel daily,

Back, from whence they came;

Sometimes, the same circle,

Sometimes, familiar names.

More often than not they come,

Memory wiped and quite erased;

To recommence the lessons,

They got wrong, in the last phase.

They come back from the afterlife,

Life infused, re-polished,

They come back for redemption, some –

Some all their sins abolished.

The circle thus continues,

Goes round and round again

Until Sin is thus relinquished and

Goodness is maintained.

If you believe in Karma,

You know this could be true

That our children we give birth to,

Could be our parents too.

Not in this life ,I grant you,

But maybe once some other,

We choose our pathways, in advance

Choose who’ll be our Others.

© Liola Lee

The image is a scan image of one of my granddaughters (she is 13 now). I have used the image previously but thought to use it again. I wrote this poem in 2007. I post it here today as was pondering on the meaning of life this morning…

Today is the day ~ ‘It’s today…’

So what do I write about? They say you should write about what you know but I find myself continually asking my self what do I know about that would be of interest to anyone else? I mean really know about? I have spent years trying this, that and the other and truly feel like a ‘Jack of all trades’ and ‘Master of none’. If that sounds like I am feeling sorry for myself then I apologise. That’s certainly not my intention. I have always had a somewhat eclectic type of personality, and in some ways that’s good but sometimes I feel I just over extend myself, spread myself too thin, take on too much and then get nothing done or not enough. So today, I have decided to do things differently.

So what is my intention? If I can work out my intention, I will apparently sow the seeds of something, though what that specific something is as yet I am still trying to figure out. I shall not be deterred. I shall sow that seed, I shall water it, nurture it and hopefully grow it into something beautiful,  something wonderful, and something to be proud of.

Today then, is the day when I shall take that blank page and change my story!

Wishing you all a creative day!

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…

I have decided to bring ‘Today is the day’ into the 21st Century. The past is done. Yes it will always have it’s place and will pop up from time to time and that’s fine but it’s time to stop over dwelling on it and to be here and now. It’s today that counts. Who I was yesterday is not who I am today, at least not if I don’t want it to be.

© Liola Lee 2019