Taking Things for Granted

    When the autumnal sun came streaming through the windows of my home yesterday morning, I couldn't wait to get outside and inhale the cold crisp air. So after a hearty breakfast my partner and I set off in the car and parked up at a local beauty spot called the Helix Park.
   
    We decided not to walk through the park but to walk along the pedestrian and cycle path on the banks of the adjoining Forth and Clyde canal. The cyclists ting, tinged the bells on their bicycles as they passed by us and the dog walkers greeted us with a "Hello," or "Good morning." We all had something in common and that was, we wanted to enjoy the morning sunshine.

 

     The blackbirds and robins were gorging on the plump and vibrant coloured fruits of the wild blackberry, raspberry and rose hip bushes that edge the path.

 

 

    Splashes coming from the water caught our attention and an adult swan posed for a picture before he carried on munching through the plankton. Another splash and the air bubbles rising to the surface of the murky waters drew our eyes to the thick reeds on the opposite bank. We laughed when a water fowl appeared with a small silver fish in his beak, which he/she proceeded to toss in the air before consuming it.
 

 

    Finally we reached the canal basin and sea lock, where the moored barges and boats groaned as their hulls bobbed on the water. I was sure they were trying to tell me the story of their last voyage, or their voyages to come. However their voices faded when my eyes fell upon the wondrous sight of the two Kelpies, the mythical marvels that each stand 100 feet high and dominate this once industrial landscape.

 

    Once the camera was put back into it's protective casing, we about turned and started to make our way back to the car. We didn't say much as we took in more images and sounds that memories are made of. But these types of memories, made up of both sights and sounds are not possible for all of us.

    Communicating with the dog walkers, or stepping aside to allow the cyclists to ride by, for some of us is impossible without help. 356,000 people are deafblind in the UK and face every day difficulties. For them taking in the beauty of the world we live in is not so simple as jumping into a car. deafblind.org.uk

 

 

Hush a Bye Baby

Not so ugly ducklings

   
    We know as adults that mental stimulation is important to ward off diseases such as Alzheimer's. Having had a relative who suffered from this awful illness, I know it was also important that each day was structured and unvarying.


    It seems that not only those effected by AD benefit following a set routine, but growing children do too. Researchers from University College London concluded that children's behaviours improved if routinely put to bed at a certain time each day. They studied 10,000 children in the UK between the ages of 3 and 7 years old and found that erratic bedtimes had the same effect on the kids as jet lag.

    When I was a child, right through to my early teenage years I knew exactly what time was bedtime. Even if I stayed over at my grandmother's, or aunts, the rule set down by my parents was strictly adhered to. But, I didn't really have a problem with settling down at night because I looked forward to being read to by my parents, or the other adults within my family circle.

    Whether it was an extract from Alice in Wonderland, Water Babies, or the fairy tale about the Ugly Duckling written by Hans Christian Anderson, I could hardly wait to hear the next chapter of one of the wonderful books that filled the bookcase in my bedroom. Going to bed was a rewarding time, not a time I dreaded.

    A child going to bed shouldn't feel that's it on par with a trip to the orthodontist, it should be a time filled with happiness. We all function better as human beings if we're happy, so let's get into the routine of hushing a bye our babies with some bedtime reading.
   
   

   

   

Step into the Big Wide World

    On Friday I was chatting with a young woman and my recent holiday popped into the conversation. She had never visited Tenerife and was inquisitive as to what it had to offer.

    Following ten minutes, or so of probing questions she decided that she had found a potential place to spend her next vacation. Finally she asked, "Do they speak English there?" When I informed her that Spanish was the inhabitant's first language, her enthusiasm suddenly came to an abrupt halt.

    Seeing her reaction to my reply, I explained that she wouldn't have any trouble communicating with the islanders, as English was widely spoken. She smiled, but I could see that her initial excitement had most definitely waned.

    This isn't the first time I've been asked this question following a trip to Europe, or further afield and it never ceases to amaze me that individuals are put off visiting another country, just because English isn't the first language.

    In our schools the uptake of language courses such as French, German, Spanish has diminished over the years and I find that difficult to comprehend. Not only because more of us desire to holiday overseas and experience different cultures; but because in times when jobs are very scarce, having an extra string to our bow could open the door to a whole lot more job opportunities.

    It's time that we make it compulsory to learn another language in school, that's if we want to step into the big wide world we live in.

   

   

   

Exodus

   

Canary Islands

    The ocean to me is one of the most beautiful things to behold in this world. I love nothing better than just to sit in silence and watch the waves break against a rocky shore. If I've told you this before, please forgive me.

    However, for thousands fleeing war torn and deprived areas of Africa, the waters off the coast of the Canary Islands, are the last stage of a perilous journey in a search for a better life. Their trip in overcrowded and unseaworthy boats, they believe will be the beginning of the life they dream of.

    Those migrants who do make it to dry land, will find that the money they paid for the trip doesn't provide them with a better life, but only lines the pockets of the human traffickers who transported them there. Unfortunately many lives will come to a tragic end, as did those trying to reach Italian shore's last week. With less than half of the men, women and children who set sail from North Africa for Sicily surviving following rescue near the island of Lampedusa.

    If you holiday in Europe you will come across male African migrants regularly selling counterfeit goods in the tourist resorts. Living on their wits and dodging local police in fear of being arrested. Whilst we tourists sip our Pina Coladas we have no real grasp on the motives behind their persistency to make a sale. An insistency that can become more than a little tiresome at times. What the future holds for the women and children in the dark seedy underworld, I will leave to your imigination. Although for them it is not a fictional plot.

    Many of the men and women are obligated to send back money to repay their family and friends who helped pay the traffickers. For others it's a down payment for the fraudulent papers they  need to make the next leg of their illegal journey, in the search for that green and pleasant land.

    These merciless seas are unlikely to deter this continual mass human exodus, but we can hope that a worldwide solution can one day be found. God bless.




   
   

   

   

   

   

   

Thanks

   

    This blog post is my 100th and I can hardly believe it. When I left clicked on the publish icon in September last year for the first time, my stomach was churning and the palms of my hands were very sweaty.

    So, what has changed in a year? Well, my stomach still churns when I publish a post, but thankfully my palms are no longer sweaty. I now welcome the nerves I once feared, they're a sign that I still care about the journey I am on.

    Of course the biggest event in the last year was the publication of my debut novel in April. Salvation No Kissing Required is the title, just in case you haven't noticed and it was published by Featherweight Press.

    But, I have to warn my budding author friends out there, that when your book is finally published  that's only the beginning. It's similar to a kid who has just gained all their grades to go to university, or college, enrolling is only the start. All the hard work has still to come.
   
    I believe as a newbie writer it's imperative that you make sure you have a presence on the social media circuit. Otherwise how will anyone know about you. Readers don't wake up in the morning and say, "I must buy Christina Rowell's, or Joe Blog's book today." Why would they, it's a big wide world out there. Joe Blog, me and you are little minnows in a huge pond.

  When I started blogging I decided that I wasn't going to give advice on how to get published, or how to polish your manuscript for submission. Why? Because I don't think I'm qualified. You've read my typos. I'm the kid starting further education, I've just stepped onto the learning curve of this journey. I'm keeping my head down and keeping on writing.

    What I set out to do was to let you into my world. I wanted to give you some idea as to what makes me tick and hopefully I have done that. If I haven't it's just as well that I'm going to continue blogging twice a week. I hope you will drop by every now and then. Thanks for your support. Hugs.

   

   

       

   

A Celebration of Words

   

    In the UK yesterday it was National Poetry Day, a campaign to celebrate poetry. I am a day late, but it's never too late to honor any form of the written word. Is it?

My Dream

 

 

I saw her as an angel fair, with sparkling eyes of blue

With cheeks like blossomed roses, and lips pf reddish hue

Her body formed like Venus, as graceful as a Queen

I never thought I'd find a girl, like the angel of my dream

 

But then you came into my life

Bringing with you boundless joy

My angel soon will be my wife

And life together we'll enjoy

 

I still dream of my angel fair

With sparkling eyes of blue

But now I know my angel's name

Margaret dear, it's you

 



                                           M.S.M copyright C.R
 



      My uncle wrote this poem in declaration of his love for my aunt and I shared the opening verse of it with you earlier in the year. Sadly they are both no longer with us, but his words and love live on.

Say a Little Prayer

Crystal clear water

    A couple of days before I took my recent trip, I was busy finishing off some edits on my current project and I came to the conclusion that there was just that little something missing. A little something that would gel the whole story together.
    For the life of me I just couldn't think what and although I knew it was a good idea to try and forget about it for a while, it just kept niggling away at me in the early days of my vacation.

Beach in Puerto De La Cruz

    I don't know if it was the sandy beaches, the crystal clear waters, or watching the boats and yachts sail into the Marina Del Sur, but I'm glad to inform you that the missing link has now been written and I can breath a sigh of relief.

Marina Del Sur

    Of course it may have been the prayer I said to the Black Madonna, the patron saint of Tenerife that did the trick.

Black Madonna