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 |   The simplicity of my day to day. |
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This is where I write my thoughts, feelings and my daily trials, tribulations and happy things
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Prompt for
The most difficult time in my life were the first years after emigrating from England in 1972. We knew no one here in Australia and we were a little family of three. Just John and I and our three year old. Within a year we were a family of five after having twins. This was my darkest time, having no family to call on. Our daughter missed home so much she stopped talking and one of the twins never stopped crying. How I survived those years I’ll never know. |
Prompt for
I definitely didn’t like school. At all! I think the trouble all began on day one. This was in England 1948. Think a dark Victorian austere building, classes of forty children. And little me, the youngest in the class. Aged just four years old. There was no a gradual introduction, No. Full days straight away. 9am until 4pm. We were given chalk and a slate! And I was so shy. I didn’t want to leave my mummy! Really the remainder of my school years are a blur now. I remember bad things, bad teachers and nothing else. I left school on my fifteenth birthday thinking I was dumb. So what I learned from my time there? Nothing! |
Prompt for
I’ve already done this. My husband and I emigrated from England to Australia fifty years ago. We had one child with us, our daughter, Sarah, who was just three years old at the time. We chose Australia because of the weather, it’s as simple as that. We were quite successful at the time of making that decision. We were 28 years old and had two businesses, our own home and lived next door to my parents. It was such an adventure though. We hardly had time to reconsider before our application to reside in Australia was accepted. It was a move we didn’t really regret but there was a lot of homesickness in the first year. I think maybe if we had our time again we may have gone to live in the Eastern States instead of Perth in the West. Western Australia is so isolated,in fact Perth is the most isolated city in the world. It has had its advantages though especially in the Covid pandemic. |
Prompt for
My saddest memory was when our youngest daughter, Emma, gave birth to a stillborn baby boy, Jack. Emma was only twenty years old and the death of the full term baby caused her to suffer depression and anxiety and alcoholism, from which she still suffers 28 years later. |
Prompt for
Having two big brothers was nice when I was little. As a family we were always nice to each other as far as I can remember. Growing up in England in the 40’s and 50’s was a time of peace after the war. Although rationing was still in force, and many things were scarce, we never went hungry. My mother was a great homemaker and my memory of childhood is of being loved. We lived in many different houses during my childhood, although all within ten miles of each other. We were pig and chicken farmers for a few years and then after that, shopkeepers, running a local corner store. |
Prompt for
It’s a little difficult to select just one thing I’d change from my childhood because there are many. I’ll try to put them in some sort of order. 1. I wish my baby sister hadn’t died when she was a few days old. 2. I wish my mother hadn’t had mental health issues caused by the baby’s death. 3. I wish my father hadn’t been absent in WW2 for six years. 4. I wish I’d had my teeth straightened. |
Prompt for
Oh my goodness this hits home, especially lately. I have always been told that I don’t look my age. “How can you be a Grandmother ? “ That was when I was 42 years old. “ How can you possibly be a great-grandmother? “ That was 14 years ago at 63 years of age. I think I’ve been so used to people not thinking I’m the age I am, that now the years have caught eventually caught up, 78 now, I feel old for the first time. The reflection in the mirror tells the truth. That is hard to come to terms with, but also it tells me I’ve lived a life. A life that has been packed with family dramas, love, laughter, illnesses, pain and whatever else life throws at you. How else can all that not draw lines upon my face. It’s been a process but I’m starting to accept those lines, even if secretly hating every one of those that appear overnight, despite the cream I spread across the skin in a failed attempt at defeating them. |
Prompt for
As a writer the lyrics are the most important part of music. I don’t like music purely for the sound, it’s always the words. It’s the same with dance, even though I appreciate ballet, I find watching it frustrating as I need the words of the story, not just that interpretation of the words. That probably means I’m shallow or unrefined, well I’m afraid that me then. A local singer had a great idea for a show, locally. She went around the area to various groups for inspiration. She came to our writing group one day. She asked us to tell her about a memory attached to a certain song. It was amazing the songs and memories which came from the idea. Eventually she made a performance piece and invited those who’s memories inspired the songs she was performing. Mine was when I was sixteen my boyfriend cleaned a clubhouse after it was closed for the week, he did it for pocket money, he was saving to buy a motorbike. Anyway there was a microphone plugged in and I sang him songs popular at the time while he mopped the floor! Love Me Tender by Elvis, the song that I sang to him takes me back fifty or more years when I sang to my boyfriend now husband. Oh the power of music. I like gospel songs sung by choirs, they always lift my spirits even though I’m not a church goer. Songs from musicals are great. Maria from West Side Story takes me back to when the film first came out and I was about 17 years old. So songs can take you back to places and times you have forgotten, or thought you had. I laughed at my husband’s expression the other day when he heard someone say the f word in a song. “Did he sing what I thought he sang?” I’m afraid so. There is no reason I can think of for spoiling quite a good song with swearing, but when I told my 20 something grandson he laughed. I guess we’re old fogeys now. But there’s no denying the power of music, it can make you laugh, cry, dance or be romantic. It’s quite extraordinary. |
| Written for Journalistic Intentions. prompt : "Most of all, you feel unseen and unheard. The other person is demonstrating that there are two things more important than your pain: Their desire to avoid negative emotions Their need to offer unsolicited advice." I think what we’re talking about is empathy. Some people find it impossible to relate to peoples pain and anguish without making the situation all about them. I’m not saying it’s easy to listen to some harrowing story without wishing you didn’t have to be the one on the receiving end of all the angst, tears and pain of the person relating the story. Without meaning to generalise I’ve found almost without exception men are the worst culprits for interrupting as someone pours out their troubles. They do this I’m sure with the best of intentions. Their wish to stop seeing someone in pain without being able to fix the problem overcomes the narrator’s wish to spill the beans, to relive the event, to explain. There is nothing more frustrating when someone has encouraged you to talk about it. You’ve girded your loins to relate the story one more time to yet one more person. And then you get “ Look, what I think you should do is…” Sometimes you just want to be heard, to have that person hold your hand and make the right noises. Then there are the ones who’s main concern is that they aren’t distressed by your event. I actually have an example of such behaviour from a relative when I was desperate for help. My two year old boy had been hit by a car and was in hospital. I had two other children, his twin sister and a four year old. I asked my Mother-in-Law to help out and she said “I couldn’t bear to see Ben like that, it would upset me too much.” I can’t say with hand on my heart I ever forgave her that. |
| Written for Journalistic Intentions."And it hit me, that to me, those are two of my deepest-felt emotions. Justice, equality, fairness, mercy, longsuffering, Work, Passion, knowledge, and above all else, Truth. Those are my primary emotions. I wouldn’t call myself a really emotional person, I try to stay even tempered, take things in my stride. I don’t show anger very often, but as my dearest and nearest can attest it’s best to stay clear when I do erupt. I decided to check out primary emotions for this prompt and what surprised me the most was that in the main the emotions, according to different theorist, were mainly negative. Off the top of my head before reading about emotions, I would have said things like, happiness, the feeling of joy or love. But what came up were, fear, sadness, disgust, contempt and surprise. Then came the real downers such as guilt, shame, confusion, resentment, frustration and remorse. Nearly all those are negative. It surprised me because when I attempt to describe an emotional person I rarely think of a sad, unhappy, vindictive or hateful one. I imagine an emotional person more as being softer, loving, easy to bring to tears. Caring, loving and sensitive, that’s how I think of emotion. As to my own primary emotions I’d say, cheerful, optimistic, happy, with the occasional show of frustration, resentment, sadness and remorse. I don’t know if guilt is classed as an emotion or not, but I was brought up to feel guilty if I wasn’t busy doing something. Even now I find I feel guilty if I have a lazy day or don’t achieve at least one thing I had on my list. All this proves what complex creatures humans are. My dog, Lucy is watching me write this and I’m sure she feels none of the above emotions. She lets me know when she’s hungry, thirsty and needs to go outside. That’s the sum total of her emotions. But that’s not really fair in retrospect. She does show love and excitement too. But she’s letting me know it’s time for dinner now she’s making feel that emotion, guilt. |
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