Where Are the Stories?

She looked out through the confines of where she was hiding.

She knew the world was waiting for her to make the effort, to take the first step.

There were other human beings out there, living life.

Was she living hers? 

She wasn't sure anymore.

She sometimes felt like a little mouse in a cage,

going round in circles, but not exactly getting anywhere.

How had that happened?

Was she doing anything to change that?

She tried looking at things from another point of view.

She felt an inner smile bubbling up from deep within her

and she felt her confidence grow.

"What strange creatures we are", she said, almost out loud.

"We allow ourselves to be influenced by mere thoughts that we have created."

She felt her face becoming relaxed and her breath came slower and calmer.

She could feel the sparkle coming back into her eyes!

There was even a feeling of lightness about her again.

She smiled and knew exactly what she had to do

and felt a tingling of excitement at the sheer thought of it...

This is a fictional story.

***

I did my first self-portrait course five years' ago when I turned a big birthday.

It was quite a challenge, but I so enjoyed the story-telling

and the role-playing we did.

That course was called "Now You".

This year, I decided to do another self-portrait class, to celebrate another birthday!

They do seem to come round rather quickly, don't they!

This time it's with Vivienne McMaster.

She's so encouraging and full of fun.

You can see her website here

***

Today is Sunday

and it's a perfect day for relaxing in the sunshine.

First of all, I just need to show you this gorgeous blossom in my neighbourhood!

After an early morning walk,

I had breakfast on my balcony and then read for a while

enjoying the spring flowers in my window boxes and pots.

Campanula or Bell flowers, just beginning to bloom.

I came across this advertisement for a film I would like to see.

I read the book, which was really good, sometime ago.

I've been having fun with double exposures, so here is one with my grandson!

He gave me permission to use this photo of us both.

See you all soon!

The Old Door: Scene and Story - February 2017

The old door sighed,

not a sigh of lassitude, but rather one of serene contentment.

It had lived its life from a young sapling which had grown into a fine oak tree in the forest.

One day, it was decided that the tree was big enough to cut down.

It was then transported to the lumber mill, cut into planks

which passed into the hands of capable and talented carpenters.

A fine door was made.

It could be seen from the patina on the surface of the wood,

that many years had passed, one hundred and fifty to be exact.

The door's constant companion, the rather elegantly shaped door-knocker,

had been there right from the start.

There was quiet, understated beauty in the harmonious lines and design.

despite the now tarnished appearance.

The old door and the knocker had retained the wondrous charm of days long gone by.

They both remembered ladies in crinoline dresses

holding up lacy edged parasols against the sun,

for it wasn't fashionable in those days to have a suntan.

They had witnessed suitors coming to visit the young ladies

living in the house, quickly adjusting their appearance before knocking on the door.

There had been many a shy kiss exchanged on the now worn door-step.

Horses and carriages had passed by in those early days.

Neither the door nor the knocker had become accustomed to the noise

and smell of cars and how they polluted the air.

"What is the world coming to?" they said to each other.

Yet here they are, holding strong, still together after all these years

facing the changes over time philosophically,

conscious of the joys and suffering of humanity 

and hoping their steady presence had been of some comfort and reassurance in times of need.

Neither of them knew what the future reserved,

but this did not worry them.

Through their intuitive inner wisdom, they knew that the only reality

was that of each new day

and that was the secret of their constant contentment.

***

On the first Sunday of each month, I join Sarah at Paisley Rainboots and Lee at Sea Blue Lens

for Scene and Story with a favourite photograph from the past month 

and the story it inspires.

Read other stories too on this monthly link-up.

It's story time again!

A Life Well Remembered: A Story

When I was twelve and my brother six, my mother left to make a new life for herself,

without us.

My father became a single parent.

Every day of my adult life, I am thankful that my brother and I were brought up by my dad.

It wasn't always easy, especially during our teen years,

but dad did his best to be the best dad he could be.

I consider myself lucky as I have inherited my dad's positive and upbeat attitude,

his love and enthusiasm for life and his caring nature.

Dad was full of fun and was always there for me when I needed him.

When I became a mother to three lovely children, 

I realized the true value of my dad's upbringing.

There isn't a day goes by when I don't think of the father I was given,

how lucky I was and how I shall always be truly thankful.

I'll never forget all he did for me 

and I'll never forget that smile of his

and his wonderful twinkling blue eyes.

Photo:

Two photos of Dad, a book of poems he gave to me,

his Parker fountain pen, which I still use,

and a handkerchief with his initial, J for John, which he once left when he came to stay

and which I laundered and kept in memory of him.

His writing in a birthday card he sent to me.

***

Joining Sarah at Paisley Rain Boots and Lee at Sea Blue Lens

for Scene & Story