Nadine

Wouldn’t you just love to meet this lady, and aspire to be just like her in the future!

Storyshucker

There was a chilly mist in the March air, but I love my early morning walks and this gray gloom wasn’t going to keep me from today’s. I stopped midway on a bridge over the creek to watch a pair of mallards silently pick and poke along the muddy bank. Nothing could ruin this perfect serenity.

“Hey!” the shrill voice called. “Beautiful, right?” The spry old woman pointed towards the ducks as she marched enthusiastically onto the bridge to stand beside me. She twirled her arms in several rapid circles, stretched her back, then leaned on the railing and began doing standing push-ups. Dressed in sweat pants and jacket, baseball cap and sneakers, she had all the markings of devoted walker.

“Hi.” I said tentatively, unsure of what was happening.

“You’re from the South, aren’t you? Hiiiii. That’s how you said it. Hiiiii.” She spoke with her back to me…

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Pinpricks of light amid the darkness — bluebird of bitterness

Quokkas twice in a day has to be some sort of record.

Apart from that, this is really lovely, and well worth a look at the original too. There are some nice people around, and you don’t have to look far to find them!

 

Recently Sunny Skyz posted a collection of the most wholesome tweets of 2018. I’m recycling a few of my favorites here. See them all here.

via Pinpricks of light amid the darkness — bluebird of bitterness

Song Lyric Sunday Theme for 17/06/2018

Helen’s theme this week is seconds/minutes/hours.

Well, that gives plenty of scope. Practically every single artist will, at one time (see what I did there?) , have recorded a song with some time reference in it.

I am going with the very first thing that came to mind. That is “My grandfather’s clock.”

You can, if you wish, follow the words with the recording by Johnny Cash, which is here.

My Grandfather’s Clock

Song by Johnny Cash

My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf
So it stood ninety years on the floor
It was taller by half than the old man himself
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more

It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born
And was always his treasure and pride
But it stopped, short never to go again
When the old man died

Ninety years without slumbering
His life seconds numbering
It stopped, short never to go again
When the old man died

My grandfather said that of those he could hire
Not a servant so faithful he found
For it wasted no time and had but one desire
At the close of each week to be wound

And it kept in its place, not a frown upon its face
And its hands never hung by its side
But it stopped short, never to go again
When the old man died

It rang and alarmed in the dead of the night
An alarm that for years had been dumb
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight
That his hour for departure had come

Still the clock kept the time with a soft and muffled chime
As we silently stood by his side
But it stopped short, never to go again
When the old man died

Ninety years without slumbering
His life seconds numbering
It stopped short, never to go again
When the old man died

Songwriters: Erich Doll / Henry Clay Work

However, I also offer this instrumental version by Leroy Troy. I don’t think he gets out much, apart from performing his clawhammer style of banjo playing!

Sunday sayings #34

Life was oh so simple once, I knew its every whim,

but now it seems we need more rules, it’s getting really grim.

What became of common sense, fair play, and honesty?

We seem to have forgotten just how precious life can be!

 

The youngsters blame the older folk, the oldsters blame the young,

what became of tolerance, we’re all so highly strung?

We seem to analyse each move, and everything we do.

I used to understand my world but now I have no clue!

PHEW – I MADE IT!

I once set about reading The Bible all the way through.  I made it! (although a lot of it was skipped through very swiftly, because some parts are boring {quite a lot}) I don’t take the Bible as gospel (see what I did there!), but it is a tremendous work by many people over many, many years.

One of the bits that many people could recount, although not verbatim, is the bit about reaching the age of 70, and guess what, I made it!

Psalm 90:10 King James Version

The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.

That inspired the following little offering of ageist poetry:

Well, I’m buggered

Whoever thought? Three score years and ten,

and maybe, then, another ten;

but no excitement for the morrow

for it’s bound to end in sorrow,

and even if you reach that stage

you’ll surely creak, and feel your age;

but don’t get too complacent mate,

your number’s up, it’s just too late.

So, make the most of every day

before you have to fly away!

 

I fully intend to make the most of every day, with a little help from my friends.

For those who don’t know the real lyrics here they are

Sunday sayings #14

Heard on a bus

There’s a woman in a niqab, talking to her son in a non-English language.

On the seat in front of them: a white man, who turns around and tells the woman that she’s in the UK and should be speaking English.

On the seat in front of the white man, is an elderly white woman who points out: “We’re in Wales, and she’s speaking Welsh.”

 

Mae yna fenyw mewn niqab, yn siarad â’i mab mewn iaith nad yw’n Saesneg.

Ar y sedd o’u blaenau: dyn gwyn, sy’n troi o gwmpas ac yn dweud wrth y wraig ei bod hi yn y DU a dylai fod yn siarad Saesneg.

Ar y sedd o flaen y dyn gwyn, mae’n fenyw gwyn oedrannus sy’n nodi: “Rydym ni yng Nghymru, ac mae hi’n siarad Cymraeg.”

A reflection on Dementia

“It’s just moments now Dad, everything.

Just moments now, they don’t join up!”

 

“What don’t?”

 

“My memories. My life doesn’t join up. Can’t remember.”

 

“Someone else will remember. Someone will remember for you.”

 

From the final episode of Wallander

Twittering Tale #51 – 26 September 2017

It’s time again for Kat Myrman’s wonderful challenge to tax our creative souls. Just take her photo prompt and write a story, inspired by it, in 140 characters or fewer.

 Here is this week’s prompt and my contribution. Check out all the fabulous entries here.

Each year he offered the first of the crop to his darling wife.

This year she was not there to receive it.
Gone.
The apple of his eye forever!

(140 characters)

Now, what was it?

I seem to have lost my whatsit,

I think I had it once.

I’m sure I had it yesterday,

I’m getting quite the dunce.

I think it’s called a memory

and rests inside my head.

I just can’t seem to find it.

I’ll sit and read instead!