Happy Sunday – Especially for non mothers.

I wrote in my earlier post today that “The joys of becoming a Mum must, for most women, be the absolute pinnacle of their life. Something we men cannot even begin to imagine.”

An even harder thing to imagine is the absolute pain and anguish of not being able to have children when your mind and body is telling you that you need to have a baby, you must have a baby, you desperately want to be a Mum.

I cannot even begin to understand how awful that must be and how helpless those ladies must feel.

Then, of course, there are those who choose not to have children, for whatever reason. My daughter is amongst these as she is severely epileptic, and has other health issues. She took the decision, very early on, not to have children.

I wrote the following a few days ago, having met an old friend, a lovely lady who I know would have dearly loved to have had children but, sadly, never did.

 

She would have been the perfect mum, but that was not to be.

She dreamed of babes, and sleepless nights, that she would never see.

She kept alive her forlorn hope for twenty years and more,

but deep down in her heart she knew, she really knew the score!

 

She always was the perfect aunt to many girls and boys.

She lavished them with love and hugs and far too many toys,

but deep down in her heart she knew, it sometimes made her glum.

She really knew that she was meant to be the perfect Mum.

 

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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 #16 and a bit more

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Particularly at this time of year!

However, there is always lots to be thankful for. Family, friends, a warm home, good food, and YOU.

I’m really grateful for all of my followers, and for those that I follow, on WordPress.

I love the humour, the candour, the help, the advice, the comments, the really serious posts, the absolutely zany posts, the travel, the food, the photos, the recommendations. Some blogs I read every single word, some blogs I dip in and out of, some I visit infrequently. I consider you all as friends.

Thank you one and all, and may I wish you (an early) Happy New Year. I hope that 2018 brings good health, peace, contentment and as much success in your writing/blogging as you would wish.

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AND THANK YOU

Optimistically Pessimistic Of Improvement

For those of you who have never heard of Cameron, have a look at his blog. It’s a story of determination, setbacks, more determination, and success.

The worlds biggest fridge magnet

Hi everyone.

Remember me?

Weird being back I must say.

It’s been a long long time.

I’m still yet to tell you all about my walk for charity, show you the pictures and tell you all about my blisters.

But before that, I thought I might just start by saying hello and apologising for not having been around for so long.

I’ve neglected the very people that had given me a welcome for so much of my weight loss adventure, and for that I am truly sorry.

It’s amazing really. To my mind nothing has changed in the past 18 months but that is because I have lived each day and don’t recognise the change, therefore it must be nigh on impossible to quantify the massive changes that have actually taken place.

During my blogging hiatus, I have been drunk and sober, happy and sad, lonely and content, busy and…

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And now for something completely different.

Did you even know that such a process existed?

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Tobacco Smoke Enema Kit (1750s – 1810s).

The tobacco enema was used to infuse tobacco smoke into a patient’s rectum for various medical purposes, but primarily the resuscitation of drowning victims. The warmth of the smoke was thought to promote respiration.
Doubts about the credibility of tobacco enemas led to the popular phrase “blowing smoke up your ass.”

You are no doubt aware that this is still used by all levels of government.

smokeWant to learn more? Click here.

 

 

 

Twittering Tales #52 – 3 October 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.

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

His right pupil had already blown and dropped to the base of his iris. Now his nose was falling off. That cosmetic surgeon sure was a clown.

A conversation not to be forgotten!

Today I was working in the front garden. I was digging out Grape Hyacinths and Bluebells that are always threatening to overtake every other plant.

A lady stopped to pass the time of day.  She lives fairly close by and I see her often, and wave. Occasionally we have a brief chat.

Today, she greeted me with, “Oh, I didn’t realise that you lived there, so close to me!” She told me that she was Secretary of the local Allotment Society, and how busy that kept her. She also informed me that she had a pacemaker fitted, and how it had given her a new lease of life.

The conversation progressed along traditional lines and then she set off to continue her journey home.

I did not let on that we had had an identical conversation last time she passed by when I was gardening at the front, almost at the same spot.

As she left I said, “I’m Peter by the way!”

She reminded me of her name.

For the life of me, I cannot remember what it is!!