Anita Dawes's Blog: http://jenanita01.wordpress.com, page 17

Refugees…

This post is dedicated to all the people in the world who find themselves homeless at the moment, for whatever reason. And there are far too many reasons.
Most people sympathise but cannot really know how it feels to have no home. To have no bed or armchair, change of clothes, or even a sink to wash their faces.
Bad enough for a grown up, but so much worse for the children who never understand why it is happening to them.
My mother was a bit of a gypsy, and a lot of my childhood was spent moving around London, looking for somewhere to stay. In those days, the people who rented rooms were unbelievably cruel, refusing mothers with children, amongst other things. So very often, we were unlucky. Even when the ad on the shop window said ‘no children’ my mother would turn up, praying my miserable face would change their minds, but most of them didn’t.
One abiding memory of my childhood (I was about eight years old) is walking through the streets of London, looking in all the windows. Envying all the ordinary families going about their lives, oblivious to my sad face gazing in from outside. Sometimes they would notice me, and I would be invited in and given something to eat or drink.
They would be so kind, and for precious moments, I would fantasise about them keeping me. If only one of them had, my life would have been so different.
I have lived in what seemed like hundreds of places, but never felt I belonged in any of them. I have spent nights on park benches, in 24-hour launderettes and on so many people’s floors, so my heart goes out to all the thousands of refugees around the world. They all want what I spent my childhood seeking, somewhere safe to live in peace. Somewhere you feel you belong.

My heartfelt wish is that they find it…and soon.

Shades of Green (or Favourite Places x4)

  Liss River Walk
We wanted to do something different this week. Something we hadn’t done in a while, and someone suggested the river walk.
We hadn’t been back there since we first discovered it several years ago. It is a bit of a hike, three miles or so, there and back, which is probably why we hadn’t returned before now, but it is a lovely walk and we sort of talked ourselves into it.
It was originally a railway line, running through what remains of Liss Forest to the village of Liss itself. Two rivers converge along its length, the Rother and the Blackwater and the area is a nature reserve with several wet meadows and mixed deciduous woodland.But it is so much more than that.
Because it was a railway line, the walk is slightly higher than the surrounding countryside, so you don’t really feel swamped by the trees, but still a part of it all. The weather that day was ideal. Not too hot or windy, and once inside the forest, every shade of green overwhelms you.
I have a special affinity with trees, and to be in such a grand company of them was wonderful. Bird song followed us as we strolled along, stopping every few feet to look at all the special details. A fallen tree, a freshly dug animal burrow, the wild flowers, including masses of honeysuckle, left behind when people once lived close by.
The smell is amazing too, at this time of year the normal intoxicating aroma of the forest is suffused with all the wild garlic that grows all along the riverbank. A heady mix.

Along the way, you cross three huge bridges, refurbished with new green oak, but built on the original steel and concrete structures. Towards the end of the walk you come across the old station and platform, eerily empty at first glance, but linger a while and you can hear the ghosts of yesterday.
It was a long walk, but a lovely one. Well worth every aching muscle!

The Kindness of a Stranger...

  A visit to the seaside should have been fun, a treat, a good day out. But not in January. The weather was freezing. Three-day-old snow lay around in grubby heaps, and a thin layer of ice coated just about everything else.Why her mother had found it necessary to visit Brighton, some fifty miles from their home in London was a mystery. She obviously had her reasons, but it would have been more than the child’s life was worth to ask.Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to discern any clues either. Whenever her mother did something odd, there were usually at least two good reasons for doing it. A man, or money, often both.
They left the train station and started walking. Neither of them was suitably dressed, and the child was so cold it was all she could do to stop her teeth from chattering, as she instinctively knew her mother wouldn’t like it.They kept walking, and the child looked up at her mother. She looked determined, her face deadly serious. How did she know where to go? They had never been there before and she didn’t appear to have a map or directions of any kind.Any normal child could have asked, and any normal mother would have said. But that wasn’t who they were. She had learned never to ask questions, or even look at her mother with a question on her face.Most of the time, she hated her mother. A lot of the time, she thought her mother hated her too. She either didn’t know how to be a mother, or didn’t care enough.

The child’s feet were soaking wet. The colder she got, the more they hurt. Holding back the tears was proving to be difficult and she tried to disguise it with a tissue, but her mother probably knew.She was trying to concentrate on the shiny metal tracks that ran down the middle of the road when something like a train appeared. Her mother grabbed her arm and pulled her onto it. She found out later it was a tram. Like a bus, but confined to the metals rails.The child was grateful to sit down and rest her painful feet, but this only seemed to make them hurt even more. The tears flooded down her face, accompanied by the pitiful sounds she couldn’t prevent escaping from her lips.Just when she thought her mother would kill her where she sat for showing her up, the man sitting opposite them gestured towards the child’s feet and looked at the mother.

She nodded, probably wondering what he wanted to do. He gently undid the child’s sandals and peeled off the wet socks. Then he took both of her feet between his large warm hands. The heat made the pain increase but thankfully not for long. He didn’t talk, just smiled kindly at her.
She never discovered why they went to Brighton that day and didn’t remember going home. She was only six years old and it is probably just as well that much of her childhood had faded into the mist. But that man’s kindness would stay with her as a rare shining memory. She just wished she had thanked him…

Broken…

Broken…
My life walks on broken glass
Each step cutting away that, which cannot last.
The land stained with yesterday’s dreams, yet love lingers…
A memory, a ghost I cannot touch
Voices I cannot remember, yet love lingers…

Could I walk my life backwards?
What would I change when spoken words remain the same?
The world will not move to save my soul
My footsteps will remain the same, yet love lingers…
Calling me to speak again.

Anita Dawes 2015
 

Ten Things I love Most in the World...

Mother Nature has been the number one love in my life for longer than I care to remember. My idea of heaven would be to live in a forest with a river nearby.
The way I feel about horses, goes way beyond love. Sometimes I think I must have been a horse in a former life, from the strong and powerful connection I have with them.
I have always been a bit of a freak for thunderstorms. The noise, barely contained power and the majesty of the lightning speaks to me in ways I cannot describe.
Whenever I have spare time, and even when I don’t, I have to track down a puzzle. It can be a jigsaw, a computer game, or a simple game of solitaire. My idea of heaven.
Something about the smell of the seacommunicates directly with my soul, and I think I could easily live on a beach. They say that salt water is a good healer, so how much more could sea water do?
The art of bonsai has always fascinated me, and over the years, I have collected some of my own. Like having children, they need so much care and attention, but give back so much more to their carer.
My love of writing has grown out of my love for reading, and my appreciation of all my favourite authors. On the good days when I don’t doubt my abilities, it is the best thing in the world.
Most people hate the rain, but I love it. Getting soaked to the skin is an amazing experience, and if there is thunder and lightning too, so much the better!
Making people laugh has to be one of the most rewarding things you can do. I love to know I have lifted someone’s spirits just enough to make them laugh.
I never thought I would enjoy blogging as much as I do, when I first started two years ago. In the beginning, I was hopeless, didn’t have a clue and knew no one. So much has changed since then…
Ten Things I Hate Most in this World
Cruelty of any kind comes top of this list, for there is far too much of it in this world. It is just as easy to be kind.
Rudeness comes a close second, as I cannot understand the need for it. It closes too many doors that eventually will refuse to open again.
Arguments. Every time I get involved in one, I want to crawl away and die. Life is much too short to argue.
Hangnails are my least favourite thing, and I get some shockers. No matter how careful you are, your fingers get sore.
I hate the cold. As I get older, it’s becoming a real problem. Sometimes, even on a mild day, I have trouble keeping warm.
Things that go wrong. I’m a bit of a perfectionist and try very hard to get things right, but sometimes it just doesn’t happen, no matter what I do.
Computers. These should be on the top of this list, as they tend to drive me insane. They are illogical and unreasonable, but we know we cannot do without them.
Feeling helpless. Closely linked with number seven, this is what PC’s do to me. Nothing else on this planet can get me as mad as a computer.
Injustice. I hate all forms of injustice, acerbated by the certain knowledge there is nothing you can do about most of it.
Weakness. Mainly my own. So many things I wish I didn’t need to do, like the biscuits I cannot leave alone. How anyone can be so strong with everything else, but such a wimp when it comes to food is a mystery...
Would anyone like to share their likes and dislikes on our post?

Second Chances...

 or, How to make the Right Decisions?
forget-me-nots, what else?
My brain must be like Emmental cheese these days, soft, spongy and full of holes, and I am getting really fed up with trying to decide what to do, or even knowing if my final decision is the right one. As they say, if I had half a brain, I would be dangerous!
I can't decide (or remember) if I have always been like this, or if this state of affairs is yet another symptom of my advancing years.

Time is becoming problematic, far too much of it is spent second-guessing. Wouldn't life be more efficient if all deliberation could be removed? Easier to pick a winkle out of its shell with a pin, I hear you say. But I am heartily sick of wondering which item to buy, which programme to watch, whether to cut my hair, the list is endless.

Added to my inability to choose anything, is the sure and certain knowledge that whichever one I pick, it will be the wrong one. Always is. I never get anything right on the first try.

Could life be more like plotting a book?

I know many writers don’t believe in plotting. They believe their characters will do most of the hard work for them, and I have experienced this first hand too. But other writers firmly believe in careful plotting, even a story board.All my life, I have been a ‘winger’, hurtling from one idea to the next. Sometimes getting it right, but more often not. Advancing age has changed all that. I no longer have the time for hit and miss. Decisions I make now, have to be right, although how this will happen, remains to be seen.

Now, I am still virtually new to this writing business, and with the idea of getting it right first time (could be a novelty in itself!) I tried plotting. With a lot of practice, I’m getting better. So much so, that the sequel to my first book has been thoroughly plotted, storyboard and everything. But this is not something you could really do with your life. Too many decisions, and so many ways of dealing with them. In addition, other people tend to make your life awkward, sometimes it seems, just to be bloody minded.

Could it be as simple as throwing a dice?
Then I remembered something. (It does still happen sometimes!) I once read about a man who always made every decision with the turn of a dice, and apparently, his life was glorious. Maybe it was worth a try, as my way was getting me nowhere.On second thoughts, that sounds worse than ‘winging it’. But if I were younger…

They say there are 'two sides to every story' and 'everything happens for a reason', but what if neither of these things is true? What if it is as simple as right or wrong?
Could it be that when life gets too difficult, we are simply trying to force wrong into being right?

Should we blindly follow our instincts?
Recently, I have been thinking back through my life and all the different choices that I had to make. To that small, persistent voice that nags you, insisting you do this or that. How many times had I ignored it, thinking my own choice was better, usually for all manner of reasons? Would my life have been better if I had obeyed that still, small voice? If I had not always chosen the path of least resistance, the path that always looked inevitable. Maybe the choice that looked the hardest, the most impossible, would have turned out better than what actually happened?

Maybe then, I wouldn't have so many things to be sorry for, so many people I should apologise to.
If there is such a thing as reincarnation and I get another chance to live a better life, I hope I remember some of the things I have done wrong, all of the people I have hurt, and do it a hell of a lot better next time.

God Bless and see you all next week...

My Favourite Places… part two

(reposted from jayemarie01.blogspot.com) 
 Not far from where I live is a lovely rural village called Buriton. When we first moved to Hampshire, we discovered the place by accident and fell in love with it and their beautiful pond.
It is always peaceful there, something to do with its location, I’m sure, as it nestles in a lush green valley quite close to the South Downs. Unfortunately, it is quite a popular spot and you have to take your chances, but it is always worth a visit. Always something going on, from ducklings in the spring to the changing of the seasons.
We have gone there in the summer, winter, sunshine and showers, (and the ice and snow) Spectacular at any time of the year, and always conjures up a deep spiritual peace.
Yesterday, I played hooky from all the writing, blogging and all the millions of other jobs that nag to be done. Telling myself it was probably a good opportunity for a blog post at the very least, I was determined to enjoy both the warm weather and the time off.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped out of the car was a grey crane, wading through the shallow water. We ended up following him all around the pond, as he obviously didn’t like the look of us at all.
We like to walk around the edge, seeing the pond from every angle, and as we passed a tall clump of yellow iris, we saw something small and brown busily chewing on a stalk at the water’s edge. We crept towards it, fully expecting it to scurry away, but it did not. It seemed to be just as curious about us, peering up at us with its little beady eyes. I went closer and closer, camera at the ready and ended up incredibly close.
Not sure what it was, but it studied us with great interest. We offered some of the wholemeal bread we had brought for the ducks, and he nibbled away, keeping an eye on us.Just then, a couple with a dog came along. Quick as a flash, we surrounded the creature and kept the dog away. When we turned back, he had gone and we knew we could stop worrying.
If there is one thing I am grateful for in this digital age, is that you no longer have to have a several rolls of film in your pocket. I can take as many photographs as I like, and by heck, I do!

My Friday Five Challenge…

     

As a fan of Rosie Amber, I was intrigued to read her post about the #FridayFiveChallenge.


So I grabbed myself a cup of coffee and had a go. I had five minutes…
1)      Go to any online book supplier,2)      Randomly choose a category,3)      Speed through the book covers, choose one which grabbed my attention,4)      Read the book bio/description for this book,5)      If there are reviews, check out a couple,6)      Make an instant decision, would I BUY or PASS?(then write a little analysis about my decision)
Coincidentally, at the time, I was looking for inspiration for my sister Jaye’s WIP. She needed to be sure her cover and title were up to scratch, and the best place to check these out, I have found, is the bestseller list on Amazon.com.Several covers caught my eye, but the only one that really spoke to me, was Rachel Abbott’s ‘Sleep Tight’ .

                                   Find a copy here from Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com


Book description
How far would you go to hold on to the people you love?

When Olivia Brookes calls the police to report that her husband and children are missing, she believes she will never see them again. She has reason to fear the worst; this isn’t the first tragedy that Olivia has experienced. Now, two years later, Detective Chief Inspector Tom Douglas is called in to investigate this family again, but this time it’s Olivia who has disappeared. All the evidence suggests that she was here, in the family home, that morning.

But her car is in the garage, and her purse is in her handbag – on the kitchen table. The police want to issue an appeal, but for some reason every single picture of this family has been removed from albums, from phones, from computers.

And then they find the blood…

Has the past caught up with Olivia?

Sleep Tight – if you can. You never know who’s watching.
Price: Kindle £3.48 / $5.42
Number of reviews; 2.284 in the UK / 2.663 in the US
I checked out some of the reviews and most said they loved it. One or two said there wasn’t enough action, more of a dark psychological mystery, but this was fine by me, as that’s how I like them.
My time had run out… would I BUY or PASS?(No contest really, this book had me written all over it.)
Analysis
I loved the cover, something very enticing about the open window. The title was perfect for a mystery thriller too and the book description clinched it.Having read both of Rachel’s previous books, I didn’t need much persuading, to be honest.The price was a little more than I usually pay for a kindle book, but I will BUY this book.

Review of the week…

   The Healer…


When I first heard about this book, the brilliant cover and title intrigued me, and I expected it to be some kind of supernatural mystery. The Healer is nothing of the kind. It is a well-written psychological thriller, and not a simple story by any means.Christoph Fischer has created entirely believable and fascinating character profiles of both the healer and the woman he treats.The woman, dying of cancer, seeks a cure from the healer, but this turns out to be not a magical ‘one touch and you’re healed’ situation. There are all kinds of conditions, and as you read, you begin to form your own opinions as to the truth of it all.Is the healer the real deal, will the woman be healed? Or is she being taken for a very expensive ride?
Suspicions and red herrings abound as the story twists and turns, and at times, you find yourself doubting the motives of everyone.I thoroughly recommend this book…


 About the Author...


Christoph Fischer was born in Germany, near the Austrian border, as the son of a Sudeten-German father and a Bavarian mother. Not a full local in the eyes and ears of his peers he developed an ambiguous sense of belonging and home in Bavaria. He moved to Hamburg in pursuit of his studies and to lead a life of literary indulgence. After a few years, he moved on to the UK where he now lives in a small hamlet, not far from Bath. He and his partner have three Labradoodles to complete their family.
Christoph worked for the British Film Institute, in Libraries, Museums and for an airline.
He has written several other novels, which are in the later stages of editing and finalisation.

 
Website: http://www.christophfischerbooks.com/
Blog: http://writerchristophfischer.wordpress.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6590171.Christoph_Fischer
Amazon: http://ow.ly/BtveY
Twitter: https://twitter.com/CFFBooks
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/christophffisch/
Google +: https://plus.google.com/u/0/106213860775307052243
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=241333846
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/WriterChristophFischer?ref=hl

reposted from http://jenanita01.wordpress.com
 

My Favourite Things x 1... The Power of Lightning

 posted by Jaye Marie...

  One of my most favourite things has to be a good thunderstorm. Throughout my life, I have experienced so many, it would be hard to pick the best one. Like most of Nature’s gifts to us, there can be no favourites, as they are all so wonderful.
When I was a child, it was impressed upon me how dangerous they were. I was never to go near a window, or even look at a storm. Never to pick up a telephone, or God forbid, actually go outdoors. None of which, of course, had any effect on me, except to probably make me want to do all of these things.
Something about the distant rumble of thunder has me counting the miles, desperate for it to travel to where I am. I love to watch the show, go out in the rain and get soaking wet, even though it could be dangerous. I just have to try to be a part of it.
A while ago, in the middle of a storm, it appeared to be moving away, so I opened the back door for a better idea of what was happening. Just at that moment, a huge bolt of lightning hit a nearby tree, barely yards from where I was standing. The force of it nearly blew the door off its hinges!But was I scared?  Was I heck…
I love the power and beauty of a storm, the smell of electricity in the air. The way the sky seems to glow with violet light, the searing white shards that chase their way to earth.They always end too soon, though, leaving me disappointed.
I always remember the storms of my childhood, and maybe it is my imagination, but didn’t they seem to last longer then? I would lie in my bed at night, listening to the thunder, and awake to a world washed so clean in the morning…