Jaye Marie's Blog, page 9

A Sad Reflection…

It was lovely to see all those entries from the ‘Six on Saturday’ gardeners when I logged into my blog yesterday morning. Such a wonderful assortment of lovely flowers! 

I don’t have a clue what’s happening in my own garden at the moment, being confined to barracks, so to speak.

All I get to see is what I can see from my window, and that’s not much.

It’s probably best that I don’t see the chaos that is undoubtedly ruling out there in my absence.

I find myself desperately wondering what the baby magnolia is doing, or the rhododendron?

Both of these images were taken last year…

And are there any flower buds on the wisteria this year?

Not mine, unfortunately…

This would be a miracle, as it doesn’t seem to want to perform, but I would hate to miss it if this is the year it does.

It’s probably best that I can’t see it all, as what I can see is depressing enough.

Some of my bonsai desperately need trimming. I have enlisted regular help with the watering, but I won’t let anyone near them with a pair of scissors!

As I sit in my office stroke bedroom, looking through my window, I tend to keep my vision elevated to the massive gum tree in the next door’s garden. It dominates the sky from where I sit, and I love to watch the branches swaying in the wind, and all the birds who come to sit on the branches…

A meeting of the ways…

Detective Inspector David Snow…

My office doesn’t look much like an office these days, what with catering to my suffering body, so I was very surprised when a familiar face appeared around the door.

   ‘Hi, Jaye. I thought I would pop in to see how you are. I heard the news and couldn’t believe it. How are you really?’

I hobbled back to my bed, just for effect. ‘As you can see, David, I am as weak as a kitten and unable to stand up unaided. Good to see you, though.’

   ‘You look good to me. The other reason I am here is that I hear you are disappointed with me. Do you think it could be time to pull myself together and make some changes? Would this be a good time to remember who controls my actions?’

   ‘Very funny. I just did a recap to get a grip on it all, only to find there was nothing to grip. How did I allow you to turn into a lazy good for good-for-nothing?’

He shrugged, something that used to endear me in the past, but now made me so mad I could hit him. ‘Do you like the way you’re acting?’

   ‘Suits me fine, Jaye. I’m as happy as Larry.’ 

   ‘That’s not strictly true, though, is it?’

He narrowed his eyes, which he does when trying to find a good answer.

   ‘Well, is it?’

He sighed, and I began to melt, despite my better judgment. I was supposed to be solving an important problem, after all.

I waited, watching his face for any signs of relenting. The inner turmoil was painful to watch. What he finally said was unexpected.

   ‘You have  been talking to James.’

This sounded like an accusation, an act of treachery, even. That was when I realised that the inner struggle I had glimpsed earlier was probably worse than I thought.

   ‘I am sorry, David. But pardon me a minute, I don’t remember writing about the current state of you.’

He looked confused for a minute, then his face fell when he realised he had let me down.

   ‘I am so sorry, Jaye. I have allowed everything to slip through my fingers in your absence. I want to make some changes, but I’m unsure how to do it for the best.’ 

He turned to me, smiling the slow way he does when trying to twist my arm to get his own way. It always worked in the past, but today, I needed to have him on the same page as me—if that was even possible these days. He might be past redemption. 

The next hour was a wonderful mix of planning, promising and enjoying each other’s company. Many things were discussed, and I was exhausted by the time he left.

A quick rest, though, and I was itching to get started…

When is the best time to write?

The simple answer is that there is no right time to write. Whenever the mood takes you is a good answer. But what if that just isn’t happening?

Is there a way to encourage your mood?

I have read all the opinions of the experts, from forcing yourself to write anything for five minutes to picking any moment from the story and writing about that. That’s a good one, by the way.

I am asking this question because, with everything that’s been happening, I haven’t given much thought to writing. In my youth, you understand, I always used to write the minute I got out of bed, and this worked so well for a long time.

I’m not sure when this stopped or why, but I have been struggling for a while now, especially lately. I thought I could write in the afternoons, but I am usually so tired by then that all I managed to get is rubbish.

Mornings would be a better time, so maybe I should go back to writing then and leave all those routine tasks, emails, and social media until later.

I have had this conversation with myself so many times that I thought sharing that question with all of you might just find that voice of reason…

My babies need me!

These are not mine, but I wish…

I am temporarily unable to go outside (my sister is still unmovable about this), and I do understand her caution. However, having done both, I don’t think there’s much difference between falling on concrete and falling on carpet.

I have had some spectacular falls, but the one that comes to mind first was when I had cause to argue with one of the legs on my Stanley workbench. I can’t remember why I was using it, but somehow our legs became entangled, and I ended up wrapped around the workbench in a heap in our yard. I must have yelped when it happened, for a neighbour heard me and came running. He stood, looking down at me for a minute, probably wondering how to help me. Between us, we managed to separate me from the workbench.

My sister must have heard the yelp and watched the undoing, her annoyance with me reaching new heights!

All this aside, I really do need to go outside soon, as my bonsai are tired of having to fend for themselves. Although most of them are strong and healthy enough to fend for themselves, some are not, and I can hear their cries all the way in my office.

I have already had to do an emergency soil change for the Olive, which was brought in to me on a tray. My old friend, the white pine, is in the same state.

Bonsai soil doesn’t last forever. Eventually, they use up all the goodness in the soil and starve. It’s up to their carer to recognise the signs…

I wonder if my sister might bring me the white pine today?

Best day of the week…

Yesterday was my 81st birthday. This has rapidly become my 18th, thanks to my family’s sense of humour. I like the sound of that so hopefully it will stick!

The family arrived just after lunch, filling the house with excited chatter and laughter. Add in the antics of a very cheeky one year old and we were all set for a lovely afternoon.

My great niece is a fellow bonsai lover, my fault I suspect, and had originally planned to take me outside, so she could help me to check on my sadly neglected bonsai babies.

Unfortunately, I am still not strong enough to be trusted out there. Sister’s orders. My GN did no more; she brought each one of my trees to me for inspection.

I can see some of the from my window, but some I haven’t seen since last year. This was clearly apparent when I saw them for they have grown so much, I hardly recognised them. I can organise the watering from my sick bed, but that’s about all. It was lovely to see how they have grown without my constant attention. A bit like wayward children!

The evening was planned with a film to watch along with some chocolate eclairs. This would be the first time I sat on the couch in the front room since that time I couldn’t stand up and had to crawl back to the office on my hands and knees. I thought I was a little stronger now, at least I thought I was!

Sadly, at the end of the evening, my efforts to stand up let me down again, and my departure was the same as before.

A way to go yet!

Not quite me yet, but Love and special wishes to all on this Bank Holiday Weekend!

Slipping back into business…

Further news of my progress back to normal… pain seems to be easing a little, and the exercises are getting less painful, so I’m feeling very optimistic. Very slow going though…

I have just finishing reading the existing chapters of Swan Song, my current WIP. and I am quite impressed with what I have written so far.

Several alterations are needed, but on the whole, its not bad at all. I was dreading what I would find, it has been so long since I touched it. It was a bit like slipping an old coat on, familiar and comforting. I left the misery of everything behind me as I slipped back into my fiction world.

Several hours later, I didn’t want to leave, but I was so tired, I was falling asleep on my chair. I have the feeling this story would be my best, but then we all say that don’t we?

In this story, my old friend detective David Snow has hit rock bottom. He has allowed his life to slip away from him. All those past injuries and losses have robbed him of so much.

Can I manage to get him to want to live again?

Now that I am reacquainted with this story, I am looking forward to writing it. I just hope I can do it justice in my less-than-perfect state.

Now it begins…

It is glorious outside. I can see the sunshine through my window, but it’s a bit grim being stuck in my office.

I have just done the morning’s exercises and taken the pills. Now I am sitting here resting on my heat pad, trying to feel normal and wondering what to do with myself.

I am thinking about all the things I want to do and all the things I never got around to. I desperately want to pick up my WIP, which, along with everything else, has been sadly neglected.

First thing to decide on is where to sit so as not to annoy the nerve. Seems everything I do annoys it. I am just hoping this will ease as time goes on.

I think I will read through what I have written and get reacquainted with it all. I am hoping that my old friend David Snow will help me. He is the lead detective character in most of my detective mysteries and has become a good friend.

Right, breakfast is done, time to crawl around the office to the computer…

Yay!

Review for Rivers of London…

Book 1 in the Rivers of London series, from Sunday Times Number One bestselling author Ben Aaronovitch.

My name is Peter Grant, and I used to be a probationary constable in that mighty army for justice known to all right-thinking people as the Metropolitan Police Service, and to everyone else as the Filth.

My story really begins when I tried to take a witness statement from a man who was already dead…

Probationary Constable Peter Grant dreams of being a detective in London’s Metropolitan Police. After taking a statement from an eyewitness who happens to be a ghost, Peter comes to the attention of Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Nightingale, who investigates crimes involving magic and other manifestations of the uncanny.
Suddenly, as a wave of brutal and bizarre murders engulfs the city, Peter is plunged into a world where gods and goddesses mingle with mortals and a long-dead evil is making a comeback on a rising tide of magic.

Praise for the Rivers of London novels:

‘Ben Aaronovitch has created a wonderful world full of mystery, magic and fantastic characters. I love being there more than the real London’
NICK FROST

About the author

Ben Aaronovitch

Ben Aaronovitch was born in 1964. Discovering in his early twenties that he had precisely one talent, he took up screenwriting at which he was an overnight success. He wrote for Doctor Who, Casualty and the world’s cheapest ever SF soap opera Jupiter Moon. He then wrote for Virgin’s New Adventures until they pulped all his books.

Then Ben entered a dark time illuminated only by an episode of Dark Knight, a book for Big Finish and the highly acclaimed but not-very-well-paying Blake’s 7 Audio dramas.

Our review

I quite enjoyed following this unusual detective around the streets of London, although I wasn’t expecting what I encountered. Everything I read was so different from anything I had read before.

What begins as a possible detective story widens into a glorious magical mystery, and I loved how this story was written; it was sarcastic yet witty.

This is the first book of many, and I intend to read them all. It was a delight to see London in a different light.

I had no idea this was a supernatural, fantasy, mystery thriller, so it all came as a lovely surprise. The magic is most natural, and humanising my favourite river was a delight…

Coming Home…

nowhere near as gentle as this, believe me!

Part One

I was pleased to be leaving hospital, even though the news wasn’t good.

They couldn’t do any more, it was completely down to me now.

The hospital was crawling with virus’s, so it was not the place to hang around.

I was determined to follow all the instructions and pray that they worked.

Being so close to being paralysed was a massive shock. One I will never get over.

When the time came to go home, I was optimistic. I could stand, holding on to anything I could reach. But this did not help me to leave the wheelchair to get in the front seat of the car.

It took two of my relatives to man handle me and shove my bottom towards the car seat. I am very tall and on the heavy side, and in the beginning it all looked rather hopeless.

One of us must have had a lot more faith, for somehow I was bundled into the seat.

Part Two

When we reached home, we thought we had carefully planned this. Anita was to come out of the house when we arrived with the walking frame.

I was to slide out of the car and stand up. I should be able to walk up the path with the walking frame to the front door.

Hah! we hadn’t counted on the double steps at the door.

And that is where it all went wrong.

I made it up the path and they all tried to help me up the steps, and for a minute it looked as though I would make it. At the last moment, my legs failed and I started to fall backwards. It looked hopeless.

I ended up on my knees. So I did no more, I crawled up the steps into the house and into my office. Somehow, I had to throw myself onto my couch and try to get comfortable.

All in all, a nightmare from start to finish. I tried not to feel like a waste of space, but it took a while to relax and appreciate being home…

More about the beginning…

Just when I thought life could be any worse, it took such a nose dive it shook me to my core.

It was Thursday, the day of my urology appointment. When I was wheeled into his office in a wheel chair, he was shocked and his face said it all.

“You were only here a few weeks ago, and you walked into my office. What has happened?”

I knew something was wrong when he said he couldn’t find any life or reflexes in my legs. As he examined me, his face grew more serious.

As I sat there, trying not to cry with desperation, he picked up the phone and rang another department. Over the next few hours, I was prodded and poked, and tests were done. Finally, I was admitted to the Orthopaedic department. I ended up having an MRI, which revealed a seriously squashed nerve in my spine. They decided that surgery was out of the question, very dangerous at my age, and the recovery would take too long.

What I needed to do was doable. Plenty of physiotherapy and a new prescription, one designed to numb the suffering nerve.

So this is all down to me. I must exercise like never before, every day and pray that new pill works…