Category: Mental Health
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Sleeping on it . . .
It’s a commonplace, isn’t it, to sleep on a problem, hoping to awaken with a solution. As we went to bed last night, I was wrestling, somewhere in my subconscious, with a poetic problem that I thought I’d resolved. My dreaming mind thought otherwise. A better resolution than I’d even considered woke up with me…
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The bagpiper at Hexham Abbey
We did a little twirl of the Sele in Hexham, Saturday morning, in a persistent drizzle, so the opportunity to duck into the Abbey was welcome. I renewed my acquaintance with the ancient piper whose carving is part of an irreverent series of nine in the fifteenth century Leschman Chantry Chapel, positioned up to the…
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Green, verdant, mysterious wood
And yet, it’s deep winter here in the Glen Kens. But it’s really quite mild, as the days pass by with temperatures in the upper single figures. My thoughts have tended toward the poetic, these days, as we amble through the ageing woodland. I would like to believe that the poetic form is not only…
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Those life requirements . . .
I’ve been thinking about our cat’s life. She exhibits Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs quite faithfully: food, warmth, hygiene, affection, play. What she doesn’t have in her life, as she’s equilibrating to a restricted bungalow existence, is adventure. But this weekend, this weekend, we open the window and let her out into the greater world.…
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Rough seas before calm
The other day we explored further west and we ventured into the prevailing wind to reach the agitated seaside. These days I sometimes wonder if I’m not pushing against the wind only to reach a seascape in turmoil. The problem with writing competitions, though I’ve related how I’ve got several outstanding submissions, is that like…
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History as grist for story . . .
Long ago, when we were young(er!), we visited Sicily several times, falling in love with the island. On one of our holiday adventures, we persevered and actually found the mausoleum, high up on Mt Venere above Caselmola, where the doughty Florence Trevelyan reached her last resting place. Not many tourists, we figured, actually make that…
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A quiet retreat . . .
When we were fortunate to acquire the little bolt-hole across the border, we didn’t realise quite what a solace it would be. The weight of responsibility somehow seems more pressing when we’re home, but here across the open-plan living, dining and kitchen space it’s a temporary break from all that. Writing duties carry through, however,…
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World Mental Health Day
When I set up this little blog, I thought I had two purposes in mind: to develop a large readership by concentrating on a few salient contexts; to consciously think joyful thoughts, rather than sinking into an endless morass of self-recrimination. The daily readers who have drifted in to these entries are so much appreciated…
Roads to Joy 