I'm Moving...

From today, I will be blogging on my new blog at www.magentawrites.co.uk

Dear Hubby bought my very own domain name for me since the response to the blog in this last short period has been so great.  I thank you all who have followed me here, and would ask that if you have been enjoying what Magenta Writes... here, please pop over to the new site and follow me there.

I will be playing around with the format for a while as I want to bring more areas into the blog - more writing, more Grandparenting, more of my other passions such as Complementary Medicine and my Open University studies.  The new blog will hopefully allow me to do that in a more creative way.

Thanks for being here, and if you have followed a link from elsewhere to get here, please click on and join me at www.magentawrites.co.uk

The Customer is Always Right – ya think?

Colchester High Street, pic from telegraph.co.uk

OK, so I am feeling rather p***ed off at the moment.  I have size 9 feet and that makes shopping for shoes a trial in itself.  I recently went to buy some new ones, the old ones were hanging on by a thread.  The High Street in the nearest large town to me (Colchester) offers a couple of budget options (I'm a mum, we don’t do expensive shoes – school shoes come first).  I went into the first and lo! they had a pair that fit me like a glove – a triumph of which I am all too aware.  The shelf announced a price that was within my budget – another triumph!  I was doing so well, but then I went to pay for them...

Sales Assistant: ‘That will be £16.99.’

I hand over cash – not card, credit or otherwise – cash, all the time thinking that I am sure the shelf said £12.99

Shoes are shoved into a carrier bag by surly Sales Assistant and pushed back across the counter to me.

I turn, still aching at the amount the shoes have cost and glance back at the shelf-edge price ticket – sure enough it still says £12.99

I return to the till, bag in hand and ask the Sales Assistant to check the price for me.

Sales Assistant: ‘I charged you the price on the till,’ surliness increasing with each breath.

Me: ‘Would you mind checking that please, the price is not the same as the one on the shelf.’

(I nod to hubby and ask him to take a photo of the shelf – just in case I need it later.)

Sales Assistant: ‘Well the till is right.’

Me: ‘I think you will find that you have to charge me the price that is on display – don’t you?’

Sales Assistant: ‘Well I can’t change it now.’

Me: ‘If you can’t charge me the correct amount, I would like a refund please.’

(BIG MISTAKE!)

Sales Assistant: ‘I can’t take them back, there’s nothing wrong with them.’

(A fine head of steam is now building in my chest – and I am a big woman.)

Me: ‘Yes, there is – the price is incorrect and I would like my money back please.’

Sales Assistant: OK, well I will need your address and postcode then.’

Me: ‘Pardon?’

Sales Assistant: ‘I need them for the system.’

Me: Well I don’t want to give you my personal details; I paid cash not by card so you don’t need them.’

Sales Assistant: ‘Well I can’t do it without your postcode.’

(PMT is kicking in now, I’m getting angry, face is turning red and I’m going to blow, any minute.)

Me: ‘I‘d like to speak to the Manager please.’

Sales Assistant now proceeds to call the Manager downstairs from her office.  It takes three of four minutes for her to get to the shop floor.  When she arrives, I find myself looking at someone who appears to be about 17 years old.  She sees a woman who is about to explode.  The tale is recounted by Sales Assistant, who is now feigning tears to add insult to injury.  My turn now.

Me: ‘I’d simply like a refund please, I no longer want these shoes and I will never shop here again.’

Manager: ‘What’s your postcode please?’

Me: I’m not giving you my postcode; I just want my money back!’

Manager: The till won’t let me give you a refund with a postcode.’

Me: ‘Then use the shop postcode or your own, you’re not having mine!’

Manager: ‘I can’t do that madam; it’s not allowed.’

(Wait for it...)

Me: ‘OK, give me the shoes and my receipt please.  I have a photograph with the price on the shelf a sit stand today.  I’m now going to call Trading Standards.’

I take my mobile out of my handbag and call Directory Enquiries asking for the number for our local TS office.

(Wait for it...)

Manager: ‘I think I might be able to do it if I bypass the postcode, let me try... oh, yes, I can.’

Me: ‘Now ain’t that a surprise!’

Manager hands over the money and tries to keep my receipt.  I remind her that I will need them as evidence for when I write to her Customer Complaints department.  She is not a happy bunny.

Nor am I – I’m pre-menstrual and my old shoes are killing me!  Dear Husband is lurking near the door, looking embarrassed.  I apologise to him for causing a scene.  Arm in arm, we head down to the other shoe shop, via a cafe for a strong coffee.

The lessons here are:

• You are not required to give any personal details if you are requesting a refund for which you have made a cash purchase.
•  Never believe the price on the shelf.
• Telling a shop manager that you are about to ring Trading Standards WILL get you results.
• NEVER!!!!! Mess with a pre-menstrual woman!

What a waste...

A few nights ago, we watched a TV programme talking about food waste.  It set me thinking so I thought I would share my ruminations with y’all.

As a shopper, I like to think I’m fairly savvy – I go for the ‘bogofs’ and such the like, but only when they are items that we actually use.  I try to keep a store-cupboard of essential items in tins and jars – just in case of power cuts, fuel shortages, acts of God and so on but I rotate the contents and keep an eye on the dates.  And here is where it all goes a bit personal.  I’m NOT a slave to the printed dates on our foods.

There are three types of date on our food.  First up is the ‘Sell By’ or ‘Display Until’ date.  This one is purely for the seller, it has nothing to do with whether or not the contents of the package are going to poison you after that date, so in short, as shoppers, the only time that this date becomes of interest to us is when it results in a price decrease!  Nice one!

Image from thisismoney.co.uk

The second sort of date found on our foods is the ‘Best Before’ date.  These are the shopper’s friend again, because they often result in reduced prices on or close to the date on the packaging.  Usually these will be fine to eat for a good while after the date – it’s an advisory date.  Tins and jars of food will have this on them and can safely be used for some years after the date as long as the tin is not damaged or in the case of jars, the seal is still intact.  Even items such as biscuits and other dry goods can safely be used for months after the date as long as the packaging is in good order.

The last sort of date is the ‘Use By’ date.  This one is pretty much there to keep you safe and well – it’s on things like milk, meat and fish that will ‘go off’ quite quickly and cause you some nasty tummy problems if you eat them when they are off.  Generally, this one needs to be stuck to, although one day past the date I would happily use most foods, and even a couple if it looks and smells fine.

So where does this leave the state of my bins you ask?  Ok, for a family of six, we put one bin liner out for collection one week and two the next.  However, we also have a wheelie bin full of recycling – mostly packaging, it has to be said.  Veg peelings are given to the rabbits and guinea pig, except for the potatoes, which I am going to try turning into wine – watch this space.  We don’t waste food on plates – when it’s on your plate – you darned well eat it!  I do pay attention to particular dislikes such as one of our boys really doesn’t like gravy and it’s no hardship to leave it off his plate so we don’t get waste.  We don’t buy anything that we are not going to eat before it goes off, and if we have a glut of fresh foods, we freeze them.  I’m lucky enough to have two freezers which are pretty much full all of the time but again, the contents are rotated to prevent wastage.

When I shop, I have a broad plan in mind of the meals that we will eat for the week.  It is flexible enough to include those all important ‘bogofs’ but not so fluid that I will reach out for anything available.  In my humble opinion, there-in lies the secret to having les food waste.  It’s also a good way to make sure that in a large household, you can try to please all of the people some of the time, which is no mean feat as you probably know.

What strategies do you have for reducing food waste?  Share with me please, I’m always willing to learn.

Children's 'Firsts' (1) ...

I’ve been thinking about the joys that my daughter has in store for her in the coming months and years as her son grows and learns. 

First up, I thought about the smell of a new born baby’s skin.  It is an aroma which cannot be replicated by any other means.  Next I thought about that overwhelming moment when you fall in love with your offspring.  It can hit you like a truck, or it can sneak up on you and whack you over the head, but sure as God made little green apples, one day you realise that you would truly die for this little person.

I thought about the first smile, the first tooth, the first words and all of those ‘firsts’ about which the wonder never fades, whether it is your first child or the seventh.

There is one ‘first’ however, that never fails to crease me up.  One day whilst walking along a peaceful, leafy path on our way to town, my eldest son looked up at me from his innocent three-year-old face and said, ‘Mummy, is Bollocks a naughty word?’ ...

One of those weeks...

Blogging seems to be hard this week.  There are so many things going on around me and in the wider sense, around the country, that my mind is pretty frazzled.

This is one of the consequences of having Fibromyalgia and ‘information overload’ – the brain just turns tail and hides somewhere out of reach till it all dies down a bit!  I wish I knew where it hides, then I could go hide with it cos at the moment, the rest of me is still trying to deal with four kids on summer break, interviews for the two men in the house, middle daughter in a flap, teen daughter’s hair dye issues, coughs – the sort that bark all through the house all night, Lego and oh soooo much more!

I have four gallons of wine waiting to be bottled and another seven waiting to be racked, none of which I have the energy for, and in the grand scheme of things, it’s probably not that important.

On Monday, I baked – all day.  We filled eight tins with various muffins, cookies and flapjacks and when I say tins – I mean the tins that your Roses come in for Christmas.

Tuesday, spent trying to recover from Monday, did too much, felt like poo.  Middle son had a call to say that he had an interview on Thursday, so it was all hands on decks to find his certificates and show him how to press his suit.

Wednesday was to be a study day – the morning in the library and then the afternoon with Middle Daughter before hitting the home run to be back in time to host my weekly Healing Circle online.

Thursday – recovering from Wednesday.  Had a migraine and felt sick all day, read nothing, wrote nothing, did nothing – period!

And today, well today I am trying to get to grips with some software but my head is still all muzzy from the week and the weather.  Perhaps I’ll go lie down for a while... but I have to make a shopping list for the weekly shop. 

Dear Husband will be hot footing it home from work tonight to do the regular supermarket run.  Two trolleys, one man, one woman and a list!  We will fight them in the aisles, we will fight them at the checkouts, we will do battle with carrier bags and boxes.  When we reach the hallowed peace of home again, we will do battle with cupboards, fridge and freezers.  We’ll get it all put away just in time to flake out in front of the TV for an hour with luck, before one or both of us fall asleep.

And so we come to the weekend...  is there any wonder this is my first blog post this week?

Toys + Nostalgia = Granny-itis Hits Again

Toys have once again become a part of my life.  Not the teen type toys that my younger kids still have, or the Lego that never dies, but baby toys.  Toys like shape sorters and rattles and Duplo.  Teething rings that you put in the fridge which then leak anyway once your little one sinks their first pearly whites into them.  Teddies and other soft toys made of garishly coloured fabrics with incessant noises emanating from them at inopportune moments.  You know the ones – all you mums know the ones I’m talking about.

I had cleared most of the ones in our house about two years ago, when I finally admitted that we no longer had babies in the house, but now of course, we have our grandson, and the toys are quietly breeding whilst they are in the toy bag at night.  I swear that each time I tip them out; there are more in it than last time I looked.  I have no idea (honest!!!!) of where they are coming from, except for the occasional suspicious looking bag coming home from car boot sales or trips into town.  They are multiplying oh so very slowly but surely.

Last weekend, an attack of Granny-itis struck whilst we were out and a shape-sorter ball came home with us.  I felt a pang of nostalgia for the old Tupperware one that my kids had about twenty five years ago, and a pang of guilt for having shipped it off to a charity shop in the clear out two years ago.  Then a little later in the morning, I found one of these lovely toys with wire frames in board, onto which coloured wooden beads have been threaded.  It was accompanied by cries of ‘Mum look – I remember playing with one of these when I was little,’ and ‘Darling nephew would love one of these Mum!’  So I was powerless to resist, would you have been able to deprive such a great little chap of the chance to make the same memories that you and your kids have?

I admit it – I’m a sucker!  But I feel totally justified because the little man concerned loved them when he was here with us yesterday.  He got his uncles to play with the shape sorter for him – just to show him how to do it of course.  He pushed and pulled at the bead frame, then made eyes at his uncles till they showed him what to do with it.  They even went and found a few dinky cars for him to fill with dribble!  Aren’t they the best uncles ever!

I wonder if any of you other grandmas and mums out there have also been sucked in by nostalgia when buying toys?  Make a comment on this posting and share with us.

For A Child In My Heart... A Poem

Today, I thought I would share with you something that I wrote earlier this year.  I know many women have miscarriages, or lost a child at a very young age.  Even though those children have gone before they got here, they are still in our hearts forever.  This was written with that in mind.

Sarah

A little angel walks with me

everywhere I go.

She's there in times of sadness,

and times when I don't know.

She strokes my hair to comfort

and gives a guiding hand.

I miss her every single day,

but some won't understand.

Although I cannot see her,

she's still a part of me.

Her brothers feel her presence,

our little absentee.

I'm sure the cat can see her -

he won't sit on her chair.

One day I'll see my Angel,

till then, she knows I care.

©Ruth Raymer 2011

Fear Lasts... a lifetime

Today we ventured out for a few hours of respite from decorating ‘teen daughter’s’ bedroom.  It was to be a leisurely wander around a car-boot sale; no smells of paint fumes, no dust around the whole house, just a bit of time to recoup our energies and relax.

How wrong can you be!  One minute we were walking along a row of stalls, minding our own business, next minute my stomach is in knots.  I feel like I am going to throw up on the spot.  I am shaking and tearful.

What happened you ask?

A fight broke out.  Not what you expect to see on a Saturday morning boot sale.  I think what caught me off my guard more than anything though, was the sound of a woman screaming and going to, getting stuck in with the attacker and then in between the two men who were fighting.

I used to be very accustomed to the feelings this provoked in me – the fear and panic, the utter revulsion, however in the last twenty-seven years or so I have not had to deal with the like.  I had put to the back of my mind the effects of seeing my parents trying to physically harm one another.  I had lain to rest the sounds of them shouting and screaming.

This morning, it all came roaring back, like a freight train running into my chest. I forgot to breathe for a moment or two.  Then I heard the sounds of a child crying and even now, some hours later, I’m not sure if that was a child at the boot sale or the child in my memory.  I managed to regain my outward composure and carried on moving, albeit slowly.  All I wanted was to make sure that my kids were ok.

I never, ever want them to feel what I felt today.  I will move heaven and earth to protect them from the terror that is domestic violence.  Most of all, I want to thank my husband who quietly and without question, understood my need to gather our kids close to me for a while.

Tomorrow we’ll try a walk in the woods – should be more peaceful at least!

Bring on the Summer Holidays!!

For many of us Mums, today or perhaps tomorrow marks the start of the Summer Holidays, that 6 week epic break from school that we either love or hate.

I fall into the first of those categories.  I love having our kids at home; being able to do things with them, even if that means that on a rainy day we spend the day huddled in the living room with a pile of goodies and a stack of DVDs. 

When your kids are tiny, you just don’t realise how bereft you will feel when they go to school, so I cherish every day of that six weeks as the most time I get to spend with them, uninterrupted by school bells and uniforms.  I only have four of my ‘little ones’ left at home, ranging from 10 years old to 17 (but add dear daughter and darling grandson into the mix too, for good measure on some days).

image from interiordesignarchitects.net
I'd love to be able to reproduce this design

This summer, we are going to decorate one of the bedrooms – ‘teen daughter’ has been waiting patiently for her turn of the paint roller to come around.  That should take us roughly one week of the hols.  We work as a gang – some will be stripping whilst others are sanding or washing and so on.  Last summer we did both of the boys’ bedrooms and I think we all had fun along the way.  Not sure how the lads are going to feel about being spattered with bubblegum pink paint, but it should make for some hilarity when we hit the beach, if we hit the beach but that of course needs some reasonable weather.

Other plans for the holidays are trips on the train to London perhaps or to visit one of the Uncles in the midlands.  Family Railcards are an amazing piece of kit – we get to travel all over the place for a fraction of what it would ordinarily cost.  When you are trooping at least four of your little darlings around with you (up to a few years ago it was up to seven of them), every penny counts, especially on trips to London.

To be fair, my tribe are great kids, they don’t make demands, unreasonable or otherwise and are happy to mostly do whatever comes along.  The museums in the capital make for a good day out on a shoestring budget – as long as you take a picnic of course.

More soon on our plans for the summer, but right now, it’s time to collect some banana boxes so that ‘teen daughter’ can start to pack away all of her worldly belongings.  The strippers move in on Monday morning – 8am sharp!

A Severe Case of Granny-itis...

A strange affliction that runs in families?

Well it is in a way, because I definitely caught it from my one and only grandson.  November last year – that’s when I really came down with Granny-itis in a big way.  I had been incubating the germs for a while – or at least my daughter had.  This time last year, my daughter had just found out that she was in the family way, as my Grandad would have said.  It was a bit of a shock for her, as most women these days know well before they reach 20 weeks, trust my daughter to be different!   Thirteen weeks later – another shock – dear daughter’s dear son put in an early appearance and was born about six weeks early.

I had long since stopped fawning over beautiful baby clothes in shops, but now, I’m at it again.  I see adverts for baby things from all over the place and I can’t quite resist having a look.  My house has been invaded by high-chairs and cots.  The toy box that we had banished to the older kids bedrooms has snuck its way back into the living room again, full of primary-coloured plastic whatnots and teddies that jingle and sing.  The fish tank is covered in sticky little hand prints where dear grandson has been talking to the fish.

Do I care?  Of course I do! 

I am loving every minute, in fact, I highly recommend a good dose of Granny-itis, it’s the best thing in the world next to gazing at your own newborn.

Come back soon for more about Granny-itis, and what it can mean for your heart and your home.

Teen Getaway

Just another Monday morning in a family household... except another one of my babies has taken that first step toward flying the nest.  My teen son has gone on holiday without us!

It’s not a bad thing, and I have to keep telling myself that.  At seventeen years old, we have brought him up able to cook and care for himself properly. But... and it’s a huge but, he is still one of my babies and it is so hard to let go.

So for the next week I shall have sleepless nights thinking about all the things that could go wrong, but safe in the knowledge that these are just the dream-time thoughts of an over-protective mother who needs to let go.  Will they get the train ok? (Forgot to mention – he is going with his twenty something brother.)  Will the rain have washed out the camp site before they get there?  Will the tent hold up to the rain?  Will they burn the tent down cooking the spoils of their fishing trips?  Will they get horribly drunk and vomit in their sleep?  Will they have enough food?  Will they get the right train home again?

The answer to all of these questions is immaterial of course. 

They will have a fantastic holiday.  I imagine they will have their moments of madness and several cock-ups along the way too, but isn’t that how we all learned to get along in the world?

I’ve told them to enjoy their holiday and that I don’t expect a phone call every night (yeah!).  And that, dear readers is why I’m here on my computer at stupid o’clock in the morning, writing this blog post.  Ahh! the joys of motherhood!

Goodnight Bill - Rest in Peace

Last night, I found out that a dear and respected friend had lost his fight with the big ‘C’ and shuffled off this mortal coil.  I am therefore asking your indulgence whilst I say a few words about him here.

I am feeling like crap!  I believe in the continuance of the soul after the death of the physical body, I know in my heart that my dear friend’s suffering has ended and that instead of being incarcerated in a wheelchair (as he has spent the last few months), his spirit is free now to soar.  I believe that I will see and hear him again at some point in the future.

Not a Rose for your memory Bill,
but a Scottish thistle.

Yet I am so very sad.

Even more odd perhaps, is that I never met this person in the flesh.  In fact I had only heard his voice on one occasion.  My dear friend Bill was a member of an online community that I run.  We had been friends online for about seven years; working together on several projects, learning from one another along the way.  I attuned Bill to Reiki; I encouraged him to work with his Tarot and with mediumship – something that was rather frowned upon in his home country.

Bill, at least the Bill that I know, is a generous spirit.  I know that he loved his family dearly, although I suspect that he may not have told them that too often – he often told me.  I came to regard Bill not just as a friend, but as the man I wish that my father had been.  He supported me when things were slow on our community and when I became exhausted; he stood in for me to lead our Healing Circle, even though he himself was unwell.  He didn’t like to complain, so we quickly learned a code, instead of asking one another ‘How are you?’ as is considered polite to do, we would skirt around the words, yet still let one another know how we were.  It was an understanding we held with one another – a respect for our feelings.

Bill also had a wicked and naughty sense of humour, always cracked us up in our chatroom, and always called all the women in our community ‘lass’, for which those of us well past the first flush of youth were always eternally grateful! 

We are going to miss you Bill, your absence online is going to leave one heck of a hole in our community, but you will never be forgotten.  Go well on your journey my friend, and come back soon, we will be waiting for you.

Follow me...

Anyone starting to follow this blog during the month of July 2011, will have their names added to a draw for a Celtic Cross (10 cards) Tarot Reading, via email.

Winners name will be drawn at Noon GMT on 1st August and be notified the same day.  Please note that this prize may be taken as a Gift Voucher for the same reading if the winner wishes, that may be given to anyone as a gift although it must be used before the end of September 2011.

Writing on the Edge

Today I am truly on the edge of insanity!

I have a 1500 word essay due by noon Wednesday and a total block about what to write, how to write it and so on.  I ask you - how can I get excited or even motivated to write about 'how age shapes expectations about how someone should behave when bereaved'???  I find myself continually asking why I bothered to take this module in my degree program.  It's a question I can't answer.  There have been more people drop out of this module than any other i have done with Open University and I am sure that although the content has something to do with that, the general lack-lustre support from tutors is also a factor found high up on the list.

'Death and Dying' might put a lot of people off for starters (Module Code - K260), but I thought it might be interesting to find out, and learn about the process of dying from social and health-care perspectives.  It has to be said though that much of the materials are so dry they would turn to dust and blow away if left out in the air for more than a modicum of time.  I know that academic writing can be dry, but this is beyond the pale.

So, today, in blogging I am also procrastinating... again... about this darned essay.  I've got pages and pages of notes, long lists of references to include, AND NOT A CLUE WHERE TO START!  Perhaps another cup of tea is in order?  I think it might be.  I'll go and stock up on tea and give myself a little more sympathy, then I might hit a packet of biscuits too.  After that I might get the hoover out and salve my conscience by doing housework for a while till my muscles hurt.  Then I shall check in on my emails - there might be some that need to be answered and after all - its rather rude to keep folk waiting any longer than necessary.  Later I have to go to the post office and send off a book for a ReaditSwapit.com swap and post a couple of letters.  The kids will be home by three and I will need to cook them some tea - poor starving little mites that they are.  That brings us through to early evening - have to get my daily dose of 'Neighbours' and maybe follow that with some 'Home and Away' - love my Aussie soaps.  By nine o'clock, all should be quiet on the western front, kids will be in bed, hubby is safely at an Am-Dram read-through for a new play, and I shall have peace and solitude to be able to write this essay.

Now I wonder if I can just get my head down and do it now - while they are all at school/work?... I'll let you know later :)

Library Memories

I spent most of the day on Friday in my local library.  I do this perhaps once a fortnight because I like that fact that there are fewer opportunities for distraction there.

As I sat there, inviting my muse to enter my thoughts, I was reminded of the libraries of my youth.  There, bespectacled librarians, with stern faces and a hiss to match any disturbed alley cat, would keep the silence in all areas.  The shelves were the same back then as they are now, thanks to the Dewey Decimal system, books all in order with spines facing us, begging us to take them down and browse the covers before maybe taking them home to dive into their pages.  Gone though, are the sounds of the date stamp as it clunked its way to making a mark in each book, telling us when to return it.  Gone are the little card slips in the front of each book which were placed into our library tickets and thence into the long slender trays for safe keeping till we returned the books.  How engrossed was I as a child, watching the nimble fingers of the librarians as they flicked their way through the tickets to find ours.  The look of disdain that was shot over the top of their specs if we were late was a withering experience for all.  Interaction with human beings in the library now, is minimal.  The books are checked in and out at a computer terminal.  The catalogue is stored on another.  We receive letters or phone calls from a recorded voice if we fail to return our books on time.  In fact, the only time that I need to speak to a real person these days is to pay a fine or to pay for the hire of a DVD or audio book.

The addition of items such as films on DVD, music CDs, audio books on CD and even eBooks are signs of the times I suppose, but of course the biggest intruders into the library are the computers all around.  Our library has around three dozen computers scattered around it!  Some are dedicated to the check in/out system or to the catalogue.  Some are reserved for the use of the staff, but the majority are there for the use of the public to access the internet or to use for word-processing or email purposes.  The library runs IT courses in one area, where most incongruously, in amongst the PCs, sits an ancient microfiche viewer, gathering dust and falling into obsolescence.  Around the rooms, tables and electrical power points are provided for users such as me, bringing laptops with us to sit and study.

Another innovation is the ‘Book Rest cafe’, serving hot and cold drinks and healthy organic snacks and sandwiches to the library’s clientele.  Here folk meet and chat over a latte and a cookie whilst being regaled with the latest BBC news on the wide screen TV on the wall.  Next to the cafe is a small exhibition space for local artists, which is more reminiscent of the old library.  Somehow though, the smell of oil paint and canvas is not as strong here in among the setting of cafe, computers and chatting.

Although I find it a good place to work and write, I think I also mourn the passing of the totally silent space of yesteryear.  I enjoyed sitting on the stools and benches, and even their later replacements of more comfy seats, leafing through a book.  I enjoyed meandering among the shelves to discover the delights that they held and then asking for help when I couldn’t lay hands on the book that I wanted.  I liked the fact that the building was full of nothing but books and the occasional work of art.  Most of all, I liked that I could sit there, unnoticed; and while away my days in a world that I could only live out, in the pages of the books.

Next week I’ll be back again, I’ll sit and I’ll read and write a little too.  I’ll think wistfully of the ladies who ruled the roost and kept us all in order, but I’ll sit and eavesdrop on the conversations in the cafe and among the shelves as I mooch.  I’ll mourn the passing of the old way, but not for too long.  The library today is alive and vibrant in all of its little corners and wider spaces.  The children playing in their corner would agree I’m sure, as would the ladies, lunching in the cafe and the OAPs as they plug away at their ‘Intro to Computing’ courses.

As a closing comment I commend to you all this mantra – USE IT OR LOSE IT!  So many of our libraries are being earmarked for closure in the cost-cutting rounds of our Councils.  Make sure that yours is well used enough for them to reconsider such an action – for the sake of all those for whom these places are important.

On My Hobby-Horse

Do you have a hobby?  I mean a real hobby – something that you do for fun in your leisure or spare time.  I don’t mean something that you do outside of your day job to earn more money, although if you do earn something with your hobby, that is a little different.

I’ve always had a hobby.  Since I was very tiny, maybe four or five years old, I have done something creative just for fun.  It hasn’t been the same hobby all through my life.  I have had so many different hobbies that I doubt I can remember them all.  Besides being a hobbyist, I am also a collector.  I’ve had many collections over my lifetime too.  Some of them I still have, some I don’t.  Like many youngsters in the 60’s and 70’s, I had a stamp collection.  I spent countless hours categorising my stamps by country, colour and price and then sticking them into albums with small gummed paper hinges.  I had a Stanley Gibbons starter kit which boasted a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers among other accoutrements that served to make the hobby more exciting – yes, I did say exciting.

My collections have ranged over the years from collecting household bits and pieces to make a ‘bottom drawer’ – something that girls used to do many moons ago to prepare for leaving the family home.  It was usually a collection of table and bed linens, crockery and so on.  The first thing I bought for my bottom drawer was a dinner service, tea set, cutlery set and saucepan set.  It was all in one huge box from my mother’s catalogue and cost me fifty pence a week for about six months.  I was fourteen when I bought it and I am still using most of the content of that set to this day, over thirty years later.  We have lost a few plates over the years and the small glass bowls have diminished in number till we only have the one left.

Another collection that began in my youth and which has grown through my life is my collection of cookery books.  I am more discerning these days, in my choice of addition to the collection.  I prefer pre-war books nowadays, especially ones in which the previous owner has made handwritten notes.  The one book that till evades me is a Mrs Beeton, the full size one.  My mother-in-law gave me her smaller version but one day, I would love to have a first edition Mrs Beeton... one day.  Books have always been somewhat of an Achilles heel of mine.  Not just cookery books, I love crafting books, poetry books, biographies, novels, in fact any books at all!  I know that I have passed on my love for books to my children, even the boys who will enjoy a good read although maybe not quite so much as the girls; except for the youngest of the boys, who like his mum, can’t put a book down once started until its well and truly finished.  He can digest two or three young reader paperbacks in a day if given the chance.

And so I’m back to hobbies again.  My current hobby is wine-making.  It’s something that my father used to do and when I was first married I had a bit of a try, but never really found a passion for it.  The demijohns quickly became orphaned when our children came along, and forgotten.  For my birthday last year, I asked for a starter set and a wine kit.  Duly purchased, a brew of Elderberry wine was produced within the month and since that time, the winery has burgeoned in my utility room and at this moment I have over ten gallons of wine in the process of brewing and a huge rack fitted into the utility room for the finished product.  I love the chemistry and the creativity.  I enjoy procuring (for which, read scrounging) fruit for as little money as I can and turning it into something special.  I don’t actually drink very much alcohol – it doesn’t mix very well with my medications or the symptoms of FMS.  I do sneak the occasional small glass, but one small one is plenty for me these days.  Most of the wine that I make is gifted away, and that’s the way I like it.  To see someone enjoying the fruits (quite literally) of my labours, is a great bonus for me.

Other hobbies have fallen by the wayside recently because I am no longer able to hold a needle to sew – I loved Cross Stitching and embroidery.  For the same reason I no longer knit or crochet.  This is a source of both sadness and frustration for me, but until the pain and discomfort that such things cause can be remedied, I have turned back to another passion from my youth – writing.  I still enjoy some papercrafting on occasion, making all of the special cards for family and friends.  I am a hoarder of items that are connected with whatever hobby I am pursuing at the time.  I have several large crates of papercrafting equipment and materials.  This is a source of some consternation to my other half, though none more so than my collection of ‘lumps of rock’ as he calls them – my crystal and mineral collection.

In future postings I may talk more about my hobbies, but feel free to tell me about yours in the comments section!

Does Magenta Exist?

A little more rumination on Magenta as an entity... I stumbled upon an article which tells me that Magenta does not, in fact exist!  I kid you not.  My right index finger went immediately into overdrive, clicking on every imaginable link to find out more about this travesty.  The perpetrator of this alarming claim is one Liz Elliot of www.biotele .com (The Neurostimulation Portal) HERE.  Do take a look at this article as it has some excellent optical trickery for you to play with.

This colour wheel from Blue Lobster shows Magenta very clearly!!

Needless to say, Ms Elliot’s claims are variously debunked by other writers, scientists and bloggers.  I particularly liked the article HERE. Which explains in layman’s terms why Magenta does exist and why it does not.  

So, do I now begin to doubt my own existence?  Am I purely a figment in the imaginations of folk who are trying to bridge the gap between Red and Violet?  I have often pondered on the status of my visibility in the minds of others, particularly those of my children on occasions when dividing up the day’s chores between them etc.

Perhaps then, there is synchronicity in play in my choosing Magenta as the name under which I will work!  I want to find a place in the imaginations of my readers with what I write, and if Magenta truly does exist in the imagination, then I hope that this is a good omen and I am off to a good start.  No doubt time will tell.

Look UP!

Look up...

Sitting in the park a few weeks ago, I chanced to look upward through the trees.  This was the beautiful sight that met my gaze.  I did, admittedly have sunglasses on, otherwise I think that the sun may well have pierced my poor eyeballs.

It set me to thinking... We spend our lives pretty much looking down at the ground or at what we call 'eye-level'.  How many times do you actually raise your eyes and look up at say, the buildings in your town centre?  There is some wonderful architecture out there, old and new to be seen even in the most built up areas.  Alternatively you may be missing sights like the one opposite.  Not right under your nose, rather, raight over your head.  Take a look, just raise your head next time you are out and about and see what you can see!

Magenta Designs...

I didn't much like the initial look of the blog template, so I have spent an hour playing with it.

More procrastination!

I think it's now almost how I want it to be, so I will leave it for now and see how this design grows on me.  Almost every site I have ever had has been pretty much in the same colourways, so it's a bit more like coming home now.

Magenta Writes...

My pen-name is Magenta.

In this blog I am declaring my intention to share some of my life, work and writing with the WWW - that means you dear reader.  I'm not making any promises that my ruminations will be palatable to all of you out there, but they are part of me, and so I commend them to you.  Please be gentle!

So who is Magenta?

Well first of all I'm a forty-something woman who has many hats and not enough heads to wear them on.  I am a student - in my early forties I have finally buckled down and started to study for a Bachelors Degree with the Open University.  No big deal for some, but for me it has been a fine blend of panic and ecstasy. 

Of my other 'hats', probably the most important is that of Mum.  I have seven children (the standard response here is 'How Many??').  Yes, I said seven.  They are all mine, all my husbands and all born inside wedlock, just in case you were already thinking the next thing that folk usually ask me - 'Are they all yours then?'  Being a mum has been the most important part of my life.  My children mean everything to me, even when they are being wholly obnoxious.  I love every breath they take.

The other most important of my 'hats' is that of Wife.  I have been married to my long suffering other half for almost thirty years, some happier than others.  I was just 18 when we were married so we have grown up together in many ways.  You will probably hear more about this part of me as time goes by - hang on to your hats!

I chose Magenta as my pen-name because it's a colour that I love, I would splash it all over the place if I could. More than that though, magenta is the colour of the vibration of the Crown chakra.  Another of my 'hats' is that of Complementary Therapist and the chakras are the backbone of the energy system which is the building block of many Complementary therapies.  It plays a big part in my life.  A word of reality check here, I'm not your average fluffy airy fairy new-agey person.  If anything I want my work to show that although I am passionate about what I do, I am also realistic and down to earth.  You will hear more of that in due course also.

For now, I have an essay to write eeek, and I have possibly done enough procrastination for one day... off to the books I go...