I am a Stylish Blogger!

I'm so pleased ... (big smile ...idiotic grin from ear to ear).  I have received a Stylish Blogger Award from Ann over at Inkpots n'Quills.  Now there's a first! ... for me, not Ann!  It was a lovely surprise when I checked in to update my blog.  However, by the time I stopped by and read several of the other Stylish Bloggers ... well it was time to retire for the evening and save my ramblings .. I mean ... writings for another day.   Now the award does come with some instructions.  As a receiver of this prestigious award I need to share seven things about myself and pass on the award to three more bloggers.   I'm going to let this special award sit on my mantelpiece for a day or two before I pass it on ... this has made my day!  Thank you.

Seven things about me

1. I love writing and enjoy blogging.
2. I dislike clothes shopping but can spend ages in a book store, a charity shop, anywhere that sells books and cards.  Have been known to get lost there too!
3. A long time ago I made an LP (yes, you've read correctly! ... a very long time ago).  Actually it was part of a fund raising event.  And no it wasn't a worldwide success nor did it make me rich and famous.  But I do remember we had a lot of fun doing it and we raised lots of money too!  Emmm ...wonder if that electric blue jumpsuit would still fit?  Oh I was so trendy back then.
4. I love going to the theatre and would happily go every week if I could afford to do so.
5. My heart place is a cottage in Co Donegal, Ireland with a real peat fire that smells wonderful especially on  cold autumnal days.  Peace, tranquillity, a good book and lots of white wine thinking.
6. I admire people who can make beautiful storytelling patchwork quilts ... never was the star of Mrs P's needlework class at school but have learned to be very creative with paper clips and Velcro.  I think, as a past pupil, I may have made her proud  ...well maybe just a little  ...
7. I'm a hoarder and love to keep mementoes  ... a nightmare when it comes to moving!  My husband will vouch for that.  Thankfully we don't move often.

And now ....(roll on the drums)  ... I would like to pass this award to

1. Betty over at Bossy Betty
2. Tess at Willow Manor
3. Niamh at Words A Day

Have a good week one and all.

Stitched Up

http://www.frasersfotos.com

The Man has been trying out his new camera lens this weekend. I attended a writing workshop and met some lovely people there. This picture captured my imagination for a story.

She stood across the street staring at the window. She knew it would fit perfectly. She just knew it. She had painstakingly sewed every single stitch of that dress under the watchful eye of Madame Fontaine. Madame ensured that all her dressmakers were needlewomen of the highest calibre. Years of training in the fashion houses of Paris meant that when Madame came to London, her expectations were so high that only the best seamstresses were employed in her workrooms. Kitty Delamere worked in Madame’s rooms in Windsor and was one of her finest needlewomen.

“Go on, try it on Kitty, we won’t tell,” shouted Daisy.

“I couldn’t. What if Madame came in?” said Kitty.

“Go on, I dare you, Kitty. We’ll watch out for Madame,” cajoled Esther from across the workroom table.

Kitty had spent weeks stitching the intricate mother of pearl beading onto the bodice and around the neckline. She took great care not to snag the thread or pinprick the silk of this exquisite gown. She held the beautiful white wedding dress in her arms and gently caressed the softness of the material. What a fine gown for a beautiful lady, she thought.

Her thoughts drifted to her own impending wedding to her sweetheart Edward, a war photographer who had been posted to the front line. There had been no correspondence from him for weeks.

“Hurry up, Kitty. Try it on. Pretend that you’re the bride,” giggled Daisy, the youngest seamstress.

With a little help from the girls, Kitty Delamere carefully donned the wedding gown. She took great care not to allow the train of the dress to trail along the workroom floor. It fitted her perfectly, as if it had been made for her. It felt good, really good. She felt elegant and beautiful. She felt like a lady. She wished that Edward could see her. She knew she could never afford one of Madame’s fine gowns on a seamstress’s wage of four shillings a week.

“Oh Kitty, don’t you look a proper lady,” quipped an fascinated Daisy.

The door opened suddenly.

Madame’s tall and wiry frame filled the doorway.

She shrieked loudly in her flowing French accent, “Kitty Dela-meere, the dress, take it off this minute!”

The girls reeled back in horror. Kitty blushed furiously at being caught. She stepped out of the wedding gown and made her way to the office to endure the wrath of the outraged Madame.

Magpie Tales – Streets of gold

Photo from Tess over at Magpie Tales

"But … it’s not!”

“Not what?”

“Gold, you said the streets would be paved with gold and they aren’t!”

“Keep digging, you probably haven’t dug deep enough. Not enough blood, sweat and tears from you yet, young man.”

“But Da, my hands are blistered and my back is killing me. I didn’t imagine it would be as tough as this!”

“And how did you imagine it would be?”

“I thought the land of opportunity would be better, not so much of this physical work. I certainly didn’t expect us to be building the streets and working on the pavements. We could have stayed home if all we wanted to do was dig!”

“The trouble with you is you’ve never had to exert yourself too much. I blame myself for that, I’ve been too soft in my ways and your mother constantly making excuses for you has not done you any favours. But times are tough and now we need all the work we can get. We need to feed the family back home.”

Back home seemed a lifetime ago. Several months travelling in a coffin boat full of emigrants wasn’t the most thrilling journey to New York City. Malachy O Reardon and his son Jed had managed to secure the last two places when the ship sailed from Cork harbour in Ireland in the summer of 1847.

It had been a painful farewell at the harbour for them both. Saying good bye wasn’t easy. Neither of them knew if they would see the family again. But there was no choice now, no choice at all it seemed, staying in a country no longer able to feed its people didn’t count as a worthwhile choice. People were dying, the crop had failed. In order to survive and provide for his family of five, Malachy O Reardon had to go to America, had to be on that ship to New York City and had to earn a living to send money home. He took with him his eldest son Jed, only fifteen and much to learn about the harsh realities of life. Jed hadn’t been a strong travelling companion. Three weeks into the trip he suffered from ‘ship fever’. Malachy thought that he might not even make the journey to America and questioned his judgement about taking him; he was after all only a child. How would he explain to his wife that her son didn’t make it? But Jed survived despite the odds, the overcrowded cabins and the unsanitary conditions.

Malachy knew that the boy was missing his family and friends and the familiarity of ways back home. He was finding it hard to settle in the dark and overcrowded hostel which was usually full of older men who like themselves had travelled to find work. Many of them were homesick and resented being treated like second class citizens. They often resorted to heavy drinking and gambling to while away the time after work and lessen the pain of loneliness and despair in a foreign country. Many of the men had only managed to pay for a one way ticket, in the hope that life and work in the ‘land of opportunity’ would provide enough wealth and fortune to send for their families when they got established in the new country.

“Da, da, come over here. Look at this. Quickly, down here. Just below the spade. Can you see it?” shouted Jed.

“Shh ... lad, keep your voice down. You’ll have the whole gang here in a minute,” replied Malachy trying to contain the boy’s excitement.

Malachy walked across to where his son was working. He looked down at him in the big hole of dirt filling up with water. Piles of broken pavement heaped on either side of the growing cavity.

Jed O Reardon laughed and handed his father two small, dirty coins.

“You could be right Da; maybe the streets are paved with gold after all!”

Are you sitting comfortably …?

Did you know that Saturday 29 January to Saturday 5 February is National Storytelling Week? I didn’t! I’d never heard of National Storytelling Week until now. Apparently this is the 11^th year of Annual National Storytelling. I learned about this eventful week through my local newspaper, which often tells tales about local shenanigans and goings on. Like most newspapers for the past few weeks there’s been a lot of gloom and doom stories, hard stories and stories which made me question whether or not I should continue buying the local paper! Some weeks it makes for a depressing read. In fact I found myself scanning the paper for good news stories, inspiring and uplifting tales but there weren’t many this week, except for news of this – National Storytelling Week. Now there’s a thing, I thought. I do love a good story and proceeded to check out what is on offer in and around my area.

As a child I loved stories and still do as an adult (the grown up child with me!) My lovely Dad was one of the best story tellers in my time. Sadly he is no longer with us but I can still recall many of the tales he told, those of mystery and intrigue, those where everyone got a mention in the story by name and those well told ‘shaggy dog tales’ where even today I wonder if they were really true! His storytelling had the power to quieten and still the boisterous and lively child. He could entrance us as children with the goings on of his school days and later the harmless and playful pranks on mates when he worked in the building trade in his early days. His love and enjoyment of stories continued in his grandfather years and often as adults we would listen to him recounting the same tales to his grandchildren and despite invariably knowing the ending of the tale, we sat on engaged and listening anyway.

I wonder now if it was the story, his dulcet tones, the musicality of his words or quite simply the child within us wanting to be entertained that held us there hanging on his every word. Whatever it was, we loved it, young and old alike. For a few minutes he could transport us to a different time and place through the magic of storytelling.

So I’m off to check out some storytelling this week. What about you? Let me know if you come across any good tales in your travels. You may consider starting with the Society for Storytelling and their website is http://www.sfs.org.uk/nsw

Magpie Tales – Skates On!

(Snow Trio from Magpie Tales)

'Blog hopping' is becoming a favourite hobby of mine and today I 'hopped' over to Magpie Tales, a great site for aspiring writers and poets. What a great idea for a blog. It provides an opportunity to challenge us aspiring writers. I've often stopped by, read and admired the writings here. Such talent! One day I'm going to have a go at writing a Magpie Tale .. one day ... when I'm brave enough! Today I felt brave and a little creative too and I've made my first contribution to Magpie Tales. Enjoy. (Hope I manage to get the links and photo right!)

“Come on, hurry up. For goodness sake, take the photograph Edward. If we stand here much longer we’ll freeze to death” shouted Ella.

Her friends Elisabeth and Kitty stood and grinned. They refrained from getting caught up in the good natured brother-sister banter. Kitty had always admired Edward. In fact it could be said that she was quite smitten by the young, handsome dark haired man with the camera. He had smiled at her, not once but twice when they met outside the library at Marchmand House.

“Just one more shot and we’re finished here” called Edward from behind the curtained camera. One day he would be a famous photographer with a studio in London. One day they would appreciate his fastidiousness and attention to detail as he worked.

“You need to get yourself a proper job,” his father had said over and over again. A photographer was a proper job as far as Edward was concerned.

His father had plans for him to work in the City, ‘a sensible career in banking or the stock market’. His plans hadn’t included Edward ‘wasting time on photography and spending endless hours developing pictures that no-one wanted to buy or admire’. But Edward Marchmand knew different. One day people would travel miles to see his great photographic exhibitions and leave in awe of the great photographer.

But today, he was keen to impress the shy and demure Kitty Delaware, his sister Ella’s friend. Kitty was staying for a few days at the Marchmand Estate. He wondered if it would be appropriate to invite himself along to join them skating. Perhaps that might appear too forward? Would it be considered rude and un-gentlemanly? Would there be opportunity to engage in conversation with the lovely Kitty before she left tomorrow?

“Here, I’ve brought your skates too” shouted Ella. “Come on, we’ll race you there.”

Kitty Delaware smiled and he smiled back.

What would you say to a Polyglot?

I’ve been blog hopping again and came across a great post written by Benny Lewis on the Zen Habits site, a site which I think you will enjoy, so do stop by. When I read Benny’s guest blog I was fascinated by several things he said, one of them being his passion for learning new languages. You see Benny is a ‘polyglot’. A what? I know it isn't a word prominent in my vocabulary so off I went to the ‘authorities on vocabularies and big words’ and discovered that a polyglot is someone dedicated to learning languages and has the ability to speak and write in several languages. Impressive!

My language abilities extend to great English in a Northern Irish accent, a reasonable grasp of French, enough to order a meal and find somewhere to stay, a inactive command of Irish (Gaelige) and half a dozen words in other languages that permit me to say hello, please, thank you and a glass of white wine! It’s often stood me in good stead when I’m travelling. Yes I am one of those people who often makes a fool of herself trying to come to terms with the local language. Well it’s all part of the travel experience, don’t you think? Our last trip to Prague (beautiful country) was a real challenge linguistically! However, I’m pleased to report that my sign language has come on leaps and bounds.

Anyway, back to Benny, the polyglot … great word … polyglot…one for dropping into conversation this week when you can’t think of anything to say. You know, when you hit one of those awkward silence moments – ‘Are you a polyglot?’ Although probably best to use with caution, well until you get comfortable with the sound of the word anyway. Benny is a keen traveller and professes some great ways to learn languages. Sounds like a fun way to learn and much more creative than the audio visual languages courses at a certain Grammar School all those years ago.

What new word have you discovered recently? How has it influenced your communication skills?

Have a good week and do let me know if you bump into any polyglots in your travels.

Blogs worth hopping over to;

Zen Habits http://zenhabits.net/fluent/

Benny Lewis http://www.fluentin3months.com/about/

What are you exploring in 2011?

About this time of the year there will be New Resolutions made, Big Plans conceived and Great Actions agreed.

What's yours? What do you really want to say that you have achieved by December 2011? How do you want to feel? Happier? Fitter? Wealthier? Successful?

One of the things I want to do more of this year 2011 is to write more, to be more creative and to explore the whole creative process in more depth and detail, whatever that means. I'm very much in awe of creative people, those who can paint a picture whilst capturing the mood of the moment too. Those who can create a patchwork quilt which captures a life stories and tell it in colour and cloth. Those who can dance a tale in elegance, movement and grace ... and without uttering a word to disrupt the flow. Those who can write with diligence, fervour and passion to bring a character into being without lifting the pen from the page. Those who can trawl a seashore and catch the bounty of the waves in shell, wood and shale and capture the sound for future generations.

This year I plan to explore Creativity in its widest sense. An exploration of creativity in life, work and play.

And you? What do you want to explore in 2011?

Wishing you health, happiness and fun exploring in the New Year.