This mystical Scottish Highland mountainside was stunted by the bubbling cauldron of mist. Somewhere, enveloped deep below the veil, the shoreline met the sea…
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Enveloped.”
Three pages to complete one sum to you and me.
I wasn’t that bad at maths but differentiation?… I could not make any sense of it. It took up half the school exercise book and usually ended up at least 3 pages to answer just one question.
Now if someone had told me why we would use such a confusion calculation I may have taken more interest. I have a vague recollection of someone telling me that I could use it in mechanical engineering.
But at the time, I hated it. I feared it.
The O’Level examinations were looming fast and I just couldn’t get anywhere with grasping my understanding of it.
We were regularly sitting mock tests and I was expected to pass the exam. I can remember being told not to worry about it as the previous year they had a paper on the dreaded subject so we wouldn’t be getting it again that year.
Haha. No kidding. You’ve guessed it!
We had one full paper totally on the dddreaded dddifferentiation. And guess what?
Yep. I failed!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Land of Confusion.”
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Those Dishes Won’t Do Themselves.”
I always leave them in the hope they will. You never know, one day …
And I don’t believe in using dish washers (well the non-people kind). I had a phone call from the local energy trust regarding saving energy. Now I am pretty sure you can’t save much more than I do. Well maybe putting a fourth layer on top of the already cumbersome three layers may help a bit, but come on, my soul is almost smothered into extinction during the winter months with 3 layers a fourth is beyond acceptable.
So we discussed all sorts of ways I use energy and the dishwasher came up for discussion. I expressed my perspective and was shot down in flames for not having one. He told me that I would save more energy and do less damage to the environment if I had a dishwasher. I told him I agreed and would insist in future in cajoling the next human through the door via the kitchen sink.
I don’t think he appreciated my humour.
I offered to be put to the test – I did not believe that if I lived to the grand old age of one hundred and washed up as often as I do that I could justify the damage to the environment caused by the mining, manufacturing, construction, transportation, maintenance, running costs and pollution.
Amazingly, he believed he had sufficient statistics to prove me wrong. It was at that point that we parted company.
Now, where was I?
I had come to believe that soapboxes were a thing of my past!
I am not a fan of housework generally, I can always think of something more interesting to do, however, my home is always clean and reasonably tidy. I really don’t like to create work for myself.
I used to loathe ironing but developed the art of buying clothes that needed less ironing and making sure I hung them up to dry, preferably outside. It’s amazing how well nature shakes and flaps the creases out of the fabric. When summer finally arrives it is impossible to avoid the iron, but I had an epiphany one day and decided that in order to enjoy a job I hated I would find a way to make it acceptable. So I selected some peaceful music to listen to, and whilst I ironed, I flattened out all the creases in my life.
I could have become carried away with enthusiasm for the task but winter returned and out came the thick jumpers again.
This whole bleak hillside on the west coast of Scotland is adorned with swathes of grass ripples.
Flattened by the intensity of the winter gales, they are so dehydrated by the harsh weather conditions that when the sun appears they absorb so much light they become illuminated with a rich golden colour.
And … they just beg to be touched.
Just sharing my passion for the wind today and a quick snapshot of the effects of the wind whipping up the dead grasses, flinging them against the wire fencing. Where they catch the wire they wave frantically, a real joy to watch. Ah the simple things in life.
With a constant wind speed of F7 to F8 which is between 32-46 mile per hour (51-75 km/h) and gusts coming thick and fast as strong as F9, it really is not too bad out there. I can just about make out the sea in the greyness. If it wasn’t for the white horses galloping across its turbulent surface, I wouldn’t know the sea was even out there. Still it is a much nicer wind than in the winter months, then it comes in with such ferocity and an almost violent edge, you can feel the damage that could occur as it hits hard anything in its path. It comes with a bite too, a sharp maddening bite that reaches to your core.
Today though, it is powerful, in a gentler way. Softly pushing you over, almost playfully, rather than just flattening you. The Spring winds. There is a softened, almost rounded edge to it too and a tinge of warmth, a hint that the winter may actually be over with for this year.
I love the wind, Spring Summer Autumn Winter, no matter what the season. Each has its own personality, a general behavioural pattern, even though each time it revisits it has a slightly different edge on its return.
You won’t catch me out though. I can read you loud and clear and I still love you no matter how you show up.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Journey.”
When I was child of about 3, we lived in a tiny village that had only one shop. It seemed miles from anywhere but my cousin, she lived just around the corner and around the next bend on the same country lane lived Grandma and Grandad. For some reason I wasn’t over keen on Grandad, but I adored my Grandma. She was such a loving person and I really enjoyed being with her. I was allowed to ride my tricycle along the pavement, all on my own to visit them.
It was a delightful place to live, surrounded by wildlife, farms and an abundance of greenery. We took regular walks thoroughly indulging in the effect of the changing seasons. To this day I have a similar passion for nature, the countryside and the seasons.
We would watch the butterflies dance from flower to flower, noting which one it was and if we weren’t sure, we’d look it up in a book when we returned home. We’d breathe in the scents of the blossoms on the hedgerows, trees and the wild flowers in the grass verges. I was renowned for sticking my nose into flowers.
There was always something riveting to watch or exciting to explore. Many of the fields roundabout had small ponds in them. Here we would sit for hours just watching the dragonflies dance from reed to reed, or watch the pond skater insects whizzing over the water’s surface or catch newts with our nets, putting them into a jar so that we could get a better look at them. We would always put them back into the pond before going home. Other times we would keep a watch out for calves or lambs being born, watch the farmer plough a field or bale hay.
Big cousins would come to visit quite regularly, cycling all the way from their village miles away and we would ride our bikes or play ball games and drink cordial, something that was only available when visitors came. We were rarely indoors and my selective memory can only recall rain in April, though we must have had days when it poured.
Then one day, which for me seemed quite out of the blue, we were moving. A giant green lorry with a cavernous space at the back was taking all our belongings and we were going to live somewhere else. I can only remember horror. All the things I would be leaving behind. My Grandma would be miles away, how I would miss my dear loving Grandma. And my cousins, I would have no friends to play with.
When we arrived at our new house, it was on a straight main road and it felt as if it were on another continent. Being a new house it didn’t have the old established gardens around it so it felt barren. The whole place felt empty, the whole area felt empty. Where was the greenery?
There was a big hedge over on the other side of the road and there were some big trees but the cosseted feeling of the old village which just oozed greenery, was non-existent in this strange place.
I was told not to make a fuss, I would make friends. There was a girl next door that I was encouraged to play with, but a part of me didn’t like the feel of her. I started school and began to make some friends but somehow they never felt like the deep comradeship I had had with my cousins. My only saving grace from living in that very empty feeling place was that at the weekends my dad and I would go for long walks along the riverbank or the canal and we would observe all the bounty that nature had to offer. Those days were like heaven on earth.
One of the things that sticks in my mind was the feeling of isolation, I felt as if I was ‘out on my own’ and despite having moved from a verdant green village, I felt separated most strongly from my beloved sea. Now we didn’t live by the sea but we were probably only a couple of miles from the sea as the crow flies and less than an hour away by train in those days and whilst I have no recollection of being at the seaside when the sun went down, I can clearly remember sitting in my bedroom with my head poking through the curtains, watching the sun going down behind the hedgerow across the road and wondering just how many miles away the sea was and how I yearned to be near it. This has stayed with me ever since and must have had such a profound effect on me that I now live right by the sea and would have it no other way.
I have a passion for wild weather and especially spectacular cloud formations.
On a warm sunny day we were happily wandering along a deserted shore, well, apart from a few rogue sheep chomping on seaweed.
Then I noticed that the wind had begun to have a slight chill and the brightness was beginning to fade.
When I looked up from my obsessional pebble hunting, I noticed this beautifully spectacular weather front heading right for us.
So I got out my camera … then headed for the car pretty darned sharpish.