The Flower Border

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There is a flower border around the block of flats that I have moved into. It is supposed to be maintained by the landlord, but although the residents pay for the upkeep of the garden, the landlord doesn’t keep it tidy.

It beckons me over, with its ill-pruned shrubs and overcrowded crocosmia, its badly positioned Cerinthe.

The garden was not created from love, but purely to give the residents something
reasonably attractive to look at.

Over the years efforts have been made to pull out the weeds and keep it tidy, but nobody has ever tried to make it the most beautiful flower border in this town.

It would be unfair to call it ugly. It contains some quality shrubs, and although they would not have been my choice, I’m sure I can work around them.

As I pull out my hand-fork and secateurs I think about the creeping buttercups, the unwanted wild garlic and the dock. I think about the gaps that they will leave, and what I could plant to replace them. My fingers itch.

The garden is in a promonent position. People walk past it all day long. They will watch me, talk to me and about me. They will ask me what I am doing. They may even try to give unwanted advice.

I will feel intimidated – embarrassed.

They will slow me down with their friendly talk.

After a while they will begin to see the difference. They will utter sounds of surprise and praise me.

I gave away my rake, spade and fork. I will need to replace them. I will need something to put the weeds into.

There are people with special educational needs who live in this block of flats. I could try to enlist their help and teach them as they work.

I will plant Echinacea, Veronica and Salvia, and lavender to attract butterflies and bees. I will put in self-seeding poppies and foxgloves. I’ll have blocks of Scabious, Cornflower, Snapdragons and Wallflowers – lots of old-fashioned planting to please the elderly residents.

I will reserve an area near the main entrance for rosemary, chives, sage, oregano and thyme. I’ll sink a bucket into the soil and plant mint. The residents will have fresh herbs for culinary use.

Tomorrow I will talk to the House Supervisor about the tools I will need.

Next week I will begin the work.

© Jane Paterson Basil

My Story Got Shortlisted!

I’m so excited!

I recently stepped a little further outside my comfort zone, and submitted a short story to a competition run 4 times a year by Mash Stories. If you haven’t heard of them I suggest that you check them out. They are a friendly bunch of people, and their flash fiction competitions attract quality stories.

The rules are simple: there is a 3 word prompt, and all three words must be used, and the story must not contain more than 500 words.

Stories are assessed as they are submitted, and submissions for this competition are being accepted until April 15th, so if anyone wants to have a go, there is plenty of time. Each story which is shortlisted goes onto the site as soon as possible.

My story got shortlisted!

Just a moment; I would like to say that again!

My story got shortlisted!

In order to qualify for the final, the amount of votes received by a story is taken into consideration. I would be really grateful if you could go over to the website and read my story, and if you like it, vote for it.

Here is the link:

http://mashstories.com/shortlist/noble-survivors

A big thank you to all my readers who have sent supportive comments about my work. Although stories like this aren’t necessarily what I am about, you have given me the confidence to risk rejection, and it has paid off, as I was not rejected!

WOW!

Lisa’s One Word Challenge

I found a link to a video about a man who, for 25 years, has been digging beautiful caves in sandstone hills.  Although the creator of these monumental works of art didn’t mention the word ‘love’, I am sure that love is what drives him  – it certainly isn’t money, as he only charges $12 an hour.

The images of these caves filled me with wonder, and with love, and that is why I have chosen it as this months post for Lisa’s One Word Challenge.

It must be an a moving and unforgettable experience to stand in one of his monumental, sculptured constructions.

Nothing more needs to be said, as the caverns and walls speak for themselves.

This is the link.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In Loving Memory.”

WordPress’s Daily Prompt today asks us to write our own obituary. I thought it would be fun, so here it is:

She was a nice enough woman, but so stupid! She never listened, or if she did, she always did the opposite of what was recommended.

When, at the age of four, her mother told her she would be sick if didn’t stop eating those un-ripe blackberries, she kept eating them and was, indeed, sick, for two days.

At six years old, somebody foolishly gave her chewing gum for the first time, and she was playing with it, fascinated by the way it stretched. Her mother got the strange impression that she was about to wrap it around her neck, and told her not to, because it woould stick like glue and have to be scrubbed off. Nothing could have been further from her mind – until it was mentioned. Her mother was right; it did have to be scrubbed off, and cut out of her hair.

Then there was the occasion when she was advised not too get in the highchair, because she was too big, and she would get stuck – her little sister had to learn to sit at the table with the rest of the family, because the highchair was too damaged to repair.

Fortunately the baby clothes were too stained to be used by the time she put them on, but her mother accidentally scratched her with the scissors while she was cutting them off.

Even as an adult she tended to ignore sensible advice. There was the time she found that bottle full of an un-named fluid in the garage, and her mother-in-law warned her just as she was about to take a sniff of it. She ended up flat on her back on the floor that time.

Then there was the lipstick that she happened to find two hours before her niece’s wedding – well, I suppose the incident was partly down to the celebratery pre-wedding drink – she was warned not to do it, but she thought it would be funny to use it as rouge, planning to clean it up before the ceremony. She didn’t believe the words emblazened on the tube which claimed that it would stay onfor 24 hours. She sat through the wedding with her hands over her cheeks, covering a scarlet blush that wasn’t entirely natural.

So when it was carefully suggested that she needed to switch the electricity off before connecting the new cooker, and that, anyway, she should leave it to an expert to do, nobody was particularly surprised.

Still, it all came out OK in the end: it just happened that the undertaker happened to be an electrician, and he, most kindly, came round and wired the cooker in at no extra charge, so we were able to cook a decent evening meal.

© Jane Paterson Basil

Love In Ten Sentences

I am proud to be one of 12 people selected by Rosalyn to go on a mission.  I am to share my thoughts on “Love” with an axiom of ten lines, using four words in each sentence and each sentence to include the word “love”, then give my favourite quote on love.

If any of you haven’t read Rosalyn’s words, I suggest you visit her spaceship as soon as you finish reading this post. Not only are her thoughts and poems a treat to read; she also radiates love and happiness, lifting the reader’s spirits and making them smile.

Strictly speaking, these aren’t sentences, but lines. I’m sure I will be granted poetic licence!

When love was born

love made no sound

a soft loving caress

the infant’s first love

a love that learned

to love family, friends

to love a man;

nurture a love seed

in a loving womb

rotating love’s sweet circle

© Jane Paterson Basil

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I can’t choose between my two favourite quotes on love, so here are both of them:

The ultimate lesson all of us have to learn is unconditional love, which includes not only others but ourselves as well. – Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

-Mahatma Ghandi

Good things are to be passed on. So, I hereby nominate the following  bloggers to spread “love”.

• Terry
• Janni
• Meredith
• Dawn
• Annie
• Christine
• Calen
• Sandra
• Yinglan
• dancing echoes
• Krissy

A Poorly written but Sincere Note of Thanks

A speedily – and badly – written poem of thanks to @benhuberman and the Writing 201 poetry course community.

Look! I’ve even included a loud image!

you brought food for the brain
and such conversation
in the midst of all the acclamation
with never a word of condemnation
punctuating comments with exclamation
bringing about a recalculation
now I’ve finally come to the realization
that the hardest part of my journey is through
and this is my poem of thanks to you.

© Jane Paterson Basil

Remember. By Christina Georgina Rossetti

This is one of my favourite poems, which I recited at my mother’s funeral. She was also a poet, albeit a very private one. Her words have all been lost, but her thoughts and ideas remain with me. When I read this poem, I remember her gentleness and beauty, and I see her turning towards me in a graceful ballet.

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann’d:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

SHARE THE LOVE

I am so pleased to have found Lisa’s One Word Challenge, because it has given me a platform to talk about my main goal for this year, which is to send out more love.

Yes, LOVE is my word for the year. It is also the word which Lisa herself had chosen, so we have agreed to share the love!

So often we judge others because we don’t like their lifestyle, or their religion, or perhaps even the clothes they wear. Intolerance is easy, but it causes anger, hatred and violence. Instead of looking at what we see as the negative side of another person, we should realise that we cannot imagine how it feels to be him, and we cannot know how firmly his demons may grip him, and yet he may have had many successes of which we are unaware.

None of us are perfect, and yet we all wish to be loved for our strengths, rather than dispised for our weaknesses.

A year ago I was in an appalling situation. It was the love and kindness that others so freely laid at my feet which pulled me through. When I asked myself whether I deserved such generosity, the answer I came up with was “No more or less than others”.

I want to learn to give that love to all who deserve it no more or less than me, and then I want to go beyond that, and learn to love those who knowingly hurt others through greed or sadism.

I am not alone. Many people are trying to redress the balance in this way, and the more the movement grows, the closer we will come to achieving World Peace. It may sound naive, but what other way is there?

I have chosen a few quotes which eloquently describe the way I feel about love.

Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.
Oscar Wilde

Blessed is the influence of one true, loving human soul on another.
George Eliot

Being loved deeply by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
Lao Tzu

I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.
Martin Luther King Jnr.

MY GOALS FOR FEBRUARY

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Right. Ok. I got up this morning all excited, keen to get on with my first Blogging 201 assignment, but probably due to the efects of habitual sleep deprivation, I took a wrong turning and found myself back on Blogging 101, and realised I hadn’t carried out my final assignment on that course, so I got that out of the way, and switched over to Blogging 201.

I’d forgotten my coffee. It was cold.

Rather than throw it away and make a fresh pot, I reheated it in the microwave, and checked out today’s assignment, which tells us to set 3 goals. I started furiously writing my goals down with headings and sub-headings, and then decided to go to the commons to ask for feedback on an idea which had been brewing for a while, but I wasn’t sure about.

I’d forgotten my coffee again. I reheated it…. again.

As I was in the commons, I thought I may as well take a look at what other bloggers were up to, which led me into a labyrinth of fascinating blogs, several of which had to be liked and commented on.

My coffee was cold. How many times can you reheat white coffee?

It was time to get back to my goals. After thinking about it for a while, I decided that the best plan would be to concentrate on the next four weeks, and then at the end of the month I can review my success (or failure) and set new goals.

But first I needed sustenance, so I put some bread to toast in the grill.

I came back to the laptop and found a comment from someone with a site that sounded interesting, so I clicked on it, and it was, indeed, interesting.

I could smell burning. It would have been a waste to throw the toast away even though it was burnt, so I ate it., and ticked off one job on my mental to-do list: Stop being hungry.

Finally, some success. I’d ticked off one of today’s jobs!

The blog I had been looking at had some recommendations that sounded really good, so I checked them out, and a spent some more time gazing into the ether.

However, I was here to carry out an assignment. It’s no big deal, just come up with three goals for the month.

First I needed to make coffee, in my one cup cafetierre.

I had just finished making my list of goals when my daughter turned up with a friend, so I asked him if he would like coffee or tea, hoping he would go for tea, but he chose the other option, so I gave him the one I had just brewed, and had to make myself another pot.

While I was making said coffee, Laura offered her friend the use of my laptop, and he went to facebook and showed us some lovely pictures of his holiday in Turkey, while he told us all about his family, and then he and Laura went out for a walk.

It’s been quite a successful day, in the scheme of things. I drank some coffee, ate something, read some interesting blogs, got lovely feedback from one of my posts and responses to my comments, and I even carried out todays assignments, and it’s only 7.30pm! Plenty of time for some more writing, as soon as I’ve been food shopping, cooked and eaten an evening meal and washed the dishes.

Here is my list of goals for the month, with an extra one on the end, because without that my life will continue to be chaotic.

1. Connect with like-minded writers and poets
2. Post at least 4 times a week
3. Increase my following by 30%
4. Make a clear plan each day and stick to it – if something interesting turns up,make a note of it, or bookmark it and get back to it later, when everything else is completed.

PS On the advice of a very helpful blogger I’m adding three extra goals, but they’re more to do with survival than blogging – Thank you Morag!

Remember to drink coffee when it is still hot
Remember to eat
Don’t burn house down

Her Wild Boar Wood Adventure

Always, in the past, she had known that things may be better tomorrow. She had known that in order to move forward she had to take a step. She had known that the cloying grey mud which seemed to engulf her was not a physical thing.

But now it just Was There…. as if it had always been and always would be.

Although it threatened to engulf her, like a burnt out actor she tried to continue to play her part, unable to leave the stage until, too weak to resist, kind hands led her away to an enchanting woodland far from the slurry pit of her unwitting, unthinking tormentors.

Blindly she followed, taking her battered brain with her, and looking neither ahead or behind, caught in an endless moment of dispair while her consciousness barely managed to attend to the rules of convention.

Although she instantly saw the beauty of the place, it took a while for her eyes to adjust to the light, but in that summertime haven she gradually sluiced off the filth.

She stood up and stretched muscles that had been crushed by the crash of a thousand thrown stones.

Hidden bruises healed and the sun warmed her skin.

People smiled and laughed, and her mouth and throat and belly opened to respond.

Strong trees of oak, birch and hornbeam offered up their beauty, and as their intricate patterns silhouetted the navy blue sky, she retired each night to enjoy sleep that had for so long evaded her.

Awoken as the dawn brought a cream glow into her tent, she would snuggle more deeply into her bed, luxuriating in the lyrics of a miriad of neighbourhood birds that seemed to sing of her escape to freedom. Gently she would drift back into sleep, until it was time to get up and start the day’s work.

Looking after the guests at this holiday campsite was a pleasure, as were most of the practical duties which needed to be carried out.

Those unforgettable months were spent greeting and getting to know all sorts of interesting people. Pleasant evenings were enjoyed around their campfires, as she learned of lives so different to hers. There was the fun of helping guests to light a fire in the golden glow of early evening, and the thrill of seeing the excitement on the children’s faces, as together, they explored the woods. Dens were built and mock battles were fought between strangers who had so easily become friends.

With the generous blessing of the manager, when there were spare tents her family and friends sometimes came to stay, and she proprietorially showed off the unfamiliar lilac mushrooms which glowed as if radio-acive, and the wildflowers that were never seen in their home county.

Every day she found a new treasure to add to the fast-expanding coffers of her heart.

Then summer ended.

She returned to the home that she loved. Everything was a little more crumbled and broken – everything except her.

She stood tall, with her head up and her shoulders loose. Her breathing was calm, her heart beat gently in her chest. She flexed her toned muscles, and then relaxed.

She was ready to mend her damaged world.

© Jane Paterson Basil

I offer up gratitude to all the people who helped me to lift my feet when they were heavy, and in particular I would like to thank my niece Heather for inviting me to apply for the shared job of campsite warden with her, and Hugh Sandie, who had the faith to employ me.