Changes

I’ve heard all the wise words… Nothing stays the same. We should embrace change but I’m not very good at it. New gadgets, new places to visit, even new clothes cause me stress. It takes me weeks before I will actually wear them. Maybe it’s a throwback from when I was little and new clothes were ‘kept for best’. 

Recently I went into the city centre on the bus, my first bus trip since Covid. The bus was fine, no changes there. I just missed one, had to wait an age for the next, the usual stuff… but the city centre was a shock! The huge Marks and Spencers store was gone, the building shuttered with darkened windows, creepy. The open market where Mum and Dad worked for most of their lives was gone, flattened by the council developers and cordoned off. Even the small shops that I used to wander round were gone. I suspect this is a change happening in many UK towns and cities but I found it difficult and upsetting.

Not everything has changed. Daughter is settled and living a few streets away which is a joy. My two cats, Betty and Sophie, are a constant source of amusement. Betty almost removed the vet’s arm last week and Sophie is a sweetie! And twenty years on I’m still doing the annual RSPB Garden Bird count but that has seen a major change too. My bird count was always something to be proud of, including numerous blackbirds, blackcaps, goldfinches, dunnocks, blue tits, robins, coal tits, great tits, pigeons, magpies, chaffinches and greenfinches. This year my bird count totalled four: a blackbird, two blue tits and a coal tit. 

I've read that there’s a national decline in wild birds and I wondered about wild birds in other countries… and this is the point where I come to the biggest and most difficult change of all. Last month my son and family left the UK to move near to his wife’s family. I’m struggling to come to terms with this mammoth change, especially as I'm a poor traveller and may never get to visit them. My only saviour is the communication available through the Internet and so, as my teenage grandson is an avid photographer, I called him and asked if he could have a look-out for birds in his new Mediterranean locality. To my surprise he said he had been taking photographs of local birds that very morning. After a brief discussion about how psychic he obviously is, he sent me some images and, with his permission, I've selected one to share with you.

© A. Kloos

It is a Common Myna, an angry-looking bird that is apparently quite argumentative, rather like our starlings. 

I shall continue doing the RSPB Bird Count even though my numbers have fallen because nothing stays the same. You just have to get used to the changes… even the one about a much-loved grandson who is now living over 3,000 miles away.

Over 630 posts are surely enough!

Just over thirteen years ago I experimented with a new idea... blog writing. I spent hours visiting other blogs, experimenting with different writing styles, designing and redesigning the screen, gathering ideas for blog posts, building up a group of blog friends, completing blog challenges, receiving blog awards, hosting guest bloggers, and now, over 630 posts later, I've decided to step away. In the spirit of 'never say never' I don't intend to delete this blog. It will hang here in the 'internet-ether' just in case one day I decide to return. 

Apologies to my lovely followers and to anyone who wanted to comment. I have disabled comments so I don't have to eternally ward off those dreaded spammers.

Take care and for all my writer blog friends, may you receive many acceptances.

A poem called Departures...

...which is really all about Daughter!

A few posts ago I spoke about the many poetry online sites who have themed calls for submissions. I can usually find a poem in my poetry file that fits the brief. That was how I came to submit 'Departures' to 'Literary Mama' whose strap-line is 'Writing about the many faces of motherhood'. I wrote the poem several years ago when Daughter was living down South and would occasionally get the train home for a fleeting visit. It was always lovely to see her but waving her off at the station was by far the hardest part of the day. I've put a link to the poem at the bottom of this post.

During Covid Daughter decided to relocate closer to home. When her brothers asked her why, she folded her arms and sternly reminded them, 'Well, one of us has got to look after them both in their dotage!' We're not quite in our dotage yet, which is just as well because her plans to look after us haven't quite materialised yet... but that's ok because a newly purchased house does need a lot of DIY and Mr A is very good at DIY!

House-wise Daughter moved in the 'right direction' from the London area to the Midlands where property is cheaper. She went from owning a one-bedroomed cluster house with just a tiny front garden to a three-bedroomed semi-detached with a front and back garden. She says she's still pinching herself when she wanders round her garden, coffee mug in hand, admiring her plants, and I'm still pinching myself when we wander round the shops together and enjoy a coffee and chat of a weekend. And of course it's reassuring to know that she's just round the corner for when we actually do enter our dotage!

The poem may no longer be true but whenever I read it I'm reminded of those years when waving her off at the station never failed to make me cry. Here is the link: Departures

Charity Lunches are Back

For the first time since before Covid, I have been to a charity lunch. It was the Annual Ladies' Lunch organised by LOROS, who provide hospice care for Leicester, Leicestershire and Rutland. A group of us usually go every year but there's been the inevitable two-year hiatus due to the pandemic.

The event is held at the King Power Stadium, Leicester's rather grand football ground - they've come a long way since Filbert Street even if they are a bit low down in the charts right now. It was a chance to dress up and mingle and gaze at stalls full of items that I didn't want to buy and sit with two hundred other women, shouting above the noise of all the chattering and waiting for food to be served to each of us. Sounds less than glamorous when I put it like that but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I wore a bright pink top with floaty flared sleeves - a nightmare in a public toilet but the sleeves survived the outing and so did I.

Two of the hospice nurses gave a brief talk before the lunch. Their speeches were thought-provoking, sad but also positive. They spoke about the way that they help seriously ill patients regain some quality of life. They stressed that they don't just provide end of life care.

I must admit I was dubious about the guest speaker. If we didn't already know who it was then there was a small clue as we all entered the hall.

It was Eddie the Eagle, our very own Olympic ski jumper. I wasn't sure how he would hold the attention of over two hundred women in a packed hall but hold our attention he did. The minute he stepped up to the microphone he won us over. What a character - warm and entertaining - and what a story of perseverance. He may have come 58th out of 58 competitors in the Olympic event but his is a story of achieving personal aims against all odds. I was inspired - though not to go ski-jumping I hasten to add!

So the event was a success but it was the weather that finally put a dampener on our spirits as we attempted to pile out of the building. The term 'raining stair rods' has never been more apt. It took the Football Club a good twenty minutes to get themselves organised and armed with huge umbrellas to escort us, two at a time, to our cars. What gentlemen - or were they just desperate to get us off the premises?

I know that lots of you have been doing things, going places, taking holidays but me and Mr A have still been restrained, thinking twice about doing anything or going anywhere. You can't be restrained for ever. It's just not healthy and it's just not living so well done to LOROS for coaxing me back into the wide world. I didn't realise how much I'd missed being real.

 

Why I almost wielded a pickaxe - plus some good news

Yesterday I used an Uber taxi for the first time. Why have I never done it before? It was so easy. I had downloaded the app and put credit card details in a few months ago and I'd looked at it a few times but for some silly reason I never had the nerve to book one. However, yesterday I was visiting a friend in hospital and there were two reasons why I used an Uber. 

Reason One: Last week when I visited my friend I had to endure a 45 minute queue to get onto the hospital car park. 

Reason Two: (a more significant reason) I don't have a car at the moment. This is all because at the front of our house, next to the drive, there is a low wall with decorative stone edgings that stick out in unnecessary places. I don't need to tell the rest. I'd already backed into it once last month but that was a gentle tap. This time is was more of a wallop. I blame the searing sun which hindered my view through the rear car-camera. Whatever or whoever was to blame, this wallop needed attention. 

My car is in car-hospital and will cost over £500 for what is, I guess, cosmetic surgery. As for the wall, I informed Mr A that I was about to take a pickaxe to it and demolish the entire thing. There were a few forbidden words splattered within my threat and I don't actually think we have a pickaxe but it did the trick and within half an hour Mr A had removed the offending fancy stone edging. 

I decided not to get an Uber home. I caught a bus from the hospital into the town centre. This was the first time I'd used a bus since before Covid. It felt as if I'd been released from prison (not that I've ever been to prison but I do have quite a vivid imagination) and it was great. A three minute bus ride - free with my bus pass - and I was wandering through the city centre. 

The problem came when I tried to catch the bus home. I arrived at the Haymarket Bus Station only to find that two buses had been cancelled. Waiting in the queue it reminded me of the 45 minute wait to get onto the hospital car park last week. 

The Good News: Our recently published book, 'Sharing Our Heritage', has been awarded the David Hyman Prize by the Jewish Genealogical Society of Great Britain. We are, needless to say, feeling proud.

Poetry - Writing and Submitting

I'm slowly getting back into the world of poetry writing after the publication of my recent history book. I've updated my list of poetry publishers who accept submissions but don't expect me to pay them for reading my material. I work on the basis that if they are producing excellent magazines that people want to buy then they should be only too pleased to receive potential material. 

There is plenty of choice out there. I recently removed all the above-mentioned publishers from my list and it still sports sixty-four names - more than enough options for my current pile of poems. 

If you're looking for poetry markets then there are a number of websites that provide regular information. Here are the links to two that I often visit:

A Dreaming Skin

Publishing... and Other Forms of Insanity

Some publishers have themes which I find helpful, others ask for anything or they advise reading their magazine first to see what kind of material they prefer - which makes sense - but sometimes when I do this I end up crossing another name off my list of potential publishers because the poems in their magazine don't make sense.

Which brings me to my biggest bugbear regarding poetry. I think I am moderately intelligent so why is it that there are poetry magazines with content that - to me - is unintelligible? If anyone reading this can enlighten me then I would appreciate it. 

To read a sample of the kind of poetry I most enjoy writing, then please visit Green Ink Poetry to read my poem:

Post-War Kids

 p.s. I've just had a peep at my last blog post. I said I would book piano lessons. I haven't. They do say that making music stimulates the creative part of the brain so maybe I'd best get on with it! 

Moving On

When I was a primary school teacher we used to sing a song called Moving On with the top class each year before they left for the big school. It always made me fight back the tears. I've been humming it to myself this last week and this is why:

Book Launch: (To purchase a copy please visit the website.)

After six months of solid hard work producing the new book, I have spent the last month catching up on life and preparing for the book launch of Sharing Our Heritage. The launch took place this week at Leicester's New Walk Museum. I was anxious. 

• Would anyone turn up? 
• Would the book be well received? 
• Would we all be able to avoid Covid long enough to attend?

Thankfully all went well. We restricted the numbers for Covid safety and were just a few short of our declared maximum. The attendees were enthusiastic about the book and had lots of interesting questions to ask. At the end of the session, tea and nibbles were consumed amid a buzz of chatter. The only thing we forgot to do was take photographs!

Time to Move on:

Or maybe it's time to move back. I have a file full of half finished poems desperate to escape the dusty depths of my computer and fly off into the world of poetry magazines. I've had the piano tuned and am actively seeking a piano teacher (I've tried setting my own agenda but I just don't play the thing if I have no lesson to prepare for!) I may decide to nurture another hobby/activity but as yet I haven't decided what it will be. I am feeling rather 'demob happy'.

Buying a Book:

There's information a-plenty on the previous blog post about the new book so I'll just add that if you'd like to buy a copy of Sharing Our Heritage then please contact the Centre Manager at the Synagogue on centremanager (at) lhcong.com.

Sharing Good News:

Last but definitely not least I'd like to report that last week I became a great grandmother to the most beautiful twin boys you've ever seen (not that I'm biased). And yes, I agree with you. I am definitely too young to be a great grandmother... or so I keep telling everybody!