But now we come to the differences. Apart from the obvious fact that he's amazingly talented and world famous, he sees colour where I see black. He sees fine blades of grass where I see a patch of green. I’ve a way to go before I’ve grasped this small stones activity but I’ve stuck with it. I’ve been tweeting them out each day this month and one or two have even been retweeted by kind followers J
Thanks to Fiona and Kaspa for running this project at Writing our Way Home. I’ve listed out below my first 9 of 31 stones [it's only for the month of January] and I’ve chosen two of my favourites to talk about.
Waving arms together, clapping hands, hiding under the table and… boo! The joys of skyping with my 21 month old grandson.
I'm not sure if this is, strictly speaking, a small stone but it was such a precious moment that it had to be included. My little grandson has been seriously ill. In December he was rushed into hospital and spent five days in the High Dependency Unit, what we used to call Intensive Care. The doctors diagnosed Type 1 Diabetes. He now has to have four injections a day. For a start it was traumatic for him, and for his Mum, Dad and sister, but the jabs are now called ‘tickles’ and he’s accepting them as part of his life. He’s grinning and playing and running around again and, with much thanks to the Doctors, we have our lively little grandson back... but sometimes life seems so unfair.
A furry grey paw, chenille-soft, stretches across my lap. I stroke it. Mabel purrs and, if I could, I would purr too.
When Mabel arrived from the cat rescue centre last March she was traumatised and spent all her time hiding under the table. Her sister, Charlie, was traumatised too but she's more trusting. She’ll sit on anyone’s lap and insists on being stroked the whole time [like now while I'm trying to type this!] Mabel is more suspicious. She has not yet sat on a lap but she’s gradually moving closer. She now sits either next to me on the settee or on the back of the settee by my head and every now and again a cart-horse sized paw [she’s a big girl!] reaches out and she lets me hold it and stroke it while she purrs contentedly.
My First Nine Small Stones
1st Jan Bamboo canes, sturdy and black against delicate lime leaves, move to the rhythm of the wind like arms at a rock concert.
2nd Jan The smear across the microwave door, a rainbow drained of colour.
3rd Jan A hazy potato print against a marine blue sky. The moon has insomnia again.
4th Jan With eyes closed the wind in the trees becomes waves on a shingle beach.
5th Jan A sparrow wipes his beak on the branch once, twice, fluffs out his sodden wings, nibbles a feather and he's away
6th Jan Metal wings slash white lines across a blue sky, tally marks to record yet more pollution.
7th Jan A furry grey paw, chenille-soft, stretches across my lap. I stroke it. Mabel purrs and, if I could, I would purr too.
8th Jan Waving arms together, clapping hands, hiding under the table and… boo! The joys of skyping with my 21 month old grandson.
9th Jan With Hockney's words in my head I looked at small stones. They are grey, white, yellow, blue, black, orange and green. They are shiny, rough, flat, oval and round and everything in-between.
A small postscript for those who are interested: JOur local newspaper, The Leicester Mercury, rang me up last Friday and interviewed me about my opinion of David Cameron’s statement regarding his intentions to see improvements in hospital care. This is the resulting article here: Plans to improve nursing