tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56868967402942986892024-02-19T09:01:44.461+00:00Rosalind Adam is Writing AgainI am a writer and nostalgia obsessive with a fascination for all things historical. In 2018 I completed an MA in Creative Writing at Leicester University and I loved every minute of it.
Since 1998 I have been lucky enough to have a wide variety of poems, books and articles published and there are still quite a few works-in-progress on my computer...... so watch this space!Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comBlogger631125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-54762726455718443192022-11-27T15:03:00.000+00:002022-11-27T15:03:09.397+00:00Over 630 posts are surely enough!<p><span style="font-size: large;">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. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Take care and for all my writer blog friends, may you receive many acceptances.</span></p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-21375532774320730412022-09-29T14:27:00.000+01:002022-09-29T14:27:32.087+01:00A poem called Departures...<p><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">...which is really all about Daughter!</span></b></p><p>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 <b>'Departures'</b> to <b>'Literary Mama' </b>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.</p><p>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!</p><p>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!</p><blockquote><p>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: <b><a href="https://literarymama.com/articles/departments/2022/09/departures">Departures</a></b></p></blockquote><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-30881932442325984582022-09-10T09:32:00.000+01:002022-09-10T09:32:15.074+01:00Charity Lunches are Back<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPz8b9JzyfR2X5cAhe2v7SOzUnYXuNGVid53g_aujwJWXBA_s8PAfuDlMZk3lXWzyIEVNJl9VBIepOCDDLawplgzp4iwdL7or3-QPrxtbCJLeknhrbFS2NH4Cik-99dEEQ990qQwH7_rHk_LUD_Kr7hkR45TUohPRiLj_wpWX3bs_FB-IRo1oIsIe/s670/YXNzZXRzL25ld3MvcHJpZGUtbG9nbzIuanBn.webp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="390" data-original-width="670" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPz8b9JzyfR2X5cAhe2v7SOzUnYXuNGVid53g_aujwJWXBA_s8PAfuDlMZk3lXWzyIEVNJl9VBIepOCDDLawplgzp4iwdL7or3-QPrxtbCJLeknhrbFS2NH4Cik-99dEEQ990qQwH7_rHk_LUD_Kr7hkR45TUohPRiLj_wpWX3bs_FB-IRo1oIsIe/w200-h116/YXNzZXRzL25ld3MvcHJpZGUtbG9nbzIuanBn.webp" width="200" /></a></div>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.<p></p><p></p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTyhwo3ZMkHWSsBdCNbDIwl9ixHVXF1vHB4I5S6qB_lCMigjtvlSycT4HoZ7afFWv8uZE101Za5kXrm9dW5kjQ_pIJ5ezX2L6-snm8vAR9rz-3iSSsjLOZpZZHkN9ilo1aNx_EAq_ytKsR3sCOLJ0jNQNwPpz9Tvj7gCslNNTWbNF3jaZTojTzZB9/s540/20220907_114238.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="325" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWTyhwo3ZMkHWSsBdCNbDIwl9ixHVXF1vHB4I5S6qB_lCMigjtvlSycT4HoZ7afFWv8uZE101Za5kXrm9dW5kjQ_pIJ5ezX2L6-snm8vAR9rz-3iSSsjLOZpZZHkN9ilo1aNx_EAq_ytKsR3sCOLJ0jNQNwPpz9Tvj7gCslNNTWbNF3jaZTojTzZB9/w194-h320/20220907_114238.jpg" width="194" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguliHKXpdtp1Hf_wMIfFtgBVTiFFR4n3ZaotyHtscYFYUBR5szT6hHRRWKEnEa9c_9ZcNNpb_W74dX8P6fxn68TWRRomrRx-mSyqQr4nQah8CJv57yiX76qQ3rnH4owxdLsAtYHj9LcMy274jl3QHvNLnv_8Uo_1uiZEkAiY_aJ5qD3imEvdFYPvzh/s1200/DNKA6T-Alamy3YearLicense-slide1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1200" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguliHKXpdtp1Hf_wMIfFtgBVTiFFR4n3ZaotyHtscYFYUBR5szT6hHRRWKEnEa9c_9ZcNNpb_W74dX8P6fxn68TWRRomrRx-mSyqQr4nQah8CJv57yiX76qQ3rnH4owxdLsAtYHj9LcMy274jl3QHvNLnv_8Uo_1uiZEkAiY_aJ5qD3imEvdFYPvzh/w200-h120/DNKA6T-Alamy3YearLicense-slide1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>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!<p></p><p>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?</p><p></p><blockquote><p><span style="color: #990000;">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.</span></p></blockquote><p> </p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-19522849595300843932022-09-02T11:03:00.003+01:002022-09-02T11:18:28.099+01:00Why I almost wielded a pickaxe - plus some good news<p>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. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu7IhZupJnfbD5ZD-5wjNh_vN3t71F9hdlFzYbIKJyR6-7QJZaiwrz1JgFKO7XfiWGkS17TLDp_hhlNV1aj5IZRfaULuZY0xaq-Cm9m0DjLj54Egde8Zd4VeKSPs9pNDXOyzHyfVG5G98mkus2eDJhz244kbIzqVMfQnc2BANsF5SnFFxI2Rl5SAXX/s238/images.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="212" data-original-width="238" height="94" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu7IhZupJnfbD5ZD-5wjNh_vN3t71F9hdlFzYbIKJyR6-7QJZaiwrz1JgFKO7XfiWGkS17TLDp_hhlNV1aj5IZRfaULuZY0xaq-Cm9m0DjLj54Egde8Zd4VeKSPs9pNDXOyzHyfVG5G98mkus2eDJhz244kbIzqVMfQnc2BANsF5SnFFxI2Rl5SAXX/w105-h94/images.png" width="105" /></a></div><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Reason One:</span></b> Last week when I visited my friend I had to endure a 45 minute queue to get onto the hospital car park. <p></p><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Reason Two:</span></b> (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. </p><p>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. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhayzhNKEZliueFCjXjnsqWjpSUTQKwsTPpv_2Qwt-sFTX9NCd2eLCeJuUeh0dSYXlOYgCU1L35eInGdsTsH_8RWqjsCLIw0f4cDMd-Gcw1tHzUWjydcagt6QqN0UjX-x6sh-YLnwP2wmolZDhT4F0jPTFMvQLSlaAnHqAmlhaQYkSBbkZ380Zp3_QR/s300/download.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhayzhNKEZliueFCjXjnsqWjpSUTQKwsTPpv_2Qwt-sFTX9NCd2eLCeJuUeh0dSYXlOYgCU1L35eInGdsTsH_8RWqjsCLIw0f4cDMd-Gcw1tHzUWjydcagt6QqN0UjX-x6sh-YLnwP2wmolZDhT4F0jPTFMvQLSlaAnHqAmlhaQYkSBbkZ380Zp3_QR/s1600/download.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>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. <p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Good News:</span> </span></b>Our recently published book, <b><span style="color: #cc0000;">'Sharing Our Heritage'</span></b>, has been awarded the David Hyman Prize by the Jewish Genealogical Society of Great Britain. We are, needless to say, feeling proud.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-55240730442097688522022-08-29T16:29:00.000+01:002022-08-29T16:29:10.496+01:00Poetry - Writing and Submitting<p>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. </p><p>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. </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>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:</b></span></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b><a href="https://angelatcarr.wordpress.com/">A Dreaming Skin</a></b></span></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><b><a href="https://publishedtodeath.blogspot.com/">Publishing... and Other Forms of Insanity</a></b></p></blockquote><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>To read a sample of the kind of poetry I most enjoy writing, then please visit <i>Green Ink Poetry</i> to read my poem:</b></span></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><b><a href="https://www.greeninkpoetry.co.uk/poetry-submissions-all/rosalind-adam-">Post-War Kids</a></b></p></blockquote><p> 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! </p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-56555426859210134612022-07-28T17:43:00.001+01:002022-09-12T09:39:55.888+01:00Moving On<p>When I was a primary school teacher we used to sing a song called <i>Moving On</i> 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:</p><p><b><span style="color: #990000;">Book Launch: </span><span>(To purchase a copy please visit the <a href="https://jewish-leicester.co.uk/book/">website</a>.)</span></b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVX6vFtbMRVk0rGsbfSps4dutqd5bp7g9j2rVlh8dUFJzuESF8qIrjDBoiPruwRLlS4jWfVZc_zyGCadfr47_O7EC1Z6E8PU4jsYFoZ_Sl1ngQajNvPhnVuMWJ5l0pJxDNlMS7nWVstUscDyWkkLykkdhDgNjITeGs52B_Lg7Q9kaKLtUM6w0OkPHH/s663/front%20cover.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="663" data-original-width="442" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVX6vFtbMRVk0rGsbfSps4dutqd5bp7g9j2rVlh8dUFJzuESF8qIrjDBoiPruwRLlS4jWfVZc_zyGCadfr47_O7EC1Z6E8PU4jsYFoZ_Sl1ngQajNvPhnVuMWJ5l0pJxDNlMS7nWVstUscDyWkkLykkdhDgNjITeGs52B_Lg7Q9kaKLtUM6w0OkPHH/w133-h200/front%20cover.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><div>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 <i>Sharing Our Heritage.</i> The launch took place this week at Leicester's New Walk Museum. I was anxious. </div><p></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Would anyone turn up? </li><li>Would the book be well received? </li><li>Would we all be able to avoid Covid long enough to attend?</li></ul>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!<br /><p></p><p><span style="color: #990000;"><b>Time to Move on:</b></span></p><p>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'.</p><p><b><span style="color: #990000;">Buying a Book:</span></b></p><p>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 <i>Sharing Our Heritage</i> then please contact the Centre Manager at the Synagogue on centremanager (at) lhcong.com.</p><p><span style="color: #990000;"><b>Sharing Good News:</b></span></p><p>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!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwMcxtEnXMF8TcpxzmrxKTGO2k2g9vyu0Pnm8IwKLXuffMQsFh_1qfXImawmwSGHBvdc2bVrOjT2WuHynQK76Eo6O32mbFLwTJSxUIau06ocWougQiJCgNLxIe2P0UBIOXgA7XzLzYqMFnOrP5lojfunjdLBlc9diBzM99sxnAwynJU9Ryuwv4Wvy1/s225/images.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwMcxtEnXMF8TcpxzmrxKTGO2k2g9vyu0Pnm8IwKLXuffMQsFh_1qfXImawmwSGHBvdc2bVrOjT2WuHynQK76Eo6O32mbFLwTJSxUIau06ocWougQiJCgNLxIe2P0UBIOXgA7XzLzYqMFnOrP5lojfunjdLBlc9diBzM99sxnAwynJU9Ryuwv4Wvy1/w200-h200/images.png" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-19339536378769733772022-05-24T17:20:00.002+01:002022-09-12T09:40:37.685+01:00Sharing Our Heritage<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span>To purchase a copy please visit </span></b><b>the <a href="https://jewish-leicester.co.uk/book/">website</a></b></span></p><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">Sharing Our Heritage </span></b>is a 100-page, full-colour history book written by four authors in five months. I can't begin to count how many zoom meetings it took but it's done now and it's going to the printers this week. Halfway through the writing process I bought a bottle of Optrex eye lotion. It was the first time I'd needed Optrex since I did my first degree in 1979. The biggest strain on my eyes was from the proofing process. How many times can a piece be read and yet still contain errors? It baffles me.</p><p>The four of us are still friends in spite of everything. 'Everything' includes:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>screens that froze and links that failed</li><li>disagreements over initial capitals and commas (I may have developed an aversion to commas. I now twitch each time I use one - rather like the psychiatrist in the original Pink Panther movie.)</li><li>four completely different versions of a chapter that each of us have edited and insist on discussing during a zoom</li><li>what to include and what to miss out </li><li>and, even more problematic, what names to include</li></ul><p></p><p>As I explained in my last post, there was a reason for writing a history book in such a hurry. The synagogue in Leicester has had an extension and rebuild thanks to a National Lottery Heritage Fund grant. The year before Covid a few of us worked on a timeline depicting the history of the congregation for the wall of one of the rooms in the new Heritage Centre. During the research process it became apparent that the congregation was quite a bit older than had previously been thought. This meant that earlier publications were incorrect. </p><p>Have you ever made a promise that your mouth is totally confident about, but your head is screaming, 'Don't do it!' Well that was me five months ago. I announced that we would be able to produce a brand new history book in time for the official opening of the Centre. There were friends who assured me that it was not possible to write a book in five months but that made me all the more determined. I obtained quotes from both printer and book designer, I organised weekly zoom meetings, created and stuck to a tight schedule of work, and the rest (if you'll pardon the expression) is history. </p><p>Here is the back cover blurb:</p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: AcuminPro;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Sharing Our Heritage is a book written by four people with one voice.
They have pooled a wealth of research and personal experience to
produce this inspiring history of the Leicester Hebrew Congregation. It
takes the reader from the excitement of a new Heritage Centre, back in
time to the early 1800s, charting two centuries of the LHC’s rich history,
with many fluctuations in fortune along the way. It illustrates the spirit
that lives within the LHC, a spirit that has enabled the congregation to
survive when other provincial Jewish congregations have not.</span></span></p></blockquote><p>And here is the front cover (author names are in alphabetical order):</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FUQ2dgnryNn3aLwMEh8D-tOMPaie1sZ56YsPY4Khjs4_e0TktpQzuuFa4ZZixVZ8BA-ryl23K0TzEWmxbpVenrEvwkOF7juRwMzELuFmTk-q-VZzbM7H47xQ0afTkvwUP18oLI1svqBGJq7IT6yGeyINbtv_qS75R1CcY5vuIenhJ9GJzZvXo9k4/s663/front%20cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="663" data-original-width="442" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5FUQ2dgnryNn3aLwMEh8D-tOMPaie1sZ56YsPY4Khjs4_e0TktpQzuuFa4ZZixVZ8BA-ryl23K0TzEWmxbpVenrEvwkOF7juRwMzELuFmTk-q-VZzbM7H47xQ0afTkvwUP18oLI1svqBGJq7IT6yGeyINbtv_qS75R1CcY5vuIenhJ9GJzZvXo9k4/w426-h640/front%20cover.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><p>What I need to do now is to open up my folder called 'poetry work in progress', stick my creative head on once more and get back to building up my poetry portfolio. Although I may just have a bit of a nap first.</p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-82295039165198330192022-04-14T18:08:00.000+01:002022-04-14T18:08:14.884+01:00Writing a book by committee!!<p>As I said, albeit briefly, last month, I'm writing a book but it's writing with a difference. I'm working with three other people to research and record a complete history of Leicester's Synagogue. </p><p>There are two hair-raising issues related to what I just said. </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The first hair-raiser: we were producing the book to be launched at an event scheduled for September this year. It has been brought forward to July! </li><li>The other hair-raiser: I'm writing the book with three other people. Writing a book is never easy but writing it by committee could be a recipe for disaster. I'm delighted to say that it is in no way a disaster, we are on schedule and we're all still talking to each other.</li></ul><p></p><p>The bulk of the work has been done on zoom due to Covid and the fact that one of the team lives about 100 miles away. It has involved a lot of emailing sections of work back and forth and, as I'm responsible for pulling it all together and liaising with the book designer, I've had to keep juggling all the plans in my head.</p><p>A few years ago three of us produced an historic timeline that is now firmly embedded along the entire wall of the upstairs room in the new synagogue extension. That was when we mused about the idea of writing this book which covers over 200 years of history. We're calling the book <b><span style="color: #cc0000;"><i>Sharing Our Heritage</i> </span></b>and that's all I'm going to say right now. The front cover is amazing but as nothing is quite complete it would be unfair of me to disclose any images. However, once the book has been sent to the printers I will share an advanced viewing with you here.</p><p>It's Pesach (Passover) and Easter tomorrow. It's interesting that sometimes the two events collide as they are inextricably linked. <span style="color: #cc0000;">(The first evening of Passover is the Seder meal and it was the Seder meal that is referred to as the Last Supper...apologies if you already knew that.) </span>Passover is set according to the Hebrew Lunar calendar and Easter... well I'm never quite sure how Easter is set but I know it involves a mathematical calculation. </p><p>I have put my work away until next week and would like to wish you all a happy Passover/|Easter/Bank Holiday weekend.</p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-3100593577236353822022-03-09T11:44:00.002+00:002022-03-09T11:44:11.096+00:00Time to smell the daffs<p> In the middle of writing a history book.</p><p> Uncomfortably tight schedule. </p><p>Editing stage. </p><p>Sore eyes. </p><p>At least I’ve no time to check on the awful news.</p><p>But I just noticed spring so I closed my laptop lid to go and smell the daffodils… and the crocuses and the hellebores. I’ll post about the book in due course, or as Daughter would say, 'laters…'</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhucj6eV_g5xhG6KKFicXoRuvQBIuxeJCqEz4LlNVNvdLdOaSqmFi36iUWNmn3QJOZL9H9kWWEat524XtUQrex0UirbkTgNievxjrQS5kcLwWw41Y-biR5JEO1QAuNLaxqZgU9jPAYBdMXAPTXcPl5upug5KxU3h0CMnr-CFX_7d3elGMjKDOlwMeZ4=s1024" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhucj6eV_g5xhG6KKFicXoRuvQBIuxeJCqEz4LlNVNvdLdOaSqmFi36iUWNmn3QJOZL9H9kWWEat524XtUQrex0UirbkTgNievxjrQS5kcLwWw41Y-biR5JEO1QAuNLaxqZgU9jPAYBdMXAPTXcPl5upug5KxU3h0CMnr-CFX_7d3elGMjKDOlwMeZ4=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-91752381379026305512022-02-01T21:34:00.000+00:002022-02-01T21:34:03.226+00:00Five February Favourites revisited<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6728357585835164432" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 716px;"><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6728357585835164432" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 716px;"><span style="color: #660000;">In February 2014 I wrote about my five February favourites. Looking back I see that little has changed.</span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6728357585835164432" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: #fefdfa; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 716px;"><span style="color: #660000;"><b><br /></b></span></div><b style="color: #660000;">1. </b><span style="color: #333333;">When the sun shines you can now feel its warmth and the promise of spring - provided you're not standing in gale force winds.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: #660000;"><b>2.</b></span><span style="color: #333333;"> The snowdrops are only just poking through but I know that very soon they will be amazing.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: #660000;"><b>3. </b></span><span style="color: #333333;">There are no family birthdays or anniversaries in February so I’m saved that difficult question that begins, “What do you want for…”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: #660000;"><b>4. </b></span><span style="color: #333333;">The evenings are starting to get lighter and I'm waking up to the first chirps of dawn chorus.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: #660000;"><b>5. </b></span><span style="color: #333333;">My brain can finally stop singing that irritating Christmas song. In 2014 I moaned about the Slade Christmas song but this year it has been that one that begins... "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..." In truth it's beginning to look a lot like spring so please, most irritating song, leave my brain and stop being such an annoying ear worm.</span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6728357585835164432" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 716px;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6728357585835164432" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: #fefdfa; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 716px;"><span style="color: #333333;">Happy February</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3QUHvmIpkiR12anOxwQwIjVNqAjntZb7mD3_Vhz4nIj1VvHmpRR94UKYvyZU258aYBsYIS2v_AZndCKGoa9oIcyZaHe6muUIkSNQO78qx9n-7qlPgNQTQhHEdWohO9o3GxftXN1EerY/s1600/Snowdrops+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #d52a33; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3QUHvmIpkiR12anOxwQwIjVNqAjntZb7mD3_Vhz4nIj1VvHmpRR94UKYvyZU258aYBsYIS2v_AZndCKGoa9oIcyZaHe6muUIkSNQO78qx9n-7qlPgNQTQhHEdWohO9o3GxftXN1EerY/s1600/Snowdrops+2014.jpg" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border-radius: 5px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-6728357585835164432" itemprop="description articleBody" style="background-color: #fefdfa; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 716px;"><br /></div>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-17550280757730795432022-01-19T12:38:00.000+00:002022-01-19T12:38:01.980+00:0081 Words - A Flash Fiction Anthology<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOhXejKeTGYd9x6NZ8pVdWc0uS45eJTjFoXLUAjcIb-FTyviyphewOj2UsPaq9VwSfjSVuTgZWENnv4Ps4TYDKtdrAoDF2kmHHNtDUFe2OUN1-Cjm91rwVbgCemnYx4gPxg5QBtcBLjfmQkuTYC_Xr6sIr5-EzgAkYWdPFhPH8XCN8W2-VM2U77IOW=s500" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="313" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjOhXejKeTGYd9x6NZ8pVdWc0uS45eJTjFoXLUAjcIb-FTyviyphewOj2UsPaq9VwSfjSVuTgZWENnv4Ps4TYDKtdrAoDF2kmHHNtDUFe2OUN1-Cjm91rwVbgCemnYx4gPxg5QBtcBLjfmQkuTYC_Xr6sIr5-EzgAkYWdPFhPH8XCN8W2-VM2U77IOW=s320" width="200" /></a></div>Last weekend an amazing book, <b><span><i>81 Words,</i></span></b> had its official launch. It contains 1,000 stories and each story is precisely 81 words in length. Contributions were received from around the world, including Leicester UK because I too have a flash fiction story in the anthology but more about me later. The 1,000 stories cover as many styles and genres as there are writers in the world. I may have exaggerated slightly about 'writers in the world' but you get my meaning and it certainly makes for a fascinating read.<p></p><p>This impressive feat was the work of Christopher Fielden. It has taken him seven years from the first idea to the published anthology and all profits from the book will go to support Arkbound Foundation, an independent charity aiming to widen access to literature and improve diversity within publishing. You can buy a copy of the book via this Amazon link:<span style="color: #2b00fe;"> <b><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/81-Words-Flash-Fiction-Anthology-ebook/dp/B09JZXVYL8" target="_blank">81 Words </a> </b></span>when you've finished reading my blog post, of course! And if you've never visited Christopher's website then I suggest you pop along using this link: <b><a href="http://www.christopherfielden.com" target="_blank">Christopher Fielden</a>. </b>His website is full of writing advice, competitions and challenges.</p><p>My flash fiction is called <b><i>The Living Statue</i></b>. It's number 868 in the book and I'm guessing that Christopher won't mind if I reproduce the page here for you to see... as a taster... before you click on the Amazon link above and buy a copy for yourself. Apologies for the poor production of the page. This was my failing. I am not and never will be a photographer. The book is far lovelier than my photograph suggests.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8K855nmZ2YI3Aa7uDhPpLDqZQNUPUWJV14NmWMo09cAHyqBaKSAhTNQkKDe3bgMt9_W1bWDzGrIqQs5UMwWG2WCk909oira9RqBBn5bPpOEkHUY-V_vvcw3CNIZJgLCIq33dA6HM13rBF4dmBNjDsXrc9R3EYN2nPXJJbUHPltbOytVlqW89jgDf2=s3732" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3732" data-original-width="2843" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8K855nmZ2YI3Aa7uDhPpLDqZQNUPUWJV14NmWMo09cAHyqBaKSAhTNQkKDe3bgMt9_W1bWDzGrIqQs5UMwWG2WCk909oira9RqBBn5bPpOEkHUY-V_vvcw3CNIZJgLCIq33dA6HM13rBF4dmBNjDsXrc9R3EYN2nPXJJbUHPltbOytVlqW89jgDf2=w305-h400" width="305" /></a></div><div><br /></div><span style="color: #990000;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>A big congratulations to Christopher. He has produced a book to be proud of.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div></span><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj40KkaSzrnqLdz0nANJB8qkuKiCzREe2ZrRVZnD5xkXpwsU7SQc_txxbDZMW81aQJOitP5iENkXAc1O-Y3Hx5WTas3-yqVawkqdv7ajHOsSv4FHizrTT4V4NkpaUUX5DiB1vQbGH95QJJmM_rbe3OGo9ZTQfWRn6vYS9RBxoAU3yGtBNflGaQ5R2Mf=s2323" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2323" data-original-width="1799" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj40KkaSzrnqLdz0nANJB8qkuKiCzREe2ZrRVZnD5xkXpwsU7SQc_txxbDZMW81aQJOitP5iENkXAc1O-Y3Hx5WTas3-yqVawkqdv7ajHOsSv4FHizrTT4V4NkpaUUX5DiB1vQbGH95QJJmM_rbe3OGo9ZTQfWRn6vYS9RBxoAU3yGtBNflGaQ5R2Mf=s320" width="248" /></a></div><span style="color: #990000;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Some news about Richard III</span></b><br /></span><p>While I'm here I'd just like to blow my own trumpet a little. I noticed recently that, although my <b><span style="color: #990000;">Children's Book of Richard III</span></b> is not available for sale on Amazon, they have awarded it four and a half stars out of five and there are a large number of excellent reviews on the page. I am well chuffed!</p><p>If you would like a copy it is for sale at the price of £8.99 at museum shops in and around Leicester, at the Richard III Visitor Centre in Leicester and at the Bosworth Battlefield gift shop. If you are unable to pop into any of these outlets then please email me at <span style="color: #990000;">rosalind dot kathryn at gmail dot com. </span>I will then consider you a friend and will let you have a signed book for £8 plus p&p which for addresses in the UK is £3.79.</p><p><br /><br /></p></div>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-24715288177144479172022-01-07T07:48:00.001+00:002022-01-07T07:49:54.540+00:00Raining Cats and Dogs?<p>Yesterday the Meteorological Office forecasted thundersnow. It’s as if they have permission to make up words. I’ve heard of thunderstorms and snowstorms but thundersnow only came into my consciousness briefly last year and now it’s being forecasted willy nilly… ok so I exaggerate but I can’t help wondering if this strange weather phenomenon has always been around or is it a new invention?</p><p>We all know that weather is changing. We've had enough warning about global warming and climate change. This got me thinking about the weather when I was a child. There were rainstorms, gales, heatwaves, but one thing that has all but disappeared, certainly here in Leicester UK, are fogs and, even worse, smogs. I remember when they used to stop the buses when a fog descended. We would be sent home from school early so we could catch the last bus and by the time I got near to home it would be so thick I had trouble seeing where my street was. The phrase people used was, ‘You can’t see your hand in front of your face’… bit of an exaggeration but it was certainly an eerie and rather daunting experience. Not only was it difficult visually, it also made it hard to breath. During the Great London Fog of 1952 it was reported that 12,000 people died. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiw7cLNN4AuPf87iUoGnBD_VMxxiq1jddorc3usLcH36z5TK9ZrkkJkiImD0rEa9qOPt17kF6GkBwiJOpsTaK-Yq8Rw2R0oRFI77PjJ6-4KxVHW1x36imK-bRFme1k1f4asmHy0yExQqPTvI55h_F6dm6nS-j9CMxCQIwU8OY59w_WKieya5aKObT_5=s283" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="283" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiw7cLNN4AuPf87iUoGnBD_VMxxiq1jddorc3usLcH36z5TK9ZrkkJkiImD0rEa9qOPt17kF6GkBwiJOpsTaK-Yq8Rw2R0oRFI77PjJ6-4KxVHW1x36imK-bRFme1k1f4asmHy0yExQqPTvI55h_F6dm6nS-j9CMxCQIwU8OY59w_WKieya5aKObT_5=w200-h126" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>London 1952 - image from britannica.com</i></div><p>I’m glad that thanks to the laws to clean up air pollution we no longer suffer from fogs or smogs and as for the thundersnow, that never materialised. In fact we only saw a flurry of sleet which soon turned back to rain. I wonder what kind of weather they’ll think up for us next… icewind? rainshine? Or maybe I’ll finally be able to experience my childhood fascination and it will start raining cats and dogs. Now that would be a sight to see!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi71Y41cqqpdE1icTu0aatBzDBleL-VG5fUGwzIdixybPhafuHQlDjYJcGpauNK5ySTrI7LX4LKqUrfAjG1G7gma-xVRDw9bvFU4v7qBCoh1WNh29eDi8EhwDdU7JPvEIO9smItcVhE-URnA0GNlY646B2LJb6-AOiw27eNE2Y6qcg38X0iC0WMVja7=s271" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="186" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi71Y41cqqpdE1icTu0aatBzDBleL-VG5fUGwzIdixybPhafuHQlDjYJcGpauNK5ySTrI7LX4LKqUrfAjG1G7gma-xVRDw9bvFU4v7qBCoh1WNh29eDi8EhwDdU7JPvEIO9smItcVhE-URnA0GNlY646B2LJb6-AOiw27eNE2Y6qcg38X0iC0WMVja7=w220-h320" width="220" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Oh yes, and a Happy New Year to you all!</span></b></div><br /><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-8074472860389549012021-12-16T12:27:00.001+00:002021-12-16T12:27:50.484+00:00Poetry, Nails and Miracles<p><b><span style="color: #990000;">Poetry Acceptance</span></b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6JTpPQo8DP2fvqknYtkDt2NnuGj3-S2AzMcirYkq7vUc9J7QEGxk1DRlP7VIBNRfRHgx-0B2q_6NN3cnV4_IFBcF9E0hPTt2ELhmlZ9EdeocTHNiJOpO3RZBIQ1VQ4nyK1rPkmDhl2O9DZqprhQyWTi9oL8lxQkVcMzDab0mKvL_H9tgou5ZgD2uV=s320" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="255" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg6JTpPQo8DP2fvqknYtkDt2NnuGj3-S2AzMcirYkq7vUc9J7QEGxk1DRlP7VIBNRfRHgx-0B2q_6NN3cnV4_IFBcF9E0hPTt2ELhmlZ9EdeocTHNiJOpO3RZBIQ1VQ4nyK1rPkmDhl2O9DZqprhQyWTi9oL8lxQkVcMzDab0mKvL_H9tgou5ZgD2uV=w159-h200" width="159" /></a></div>Firstly a big thank you to <span style="color: #990000;"><a href="http://www.songsoferetz.com/" target="_blank"><b>So<i><span>ngs of Eretz Poetry Review</span></i></b></a></span> for accepting my poem, 'The Passing of Time on Peddars Way'. It will be published in their Winter 2021/22 issue. Pedders Way is a picturesque walk along the Norfolk coastal path. We used to regularly walk there from Blakeney to Cley. We haven't been for years but we're planning to go back there next year - Covid permitting.<p></p><p>As for the poem, I have now racked up 17 published poems. Is it time to start thinking about a poetry pamphlet? I'm not sure and would welcome your opinion. Do you rate poetry pamphlets? Or do you only purchase them when a friend invites you to their pamphlet launch party? </p><p><span style="color: #990000;"><b>A Nail Saga</b></span></p><p>For three whole weeks I delighted in my grandmother-of-the-bride-nails. They gleamed with deep magenta gel. They were glossy and glisteny and I have been flashing them in front of people and stroking them lovingly. When they hit the three-week mark they went into rapid decline. Three weeks is old for nails. In fact, in 'nail years' three weeks is positively ancient. They were cracking and bending and had become so long that I was having trouble typing and picking up anything smaller than a knife and fork but the gel had set like concrete and no way could I file them down. The gel had to go!</p><p>But it is two weeks before Christmas and all nail-gel-remover shops are fully booked. Undeterred I went to the chemist and bought a bottle of acetone. It has large red warning signs on the bottle and smells atrocious but I was intrepid. I was determined. I spent the best part of twenty-four hours soaking my nails with smelly cotton wool and wrapping them in tin foil. I became light-headed from the fumes, slightly dizzy and squidgy but I did it. The gel is gone... and my nails are plain and boring once more. </p><p><span style="color: #990000;"><b>An Affirmation of Miracles</b></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbldHzIXmakQS3squPLyVuzyANd3hrZTNGZoQq1-5EacaS0awSvZI1IYBf7pDsfMWNuCnoR-NL89oxnXLxOABJoVnqfktd7oHiO9ObYS3J8-EG_5LdYKZ6SZaZiI9IEblfg2t4AKiwbsc4I-lvjtEmVIQZ5Y2sJyTTm0bHxPaKSUTiZeOWQNSlT3s5=s867" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="731" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbldHzIXmakQS3squPLyVuzyANd3hrZTNGZoQq1-5EacaS0awSvZI1IYBf7pDsfMWNuCnoR-NL89oxnXLxOABJoVnqfktd7oHiO9ObYS3J8-EG_5LdYKZ6SZaZiI9IEblfg2t4AKiwbsc4I-lvjtEmVIQZ5Y2sJyTTm0bHxPaKSUTiZeOWQNSlT3s5=w169-h200" width="169" /></a></div>This week I went to a Singing for Pleasure group that I joined recently. We were asked to bring in short readings for our final session of the year and so I thought I'd talk about Chanukah. I first explained the history, how the small group of Maccabees won against all odds over the Greek army, how the Greek were intolerant of other religions and how they, when retreating from the Maccabees, destroyed the holy oil in the Temple. The Maccabees found one bottle of oil, enough to burn in the Temple for one day and yet it lasted for the eight days that it took them to purify more oil - a miracle that we remember each year by lighting eight candles plus a lighter candle.<p></p><p>Some people don't believe in miracles these days. They say that miracles only happened to people in the Bible. I don't agree with those people. What about the development of a Covid vaccination in about six months when it would normally take at least two years? And for me, my personal miracle is my grandson. When he was a toddler he almost died with Type 1 Diabetes. He's now 11 and three weeks ago, on the weekend of his sister's wedding, he stepped up onto the Bimah in the Synagogue and sang in Hebrew two pages of prayers on his own in front of the whole congregation. So don't tell me that there's no such thing as miracles. I've seen them first hand.</p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-81658514537206397822021-11-29T10:26:00.002+00:002021-11-29T10:26:40.132+00:00Grandmother of the Bride and an Irreverent Wedding Poem<p style="text-align: left;">Last weekend I took on a new and unfamiliar role - I was Grandmother of the Bride. It was an amazing weekend, even if I did have a few wobblies about driving to Manchester. I'm pleased to say that I did the drive quite competently, as Mr A. assured me I would. It's amazing what one can do when there's a granddaughter about to get married. Oh yes, and there were tears but they were happy, happy tears and I managed not to show myself up with red eyes.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I don't have the official wedding photos yet and I'm not about to bore you with loads of wedding snaps of people you probably don't know but here's a little snapshot of me and he.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsa4yACmb1_jqYlT-Z6olZVYvi7kwhiM7jd8XbHypgGFBfNcZI8_tnLrbneTKHx6PGja28vxLJUiDOtuc-fSDkBp68s4OO3FqRFwSGpxjsxOEVPvLjLs-ozAhXAq-5kDB1vvXYBsaCyQ8/s471/20211121_130029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="471" data-original-width="326" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsa4yACmb1_jqYlT-Z6olZVYvi7kwhiM7jd8XbHypgGFBfNcZI8_tnLrbneTKHx6PGja28vxLJUiDOtuc-fSDkBp68s4OO3FqRFwSGpxjsxOEVPvLjLs-ozAhXAq-5kDB1vvXYBsaCyQ8/w138-h200/20211121_130029.jpg" width="138" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Several years ago I wrote a poem about the seven deadly sins at a wedding. It in no way reflects our amazing wedding of last week but I thought it would be fun to share it with you now. Just as a reminder the seven deadly sins are pride, lust, greed, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth.</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Seven Sins of the Wedding Feast </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The bride’s father beams as he surveys the feast:</div><div style="text-align: left;">real champagne, smoked salmon canapés, </div><div style="text-align: left;">only the finest for his princess.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The best man drools as he gazes</div><div style="text-align: left;">at her moist pink lips, imagines his fingers</div><div style="text-align: left;">touching cream skin glimpsed through lattice lace.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The groom aches with a hunger</div><div style="text-align: left;">that has nothing to do with the food on his plate. </div><div style="text-align: left;">They’ll go once the speeches are over.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The bridesmaid’s lips are a rose red pout.</div><div style="text-align: left;">She should be wearing white. It’s her turn...</div><div style="text-align: left;">if only someone would ask her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Jacket buttons strain as Cousin Albert gorges</div><div style="text-align: left;">on pies, puddings, wine and lager...</div><div style="text-align: left;">such a shame to let it go to waste.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Great Aunt Amelia seethes as she sits</div><div style="text-align: left;">at the back with mere neighbours. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Who is responsible for this seating plan?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The bride languishes. No more work for her.</div><div style="text-align: left;">She’ll have a monthly allowance, a cleaner, a gardener.</div><div style="text-align: left;">She’s got a man to look after her now.</div></blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As I said, this has absolutely nothing to do with Granddaughter and her lovely new husband. Our wedding feast of last weekend was a relaxed and enjoyable affair. Mind you, the weekend was exhausting. I'm only just recovering. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-72711189332782987032021-11-01T10:41:00.001+00:002021-11-01T10:41:12.566+00:00How can it be November already? <p>Is it me or is time moving in a different way since Covid? I seem to be very busy but I'm not too sure what with. Last week we went away for a short holiday, our first change of scene since before Covid. We visited a fascinating city but more of that later.</p><p>Firstly I would like to flag up my latest piece of poetry that has been published both on the Green Ink Poetry website and in their latest anthology on the theme of roots. It is one of my favourite poems and so, for those who know me, you can guess that it's pure nostalgia. I love writing about my roots - my memories of growing up in 1950s Leicester. Here is the link if you'd like to read it: <b><a href="https://www.greeninkpoetry.co.uk/poetry-submissions-all/rosalind-adam-" target="_blank">Post-war Kids by Rosalind Adam</a></b></p><p>I have, at last, got around to updating my About Me<span style="color: #38761d; font-weight: bold;"> </span>page that includes a list of my published work. I'm rather chuffed to have 17 poems in my published list. If you would like to have a look then click here <span style="color: #274e13; font-weight: bold;"><a href="https://rosalindadam.blogspot.com/p/about-me.html" target="_blank">About Me</a> </span><span>or on the green tab</span> above.</p><p>And now for our holiday - we took a train to Ely in Cambridgeshire. Ely was once an island and as the cross-country train approached the area it slowed down and we were surrounded by watery marshland - a tad creepy but fascinating too. Ely is a small city with a stunningly beautiful cathedral. My photographs never do justice to beauty but here is my take on the cathedral:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIx6qTyxRLLx44xOhG9K3C9aiFA0moNZTp2Xf5NgaljK5zjyfYj-BLS5TVcPsHvk2_SEfSordOtjXZ9W81VQW5IoOsAOGU68rpAsptii3oh73bySKfwwRw5LiQABimqYa2y0WhleUruQ/s4032/20211029_101837.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIx6qTyxRLLx44xOhG9K3C9aiFA0moNZTp2Xf5NgaljK5zjyfYj-BLS5TVcPsHvk2_SEfSordOtjXZ9W81VQW5IoOsAOGU68rpAsptii3oh73bySKfwwRw5LiQABimqYa2y0WhleUruQ/w240-h320/20211029_101837.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>and here is the view of the River Ouse from a lovely eatery, The Cutter Inn. I can recommend it whole-heartedly if you're ever in the area.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2cpu5ZXrd9JuRIdxyMiWtMK_FV-1_puGGyDn3XsIBqCif6EwwNki8-KsD4kPxx-n_9Ay4acjLREINdegS-ahTJ1OrZOd7NHIs1f8Gbq7l7HtHCR7tcsET7EXmcrEm54lJR6uoqiXpXQ/s575/0.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="323" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2cpu5ZXrd9JuRIdxyMiWtMK_FV-1_puGGyDn3XsIBqCif6EwwNki8-KsD4kPxx-n_9Ay4acjLREINdegS-ahTJ1OrZOd7NHIs1f8Gbq7l7HtHCR7tcsET7EXmcrEm54lJR6uoqiXpXQ/w180-h320/0.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><p>Me being me I can't produce an entire blog post without a bit of a moan. We decided to go by train partly because I hate distance driving and partly because it's an easy journey, no changes, and lovely views. My complaint is about the cost. To have made this holiday a stress-free experience I would have preferred open tickets so we were not tied to a set time for travelling. But open tickets are so expensive - there has been a significant increase since last time we made the journey - that we opted for timed tickets with all the related stress of getting to the station for a precise time.</p><p>So here is my moan - at a time when most world leaders are meeting in Glasgow to try and reduce carbon emissions shouldn't something be done about the exorbitant cost of train travel? Is it prohibitively expensive to travel by train in your part of the UK/in your part of the world? Or is it just our rail network in the East Midlands?</p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-17567427079179988732021-09-30T12:19:00.000+01:002021-09-30T12:19:07.902+01:00A Busy Month<p>Covid is still with us. It keeps looming up among one or other of my friendship groups, reminding me to keep on gelling and sticking mask to mouth. I just hope that's enough of a protection. Next week I'll be getting my booster Covid jab so that's a bit of added security but even with the reassurance of gel, mask and jabs, life is still out of kilter. </p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnk9Dhz3addM2YVlOU81pr79SC9oWj-rX35Q3X5LHaOC234YKDxIV3gvmP9siV8GeZ3_Wmy5QvZYuStie2PV429PeDMtKLq3Rizc7_1zZLB6fpSGtbKSgpvS5JSI3u0kX6m1mfx_UL8EU/s259/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnk9Dhz3addM2YVlOU81pr79SC9oWj-rX35Q3X5LHaOC234YKDxIV3gvmP9siV8GeZ3_Wmy5QvZYuStie2PV429PeDMtKLq3Rizc7_1zZLB6fpSGtbKSgpvS5JSI3u0kX6m1mfx_UL8EU/s0/download.jpg" width="259" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Sukkah</td></tr></tbody></table><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">High Holy Days: </span></b>Last year the Jewish High Holy Days were observed from the safety of home but this year the Synagogue has reopened. I was unsure about going but decided to attend the service for Rosh Hashonah, the New Year. I was appropriately masked and gelled up but there were so many people there that I left before the end and only returned earlier this week for a quieter ceremony of Shemini Azeret. This marks the end of Shavuot, a seven-day festival when meals are shared in an outdoor hut that has only leaves and branches as a roof. Yes, it sounds strange on the page but it's fun to take part in so long as the weather isn't too autumnal. It's all about remembering the time that the Israelites travelled in the wilderness when they left Egypt.</p><p><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Poetry: </span></b>A few days ago I posted on social media the good news that my poem, 'Post-war Kids' has been accepted for publication by Green Ink Poetry, and will be available next month in both an online and a print edition. I'm particularly pleased with this acceptance as it is one of my favourite poems. The theme for the edition is roots and I interpreted that in my usual nostalgic way. I've written about being a kid in the 1950s. I'll post up the link as soon as it's available.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMuomg0MdtxbMYegSGvxZGrIEjyWfP3AuNIsOjQXykSWK8x2pmKSvOCB7RT0I1Yr_Xvtyu_6XCNfERvwkA03VzsqE_UTDzTvs0p_yd5roGST8aHBfAncZK25y7W6HjUjbQXsam7lHQ2rE/s576/20210921_091110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="432" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMuomg0MdtxbMYegSGvxZGrIEjyWfP3AuNIsOjQXykSWK8x2pmKSvOCB7RT0I1Yr_Xvtyu_6XCNfERvwkA03VzsqE_UTDzTvs0p_yd5roGST8aHBfAncZK25y7W6HjUjbQXsam7lHQ2rE/w240-h320/20210921_091110.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Demolition: </span></b>While all this has been going on, we have had builders in. They have demolished our old conservatory which was on the verge of falling down, was far too hot to sit in during the summer and too cold in the winter. They are building a new garden room which we have been assured will solve all our problems. The builders are quite self-contained but I am living with the sound of constant pop music, drilling, sawing and the provision of copious mugs of coffee. It was meant to be a week's job in June but has turned out to be nigh-on a month's job in September. Which brings me full circle back to Covid. The pandemic has apparently created havoc with the supply of building materials as well as every other aspect of our lives. <div><p>At least 'Strictly Come Dancing' with its glitter and glamour is back on the TV so that's something to smile about. Stay safe and, in the style of the Strictly sign off, keeeeep gelling!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-32573165117822920692021-09-09T13:58:00.001+01:002021-09-09T13:58:37.093+01:00Feel-good dreams<p>Apparently, according to dream experts, there are certain kinds of dreams that we all have at some time or another. They include: </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>falling </li><li>being chased </li><li>being naked in public</li><li>and sitting an exam in a subject about which you haven't a clue! </li></ul><p></p><p>Some people claim not to remember any of their dreams. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. I'd certainly like to forget my nightmares. I can still remember the recurring nightmare I had as a child. A fire engine used to chase me down the entry at the side of our house but I don't want to dwell on that. I want to talk about feel-good dreams. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xxx-large; text-align: center;">😴 🛌 😴 </span></p><p style="text-align: left;">Until recently I had a recurring dream where I would find a new room in my house that I didn't know was there. Sometimes I'd dream that the kitchen had a whole extra section with a magnificent row of cupboards and work surfaces (I have a small kitchen in real life). Sometimes I would have to crawl through a low passageway to get to a new room or it might even be a vast extension to the house and it was always exciting. It was a feel-good dream.</p><p><span style="font-size: xxx-large; text-align: center;">😴 🛌 😴 </span></p><p>I don't have this dream anymore. It might be because I no longer lust after extensions to the house. What I have suits me just fine. Although the other night my brain took this dream-theme to a different level. In my dream I discovered that I had another email account. It was in my name but I had no idea that it existed, and it had lots of unread emails in it. I was excited but I'm afraid I woke up before I could open any of the emails and I haven't had that dream again.</p><p><span style="font-size: xxx-large; text-align: center;">😴 🛌 😴</span></p><p>Aren't dreams strange. You think you know what's going on in your head until you fall asleep and your mind has... well, it has a mind of its own. </p><p>Can you remember your dreams? </p><p>Do you have any recurring ones and are they ever feel-good?</p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-79711561450038352342021-08-26T12:15:00.000+01:002021-08-26T12:15:59.670+01:00Too old?<p><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">Now I know I'm getting old. </span></b></p><p>It's not because of the flabby bat-wing skin on my arms or the way I sometimes doze off in the afternoon. It's because a pharmacist in a large outlet of a well-known chemist refused to sell me a self-testing UTI kit and his reason: "I'm sorry, Madam, but you're too old."</p><p>Too old to test my own urine! Does he think that I'll fall and hurt myself when assuming the position or that I'll miss the bottle, wee on the floor and slip on all the vast amounts of liquid? As you can guess, I was incensed. </p><p>The reason for wanting to buy my own testing kit was that the GPs are reluctant to test for UTIs since Covid. However, after much persuasion I was tested, have almost finished the course of antibiotics and am feeling much better, thank you for asking.</p><p>This was my first experience of ageism - not so with sexism. I grew up long before the #metoo culture. I hope this movement has improved life for women but sexism was a part of our lives back in the day, especially at work. One incident of many sticks out in my memory. I was a teacher governor and the only woman on the Board of Governors. During one meeting the Head told me to go and make the tea for everyone. I lowered my voice and muttered in his ear, "Go and make it yourself." He did. It was a bit of a risk job-wise but what a cheek!</p><p>As I say, I hope society has moved on since those days. I have noticed that recently, when I park a car, men no longer say, "Well done!" I am a driver. It's what drivers do and I have been driving for a scarily long time - 54 years. Which brings me back to ageism. I have not been on public transport since before Covid but I suspect when I start using buses again I will now be offered a seat by some young and sickeningly energetic person. I will, of course, accept the seat offer graciously but that 'young girl' inside me will balk, just momentarily, and then I'll sit down with the obligatory exclamation of, "Ooof" and gratefully take the weight off my poor old aching feet.</p><p>We can't fight the ageing process and I am trying to grow old gracefully, I'm not yet wearing purple with hats that don't go, but I am still at a loss to understand why a retail pharmacist refused to sell me a UTI testing kit because of my age.</p><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-88864895361841064152021-08-12T16:38:00.002+01:002021-08-12T16:38:55.426+01:00Goodbye Sweden, the alien game and a bit of mindfulness<p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: medium;"><b>Blog Stats</b></span></p><p>Well, that was decisive. In my previous blog post I wondered why my blog was receiving thousands of visits from Sweden. Within two days of posting it the visits started to tail off and have now stopped completely. My stats are back to their normal level with not a single visit from Sweden over the last seven days. </p><p>I had been wondering if these visits were some kind of automated bot that was not actually registering the contents of my posts but now I've changed my mind. Someone, somewhere in Sweden has been viewing my blog... viewing it thousands of times a week!! They have obviously now seen that on 1st August I called my post 'Hello Sweden' and talked about them. Apologies to Mr/s Swedish Blog Post Viewer if I have shocked you into going away but you have to agree that your vast number of visits were a bit strange.</p><p></p><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgokCT6b63CQ0WPidrHGupHkuSaaIzV7eXlbOUxcb2B0DXxLP-q4NITpF0tBifl9ZfNjveADeX-8voPupLEAY7hHSARsgeb2fs-mxb7z6u4UADZhASaF8XUZ67_rkSFtyXaDcDEsARP6zk/s1270/DSC_0106+2.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="976" data-original-width="1270" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgokCT6b63CQ0WPidrHGupHkuSaaIzV7eXlbOUxcb2B0DXxLP-q4NITpF0tBifl9ZfNjveADeX-8voPupLEAY7hHSARsgeb2fs-mxb7z6u4UADZhASaF8XUZ67_rkSFtyXaDcDEsARP6zk/w320-h246/DSC_0106+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><b style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Alien Game</span></b></div><div><b style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></b></div>Mind you, this is a very strange world. When we were kids we used to play the game of pretending we'd been visited by aliens. We took it in turns to explain something that we perceived as normal like making a cup of tea. <span style="color: #cc0000;">Did everyone play that game or was it just me and my group of friends?</span> We'd laugh at how the aliens would be shocked that we were heating H2O up until it turned into a gas, mixing it with tannin-enriched dried leaves and adding the juice from a cow's udder. The game would keep us amused for hours. <div><span style="color: #cc0000;">This image is a small section of a photo I took when Daughter treated us to afternoon tea in a posh London location.</span><p></p><p></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: medium;"><b>Mindfulness</b></span></p><p>Aliens would consider most of what we do to be extremely strange - sometimes so do I, especially if I stop my daily busy-ness and make a conscious decision to look, listen and notice things around me. I'm doing a mindfulness course at the moment and this includes mindful walking. How many times do we walk to arrive? Sometimes it's better to slow down, think about the movement of your body as you walk, be aware of details around you including smells and sounds. It's different - relaxing and satisfying, especially when you notice something that has always been there but you hadn't noticed it before or you look at it in a different way. I really am trying very hard to slow down and notice what I'm doing rather than always working in autopilot mode. <span style="color: #cc0000;">A note for those who know me in real life - if you see me reverting to my old autopilot ways then you have my permission to give me a prod (but only a gentle one!) </span></p><p><span style="color: #cc0000;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p></div>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-13257979980871224892021-08-01T15:10:00.000+01:002021-08-01T15:10:16.842+01:00Hello Sweden<p><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>I don't think I know anyone in Sweden but if any Swedes are reading this then please say hello back because you've been visiting my blog an awful lot recently. </b></span></p><p>I realised something strange was happening to my blog stats a few months ago. They have soared from an average of 300 to 400 visits a week to around 4,000 visits. On closer examination I discovered that the exceptionally high numbers are coming from Sweden. But why is Sweden interested in my blog? </p><p>I spoke with my blogger friend Vallypee who blogs at <b><a href="https://rivergirlrotterdam.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Rivergirl</a></b>. Val, like me, uses Blogger to support her blogs. We had a chat about it and she loaded up her blog stats to investigate. Sure enough, exactly the same thing was happening to her blog. </p><p>Here is a screen shot of the hits on my blog for the last 7 days:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh81KHA5-z1KAnlN522yE70zfZd0wvSdjKL5BPFaxi8N0co3P_NpvMTJAhde9i5BVkJdrmiQdaVpPKdkY-dK_oDBbSZUAtb8p6JhDUtC8jZKCplQCj42sDtiR4SCji2QP1PS69mt8IexKQ/s1050/Screenshot+2021-08-01+at+14.56.43.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="1050" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh81KHA5-z1KAnlN522yE70zfZd0wvSdjKL5BPFaxi8N0co3P_NpvMTJAhde9i5BVkJdrmiQdaVpPKdkY-dK_oDBbSZUAtb8p6JhDUtC8jZKCplQCj42sDtiR4SCji2QP1PS69mt8IexKQ/w640-h374/Screenshot+2021-08-01+at+14.56.43.png" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Val and myself noted that none of these additional viewers have opened any of our blog posts so were they scanning blog titles or was it some kind of bot? I'm very confused. What would a bot want with my blog? I rarely mention politics or religion and even when I do there's nothing there that could have a major effect on International relations, life and the universe so what on earth is the bot activity all about - or if it's people scanning my titles then what would be the purpose of doing that?</p><p>My stats figures may show Sweden as top but for quite some time Russia has been up there with the top countries to visit my blog. I might not know anyone from Sweden but I definitely don't know anyone from Russia. It's all very strange and, although it does me no harm whatsoever (well none that I know of!) if anyone reading this can throw some light on it for me then please do. I'm starting to get obsessed with my stats figures and that's never a good thing!</p><p> </p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-41501032966009664802021-07-22T16:53:00.003+01:002021-07-25T09:10:12.753+01:00Cat newsBetty and Sophie have been with us for over two months now. Betty has just about healed from all the flea bite scabs that covered her poor little body when we collected her from the rescue centre so that's good but they do both have some very odd ways. <div><br /></div><div>Betty has so far refused to join us in the living room. She is happy to go into the garden, dining room and conservatory but she is acting as if the rest of the house is out of bounds. It's a great shame because she runs full pelt to join us if she sees us sitting in the garden or conservatory. She loves the company and yet she has this self-imposed isolation when we are in the rest of the house.<div><br /></div><div>Sophie also has a few odd quirks. She refuses to eat anything other than dried food. I've never had a cat who won't even eat a piece of cooked salmon or chicken and she panics if we go to pick her up, even though she loves having her ears and tummy tickled and her panic levels soar if anyone visits. Hopefully she'll grow to trust us given time. She spends most days sleeping in an unidentified part of the garden - we've yet to discover her hidey-hole. We only know that when we search for her she emerges from somewhere near the house - a proper little Mrs Mistoffelees.</div><div><br /></div><div>These cats have history and the sad thing is that I'll never know what happened in their lives before they came to us. (They're both seven years old.) One thing is for sure, they're loving their new garden and I think they're starting to realise that they've well and truly landed on their paws.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-9Vt75z98Un8l-9Wn6FJ2z9AoLlg0tvXnr3912-MKMeCPr-qq28lGrL9GjJCeGA1Q9dSRoAje8DaAvPsSh7cPkaa36rtJkKirg50uE9m4X4VUHEE9vRwdULKpKnXX5lVwyrv_pMg6kg/s576/20210705_163743.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="531" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-9Vt75z98Un8l-9Wn6FJ2z9AoLlg0tvXnr3912-MKMeCPr-qq28lGrL9GjJCeGA1Q9dSRoAje8DaAvPsSh7cPkaa36rtJkKirg50uE9m4X4VUHEE9vRwdULKpKnXX5lVwyrv_pMg6kg/w369-h400/20210705_163743.jpg" width="369" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sophie is the patterned puss. <br />Betty is the one in the black suit and white tie.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div></div></div>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-86728813271225007022021-07-12T13:03:00.001+01:002021-07-12T13:03:31.470+01:00Warning: This post rambles...<p>A few days ago I spent a number of hours writing a blog post, checking it and viewing it on Preview to make sure it looked presentable. I then had an odd feeling... a kind of deja vu. I did a search on the title, Onion, and realised that I had produced an almost identical post two years ago. I have put this down to the general confusion of multiple lockdowns and Covid anxiety. It has nothing to do with getting older, nothing!! <span style="color: #cc0000;">I just did a bit of a Google search and found a mental health site that said I need to do a variety of activities including new activities in order to keep my brain healthy - groan.</span></p><p>On the subject of getting older, and while writing the above-mentioned duplicated blog post, I started to think about my Dad and his electrical prowess. In the early 1960s the only way to listen to music at home <span style="color: #cc0000;">- apart from on the wireless which is what we now call the radio - </span>was to play records on the record player. Records were fragile. The really old 78 rpm records were heavy and would smash if dropped. <span style="color: #cc0000;">They could also be heated up and turned into fruit bowls if we got bored with the song!</span> The light-weight vinyl 45 and 33 rpm ones got easily scratched which meant all our songs had a background of clicks and so Dad made us a reel-to-reel tape recorder. He made it from a kit and it worked perfectly. Now we could borrow records and record them. <span style="color: #cc0000;">We could also record music from the wireless but that was illegal so I'm not going to mention it here!! </span>No one else I knew had a tape recorder. We were lucky.</p><p>It wasn't long before those tiny cassettes took over but the cassette players used to chew them up and then CDs appeared with pure sound and no clicks or chewing ups. Today we can listen to any song we like with online streaming. I would have loved that as a teenager.</p><p>In order to take seriously the suggestion from the above-mentioned mental health site I have just gone into the garden and taken some nature photographs. Here is a rose. You can even see a rain droplet on it. Isn't it beautiful! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA60_sTOpZocoTPsWVCkUdBBzZYuWXnCl7dJVGJ8_MfzefsbAVyJ2ED8R12W-q5j7bIX4Ici_Dj3di2MgJ3yHLz5TsJ8YjMt2oB-MTjk9RkTgUPkAS2NE_DmFM2XMHnXQY6bIWOh07aoU/s2048/20210712_120934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA60_sTOpZocoTPsWVCkUdBBzZYuWXnCl7dJVGJ8_MfzefsbAVyJ2ED8R12W-q5j7bIX4Ici_Dj3di2MgJ3yHLz5TsJ8YjMt2oB-MTjk9RkTgUPkAS2NE_DmFM2XMHnXQY6bIWOh07aoU/w300-h400/20210712_120934.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-69245543789278058372021-07-01T16:04:00.001+01:002021-07-02T08:53:24.135+01:00Nature's Closing Down<p>I received an email today from the RSPB <span style="color: #cc0000;">(Royal Society for the Protection of Birds).</span> I receive a lot of unsolicited emails and usually scarcely acknowledge the content before moving it to Trash but this one caught my eye. In large letters on a mock shop sign it said:</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b>Nature's </b><b>closing down</b></span></p><p>There's a lot of information on the internet about the climate crises and I'm afraid I am becoming quite blasé about it all but this touched a nerve. It says that the natural world we are living in is dying and points out that we have lost nearly 38 million birds in the last 50 years. It says that life as we know it could disappear within the decade because nature is closing down.</p><p>I don't want that to happen but I don't know what I can do about it other than sign their petition, which I have done. If you would like to sign the petition then please follow this link:</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://revive-our-world.rspb.org.uk/?sourcecode=PAIAHC2440&utm_source=row-closed-21&utm_medium=email&utm_term=&utm_content=24&utm_campaign=row-closed-21" target="_blank">RSPB Information and Petition</a></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcBc1s4wImB5NmS5z7HZqXEDcqoRfUVG0QBR-OCxJV66unTRZiAl1SDUge3LfzrRgCtuneGxYsGe0Bn_Pnpm7-yUmwuGe3dthk7o-vi-VKlyYTmWKC0tl1x-L2c3Zu3OmZp_sTgUEzpM/s188/rspb-logo-white.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="89" data-original-width="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJcBc1s4wImB5NmS5z7HZqXEDcqoRfUVG0QBR-OCxJV66unTRZiAl1SDUge3LfzrRgCtuneGxYsGe0Bn_Pnpm7-yUmwuGe3dthk7o-vi-VKlyYTmWKC0tl1x-L2c3Zu3OmZp_sTgUEzpM/s0/rspb-logo-white.png" /></a></div><p>On second thoughts there must be more that I can do so I've drawn up a list. Send me a smiley face either here or on Twitter @RosalindAdam if you already do, or are planning to do, any of the following:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Recycle and don't throw things away if possible. <span style="color: #cc0000;">(We have a recycling bin and I feel quite righteous when I fill it up.) 😀</span></li><li>See if there are community groups cleaning up parks etc and volunteer to help. <span style="color: #cc0000;">(I may not do this due to arthritis etc.) 😀</span></li><li>Don't waste water <span style="color: #cc0000;">(I always turn off the tap while cleaning my teeth and that's a start!) 😀</span></li><li>Don't buy disposable items and try to avoid plastics where possible. <span style="color: #cc0000;">(We now have milk delivered in glass bottles and we put out the empties like in the olden days.) 😀</span></li><li>Keep reminding each other to do the above. 😇</li></ul>Have I missed anything out? I was going to add 'plant a tree' but our garden has all the trees it can cope with and our local park has lots of new trees recently planted so I think that locally we are succeeding in that respect.<p></p><p>Wouldn't it be awful if nature starts to close down over the next decade. I'll finish this blog post with the following disturbing image, courtesy of Analytics Insight.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qe18qGZfQ83yTUvV5exoIyRUcv_XECLwd0SCC3cdHWI5kdMCNclAPFvfmw0u8XUndg6R2oI2fc27qu6X0AQe6Sb88FPoJl7jLaubG6eBTWow9M401od3bgxIrb2tic_GGR_sqT9VP4w/s900/AI.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="900" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_qe18qGZfQ83yTUvV5exoIyRUcv_XECLwd0SCC3cdHWI5kdMCNclAPFvfmw0u8XUndg6R2oI2fc27qu6X0AQe6Sb88FPoJl7jLaubG6eBTWow9M401od3bgxIrb2tic_GGR_sqT9VP4w/w400-h223/AI.webp" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-54648397506213021772021-06-18T12:42:00.000+01:002021-06-18T12:42:34.083+01:00Swimming, Poetry and Radio 4's Off The Page<p>Having to book a slot for swimming has an effect on numbers. A group of people have to enter and exit together. Consequently the days of me swimming in a gloriously almost-empty pool are no more - at least until restrictions are lifted. I've just returned from a swim where I had to share a lane with a woman who had a particularly worthy style of front crawl. Each time we passed I expected to be knocked out cold by the power of her arm action. I may have to write a poem about it.</p><p>I am still plugging away with my poetry submissions. I am getting rejections but I keep having to remind myself that this is an expected part of the procedure. Right now I have twenty-one different poems out there. One thing is for sure, if I get an acceptance you will be among the first to hear about it!</p><p>Still on the subject of poetry, I was listening to an old episode of Off the Page the other night. The episode was called Poetry Shmoetry and it's from 2010 but is available as a BBC podcast for a limited time. I've tried adding a link to this screen shot so you can have a listen if you fancy. Hope it works...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00sq1vx" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="507" data-original-width="647" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTzenr3OIOPt4N_sBoXjsRogCxwv0meXCG6UAoCBXqZq6olpisFMcDvcBtbWZDhZk0fGkFsCc1J-3S76RpyN2OAwr9vVdT8CpxT7VX_YgOX45GNX4b1P9Sm4w67UqqIfSg5BxU243W8v0/s320/Screenshot+2021-06-18+at+12.09.39.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">At one point they were talking about whether poetry is a waste of time or not. As Andrew Motion was on the panel, and had only recently stepped down from the role of poet laureate, I expected it to be fully in favour of poetry but even he conceded that not only poetry but much of what is written down is not of particular value to us. They went on to consider whether most poetry is merely for tortured souls to fling their miseries far and wide - my words not theirs. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This made me take a long hard look at my own work, including the above-mentioned twenty-one pieces. As I suspected, I do not fling miseries. In fact a lot of my writing leans heavily on the nostalgia of how things once were and how they are now and there's absolutely nothing wrong with a bit of nostalgia, now is there?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5686896740294298689.post-19164206817525050442021-06-04T18:40:00.000+01:002021-06-04T18:40:45.423+01:00New clothes and bring back hats!<p>I have nothing to wear. This is not a stereotypical female whinge. This is for real. I have spent over a year slouching about in old joggers and sloppy tops <span style="color: #cc0000;">(I bet you have too)</span>. Those joggers and tops are now only fit for the recycling bag. I need some smart clothes, ones that fit me. I can't be the only person to have changed shape slightly over the last year and a half! And so I am trying to decide what to buy. <br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>Skirts:</b></span> </span>I'm fussy about skirts. Fixed waistbands drive me crazy but elasticated-waisted skirts tend to be uninspiring. Above the knee length looks tarty on me these days, mid-calf looks frumpy and full length often means full width too and so I drown in volumes of material.</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">(While I'm on the subject of skirts, why do some men wear kilts? And while I'm on the subject of men's clothes what is the tie all about? Why would anyone wear a strip of cloth tied round their neck?)</span></p></blockquote><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b>Dresses: </b></span>Same problem as skirts re length and don't get me started about the cost. Dresses are so expensive.</p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b>Trousers: </b></span>I have five pairs of smart jeans hanging in the wardrobe. Can't get the zips to do up on any of them, even if I suck my stomach right in. I have several comfortable trousers but they look like pyjama bottoms.</p><p><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><b>Hats: </b></span>I do wish hats would become fashionable once more. <span style="color: #cc0000;">(I think I've moaned about this before but it bears saying again). </span>I want to wear a different hat each day of the week: beret, fedora, cap, pill box, sombrero, cloche, panama... I feel elegant in a hat. I know I am perfectly free to wear whatever hat I fancy but I'm not confident enough to totally go against the fashion of the day.</p><p>Fashions from the 1950s were so elegant and back then my Great Auntie Alice made clothes for all the family. She didn't need to use any kind of pattern but these were some of the styles she would create. What a shame I was too young to benefit...</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy5XWBsBawAUumokFSY9IbOyYyVVJ09OkXQjL3c31OqEdYsKrM_a-3AKHCdQngwlIKSGqksVqKSr-e-ybDWBsOejEtiSoWZlk6HPsg1WKsxF0BwTLKCArxLRs4GbMqRUfD3K8Th4sGChw/s1396/71OzpW4QjSL._AC_SL1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1396" data-original-width="980" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy5XWBsBawAUumokFSY9IbOyYyVVJ09OkXQjL3c31OqEdYsKrM_a-3AKHCdQngwlIKSGqksVqKSr-e-ybDWBsOejEtiSoWZlk6HPsg1WKsxF0BwTLKCArxLRs4GbMqRUfD3K8Th4sGChw/s320/71OzpW4QjSL._AC_SL1500_.jpg" /></a></p></blockquote><p>Oh well, back to searching those online fashion pages...</p>Rosalind Adamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05363027308436257933noreply@blogger.com