81 Words - A Flash Fiction Anthology

Last weekend an amazing book, 81 Words, 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.

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: 81 Words  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: Christopher Fielden. His website is full of writing advice, competitions and challenges.

My flash fiction is called The Living Statue. 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.

A big congratulations to Christopher. He has produced a book to be proud of.

Some news about Richard III

While I'm here I'd just like to blow my own trumpet a little. I noticed recently that, although my Children's Book of Richard III 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!

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 rosalind dot kathryn at gmail dot com. 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.

Poetry, Nails and Miracles

Poetry Acceptance

Firstly a big thank you to Songs of Eretz Poetry Review 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.

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? 

A Nail Saga

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!

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. 

An Affirmation of Miracles

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.

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.

Grandmother of the Bride and an Irreverent Wedding Poem

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.

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.

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.

Seven Sins of the Wedding Feast 

The bride’s father beams as he surveys the feast:

real champagne, smoked salmon canapés, 

only the finest for his princess.

The best man drools as he gazes

at her moist pink lips, imagines his fingers

touching cream skin glimpsed through lattice lace.

The groom aches with a hunger

that has nothing to do with the food on his plate. 

They’ll go once the speeches are over.

The bridesmaid’s lips are a rose red pout.

She should be wearing white. It’s her turn...

if only someone would ask her.

Jacket buttons strain as Cousin Albert gorges

on pies, puddings, wine and lager...

such a shame to let it go to waste.

Great Aunt Amelia seethes as she sits

at the back with mere neighbours. 

Who is responsible for this seating plan?

The bride languishes. No more work for her.

She’ll have a monthly allowance, a cleaner, a gardener.

She’s got a man to look after her now.

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. 

How can it be November already?

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.

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: Post-war Kids by Rosalind Adam

I have, at last, got around to updating my About Me 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 About Me or on the green tab above.

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:

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.

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.

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?

Feel-good dreams

Apparently, according to dream experts, there are certain kinds of dreams that we all have at some time or another. They include: 

• falling 
• being chased 
• being naked in public
• and sitting an exam in a subject about which you haven't a clue! 

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. 

😴 🛌 😴 

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.

😴 🛌 😴 

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.

😴 🛌 😴

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. 

Can you remember your dreams? 

Do you have any recurring ones and are they ever feel-good?

 

Too old?

Now I know I'm getting old. 

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."

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. 

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.

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!

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.

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.

Goodbye Sweden, the alien game and a bit of mindfulness

Blog Stats

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. 

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.

The Alien Game

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. Did everyone play that game or was it just me and my group of friends? 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. 

This image is a small section of a photo I took when Daughter treated us to afternoon tea in a posh London location.

Mindfulness

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. 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!)