Elle

<p style=”text-align: right;”>Sorry Sea, I’ve been racking my brain (while fighting off Ken Dodd and attempting to pack for some days in the  Hebrides) but am totally bereft of  words about tears.</p>

The Last Sense

Curse my tears, dissolving my bold exterior to expose the raw feeling beneath. How dare they come at a time when I needed to show courage? To offer a united support when Mum’s strength had finally crumbled?

And see how the foundations of mine gave way, leaving the sturdier ones to put on the brave faces; carry the weak link of…[Read more]

William James seems like an interesting man. He’s an example of something less common these days, a polymath. He studied widely across medicine and philosophy, developing expertise in both fields so that he taught physiology, psychology and philosophy (at different times) at Harvard, whilest finding time for an apprenticeship as a painter, and…[Read more]

Oh, hooray, and congratulations @ Seagreen, but similarly to all for a varied and thought-provoking selection of ‘last times’. Thank you too Ath  for the prompt – a subject which I ponder increasingly  frequently.

Bumper crop springs to mind, but the cliché is wrong because these stories didn’t just spring up, they were all lovingly made by hand.

Janette’s story reminds us of the way that roles are exchanged as age demands. More than this, it reminds us that life is full of last moments each important and deserving of attention and memory. There is a wist…[Read more]

Any more takers? Last chance today. That could be the subject.

Jill, it’s so good to hear from you again, in spite of what you’ve been, and are, going through.

I think any response that isn’t on a level with your own experience of positivity is likely to sound trivial, or at least less significant. But it is a fascinating topic. It’s often said that realists have a less positive expectation of outcome, but…[Read more]

Two fabulous stories and still half of the month to try your hand. What luck!

The First Steps and the Last

‘Come on, Mum, two more steps and you’re there. I’ve got you …’

Why was she raising her voice? I wasn’t deaf.

My mind wasn’t the disabled part of me. And what was the rush?

Hold your tongue, old lass. It’s all said through care, not to mention a familiar tone of worry that she might slip or let go.

It took me…[Read more]

It was, and still is, a very good blog indeed. I remember it well, and on the strength of your recommendation I bought Pavane. It is a unique book, with an extraordinary atmosphere. Since reading it I’ve returned many times to check on parts and to reread. It really is remarkable that it isn’t better known. It’s somewhat depressing that a book so…[Read more]

When I say that I seriously didn’t think I’d win – I mean it. There was a fistful of really great entries. Thanks to Janette for the prompt and to my co-entrants for some great entertainment.

Ps, yes, thank you all for your brilliant entries, I meant to say- sorry if this didn’t come across in my summary.

Congratulations Athelstone, and thanks to Terrie, Sea and Libby for their responses to Janette’s  May challenge – all so entertaining – and for the summing up.

Five great stories this month, making my decision oh-so difficult and changeable.

Sandra – Lyrical Determination (thin on legend)
Smartly-penned descriptives throughout, giving vivid imagery of Fran lying prose on the attic bed, having decided to give her virginity to Ivo (having been inspired by the words of John Martyn).  Love that she bathes…[Read more]

May

The cactus on the table, out there on the decking, it’s gone mad. Look there are four new paddle things growing off it. Mr Hoskins from next door says they’re called “cladodes”. He should know, seeing as he’s a botanist or something at the college. It’s a modified stem, apparently, which serves the function of a leaf. He came over for a cup o…[Read more]

Lyrical determination (thin on legend)

2001, around eleven, on the first day of May, lying on a sun-striped bed in an attic studio, John Martyn exhorted, ‘May you never’, in a voice fluffy and worn as the sheet beneath them and a saxophone further ramped  up lust while Fran Lloyd satisfactorily surrendered her virginity to Ivo Kinnersley. Ivo,…[Read more]