Six o'clock, the sun going down in a cloudy sky. Grape hyacinth and crocuses coming up in the garden. Peaceful river pattering along. Gnome thoughtful.
Stories, stories, stories. Everywhere I'm hearing about how important stories are. The shortest journey between a human being and the truth is a story. I can't remember who said that, but it's true.
I've been thinking about traditional stories. There are dozens of versions of Cinderella. From Durham comes the famous Lambton Worm, but there are similar stories about overcoming a monster from all over the world. It's dangerous to forget our stories. We can't learn anything from them if we don't know them.
I'm thinking a lot about storytelling. I'm wondering what are the really important stories that need to be told. The Little Red Hen? Stone Soup? The North Wind and the Sun?
What are your best stories?
Sunday, 27 February 2011
Thursday, 24 February 2011
Island in the West
I haven't written a blog for a few days because Tony and I escaped to North Wales for two days. Lovely Older Son and Lady Sunshine had told us about a particular beach that they like, so there we went.
As a Northumbrian - and Alnmouth beach is one of my favourite places in all the world - I set a high standard for beaches. This one was the most breathtaking, open place, a 'thin' place with very little between heaven and earth. The light over the grey-green water changed continually, and sparkled for the moments when the sun came out. Mist and cloud moved over the mountains, and the waves curled into foam. The tide was turning and left perfectly hinged mussel shells, cockles and layered oyster shells. The rocks were dark grey and green, shining, with veins of marble and red stone. There were mermaid's purses and pink feathery seaweeds, rock pools, and brave little ferns and alpines growing out of the rocks.
Anglesey is an extraordinary place. There are forests where red squirrels hide, and wild ponies on the hills. It's full of pre-Christian burial places and tiny churches and Christian sites from the days when it was an island of saints.
Fresh air, wind and long walks gazing across the seascape make you hungry. We stopped at the small town of Beaumaris and found the Red Boat Ice Cream Parlour, which also does sandwiches and such like. As this is half term week it was very busy, but there was still room for two hungry pilgrims in need of ciabatta and ice cream (not at the same time.)
We will be back. we haven't yet explored all the beaches, seen the squirrels and ponies, or sampled all the flavours at the ice cream parlour.
As a Northumbrian - and Alnmouth beach is one of my favourite places in all the world - I set a high standard for beaches. This one was the most breathtaking, open place, a 'thin' place with very little between heaven and earth. The light over the grey-green water changed continually, and sparkled for the moments when the sun came out. Mist and cloud moved over the mountains, and the waves curled into foam. The tide was turning and left perfectly hinged mussel shells, cockles and layered oyster shells. The rocks were dark grey and green, shining, with veins of marble and red stone. There were mermaid's purses and pink feathery seaweeds, rock pools, and brave little ferns and alpines growing out of the rocks.
Anglesey is an extraordinary place. There are forests where red squirrels hide, and wild ponies on the hills. It's full of pre-Christian burial places and tiny churches and Christian sites from the days when it was an island of saints.
Fresh air, wind and long walks gazing across the seascape make you hungry. We stopped at the small town of Beaumaris and found the Red Boat Ice Cream Parlour, which also does sandwiches and such like. As this is half term week it was very busy, but there was still room for two hungry pilgrims in need of ciabatta and ice cream (not at the same time.)
We will be back. we haven't yet explored all the beaches, seen the squirrels and ponies, or sampled all the flavours at the ice cream parlour.
Saturday, 19 February 2011
Just look!
A covering of snow today, and looking across the alley I can see white hills, white mist, white hills, with a sprinkling of snow on rooftops and on the tops of conifers. Somewhere in those invisible hills, Tony is doing a wedding in a village chapel.
Yesterday in the supermarket, I stopped to look at the display of bouquets. They looked so happy! Spring colours at last, and in every bouquet there seemed to be a spear of purple-blue iris among the pinks, whites and yellows.
Two instincts met in the middle of me and bumped. One said 'take them home!' and the other was 'extravagance!'. And it wouldn't have made sense to buy flowers, as I'll be away for two days this week, and the blokes at home won't notice them much.
Then I remembered that I don't have to own things. They flowers just as beautiful if they don't belong to me. I don't have to find something to put them in, watch them die, put them in the compost and wash out the vase. I can just stand still, Mrs Cannybody in Sainsbury's, and look.
I'm not saying I'll never buy flowers. I think flowers are one of the nicest gifts you can give someone. But I was reminded that the important thing isn't to own, but just to recognise loveliness when it's under our noses, whether it's flowers or the small boy who thinks I drive a digger.
Yesterday in the supermarket, I stopped to look at the display of bouquets. They looked so happy! Spring colours at last, and in every bouquet there seemed to be a spear of purple-blue iris among the pinks, whites and yellows.
Two instincts met in the middle of me and bumped. One said 'take them home!' and the other was 'extravagance!'. And it wouldn't have made sense to buy flowers, as I'll be away for two days this week, and the blokes at home won't notice them much.
Then I remembered that I don't have to own things. They flowers just as beautiful if they don't belong to me. I don't have to find something to put them in, watch them die, put them in the compost and wash out the vase. I can just stand still, Mrs Cannybody in Sainsbury's, and look.
I'm not saying I'll never buy flowers. I think flowers are one of the nicest gifts you can give someone. But I was reminded that the important thing isn't to own, but just to recognise loveliness when it's under our noses, whether it's flowers or the small boy who thinks I drive a digger.
Thursday, 17 February 2011
Toddlers
I had a great morning at our Toddler Group today. For one thing, very small people kept running up to me and hugging me. They are usually much too busy riding tricycles backwards and dressing up the cuddly lion in a frock, and all the other things that toddlers do, so I was pleasantly surprised to be hugged. It's just occurred to me that their dads may have been watching the rugby and they were actually attempting flying tackles, but I prefer to think I was hugged.
First thing in the morning, when I arrived, I noticed a huge yellow digger in the car park, which was a bit of a surprise. When the mums and children arrived, they told me that the children had been asking where it came from. The mums said they didn't know, but one bright little soul settled it.
'It must be Margi's,' he said.
Of course.
First thing in the morning, when I arrived, I noticed a huge yellow digger in the car park, which was a bit of a surprise. When the mums and children arrived, they told me that the children had been asking where it came from. The mums said they didn't know, but one bright little soul settled it.
'It must be Margi's,' he said.
Of course.
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
Stunned
Last night, Tony and I joined the long queue outside our local cinema to see The King's Speech.
My mother can remember when George VI was king, and how, whenever he made a speech, there was a sense of willing him to get through it. You'd be with him through every word, suffering for him if he stammered and glad of every word he got right. That voice carried them through the war years. The film finishes before that bleak Christmas when that shy, brave man gave them that quote about 'The man at the gate of the year'. It inspired, and still inspires.
And so does the film. It inspires, challenges, and touches you. Performances are perfectly pitched. There is something 'beyond acting' about the two central performances. Duty is an old-fashioned word, but it's a key concept here, as are courage, love, trust... and hope. And it's funny, in places.
If you haven't seen it yet, you know what to do now.
My mother can remember when George VI was king, and how, whenever he made a speech, there was a sense of willing him to get through it. You'd be with him through every word, suffering for him if he stammered and glad of every word he got right. That voice carried them through the war years. The film finishes before that bleak Christmas when that shy, brave man gave them that quote about 'The man at the gate of the year'. It inspired, and still inspires.
And so does the film. It inspires, challenges, and touches you. Performances are perfectly pitched. There is something 'beyond acting' about the two central performances. Duty is an old-fashioned word, but it's a key concept here, as are courage, love, trust... and hope. And it's funny, in places.
If you haven't seen it yet, you know what to do now.
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Hooray!!!
Great news just came in this morning. Hyperion are going to do a reprint of URCHIN AND THE RAGE TIDE! So, all those of you who have been hunting about for a copy, it will be available, probably in about two months - I'll let you know if I find out any more.
THANK YOU, all of you who wrote, e-mailed, got your friends to write and e-mail, and generally made your voices heard at Hyperion when you asked for a reprint. It worked. They listened, and thank you, Hyperion, for listening.
And if you can make a difference to that, what else can you make a difference to?
THANK YOU, all of you who wrote, e-mailed, got your friends to write and e-mail, and generally made your voices heard at Hyperion when you asked for a reprint. It worked. They listened, and thank you, Hyperion, for listening.
And if you can make a difference to that, what else can you make a difference to?
Friday, 11 February 2011
So there I was...
...at our after school club, doing the storytelling session. We were telling the story of The Man who was paralysed, and his friends couldn't get into the house where Jesus was teaching so they made a hole in the roof and lowered him through.
I'd made the cardboard box house with a flat roof and steps up the side. All the children took turns to put a little wooden figure in the house to make it crowded. The paralysed man's two little wooden friends tried to get in, couldn't, and carried him up to the roof on his bed. So far, so good. The audience was most impressed as I took out the little cutting blade and made a hole in the roof. The children watched in awed silence. Nobody fidgeted. The two friends attached ropes (string) to the bed, lowered him down, and dropped him.
Oops. Halfway down, the poor chap tumbled off his blanket and fell on the floor. Oh, well, we all agreed that he'd come for healing anyway, so he was in the right place. He got up, rolled up his bed, thanked Jesus, and walked away. Or possibly ran, before anybody else could drop him through a hole in a roof.
I'd made the cardboard box house with a flat roof and steps up the side. All the children took turns to put a little wooden figure in the house to make it crowded. The paralysed man's two little wooden friends tried to get in, couldn't, and carried him up to the roof on his bed. So far, so good. The audience was most impressed as I took out the little cutting blade and made a hole in the roof. The children watched in awed silence. Nobody fidgeted. The two friends attached ropes (string) to the bed, lowered him down, and dropped him.
Oops. Halfway down, the poor chap tumbled off his blanket and fell on the floor. Oh, well, we all agreed that he'd come for healing anyway, so he was in the right place. He got up, rolled up his bed, thanked Jesus, and walked away. Or possibly ran, before anybody else could drop him through a hole in a roof.
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