These are my musings and observations on my daily life, loves and the laughter that are all a part of my experience of living now in the shires of England.

Monday, 31 January 2011

Internal Journeys

I know that some of the most difficult journeys I have ever taken have been in my heart and mind. And some of the most glorious journeys have taken place in the same arena. This blog has been a witness to a small portion of those excursions, especially over the past year. I have been writing my thoughts and dreams down since I was a child. I still have the diaries that I wrote in as I tentatively entered into my teenage years.

A major change happened in my life just over four years ago. December 2006 was the start of immense joy in my life. Everything in my life changed almost overnight. The impact of this external life alteration did not bring quiet reflection and an enduring residual calmness, instead there was a chain reaction of activity as I chose to instigate some long-overdue changes in my internal life as well; I wanted symmetry of movement internally and externally. Subsequently it was in August 2007 that another great shift occurred. Sometimes the changes that we go through can disturb us enough so that we never settle back into a listless existence: this happened to me. There was no way that I would ever want to – or be able to – return to the flat existence I had before.

So, there I am three and a half years ago reawakening my dreams. The dreams that had lain dormant for over a decade.

This was the start of another internal journey.

If this were a sea voyage I would say that the waves have been tossing the ship from side to side but there has never been any chance that disaster would strike. As the main occupant I have got wet many times as I tried to be Jonah-like and run away from my destiny, however, this was not to be. I am glad that I faced my fears and realised that as long as I continued to do my best as a parent and remembered to really follow my dreams I would be all right.

When I first decided to put some of my thoughts into a blog I had just let someone precious slip away, but there was nothing I could do about that then. I didn’t see the future but, regardless of that, I could not alter my choice at that time, I would just wish for a different outcome. In an attempt to heal myself from that intense loss I decided to return to a tried and tested method of reflection: I decided to write – to myself – about how I was really feeling and what I was thinking. This has become my online journal. It is better than any pill in a small brown bottle. This exposure of my thoughts has been a lifeline to me.

Sometimes this blog was not enough for me and I resorted to good old-fashioned pen and paper: they still hold an intense magic for me. I had to leave this space for a while but when I returned I felt stronger. This wonderfully intense journey has continued here for a long while now with nearly 300 posts in the last year. I have even started other spaces where I also write about the joy in my life. I am continually amazed at the many great experiences I am having and I know that this journey is only going to get better.

This is not a journal of Gulliver’s travels, it is a partial peek into my life; this is a bit of the internal journey of Marjorie Morgan. Welcome aboard the next leg of the voyage!

Balloons and hammers

I am happy.

People may say that it’s easy to talk about forgiveness when you have had a happy life and an idyllic childhood. That may be true. I have had happiness in my life and parts of my childhood were idyllic. But not all of it.

And it’s the bits that were far from beautiful that I am thinking about when I talk about forgiveness. I have been hurt – intentionally, and it is not pleasant. But it has passed and is now in my past. I have to forgive.

In certain instances I have also had to confront the issues and people head on before I could forgive and move on. What works for me may not always work for you.

However, one thing that I do know is that when you forgive and let go you are lighter. The animosity that lines your life is stripped away like steaming layers of old bumpy wallpaper off to reveal clear smooth walls. Forgiveness is a gift to self because it is cleansing. Some people may never know that you have forgiven them; if this is your choice then it is enough for you to know and feel the weight dropping off. I have also chosen to forgive and keep silent about it. Both ways have worked well for me.

To me forgiveness is like throwing the sandbags over the edge of a gas-fired hot air balloon and being free to soar to new heights. The things that once weighed me down I have thrown them overboard from my life so that I can gain new heights. When things in my life were bumpy it took me some time to see that to move to the next level I needed to let go – I was being pulled across rocks and rough ground because I held on to the hurt. I felt it was deep hurt that I could never let go – but I could and now I have.

In athletic competition a hammer thrower will step into the throwing circle and using all their strength they will manoeuvre the hammer around and around their body until they get to the point where it is no longer sensible to hold on – they just have to let go. With a final twist and lift they shift the weight, contorting the body until the pressure has reached it maximum point, then they will wind it through that final movement before they exhale and release the hammer into the sky.

Bend, lift, and twist.


At the moment of release all the effort of holding on is transferred into the hammer and with gusto it flies away, over the shoulder, into the distance. Arms are outstretched, toes are pointed. All the bending and twisting of holding on to the hammer has finished. Often the moment of release is accompanied by a shout of accomplishment: the goal in that intense moment has been achieved. Forgiveness is a hammer thrown into the depths of oblivion - into the past; forgiveness, like the hammer thrower’s effort, is a job well done.

Then the thrower walks out of the circle the opposite way from the thrown hammer. I too walk away from the pain that I have discarded when I threw it skywards with forgiveness.

Sunday, 30 January 2011

Honesty lasts for ever

If you’ve ever known love you know that it lasts.

Love cannot be imitated like a badly copied garment.

Love is unique and consistent.

Love is a principle and a feeling.

Love is a raindrop in a dessert.

Love is you.

Love is me.

Love is true.

Love is a smile, a word, a touch. Love has permanence. Love cannot be erased.

Love does not fade with passing days.

The honesty of love lasts forever.

Saturday, 29 January 2011


A man struggled heavily down the street. The people of the town who watched him knew well of his bitterness, he didn’t make a secret of it. The man had been hurt – badly. His heart had been broken and his spirit destroyed by people he loved. It had happened many times. He dragged another heavy step towards the far end of the street. His tattered clothes spoke of his daily battle with his pain. The roads were filled with ruts from the repeated journeys.

One day a stranger came through the town and joined the group of people as they stood watching the man labour wearily from one end of the town to the other. The stranger saw familiar looks on the other people’s face although this town was new to him. Being a curious man by nature he turned to the woman nearest to him and enquired about the sad man’s story.

“Oh,” she replied, “he was hurt so many times in the past. Poor man; he just can’t get past those times. The memories are always with him.”

“Has he ever tried to let go?” the stranger asked gently, because he didn’t want to upset the routine of the town with a loud voice.

“Let go?” queried the woman, who by now had turned to look into the face of this peculiar visitor with the smooth voice. “How can we ever let go of what hurt us? We have to remember the pain – it’s made us who we are.”

It was at this point that the visitor looked around the woman and saw why she was standing there, she had a similar load to the man walking up the street, it was on the ground beside her. All the people watching had the same type of weight attached to them. They were not stood there watching, they were all waiting for their turn to take their fight with their memories into public.

The woman shook her head at the stranger and shuffled nearer to the kerb as someone else stepped off and followed the first man into the road.

“Excuse me,” said the newcomer to a younger woman who was sat on the ground near to him. She looked wistfully into the distance.

When she heard his voice she turned her head slowly and held his gaze for a second before looking down at his feet.

“Can I offer you these,” he said, handing her a pair of scissors.

“What’re they for?” She squinted up at him.

“Oh, they’re forgiveness scissors,” he smiled as she frowned up at him.

“So, what do they do then?” Her curiosity was raised.

Reaching out she cautiously took them. A sudden spark of light hit her eyes as she weighed them in her hands.

“They don’t look like much. Do they work?”

“Yes, they really do. I give them out all the time. Try them...”


“Yes, really.”

He watched her as she grasped the thick heavy cord to her side and let the blades slip through them like a hot knife through butter.

The laughter that rose from her throat made the other people in the town look and stare. That was a strange sound – the sound of happiness. They had forgotten what it was like or what it was for.

The young woman grabbed for more scissors and passed them to the people gathering around her.

“Forgiveness scissors really work,” she bubbled, “I’ve cut my load and now... look at me!” She even skipped a few steps to prove her point.

Curious eyes turned to the young man as the group surrounded him.

An old man with a full head of white hair spoke to him from the back of the crowd.

“If we use these,” his voice was tired and cracked as he slowly measured his words out, “does it mean we never remember anything?”

“Oh no,” assured the stranger, who had now emptied his bag of scissors to the eagerly outstretched hands, “you remember but ... you don’t have to be attached to the weight of your pain any more. These scissors let you leave that behind. You can let it go.”

“Does it really work?” someone else whispered in a desperate voice.

“It sure does,” he beamed. “I did it myself a while ago and now I walk anywhere because I don’t carry that load with me anymore.” In a quieter voice he added, “I did it for me really, I needed to forgive myself for holding on for too long. My pain was heavy.” He paused for a few seconds as he wiped a lone tear away from his cheek, “I feel so much better now. I no longer fight with it every day ... I still remember, but in a lighter way.”

Friday, 28 January 2011

Thank you for ... me

Dear Mummy,

Thank you for having me.

I was your eighth child and I know you’d already begun to be tired of motherhood and marriage, although you never ceased to love all of your children even as you took your last breath. I was not to be your last child, my younger sister also shared in your amazing capacity for love.

I need to thank you for your love because without it I would have given up my life a long time ago. You loved life. You wanted to live. You had great dreams – that were cruelly cut short.

When it was obvious that I would never have the reality of your love in my life again I nearly flew off Birdlip Hill. But somewhere deep inside I remembered that you always said things change and get better eventually. You always saw a better time coming. This is so true.

The last four years have been the best ones of my life. I feel like I am beginning to live as I’ve always known I could. The love you showed me has a wonderful power that lets me remember and feel – I know the truth of love from the memories you made with me – you keep on giving and reminding me of love ... even beyond the grave.

So, Mummy, I thank you so much for having me and loving me because I know that it does get better.

You gave me as much love as I’ve ever needed.

Marjorie xxx

Sometimes now is the right time to say thank you to somebody special for the love that you have freely received from them.

Eyes wide open

Why is it that when I wake with a start in the night that I open my eyes? In the darkness, in the depth of my sleep, I become convinced that I have heard a sound and my eyes fly open. I cannot figure that out. Do I open my eyes wide so that I can hear better ... in the darkness? It always confuses me no matter how many times it happens.

Maybe for a few seconds I believe I am still dreaming and can ‘see’ the sound in the space that is my dream and waking state.

I don’t know.

All I know is that my eyes are wide open in the darkness, listening.


Have you ever talked yourself into believing something and then, just as convincingly, talked yourself right out of it again?

This happens to me a lot!

The only comfort right now is that if persuasion can go one way it is likely to go the other as well.

I think I do believe ...

Brass monkeys!

A simple phrase and response can identify the group one belongs to.

Walking back from the school run one morning I casually said to someone “Brass monkeys today!” and smiled with a show of shivering.

Stood in her doorway as usual, she was waiting for the arrival of her daughter’s transport to school, she smiled and nodded. Her arms were clasped around her even tighter as we shared the moment.

“I know!” she exclaimed, and laughed nervously looking up to the sky as if for confirmation.

We totally understood each other and continued with our separate days after sharing another smile.

As I walked home I wondered what would have happened if I had said that to a recent arrival in this country. Would they have any idea what I was talking about? Language is a powerful tool that is used to include and exclude people all the time.

Knowing and using colloquialism and idioms are signs of belonging to and understanding any particular culture. If you get my drift...

Any the wiser? If not check this out ...

Tuesday, 25 January 2011

Right of reply?

When you are offended, as I have been recently, do you want the right of reply? Do you demand it?

In England there is a parliamentary procedure where the person offended passes a note through the chair to ask for an apology.

Blogging can be an ideal forum to defend one’s self publicly and to air one’s grievances as the note is passed through cyberspace but, on the other hand ...

sometimes the best response is silence.

Monday, 24 January 2011

Procrastination has been defeated ...

Procrastination has been defeated ...

at least for today! And I feel triumphant.

I was determined to complete three specific tasks today – and I did. It was touch and go as I fought the desire to give up on the major task all together. But I persevered and as soon as I got into the swing of it, I knew I was almost home and dry.

A phone call interrupted me and I thought that was the end. But after dealing with the caller I returned to my mission and completed it. And I did it all in good time.

I surprised myself.

I reminded myself that I am capable of achieving tasks that I set my mind to. At the start of the day I was berating myself for letting a week slip by without addressing this issue. I had even set a reminder last week to chivvy myself into action. As the days slipped after each other into oblivion I began to believe that there was no chance of completion.

As the morning settled I believed a different story. I told myself a different story, and I believed this version.

This evening I am satisfied by my accomplishments. I encouraged myself and rewrote the ending to my day.

Procrastination is a dried up prune in the corner of the room and I sit here toasting my success with a glass of freshly squeezed juice from the vines. It is refreshing!

I had to share this experience because I know that I am the only one who procrastinates, and that those who read this are always on time and on task in their lives. That’s right, isn’t it?

Saturday, 22 January 2011

Now ... Didn’t I do well? Clap your hands!

According to Howard Jacobson, author of The Mighty Walzer, some people never grow up.

Jacobson was talking on the BBC Radio 4 programme The Book Club on 2/1/11. He said that if anyone who is essentially a child in an adult’s body, were to “forever go on seeking applause” then he wasn’t at all sure if that person would be able to give genuine applause and praise to others. His prime example was if one became a parent and was then unable to handle the ‘competition’ for attention from their own children.

I guess that makes some sense.

In some respects I agree with him, but only if you have the desire to always be the centre of attention, the headline act.

When people are prepared to work as part of the chorus line – without which many shows would fall completely flat – then I think that there is justification in them saying, “Didn’t we do well? Clap your hands!”

The entire cast can then take a bow, join hands and accept the recognition for success, together.

Sometimes, it can be your time to stand alone, centre stage, accepting the applause.

There is a time for everything.

Ecclesiastes 3 v 1 – 8

1To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

2A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

3A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

4A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

5A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

6A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

7A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

8A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Friday, 21 January 2011

Start as you mean to carry on

The secret of positivity

... thus read the banner on the front of a recent copy of The Big Issue. I leafed through the pages to see what gems of knowledge were hidden in ordinary paper. There, on page 23, were all the answers you could possibly need to find out how to change your perspective.

The article was only a few hundred words long but was packed with vital information. A sub-heading jumped out at me:

What are the good things in your day?

How can you balance them against the bad?

The author, Nina Grunfeld, rightly said that in order to make a list of all the good things we would have to start noticing them, minute by minute. This is where the new perspective will come from. On this journey you will discover more about yourself as well (trust me, I know this works, I’ve been doing it – even before I read this article).

The special bonus of this shift in positivity is that you find also find out what is important to you on the way. Now, that can’t be bad, can it?

Find out more at the Life Clubs website and maybe you’ll even want to add your own discoveries to My Best Thing Today – another chance to enjoy your discoveries by sharing them with others. As the article says, “Start as you mean to carry on”.

I think I may have heard this before ... the Bible springs to mind, (so I have no reason not to continue doing it, I guess). How about you?

Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Threads of gold

Threads of gold

Some people you never forget.

Some people never forget you.

I’ve had two wonderful reminders of that today.

The first was a seven word email that made me smile from my core.

The second was a chance sighting of an old face, I literally mean an old face, in a supermarket car park.

Over a decade ago I worked in the housing department of a local council. I came in contact with several hundreds of people but some of them I have never forgotten. This woman was one of them.

When I first met her she was already old, way over 80, and we had several meetings about her home. I always wondered about her when I left that employment and today I saw her.

I walked over to the car she was sat in, thinking that she would not recognise me, or that I had identified her incorrectly, but when she opened the door she smiled her toothless grin at me as I recalled her name and where we had first met.


Mrs Threadgold. An amazing woman with more wrinkles than crushed velvet on her face had the brightness of a teenager in her eyes. She said, “I haven’t seen you for ages, duck. How are you?” I responded and I smiled. Then, wishing her well I resumed my daily tasks with another gift of threads of gold around my heart.

Monday, 17 January 2011

A breath of fresh air

The cold winter months often mean a lack of new air circulating in many rooms. The windows and doors are opened briefly and shut quickly and firmly to keep the bitterness of the season at bay.

After a while, life in those rooms becomes languid.

I think that even though spring has not yet arrived I need to throw my windows and doors wide open and let a breath of fresh air in.

Sunday, 16 January 2011


Today I had a conversation wherein I asked someone’s opinion on a matter that has been occupying my mind for a few weeks. I have a firm idea about what to do, but I am still not fully decided on the way I should proceed. I have weighed up the pros and cons for a while because whatever I do with impact my child’s school life for several years to come. I have to be wise.
After the conversation I felt myself wavering away from my position in favour of a new proposition.
This left me wondering how often I am easily persuaded to do one thing or another when I am almost totally convinced that a different path is the best one. I questioned myself to see if I valued the other’s opinion more than my own, or was I just too weak to stand up for my own point of view? Wondering if my own point of view was unstable did indeed leave me open to persuasion.

Saturday, 15 January 2011

Everybody is Somebody

I found this print in a dusty box at the back of a shop some decades ago. I have carried it with me – in my heart and on my walls – ever since I first saw it. At the moment it is hung besides the mirror in my hallway. I see it each time I leave and return to the house.

I was captivated from the moment I saw it. As the intrigue filled me I decided to discover who the man in the photograph was. After many, many hours of searching I was led to facts that stated this was a Gullah man in America, who had been taken from Africa. The picture told me that despite his difficult existence he still retained pride and belief in himself – that he was indeed Somebody.

This picture is a reminder, lest I forget.

Everybody you meet really is somebody - and there is something special about them.

Each person has dreams, loves, wants, desires, dislikes, regrets, sorrows, and joys. Each person also has their own imperfections; we all make mistakes, we say and do the wrong things sometimes. That is part of our unique being. Even then, we are still somebody.

Some things about a person we will never understand, even when we have known them for years. Other things we do not need to know.

One thing I always try do is to show respect to each person and what they say because they are ... Somebody. Everybody is. Including me.

Friday, 14 January 2011

Sat by the window

The man sat quietly by the window.

As he looked as far as he could see, he couldn’t see what he was looking for.

He sighed.

The man remembered when he was far away from this room. He had walked in the sunshine. He had not walked alone.

When he returned to the clouded land he never wanted to stay. He had wanted to be in the sunshine but he starved the seeds of belief until they withered away.

When there were a matching set of footprints next to his he was told that the impossible had already taken place. He saw that it had. When he was there he had believed with all his heart. He had the strength and resources of a panther right then. Impossibilities had been knocked down like skittles in a bowling alley. There was unfettered happiness.

Belief had multiplied before his eyes. Possibilities beckoned him forwards. They were excited.

Then his horizon had to change.

With whispered promises they parted ... just for a while.

The journey was the hardest part because the sun set as he moved west. In that first darkness he wondered, “What if?”

Behind him his belief lay scattered like Hansel’s crumbs. While he adjusted to the clouds he saw every day the path back to the sunshine became so overgrown with weeds of doubt that when the man did try to go back he could no longer find his way.

Nothing in the cloudy land matched his footsteps, so he resigned himself to sit by the window and look out with a constant wish.

He grew old as he looked.

He wiped the tear away from his cheek and said aloud to himself, “Who knew that loneliness would taste as sharp and bitter as a lemon? Who knew?” He slowly shook his partially bowed head and, from the corner of his eye, he saw the deep bleakness in his heart was caught on the face reflected in the mirror.

Sadly he thought “If only I had believed enough ...”

Thursday, 13 January 2011

Stay connected to yourself

Children don’t need to be reminded to play.

Sometimes they need reminders about washing their hands, brushing their teeth, cleaning their shoes and a whole host of other things that adults deem important. But children can wake up in the morning and begin to play immediately.

There is no instruction needed or permission sought, they just do it.

As soon as they are awake they are present in their own lives and deal with the things that are important to them straight away. I’m sure they don’t even categorise things as most organised adults have a tendency to do. For them there is no important, urgent, essential or long-term tasks.

While we are busy making ‘to do’ lists they are doing it: playing.

They just do it, they immerse themselves in play. Children have the consciousness of who they are and what they want to do, and because they are children with no other responsibilities, they can fulfil their desires immediately.

Although as an adult I cannot just abandon my responsibilities, however, I can make time to be childlike again (I’ll put it on my ‘to do’ list) and feel connected to myself again. I know that when I disconnect with my inner child for too long I become uncomfortable with myself because something is missing.

I think it is essential to stay present in your own life; to stay connected to yourself. Remember once in a while to do the things that bring your unrelenting pleasure. Be childlike.

Here’s the list I’m using at these times:

Tuesday, 11 January 2011

Mountains of Pleasure and Valleys of Loss

Let me start this off by saying I have a good life, I really do. But sometimes, in the middle of the mountains of pleasure that I experience for the majority of the time, I can fall into the deep, deep crevasse that is my personal valley of loss.

It is a long way down. I don’t know when I will stumble into it, but when I do I just stay still and cry.

The tears that flow do not trickle out of me, they pour rapidly and my body shakes with the immense pain of the loss. And it’s not just one loss that I feel when I am temporarily trapped in this valley: it is all the losses of all my time. I feel total devastation.

This is not a trite recollection of some ancient time. This is fresh.

I am in the valley now.

I have been here before. However, I do know that my tears will provide the leverage to float me free of my depths and I will once again walk the mountain paths.

A memory triggered me and I slipped. Losing my footing I went into free fall. I’m not sure whether it was the bruising on the way down that hurts my chest now or the actual pain of ejecting the tears from my body, but I ache as I cry.

As I fell I reached out for something to save me, alas all I caught were more links to losses in my life and they tumbled down the valley with me.

As I sat, dejected on the floor, the images of people and places flickered before me. They will never be replaced, they are gone – forever. And that is why this journey into loss hurts so much each time it catches me unawares.

It is hard to see clearly as my eyes are filled with water, but my heart also replays the images with no loss of definition. So I remember it all.

And then, suddenly, I breathe. I exhale.

I notice the tears have stopped and I have the strength to stand again.

127 Hours dir. Danny Boyle

Falteringly at first I do stand up and then, looking up to the brilliant skies and welcoming faces that are peering down to me from the top of the mountain, I begin to climb back to the top. The people in my life now are calling me back; they are willing me to quickly ascend the valley to be with them. I smile and wipe away the tears as I climb.

It does not take too long before I am again on the mountain enjoying the pleasure with my friends and loved ones.

The loss is always there and I know that sometimes I will fall back into it. I also know that I always rise again.

Sunday, 9 January 2011

Goldfish existence

Everything we seem to know about has a beginning.

Some things we know about have ended.

Despite the frequency of beginnings and endings in our everyday existence we still seem to have great trouble with the start and completion of cycles; at least I sometimes do.

Whether it is the acceptance of an end, or the recognition that something else needs to start I frequently find myself back beyond now, in that city of dreams lined with streets of memories.

When I visit the past I often gain healing and strength to progress; I receive salve for the pain of current endings. The past reminds me that situations can end but I do not have to end with them. These memories of the past are like a favourite book of poetry that I never tire of delving into.

Some memories never end, so even when reality has to move on I can still clearly recall the best ones, like the love of my mother.

When I look back through my journals I know that I have known great love. In 1995 someone told me that they thought I was spoilt, my response was that the only possibility of me being spoilt may have been “by the beautiful love of my mother” or “the love of my significant other” – and I don’t really consider that spoilt, I think I have been repeatedly blessed by sharing love with wonderful people: family and friends. Anything else I have gained I have worked really hard for it.

My memory tells me that.

I think it is necessary that we have beginnings and endings otherwise life may end up being a boring repetition of events ... or a goldfish bowl existence.

So, I for one, and glad that some things end and others have the chance to begin; it allows new growth.

Saturday, 8 January 2011


At one end of my day I was reading from Grace Nichols’ poetry collection ‘i is a long memoried woman’. At the other end of the same day my mind was full of my memories.

I tried to shake some, and others I remembered with relish.

As the conflicts surfaced in my mind I asked myself the question ‘What is the point of memories?’

The initial answer came to me swiftly. Memories are to comfort, remind, warn, guide, teach and to inform relationships connections.

I have some beautiful memories. Moments that I was part of recently. Moments that I shared a while ago. Moments that have faded like sepia pictures, but that I keep alive in my mind. I have mountains of moments to remember.

I also have some sad memories. Even thinking about them in a general way, they seem to me to be grouped together in the corner of a remote field where thunderclouds release relentless rain – that I realise are my tears. They are further away from me than my beautiful memories but they have not disappeared altogether.

I realised that I still need those memories, even though they were not full of butterflies and rainbows, they are still important in the structure of my life.

As I sank into my memories, like sinking into a freshly made bed, I realised that my initial reaction was right. The purpose of memories is myriad.

I have to use my memories – and my ventures into memory lane – to positive effect in my life today. They happened, they are past. Some will remain forever private - and rightly so.

Some memories are made to share. I am here now and I am making more beautiful memories to surround me and delight me, and these wonderful memories are crowding out those sad memories that will always inhabit the small corner in that distant rainy field. Sometimes the sad memories are defined and magnified but they never overshadow the treasures and pleasures of the memories I store at the front of my senses.

I recall with pleasure the particular sight of a smile as I was came into view, the singular smell of an individual shampoo on freshly washed hair, the delicious taste of a lingering kiss, that electric touch that charged my world or the simple uplifting sound of my name on special lips.

Oh yes, I remember it all so well ...

Friday, 7 January 2011


Trust is easy when you believe.

A dear friend said a simple phrase to me many years ago, she said “You’re safe with me” and I believed her. I still believe her. It’s easy.

She is a most wonderful woman and those simple words taught me that it was OK to trust people, starting with her.

I don’t know how or why I chose her to start my journey of trust but I have never regretted my first steps. They were my foundation to learning to trust people again after many unsteady years. Her friendship has remained consistent through the decades.

The gift that I received that day when she told me that I was safe has never faded.

This has been a case of amazing love, trust and faith. I will never forget her. I have told her this.

My staff team at Mandela House 20-12-95

Me, JC and the gang!

She is a magnificent woman and all who know her will echo my sentiments. JC – I love you for all that you are just as you have always loved me for all that I am.

I just hope that everyone is as fortunate as I have been to have this particular friend in their lives. Everyone needs a JC as a friend.

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