tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44503542412533752412024-03-13T02:10:12.411+00:00The Caterpillar Uprising. . . onward and upwardDeborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-52938417882016025982012-02-14T10:26:00.001+00:002012-02-14T10:31:26.609+00:00Dreams Do Come TrueEver since I was little I have always remembered my dreams and would wake in the morning and recount them enthusiastically to my family as if they were 'real'.<br />
Even to this day, if I have a particularly interesting dream I'll phone my sister for help with its interpretation.<br />
Part of my fascination with them is that I've had a couple that have come true.<br />
The most exciting one was when I was pregnant.<br />
I was due to have my baby on the 10th of December and didn't know whether I was having a boy or a girl, but one night I had a <i>very</i> vivid dream.<br />
I was holding a baby girl in my arms and as I looked at a digital watch on my wrist, it read 11.12.<br />
I woke excitedly and was sure I was going to have a little girl, and that she would be born on the 11th of the 12th (December), not the 10th. <br />
Well, the next morning I told everyone I was definitely having a girl and she was going to be born on the 11th.<br />
I was absolutely convinced, but the 11th came ... and went, and I was still waddling around!<br />
Obviously everyone thought it was just another dream.<br />
When the 19th came and there was still no sign, I was taken into hospital to be induced, and after many hours rushed to the theatre on the morning of the 20th for an emergency cesarean.<br />
As I was coming round from the anaesthetic, I was told I had a healthy baby girl.<br />
Because of the dream I wasn't surprised, but when I'd recovered a little and looked at her notes and saw ... Time of Birth 11.12 ... I couldn't help but squeal. <br />
The dream <i>had</i> come true, I'd just misunderstood it! <br />
I had an overwhelming feeling that whatever happened from this point on, that the little girl sleeping soundly in the funny plastic dish beside me, was 'meant to be'.<br />
And if possible...was even <i>more</i> special because I'd dreamed her first :o)Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-55386585974047795572012-01-31T14:25:00.002+00:002012-02-02T06:43:09.045+00:00The Puppet Show<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">On our daughter's sixth birthday (<i>many </i>years ago now) we decided to do something different for her party. As she had a few hand puppets at the time, we thought it would be fun to put on a puppet show. We all had a great time making a Punch and Judy style box from cardboard and her Dad enthusiastically volunteered to be the 'puppeteer'. To add to it, we also made the party fancy dress.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">When the day arrived, our daughter, dressed as a cat, opened the door to 3 ninja turtles, a ballerina, a vampire, a fairy, another cat and lastly a very convincing looking cowboy equipped with Sheriffs badge, stetson, holster and shiny gun with firing paper blanks.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">The party got off to a great start, and when they'd finished playing musical statues and disappeared with some new toys into the garden, Dad squeezed himself into the box with bunny, fox, yellow bird, badger, Mr. Beaver and a bag of boiled sweets to throw to the children for the Grand Finale. When he was completely ready, I called them in. </div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">Their faces lit up at the red and white crepe covered box and they all sat in a row, cross-legged, like little angels about 2 feet away. Dad began and was doing a fantastic job, quick puppet changes, different voices, the lot. It was all going just brilliantly ...<i> until</i> ... the convincing cowboy (whom I think may have had a shorter than average attention span) decided to use the animals as target practise with his gun. And as he grew more and more rowdy, you could actually<i> feel</i> the mood of the room change.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">Well, it wasn't long before he'd mustered up his own full blown posse.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">At this point, no-one was listening to the fox, who had lost the rather endearing squeaky voice he'd begun with, and was now shouting at the top of his lungs to be heard over the 'angels' who were rapidly displaying early signs of mob mentality. And from my viewing point in the kitchen, I could hear one of the ninja turtles agreeing with the cowboy to '<i>pull the box down'</i>. </div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">This was when it turned nasty.<br />
<br />
Like a Disney scene gone wrong, they all advanced toward the box as one.<br />
<br />
Dad, who had been really looking forward to this (bless him, and had practised and practised his script) started tossing out the Grand Finale sweets in an attempt to placate the ensuing mass, but to no avail, and as they gained momentum ... he LOST IT!</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">He hurled all the sweets out the box via Mr. Beaver in a final and desperate bid to stop them, but it was too late.<br />
<br />
I watched, mouth agape as they 'tore' the box apart ... leaving Dad frantic, surrounded by animals, fox limp on one hand and Mr. Beaver on the other still clutching a fist full of sweets.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">I quickly took charge, telling the little darlings that the party bags were in the kitchen, and as if by magic they returned to their angelic former selves and skipped from the room full of smiles ... leaving behind what I can only describe as a shell of a man, staring wild eyed on his knees in the middle of the room surrounded by torn up cardboard, puppets and boiled sweets!</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">Whenever we think of that day we can't help but laugh, but without fail, Dad always finishes with a frustrated look in his eye and ... it would've been fine if you hadn't invited that <i>bloody cowboy!</i></div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-7087736360970267972012-01-19T12:13:00.002+00:002017-01-27T17:31:32.261+00:00Do They Make Dog Glasses?My Mum's lovely dog Tamba is now 15, and although she is remarkably well for her age we have long suspected her eyes are not what they used to be.<br />
<br />
This was recently confirmed on one of her daily walks.<br />
<br />
Now, whenever Tamba sees another dog on a lead she will always have a little bark at it before saying hello.<br />
<br />
And? I hear you ask.<br />
<br />
Well on this particular walk when she started up her barking ready to meet a prospective new friend, my Mum couldn't see a dog anywhere.<br />
<br />
But Tamba was <i>insistent</i> and headed enthusiastically toward a shopping trolley a lady was pulling behind her with her tail wagging ready to say hello.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, this particular<i> new friend</i> didn't say hello back.<br />
<br />
Bless her :o)Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-83776018268236885222011-12-17T14:20:00.002+00:002011-12-17T14:22:56.551+00:00The Giant Father Christmas<div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">The first Christmas our daughter was in her Reception year at school, they hired a hall for the Christmas party. All the parents turned up to escort the little ones on the short journey, and we arrived to a room full of balloons and decorations. The afternoon began with games, then there was cake and jelly, and this left just the present giving from Father Christmas himself.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">There was only one male teacher and luckily he was absolutely perfect for the job. He was about 5 foot 4 inches tall, as round as he was tall, wore his own round steel rimmed glasses and he'd bought his own suit... it wasn't his first time! However, as the time approached there was a concerned murmur throughout the teachers that the children would be sure to know that it was him. This was when the request was made.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">Would any of the Dads be prepared to be Father Christmas?</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">Four Dads had made it to the hall, and there was a lot of foot shuffling and looking the other way, so as always the serial volunteer, my husband, put his hand up. He was hurriedly escorted to a little room along the corridor and unceremoniously pushed inside with instructions to get the suit on as quick as he could. I stood outside to keep guard in case any rogue children got overly inquisitive.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">The children themselves were lining up in the hall in front of a child size chair with a huge sack of presents beside it, waiting for the man himself to hand them out. One of the teachers called along the corridor for me to hurry him up, so I stuck my thumb up and tapped the door.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">"How's it going?"</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">"It doesn't fit very well!"</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">"It doesn't matter, you'll look fine, just hurry they're all waiting for you."</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">The door slowly opened, and there he stood... all 6 foot 2 inches of him in a 5 foot 4 inch Father Christmas costume.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">"How do I look?"</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">What could I say, there was no going back, and he <i>did</i> have the costume <span style="font-style: normal;">on</span><i>.</i></div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">"You look great, now go quickly everyone's waiting for you!"</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">I stood and watched, a little like you watch a car crash, as the Giant Father Christmas went running down the corridor, his little red trousers flapping around his shins.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">I headed to the main hall, and there he was, knees up by his chest wedged into the tiny chair yo-ho-hoing and handing out presents like he'd been born to be Father Christmas with happy children filing by, smiles all over their faces. I couldn't have loved him more.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">Our daughter was a little quiet when we got home, and unusually didn't mention anything about the day until I took her up to bed, whereupon she looked me deep in the eyes and asked me to promise her something.</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">"Of course what is it?"</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;">"Don't EVER let Dad be Father Christmas again... he looked <i>ridiculous!</i>"</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">*** </div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%;"></div><div class="western" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">To everyone</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I hope you all have a really Wonderful Christmas xxx</span></div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-80106885799453945532011-12-09T13:06:00.000+00:002011-12-09T13:06:56.534+00:00I Got Married!<div style="text-align: center;">Well, we <i>started</i> very seriously</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0mQKZGKK3lxrcnzPjPswpYmGA1jY0vBaDx5hqzBt13h2cOUCucL0sXfslq2lCujgXGvPpWW4iWTF2d1Am9QpKBSybSCnfbTV8uBcJNEqqtwQKHhQtiDMGYQxvcPNfi8s4LrORZbGeiC5/s1600/Ebay+Pictures+399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0mQKZGKK3lxrcnzPjPswpYmGA1jY0vBaDx5hqzBt13h2cOUCucL0sXfslq2lCujgXGvPpWW4iWTF2d1Am9QpKBSybSCnfbTV8uBcJNEqqtwQKHhQtiDMGYQxvcPNfi8s4LrORZbGeiC5/s320/Ebay+Pictures+399.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">then we got the giggles</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOuKNOE1zLHObwga59lEgNzCRTx61hmv1gOWXqYJzzTs1dSIJPDgv7ZWT24sznuD3npCPQk0DTEVwJOFVyhFvKma9EJa6v3WqA8EV5N0TjIx9RdRf2f_5HTbYVY4g1Tz7WfwE-IBa-H-Rk/s1600/Ebay+Pictures+395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOuKNOE1zLHObwga59lEgNzCRTx61hmv1gOWXqYJzzTs1dSIJPDgv7ZWT24sznuD3npCPQk0DTEVwJOFVyhFvKma9EJa6v3WqA8EV5N0TjIx9RdRf2f_5HTbYVY4g1Tz7WfwE-IBa-H-Rk/s320/Ebay+Pictures+395.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">until eventually,</div><div style="text-align: center;">with our beautiful daughter as our witness</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDwY4rQzMyyPaH1oGoFbRthjEGHSbdCz0kf0vfWy2rPcdnm_OWM6C33JXIFfwuR7kfdk2GuAWH9lfayjbZqjwIu1Pdp21bgGpV85ZX73q65VRDd3MJYgnLVx42kEsNIIP2MLlaNnoCaT59/s1600/Ebay+Pictures+401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDwY4rQzMyyPaH1oGoFbRthjEGHSbdCz0kf0vfWy2rPcdnm_OWM6C33JXIFfwuR7kfdk2GuAWH9lfayjbZqjwIu1Pdp21bgGpV85ZX73q65VRDd3MJYgnLVx42kEsNIIP2MLlaNnoCaT59/s320/Ebay+Pictures+401.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">and after 23 wonderful years together<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrfM8DD6A0edKXif3WL2Eg3YZS4smjgo_WaQkQV9KLSL79cpehnz3AOb0_y0T_Fz-yTVU5HGzptrIGuykBHGHK90KoqiFiRN8mAqy_KkDimi5BZBTUOtn_IDfBRYoPyn6JOpXQ_70aQkr/s1600/Ebay+Pictures+408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrfM8DD6A0edKXif3WL2Eg3YZS4smjgo_WaQkQV9KLSL79cpehnz3AOb0_y0T_Fz-yTVU5HGzptrIGuykBHGHK90KoqiFiRN8mAqy_KkDimi5BZBTUOtn_IDfBRYoPyn6JOpXQ_70aQkr/s320/Ebay+Pictures+408.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
we finally got married </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfVDi6cDr_6vPJ3ba5pbkdErXqb9FDNqVpBAAkI4h4flAR9kxl7P34LAM4EY49kUX-_G7mWV2VUZ-jaQup1Ueld9TdCl-np9pmIf3mrJz2MYbnDZwqkzusNPtcs-IYy04foT9FJ-tAIMq/s1600/Ebay+Pictures+405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfVDi6cDr_6vPJ3ba5pbkdErXqb9FDNqVpBAAkI4h4flAR9kxl7P34LAM4EY49kUX-_G7mWV2VUZ-jaQup1Ueld9TdCl-np9pmIf3mrJz2MYbnDZwqkzusNPtcs-IYy04foT9FJ-tAIMq/s400/Ebay+Pictures+405.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">then took ourselves back home again</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhR9Hw4hTq73XYbJa9YtQzpXne1MpiQsZku8Zfu-hboppXverRLtuD5Ztt2IogacJLl5QMaIaNxWSGo6VSJoEd_9G_QVfCUXLq_8gdIY705uJXnOoAzkY8cwTBaQSfGn2FwuhbjoD3yieJ/s1600/Ebay+Pictures+406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhR9Hw4hTq73XYbJa9YtQzpXne1MpiQsZku8Zfu-hboppXverRLtuD5Ztt2IogacJLl5QMaIaNxWSGo6VSJoEd_9G_QVfCUXLq_8gdIY705uJXnOoAzkY8cwTBaQSfGn2FwuhbjoD3yieJ/s400/Ebay+Pictures+406.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">... to live happily ever after :o)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-11000105977279600632011-10-12T13:57:00.000+01:002017-01-27T10:59:14.768+00:00Friends - Three Word WednesdayHe couldn't help but admire her - the way she had the confidence to walk like that; hips wiggling like they were alive, independent of her waist.<br />
He called her 'a piece of work', joked she'd cause an accident, have cars running off the road - said she ought to have a licence for that thing.<br />
They were best friends.<span id="goog_2053123805"></span><span id="goog_2053123806"></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><br />
Truth was he was smitten and would follow her to the ends of the earth - if only she'd ask him.<br />
She ruffled his hair. "Come on pig face, let's get a coffee."<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.threewordwednesday.com/">Three Word Wednesday</a> where you write something using the three prompt words. This week's words are ... <span style="color: #783f04;">admire, piece and follow.</span><span style="color: #783f04;"></span>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com54tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-39757334286435890562011-10-09T18:15:00.002+01:002011-10-09T19:19:13.928+01:00Her Little King<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">image: Michael Sowa, from</span> <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>The Little King</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-A714rZVhCTq0ze58AVDKee44qyx2RHlmP6LOoSgnjVzZneg0s573pmSbgW0nBnfCNIJyXOq9Y6Rr4P3iMurWJeIgJVt4bT239a3e5FP429USmt7gFiheZQb35P73gc_iQaYRNqG-fNUY/s640/sowa+king+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-A714rZVhCTq0ze58AVDKee44qyx2RHlmP6LOoSgnjVzZneg0s573pmSbgW0nBnfCNIJyXOq9Y6Rr4P3iMurWJeIgJVt4bT239a3e5FP429USmt7gFiheZQb35P73gc_iQaYRNqG-fNUY/s400/sowa+king+1.jpg" width="341" /></a></div><br />
She watched the little fat King<br />
as she stirred her coffee.<br />
He pulled at the newspaper<br />
regally flipping the pages,<br />
reading aloud choice pieces. <br />
His gown sweeping text,<br />
scepter pointing out gems,<br />
ones to make her smile.<br />
She sipped at the coffee,<br />
her fourth. <br />
Another sleepless night<br />
spent alone - but for him.<br />
He was a cheerful little fellow<br />
no airs or graces<br />
always appearing<br />
when she needed him most.<br />
As she swallowed her last sip<br />
he took off his crown <br />
and placed it on her finger.<br />
It sparkled and glowed <br />
sending a warm feeling surging through her,<br />
till it disappeared -<br />
along with her King.<br />
And she yawned sleepily<br />
eyes growing tired <br />
and took herself back to bed.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://magpietales.blogspot.com/">Magpie Tales </a>prompt Mag 86.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com52tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-73192418259721257232011-10-04T09:30:00.000+01:002011-10-04T09:30:07.727+01:00Carry Me Far<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://belovaan.deviantart.com/art/away-to-the-sky-256865077" target="_blank">Away to the Sky</a> by <a href="http://belovaan.deviantart.com/" target="_blank">beloavaan</a> at deviantART</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDECRu_hqhlvb55Y76hYt1iak3GE78SnZQABte9lqoFgtjFF5hThCcB9jPlsmg45kL8KsRgNTGKTbmaw1FciMmOIzHJM8A2W2_XcmtRMYa_R5R_OfRrXYp5UDRQ997MLL3fo3WHtRCewo/s1600/93d0416cd5c0611f5c08b496741893a9-d48xid1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDECRu_hqhlvb55Y76hYt1iak3GE78SnZQABte9lqoFgtjFF5hThCcB9jPlsmg45kL8KsRgNTGKTbmaw1FciMmOIzHJM8A2W2_XcmtRMYa_R5R_OfRrXYp5UDRQ997MLL3fo3WHtRCewo/s320/93d0416cd5c0611f5c08b496741893a9-d48xid1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> Carry me far </div><div style="text-align: center;">let me sleep above ancient cities</div><div style="text-align: center;">away from bustle and noise</div><div style="text-align: center;">and incessant living.</div><div style="text-align: center;">From halogen lighting </div><div style="text-align: center;">that startles eyes I long to close </div><div style="text-align: center;">tight shut</div><div style="text-align: center;">To be allowed to dream among clouds</div><div style="text-align: center;">and silent softness. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Please carry me far </div><div style="text-align: center;">so I may escape</div><div style="text-align: center;">for just a while.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Poets United Tuesday <a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/10/midnight-snack-005.html#comments">Midnight Snack Picture Prompt</a></div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-27798815180114973692011-09-24T12:01:00.002+01:002011-09-24T19:05:28.336+01:00Oops ... Saturday Centus <a href="http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/search/label/Saturday%20Centus" style="color: #666666; font-weight: bold;">Saturday Centus</a> prompt this week is to use up to 150 words, dialogue only, using<span style="color: #783f04;"> "Are you seriously ordering another martini,"</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #783f04;"></span></b><br />
<br />
"Are you seriously ordering another martini?"<br />
"Why not? ... I've only had three."<br />
"No you haven't, you've had seven!"<br />
"Noo ... I can't have had seven." <br />
"You have, I promise you."<br />
"But I can't have!"<br />
"Why not?"<br />
"Because my legs always give out after I've had five!"<br />
"Your legs <i>have</i> given out!"<br />
"No?!"<br />
"Yes!"<br />
"Oh ... that'll be it then."<br />
"What'll be<i> it</i>?"<br />
"Why you suddenly got taller than me about half an hour ago!"Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-53021513087979496462011-09-18T11:13:00.006+01:002011-09-18T13:16:53.397+01:00OpalSheep file the corridor<br />
mirror, follow <br />
fingertips stripped<br />
imitating their muse.<br />
I yearn for passion<br />
raw<br />
to be thrust upon them<br />
strengthen their verve.<br />
Dispel this omen<br />
that they may see<br />
the oceans<br />
the heavens<br />
the fire -<br />
the limitless beauty<br />
in a single<br />
solitary opal.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://sundaywhirl.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/22bake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="http://sundaywhirl.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/22bake.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Written for wordle 22<br />
at <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/08/14/123/">The Sunday Whirl</a>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-65226891310287674722011-09-17T12:15:00.002+01:002011-09-17T19:27:19.703+01:00Autumn ... Saturday CentusIt feels like ages since I've posted, so I thought I'd join in with<br />
Jenny Matlocks <a href="http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/search/label/Saturday%20Centus" style="color: #666666; font-weight: bold;">Saturday Centus</a> shake up this week.<br />
Use 32 words including the line<span style="color: #b45f06;"> "</span><span style="color: #b45f06;">In the autumn" </span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"> </span><span style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="color: black;">to write 'lyrics' to the tune of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star! </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="color: black;">Well here goes ... clear your throat and prepare to sing :o) </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Confetti gold, jewelled lanes<br />
In the autumn summer wanes.<br />
Scarlet skies as evenings call<br />
prepared for winter, bronzes fall.<br />
Beds and blankets, nests to sleep<br />
warm inside as winter creeps. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/search/label/Saturday%20Centus" style="color: #666666; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</a>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com51tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-66557578505318810202011-08-28T13:04:00.002+01:002011-08-28T13:33:01.233+01:00My First Car ... What a Character She Was!<br />
I didn't learn to drive until I was 38, and thrilled at being mobile, splashed out all of £250 on my first car.<br />
<br />
As I handed over the money, I had no idea what a little monkey I'd just bought.<br />
<br />
Oh the fun we had! <br />
<br />
She'd stall herself in 1st gear so I had to keep revving the engine at traffic lights ... often inciting young lads waiting by our side to rev violently back and gesture for us to race. <br />
<br />
And somehow she'd manage<i> </i>to work the driving seat loose so that when I was driving around corners it would suddenly jerk and shift 4" in either direction.<br />
<br />
Then she'd shake all over and <i>pretend</i> she was going to fall to pieces whenever we went over 40mph. <br />
<br />
<i>Then</i> there was the day when the traffic was particularly bad, and the rain torrential when she decided to throw the driver side wiper away.<br />
<br />
And not forgetting her favourite.<br />
<br />
Only letting me know we needed more petrol at the <i>very</i> last minute to make our journeys that <i>little</i> bit more exciting. <br />
<br />
Aaah ... it was just one laugh after another.<br />
<br />
I miss that little monkey! Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-23946672954335098512011-08-22T23:00:00.000+01:002011-08-22T23:00:37.986+01:00The Ride - Magpie Tales.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiywuCU4CUCpowJWR5Wu97vzC7m-XyXmGm9WZqjzcY2dom587LKvyEWhqWQZUHNyHI4W22LUKNqefMcNAHr8vHBet-j5llSU_u-0Qv4tFqDxIr_FC_U2zQI7aNofNvgSAfsaoL3_9Mam21T/s400/img002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiywuCU4CUCpowJWR5Wu97vzC7m-XyXmGm9WZqjzcY2dom587LKvyEWhqWQZUHNyHI4W22LUKNqefMcNAHr8vHBet-j5llSU_u-0Qv4tFqDxIr_FC_U2zQI7aNofNvgSAfsaoL3_9Mam21T/s320/img002.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Black asphalt beckoning<br />
we'd drive<br />
forever to nowhere<br />
fast.<br />
Furious at the world<br />
for nothing in particular<br />
just fuel for the ride.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://magpietales.blogspot.com/">Magpie Tales </a> write a small vignette or poem using the photo above as your inspiration.<br />
<br />
Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-63044508248481761112011-08-21T13:56:00.001+01:002017-01-27T16:16:59.842+00:00The Crows are BackThe crows are back<br />
circling the field. <br />
Their raucous shanty<br />
punctuating the silence.<br />
And the swallows sigh,<br />
closing their eyes,<br />
dreaming of home -<br />
of flying South.<br />
Door bolted<br />
I thumb through vinyl,<br />
finding Ella Fitzgerald<br />
singing at Carnegie Hall.<br />
Turning the volume<br />
I drown their caws,<br />
as I join the swallows <br />
sleeping in their nests.<br />
And we soar over open plains <br />
while she sings of Summertime.<br />
<br />Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-66665650993398149262011-08-21T13:50:00.006+01:002011-10-12T19:34:08.499+01:00CleansedSpeaking of desperation<br />
you spin tales, <br />
inciting revolution<br />
while you slouch<br />
on your granite podium.<br />
A stranger now,<br />
no light beckons me to you.<br />
I'm cleansed.<br />
And your face is cracked,<br />
as it spills cheap rhetoric<br />
now wasted on me.<br />
The screw no longer turns,<br />
and my memories are burnt<br />
leaving ash grey dust<br />
that floats in the breeze.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sundaywhirl.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/baker18.jpg?w=470&h=353" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://sundaywhirl.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/baker18.jpg?w=470&h=353" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
Written for wordle 18<br />
at <a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/08/14/123/">The Sunday Whirl</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2011/08/14/123/"><br />
</a>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-36234536894600735962011-08-20T20:51:00.007+01:002012-06-15T16:00:33.133+01:00The Hoody .... I Saw Sunday - Week 49<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtWAvF2crIMsa9DOacmIDZicP4Mua7wvatrP3r-xRNNokcmjwbf7KGd2UdsRimGqhCRh89H2I4fPOnVj7xW_Q1r8kRGgeUG32xOF6K9GGnRgDd2Is-fAmgR1At3hiZwtHUD-icisfHjOy/s250/isawsundaybanner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtWAvF2crIMsa9DOacmIDZicP4Mua7wvatrP3r-xRNNokcmjwbf7KGd2UdsRimGqhCRh89H2I4fPOnVj7xW_Q1r8kRGgeUG32xOF6K9GGnRgDd2Is-fAmgR1At3hiZwtHUD-icisfHjOy/s250/isawsundaybanner.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://isawsunday.blogspot.com/">I Saw Sunday</a> where you can join in with pictures, thoughts, observations, anything you like!</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was walking Grace in the park the other day when I spotted a teenage lad heading down toward the lake. He was dressed in a hoody, a scarf covering the bottom of his face, a muscly dog with studded collar by his side, and was carrying a bulging plastic bag.<br />
<br />
As I watched, he looked around him furtively, then stopped by the side of the lake. Immediately the two swans swam up to him, their darling little goslings close behind. At that moment, media images flashed through my mind and although I usually look for the good in people - I felt sick. All I could think was ... 'the swans and their babies!'<br />
<br />
But as I watched, he reached into his carrier bag and pulled out a <i>whole</i> loaf of bread and began feeding them. I almost squealed with delight. I could see his eyes crinkling at the corners and when he'd finished, he stroked his dog and went on his way. Admittedly he did throw the plastic bag on the floor, but at that moment I was just so happy.<br />
<br />
I picked up the bag as I passed, continuing our walk, feeling thankful to have had it reaffirmed that most people are lovely really ... we just have to look for it. Even if it is from a distance, on the other side of a lake, after a moment of pre-judgement! Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-49666879008979309732011-08-18T19:37:00.002+01:002011-08-19T08:16:36.933+01:00B .... Thursday Think Tank.<div style="text-align: center;">Things I would B </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A sparrow, a daisy</div><div style="text-align: center;">a day by the sea </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Chips and ice cream</div><div style="text-align: center;">afternoon tea</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A walk with our dog</div><div style="text-align: center;">trees in the park</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Black and white films</div><div style="text-align: center;">curled up in the dark</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A place to come home to </div><div style="text-align: center;">a smile amidst tears </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Someone who'll love you</div><div style="text-align: center;">the rest of her years</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">All these I would B</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/">Poets United</a> Prompt ... Take the 3rd letter of your first name to inspire a poem</div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-73472731594797185132011-08-17T13:40:00.014+01:002011-08-19T08:16:25.714+01:00Skyward - Three Word Wednesday<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
Eyes skyward</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">I feast on cobalt blue.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">White confetti rains</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">dove drenched </div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">winged and alive.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A viable canvas</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">for dreams.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I gasp, smile</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">rendered mute.</div><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.threewordwednesday.com/">Three Word Wednesday </a>where you write something using the three prompt words. This week's words are ... <span style="color: #783f04;">gasp, mute and viable</span><span style="color: #783f04;">.</span> Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-44641200987721231312011-08-15T12:18:00.012+01:002012-01-31T16:21:05.189+00:00My 1st Bloggerversary! ... 10 Random Facts :o)I've been blogging now for one whole year thanks to my lovely sister, who forced me to start ... yes <i> forced! </i><br />
<br />
If I remember correctly, I was umming and arring, and saying such things as, "I just don't get why anyone would ever <i>want</i> to blog." <br />
<br />
(don't judge me, <i>I didn't know!</i>)<br />
<br />
<i>Well</i>, my sister competely disregarded my protests and set up this blog for me, saying, "Just shut up and do as you're told, you'll love it!"<br />
<br />
... and of course she was right :o)<br />
<br />
So here I am a year later, and to celebrate I thought I'd give 10 random facts about myself.<br />
<br />
Here goes ... <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>1.</b> I am exactly the same weight now as I was when I was 21<br />
( I<i> was</i> 9 months pregnant then, but for a moment, I <i>bet</i> you were impressed)<br />
<br />
<b>2.</b> I just LOVE animals, and dog watching makes me genuinely happy.<br />
<br />
<b>3.</b> When I was little I could jump in the air and land in the splits, bend my body all over the place and run <i>really</i> fast ... aah memories.<br />
<br />
<b>4.</b> I've recently developed a jowl, yes just the one! ... life can be cruel.<br />
<br />
<b>5.</b> I used to be painfully shy.<br />
<br />
<b>6. </b>I'm happiest surrounded by trees and nature.<br />
<br />
<b>7.</b> I am enjoying growing older ... even with the singular jowl.<br />
<br />
<b>8.</b> I've got a large head, short shins and a long neck ... it's <i>not</i> funny.<br />
<br />
<b>9.</b> I feel thankful and lucky every day to have my family.<br />
<br />
<b>10.</b> I can recite the alphabet in Chinese.<br />
<br />
<i>Okay</i>, that one's not true, but I can't think of anything else and the pressure was getting to me!<br />
<br />
Seriously though, to anyone who has followed, visited or ever taken the time to leave a comment <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">THANK YOU xxxxxx</span>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-57182396168131531442011-08-13T07:53:00.004+01:002011-08-13T10:24:14.385+01:00***Happy Birthday to My Lovely Big Sister Susannah***<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">51 today</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR3T9ANlV6TpjQd5KoVYs0slnAoe0Wdctf_7J8iE96JWPzVMO9Fr_6jGQyx2T7VpXw-zVmqcymx93sPGtDVNWv4A0xGn4eJ0pstesqnTAk9i9Sd37s041ucfVKaGLe4mrMitG5qWcXh6A/s400/22MAY11+056+copyopt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR3T9ANlV6TpjQd5KoVYs0slnAoe0Wdctf_7J8iE96JWPzVMO9Fr_6jGQyx2T7VpXw-zVmqcymx93sPGtDVNWv4A0xGn4eJ0pstesqnTAk9i9Sd37s041ucfVKaGLe4mrMitG5qWcXh6A/s400/22MAY11+056+copyopt.jpg" width="300" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">When I was little, I'd look up to you</div><div style="text-align: center;">copying everything you'd say and do.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Your hair, your make-up, the way you'd talk</div><div style="text-align: center;">The swish of the hair, the way you'd walk.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Until the day I'd mastered it all</div><div style="text-align: center;">and there I was, 5.2" tall.</div><div style="text-align: center;">A smaller version, a 'mini me'</div><div style="text-align: center;">the best little you that I could be.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Then came the day when all I'd done</div><div style="text-align: center;">fell into place, and we were one.</div><div style="text-align: center;">As the clerk in the Post Office chatted away</div><div style="text-align: center;">continuing<i> </i>his talk from the previous day.</div><div style="text-align: center;">With a girl he was sure was my big sister Su</div><div style="text-align: center;">but instead it was <i>me!</i> Well what could I do?</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'd chatted too long to suddenly come clean,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I was 4" shorter, you'd think he'd have seen!</div><div style="text-align: center;"> But he carried on chatting, so sure I was you,<br />
that for one special moment, I believed it too! :o)<br />
<br />
</div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNdYuEA5aNG3I_QCK9e7h2SLbjC0mlAX49z0U8urL0VNJpTq3dVPDKloKTlXijePLqT88152YK5aMT0VaSvxWiA623hFdM-S4aHODzfzFw6No28qpj98ZUy0ISg8jDaSnnm5N5LpSPfg8/s320/susannah160.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNdYuEA5aNG3I_QCK9e7h2SLbjC0mlAX49z0U8urL0VNJpTq3dVPDKloKTlXijePLqT88152YK5aMT0VaSvxWiA623hFdM-S4aHODzfzFw6No28qpj98ZUy0ISg8jDaSnnm5N5LpSPfg8/s400/susannah160.jpg" width="268" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">51</span> </span>... I know! </div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I'm going to check her attic the next time I visit.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I've seen that film 'Dorian Gray' ... and <i>something's</i> going on! </div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhieZj5-eijgY7Es_cId0tgZmWRbBIBMdcm_mcNl9hVM4z7eNXo6HxQT0cV5LVwEfXC28FOogoKnxfsY87qdKzMjm9Dsw0Uji2hD3NafC1DrT91xXsBmNN7UKCiaW0L9Lxla3lKhAkTaN4/s400/suwig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhieZj5-eijgY7Es_cId0tgZmWRbBIBMdcm_mcNl9hVM4z7eNXo6HxQT0cV5LVwEfXC28FOogoKnxfsY87qdKzMjm9Dsw0Uji2hD3NafC1DrT91xXsBmNN7UKCiaW0L9Lxla3lKhAkTaN4/s200/suwig.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> ... she can even make a wig and moustache look good!</div><br />
<br />
And as well as being talented, beautiful, creative, inspirational, and wise with some wonderful blogs I would recommend anyone visit,<a href="http://thestreamingnow.blogspot.com/"> The Streaming Now,</a> <a href="http://joyfrequencies.blogspot.com/">Joy Frequencies,</a> <a href="http://panopticulated.blogspot.com/">Panopticulated</a>, <a href="http://outofmyocean.blogspot.com/">Out of My Ocean</a>, and <a href="http://mynameiszing.blogspot.com/">My Name is Zing,</a> she is also <i>hysterically</i> funny, and has made me laugh for as long as I can remember.<br />
<br />
<i>(hint* do a funny blog :o) </i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">In short.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">She is the best sister ever and has made my life richer and happier just by being in it, and I am <i>so</i> lucky to have her as my sister and my friend.</div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">So to my<i> very</i> special big sister</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">****HAPPY BIRTHDAY****</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">I love you all the world xxxxxx</span></div></div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-80027096778089615722011-08-04T16:03:00.000+01:002017-01-27T17:36:49.737+00:00The Meaty TreatMy darling dog Grace has a favourite treat called The Meaty Treat, a long, soft meat treat much like its name.<br />
<br />
Being 15 now her eyes are not what they used to be, so when I give it to her I wiggle it, and seeing the movement she gets very excited<br />
<br />
her head starts to bob up and down with it, her tail starts to wag and she gets all lively and ready to snap as I throw it.<br />
<br />
Now the other evening when I was in the bedroom with her, my lovely partner came waltzing in from the bathroom in his birthday suit, and as he walked toward Grace, I saw her head doing the very same bob.<br />
<br />
Then with a burst of excitement, her tail started wagging.<br />
<br />
It dawned on me that she'd spotted the movement of his 'thing'... and thought it was her Meaty Treat!<br />
<br />
I had to act quickly.<br />
<br />
"Quick, quick... she thinks it's a Meaty Treat!" I shouted.<br />
<br />
To which he bent double, hands clutching just as she snapped.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, as the observer this was .... <i>hysterical!</i><br />
<br />
And of course, as a result, you know what his 'thing' is <i>now</i> being called!Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-54517382680618397432011-07-27T20:04:00.007+01:002011-07-28T18:14:01.637+01:00Time for Walkies!My Mum has a tooth missing and a denture which she hates, so only ever wears it when she leaves the house.<br />
<br />
She also has two lovely dogs, Tasha and Tamba.<br />
<br />
...and? I hear you ask.<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
Anybody who has a dog will know they have their 'signal' for when it's time for walkies, usually the picking up of their lead at which they will get super duper excited.<br />
<br />
My Mum's dogs are no exception.<br />
<br />
Only <i>their</i> 'signal' for walkies is .... the tooth!<br />
<br />
Whenever my Mum picks it up, they're up, tails wagging, snorting and heading for the door.<br />
<br />
It really makes me smile to see their little faces light up at the sight of it.<br />
<br />
I can just imagine them excitedly geeing each other up with, "<i>Come on!</i><br />
she's got the tooth, SHE'S GOT THE TOOTH!!"Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-56381797455893003522011-07-23T15:20:00.001+01:002011-07-24T18:04:35.350+01:00Before I Die ... Saturday Centus # 64<div style="color: black;">Umm ... this was the first thing that popped into my head </div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">... better clear the beaches!<br />
</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: small;">Before I die</span></div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: small;">I want to run </span></div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: small;">Naked into a turquoise sea </span></div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: small;">Sun kissing my skin</span></div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-size: small;">Glorious</span></div><div style="color: #444444; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Unashamed</span></div><div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;">Joyful</div><div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;">ALIVE!</div><div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="color: #783f04; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="color: #444444;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #444444;"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
Week 64 of <a href="http://jennymatlock.blogspot.com/search/label/Saturday%20Centus" style="color: #666666; font-weight: bold;">Saturday Centus</a> this weeks prompt is to use just 15 words (not including the prompt) using the line<span style="color: #b45f06;"> "</span><span style="color: #b45f06;">... Before I die I want to ..."</span>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-66628255984872114592011-07-12T10:58:00.001+01:002011-07-12T12:25:54.837+01:00The Boob Gene!My daughter informed me yesterday that she was <i>sooo</i> glad she hadn't inherited my boob gene.<br />
<br />
After observing her <i>place</i> her bra<i> on</i> her bust as opposed to my morning round up in an effort to secure mine into their hammocks, I wasn't overly surprised.<br />
<br />
She then asked if I could I ever remember being flat chested.<br />
<br />
"Easy," I answered, "the last time I layed on my back."<br />
<br />
"No Mum, not when they disappear under your arms! At what age?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, you mean ..."<br />
<br />
"You <i>know</i> what I mean - when?"<br />
<br />
It was tricky casting my mind back that far, but I told her that I did distinctly remember thinking about bandages a lot and dreading sports day in my middle school.<br />
<br />
That seemed to answer her question, and so the conversation progressed.<br />
<br />
"Apparently," she continued, intimating a question, "according to some famous model you can gauge the size of your bust by how many pencils you can 'hold' under them."<br />
<br />
She looked at me expectantly.<br />
<br />
"Huh, a pencil!" I scoffed.<br />
<br />
I shook my head and told her that if ever it was needed, I was sure I could secure a small child under mine without too much trouble.<br />
<br />
"Exactly!" she said, eyeing her pert frontage and heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.<br />
<br />
As I watched her exit the room, I felt a warm glow.<br />
<br />
"Mmmm...." I thought.<br />
<br />
"I do so love our little mother and daughter chats!"Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4450354241253375241.post-36085429888062873672011-07-10T09:52:00.002+01:002011-07-10T10:47:25.600+01:00The Biker .... I Saw Sunday - Week 43<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtWAvF2crIMsa9DOacmIDZicP4Mua7wvatrP3r-xRNNokcmjwbf7KGd2UdsRimGqhCRh89H2I4fPOnVj7xW_Q1r8kRGgeUG32xOF6K9GGnRgDd2Is-fAmgR1At3hiZwtHUD-icisfHjOy/s250/isawsundaybanner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtWAvF2crIMsa9DOacmIDZicP4Mua7wvatrP3r-xRNNokcmjwbf7KGd2UdsRimGqhCRh89H2I4fPOnVj7xW_Q1r8kRGgeUG32xOF6K9GGnRgDd2Is-fAmgR1At3hiZwtHUD-icisfHjOy/s250/isawsundaybanner.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <a href="http://isawsunday.blogspot.com/">I Saw Sunday</a> where you can join in with pictures, thoughts, observations, anything you like!</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On my way to do the weekly shopping I got stuck in a tail-back of around 6 cars.<br />
<br />
I watched as each one edged in and out, desperate for their moment to overtake.</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">One by one they swept out and sped agitatedly ahead, until finally the offending vehicle was revealed. </div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The 'hold-up' was a little silver moped with a large L plate fastened to the back with blue twine.</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Astride was a young lad sporting an over sized black leather jacket with tassels along the length of his arms and a shiny black helmet with a red dragon motif on.</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">He was tearing along at all of 25mph on the 40 mph road, and as I too eventually succumbed and overtook him, I glanced to the side and gave him a reassuring nod.</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">It was then I noticed his Superman T Shirt.</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I couldn't help but smile.</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">As I looked back at him through my rear view mirror, I could see his proud little face peeping from under his dragon helmet, the tassels dancing in the wind, and the intense look of concentration as he buzzed up the hill behind me.</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">I could just see in his eyes, that at moment, he felt every inch a 'BIKER'.</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">A flush of maternal concern enveloped me.</div><div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div><div class="western">I just hoped he didn't bump into any nasty big bikers that day! </div><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06231195313149947101noreply@blogger.com16