AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 11:34 AM
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BODY:
Pushing an Elephant up the Stairs can now be found at
http://francesca_gray.blogs.com/pushing_an_elephant_up_th/
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Pushing an Elephant up the Stairs
DATE: 8:10 AM
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BODY:
Pushing an Elephant... has a new home here
After a lengthy break followed by intermittant blogging I'm back!
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 1:34 PM
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BODY:
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 8:27 AM
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BODY:
'Touch' Acrylics on box canvas, 14"x10" - I have been following the Make Poverty History campaign with interest and admiration. Wishing that I could take part in the planned demonstration in Edinburgh, but I can't afford to get there and even if I did, my ability to walk any distance or to stand for any length of time is compromised. So as I watched Live8 on the tv yesterday, I got out my paints and made my own personal response. 
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Scrubbing shit off a carpet
DATE: 12:17 PM
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BODY:
Neither bright not dull. Neither warm nor cold. One of those days that are stuck in a nothing kind of weather. Like me. One of those days when I seem not to exist other than as a kind of cut and paste version of someone I imagin I am supposed to be. Sharp, torn edges nick the fingers of anyone who comes too close. Words are heavy lumps of iron that drop on my body crushing remnants of resistance into acceptance.Real people have friends and relationships that fit smoothly and comfortably like well worn shoes. Real people go out, have fun and are not betrayed by their own minds. Real people have voices that say something heard.Real people have something better to do on a Sunday afternoon than scrub shit off a carpet
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Sanity Fayre
DATE: 9:18 AM
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BODY:
My head aches and exhaustion is a heavy blanket stifling the day. Every day pain spreads like a slow burning coal; drawing hips, knees, wrists and even fingers into the fire. Breathing is merely the remnant of an almost forgotten habit.
Sleep hovers with monstrous mouth wide open waiting to devour when last struggles cease. The day already swallowed it waits for more.
I awoke this morning with a headache and fear lurking around the edges of my lungs. I chose to ignore the whispered warnings and to build defences of careful make-up and favourite clothes. A bus ride that seemed hours long and I was there. Town on a busy, sunny Saturday. Lond planned and anticipated.
Too many people. Too much noise. I circled my destination, wary as an animan who senses danger. Retreat to familiar territory and £30 disappears in exchange for a skirt and a pretty shrug. Then back to where I want to be. Stalls and music and scarily over-sized creatures that make children smile.
I walk a little. Look a little. Read information leaflets. Exchange a few words.
Fear moves closer, spreads, infects my breathing and pounds my heart. I know this. Know how to deal with it. Slow. Calm. Keep walking.
My hands shake and I fear I may faint. Humiliated in a crowd. As though under water, I hear her ask if I am alright and answer yes. No. Then gratefully accept a seat away from painful brushing bodies and assaulting sounds.
Suffocation that only exists in my head and embaressment at my foolishness, spit self-mocking tears.
I say too much. Unable to grasp the threads of control and my mind focuses only on escape.
So much kindness.
A wasted day mugged by weakness.
What hope is there for a future?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 8:59 AM
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BODY:
A more recent attempt 
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 8:58 AM
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BODY:
My first attempt at life drawing - Sept 2004
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 8:55 AM
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BODY:
'Do You See What I See?' Exam Piece
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: From then until now...
DATE: 8:24 AM
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BODY:
I have not had much time to write. My journals, both on-line and hand written have been much neglected. Perhaps the need to write is cyclical, something that comes and goes according to some mysterious rhythm of its own. Perhaps I was simply fed up of complaining about life.
The months of my absence have been both wonderful and difficult in turn. Often both at once. Family problems have at times left me suffocating beneath the fear of what could possibly happen next. Depression has at times locked me within my house, once for a period of six weeks. To those of you who left messages or emailed, I apologise for not replying and thank you for providing light in the dark.
The one consistent thing through out it all has been college. Thanks to the support of my tutors I am still there and in imminent danger of actually completing the course. Exams have been completed, most of my course work has been handed in and there is only two more projects to complete before the end of the academic year. One for art history and the other a landscape project.
Art has taken over my life. It is as if I have finally found the place I was meant to be. The future is a challenge that both excites and terrifies me. I have applied for a place on a fine art degree course, something that twelve months ago would never have occurred to me as a possibility. Waiting to hear the university's decision is like waiting at the dentists. Never wracking. But whatever they decide, I will not leave this path. I will just have to look for another route.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 1:34 PM
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BODY:
Some times Christmas turns out better than one expects...
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: of mice and men....
DATE: 10:32 PM
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BODY:
former and as for the later, my son will be home when ever Christmas Eve parties end and my ex will be arrive with his mother tomorrow. However of plans there are plenty, none of which have quite turned out the way they were supposed to.
Today was to be a lazy day. Once I had prepared those things that could be prepared ahead of time I planned to sip a champagne cocktail, listen to some music and then spend as long as possible in the bath. The room lit by candles. An indulgent, slightly inebriated evening. Instead I have only just sat down having been on my feet since 8am. The cocktails were sipped as I hoovered, the Baileys came out around about the same time as the bacon rolls and the stuffing. The vegetables will have to wait until tomorrow. It looks like I will have to make another early start. At least the presents are wrapped and ready to be pounced on at whatever time the teenagers emerge.
Christmas is beginning to fray around the edges already. My ex mother in law has suddenly announced that she doesn't want to come here after all. She was the main reason I made the effort. I really do not want to spend the day thinking of her on her own in front of the tv with a boiled potato and a slice of processed turkey breast. I had looked forward to spending some time with my youngest. I see so little of her we are becoming strangers. My ex tells me that it would be better to eat early as she is making plans to go to her friends house after lunch.
I remember last year and wonder when I will stop believing that this time, this year, it will be different
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Its Christmas Eve!
DATE: 1:31 PM
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BODY:
Ho Ho bloody Ho.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Eight sleeps to go....
DATE: 2:33 PM
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BODY:
and then it will be all over bar the shouting. That is the thought that keeps me going. Christmas only seems to last for ever. it does come to an end, eventually.
The tree is decorated, colour fading, changing then bursting into life once more to some secret rhythm of its own. Presents, shiny with wrapping paper, are scattered beneath, waiting for December 25th to dawn. Although the only way anyone in this household will be awake in the early hours is if they have not yet found their way to bed from the night before! That is one of the differences between a house full of teenagers and a house full of children. With Teenagers Christmas day is another excuse to lie in.
I have cleaned and polished and dusted and scrubbed. Struggled home with bags of shopping, filled the freezer and made endless lists. For the first time ever I am ahead of the game. No need to bake pies or cakes or puddings. No one likes them except me and no visitors other than my ex husband and his mother are expected. No need to leave a glass of something warming, a mince pie and a carrot for Santa Clause and Rudolph. There is no one to anxiously listen for their arrival. This is a grown up Christmas.
Still there is plenty that needs to be re-done. As I sit here typing, dishes lie piled up in the sink. The bin over flows with rubbish, the lounge needs to be tidied, hoovered, restored to itself once more. I did ask if the teenagers would do something, anything, to help while I was out. How come I was not surprised to discover on my return at 1.30pm that they were still in bed? My son has a job now (today is his day off), which apparently negates any responsibility towards household duties. I asked him once again, a little while ago, to take out the rubbish, empty the bins. A request that was met with silence and a door closed to shut me out. My daughter? She has gone off to an interview that she had forgotten to tell me about. She does help out sometimes. They both do, sometimes. But some how it feels like in the end, it all comes down to me.
I did complain that I appeared to be the only one doing anything towards making Christmas a good time for all of us. The reply? That I do it because I want to. Because I love doing it. That gave me pause for thought. Is everything my responsibility because I want to do it?
Sitting here thinking I find myself asking if there is any truth in that? And the answer is no. Not any more. I come home from college exhausted. Ill health has meant that I am behind in some of my work so I have plenty to keep me occupied in my 'free time'. My back hurts constantly, made worse by carrying and hoovering and standing. I do all these 'family' things because it is expected of me. Or should that be 'I expect it of me?' What would happen if I did not buy presents, dress Christmas trees, do all that extra shopping? Would the world come to an end if Christmas were not to happen in this household?
I do not like Christmas. Or birthdays come to that. No, that is not right, I love the illusion of such celebrations. The illusion of special days of happiness and closeness and wonderful surprises. Sadly, that is all that they are. Illusions. And illusions leave disappointment behind when they evaporate.
Roll on January 1st.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 3:03 PM
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BODY:
Ok this is weird, I think.
The sleepiness has passed which is great. Trouble is now I am so wired I can't sit still...lol!
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 4:06 PM
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BODY:
I think this post belongs in 'Diet Coke', however having opened this blog up I don't have the energy to go back and change it. I have been reading blogs rather than writing them recently. Lurking without comment in the background, my favourite place. At least this time I was aware of the darkness creeping up on me and have tried to do something about it.
Tuesday was my appointment at the clinic. I explained why I had stopped taking the medication and why I would rather not take it any more. That done, I found myself agreeing that I needed something, so, here we go again with yet another drug. This time it is Mirtazapine. Something I have never heard of. If this doesn't work, the doctor says there are still others I can try.
She warned me that there would probably be a few days when I felt too sleepy to do anything much and I said that I could take time of college while I adjusted to the medication. I did not expect to feel the way I do. Dreadful. My complaint about antidepressants has been that they do not significantly lift my mood but do supress my creativity. I would rather fight the darkness than lose the very thing that makes everything worth while.
Three days into taking Mirtazapine, I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, have no energy to do anything and can't think straight. I hope it is temporary. I'm sinking further into the dark instead of finding my way out.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Its better to be untidy because....
DATE: 10:57 AM
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BODY:
I'm back, again. I think I should make a macro that types those two words each time I log on. This time my absence has been my computer's fault. I series of intermittent problems with the keyboard, printer and mouse/pen grew increasingly worse until computer became near enough unusable. I tried all sorts of things, removing peripherals and reloading software, rewinding to earlier 'save points' and so on and so on to no avail. I had just got to the point where I was beginning to worry that fixing things was going to cost me money when a chance remark by the guy I buy my computer consumables from gave me an idea.
A couple of months ago I had one of my 're-arrange the furniture' fits. A big one as it involved turning my dining room into a lounge and visa versa. Of course this meant moving the computer too and I thought I would take the opportunity to tidy up the birds nest of cables that clutters up the rear of my desk. My ex husband set up the computer for me in its new home and set to work with a packet of cable ties to make things more organised.
This is where the stray comment comes in. The ink cartridge guy asked me if I had changed anything in the last few weeks. Bingo! The tidying up of course! After a few minutes of pushing all the connections to make sure they were all secure and then setting to work on the cable ties with a pair of scissors everything is back to normal. It appears that my computer and I have a similar out look on life and tidiness is not part of it!
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Word drain
DATE: 1:23 AM
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BODY:
My novel is underway for National Novel Writing Month (check the sidebar for links) and I am in good company with lots of other Nanoblogmo writers. I think we must all share a common form of obsession with words to get involved with this ~laughs~ I intend to keep this blog as well as A Novel Idea up to date and of course plough on with 'The Shadowed Path'.
Then there is college and all those projects.
Could someone please add some more hours to each day? Just for November?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Help with template wanted
DATE: 11:32 PM
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BODY:
Could some kind soul explain to me how to make my haloscan comments visible on the archived posts?
Please?
Pretty please?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Samhain
DATE: 6:56 PM
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BODY:
For the first time in a few years I have no celebration to go to. But my heart is with all those whose celebrate this evening. Blessings on you all as the year turns.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Not my rubber duckie...
DATE: 1:57 PM
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BODY:
I watched a cringe worthy programme on the television last night. A double episode, saints preserves us, of 'Girls on the Settee' on Channel 5. Now I am not an easily embaressed type of person who blushes at anything more than an oblique reference to sensual fun, nor am I by any means disapproving of the open discussion of sexual matters. But (isn't there always a butt? if you excuse the pun), but, the bright and breezy attitude of the presenter as she waved varies sex toys around and asked breathless questions about her guests best suggestions for spicing up a stale sex life drew nothing but groans from this household, and not of the pleasurable kind.
These were woman working far to hard to be relaxed and at ease with the subject. Sophisticated, cool, women of the world at home with sex and their bodies, the image was punctured regularly by phrases such as ' my lady parts'. 'Lady parts'???? for gods sake! Sorry channel 5, nice try but no cigar.
Besides, I was tramautised by the inclusion of a yellow, rubber, vibrating bath time duck. Yes , thats right, a vibrating duck. I mean, which is the err business end? Tail or beak? Why was my mind suddenly filled with punch lines from jokes that include sheep? How come the little rubber duck who sits on the edge of my bath has suddenly developed a lear over night?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Let the train take the stain...
DATE: 11:55 AM
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BODY:
I'm back, tired and without much sleep last night because of back pain. Why is travelling by train never simple? Thanks to cancellations and delays I arrived in Bristol about an hour late, which is not to bad I suppose, but the journey home! I left my friends flat at 11.30 am and finally sat down in my own home at around 6.30 pm.
Most of the day was spent in Birmingham station. Two cancelled connections, two missed trains. Lifts that took over 5 minutes to arrive and escalators that did not work. A helpful member of staff who informed me that my train was standing at the other end of the platform and that I needed to 'run'. Arriving just as the doors closed to be told that I had 'missed' the train and watching as the 'gentleman' in question turned his back on me to continue his conversation with a colleague. Spending the day becoming less and less able to walk with any speed as the pain in my back and leg increased.
Some members of Virgin Rail staff were very helpful, kind and polite and eventually did get me on a train home, even though by that time I had to use a wheelchair to get to the platform.
'Let the train take the strain' they advert used to say. I don't think so. How about 'Let the train cause the strain'?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Dating for beginners and life with a sex crazed cat...
DATE: 8:15 AM
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BODY:
The two subjects are not connected, honest!
Beginning with the sex crazed cat, its Pru. She has come into her first season and like all female cats of the oriental persuasion, she is busy letting everyone know about it. It is described as 'calling'. Calling? Its more like listening to a toddler having the mother of all tantrums. Her wide vocabularly of sounds is being put to imaginative use as she attempts to tell any tomcats in the vicinity that she would really like to get to know them. Some times it sounds as though she were in terrible pain. Most times it sounds like she is demanding, err, something, right now.
Merlin and Harry Potter (both neutered), watch her performance with puzzled anxiety. Now and again, Pru attempts to inform them of her needs. Merlin obliges by knocking her to the ground, gently biting her neck, then flees for his life. Harry has decided that discretion is the better part of valour and flees the moment she looks at him.
Ear plugs anyone?
As for dating for beginners, I suppose a better phrase would be 'dating for the seriously out of practice'. After all, I have actually done the dating thing before, just not for a long time. In an effort to, well make an effort, I have joined an on-line dating web site. So far it has proved to be an...interesting...experiment, lol!
Top of my first list of 'ideal matches' was my ex-husband! LOL! It would seem that the most important criteria to whatever programme comes up with these things is proximity.
Just as in 'real life' the people one 'meets' are a mixed bunch. So far my contacts have included:
Desperate Man - thats the one who seems to think that a couple of emails forshadows a life long relationship.
Tomcat Man - Witty, urbane, pleasant and apparantly intent on creating a modern version of 'a woman in every port'. (In his favour he was at least honest about what he wanted!)
Dressingown Man - Again witty, urbane and pleasant but apparantly seriously short of clothes. (He has a cam)
I cannot help thinking that if these gentlemen use the same tactics in real life when they meet women, it is hardly surprising that they are single.
There have been more succesful introductions. I have exchanged emails with a couple of apparantly nice, interesting people and had one date. The date was fun. A nice man, who lives quite close to me and who told me to ring anytime if I fancy another night out. I just might do that, although putting the onus on me does not exactly make me tingle.
I'm going away later on today, to spend a couple of days with a friend. Thursday I am meeting someone new for lunch.
If I am not careful, I may find myself with a social life.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 5:03 PM
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BODY:
Although I will be adding this to my portfolio, I could not resist adding it here to. My very first painting! I'm not particularly thrilled with it and I am really fed up of drawing flowers (lol), but never the less, it came out better than I expected.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 5:48 AM
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BODY:
After three, maybe four hours of sleep I woke with a start from some unremembered dream. 5.48 is a silly time to be awake on a Sunday morning unless one has places to go and things to do which I do not. With a little luck, that illusive occupation will return and I will have a 'lie-in' (disrupted though it may be) after all.
My sofa sleeping habit appears to have made a hopefully temporary, come back. There is no obvious reason, no cyclical pattern that can be discerned for these ups and downs. They happen. They pass and life goes on.
How nice it would be if I could walk along a shore somewhere right now. Wrapped warmly against the cold, my footsteps silent on sand damp from the assault of the tide. I could watch the last star fade as the sky lightened and birds began to chatter amongst themselves about the coming day.
From my seat at the computer I can hear the the sound of birds. The small, patch of sky that I can see from through the window is that odd, deep mauve colour that speaks of light that is coming and of retreating darkness. Walls and fences loom out of the shadows. The shutters on the convenience store across the road screech and protest as they are taken down. My thoughts circle then pounce on words, dragging them to my fingertips to tap, tap, tap on the keyboard. My still tired body glares tight lipped at the mind that hunts and circles and leaps, keeping it from longed for sleep.
Another day begins with all its possibilities laid out like a breakfast table. I will not look over my shoulder into the dark however insistently it whispers in my ear.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: I must be mad (was it ever in doubt?)
DATE: 10:22 AM
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BODY:
Logging into Blogger to write a new post, my eye was caught by the article on NaNoWriMo and the challege to write a novel in a month. The month in question being November. Madness overtook me and I signed up. That of course means another blog to chronicle the insanity. So how many is that? btw I have added more 'stuff' to my portfolio of art work.
Maybe I should give up sleeping altogether.....
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 1:50 PM
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BODY:
I have begun a portfolio of my work (no drawings or paintings yet - laughs) here Look in the catagory called 2004.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Flumped on the sofa.....
DATE: 10:29 AM
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BODY:
One more week of college and it will be half term. Where has the time gone? I had thought that by now I would be organised, have a regular time set aside for blogging and the house running like clockwork (a girl can dream, can't she?). Instead, I arrive home exhausted each afternoon, flump out on the sofa and sleep like a child after her first day at school. Housework has been relegated to an occasional frenzied panic in between working on my projects and my beloved blog gets written mostly in my head. It is years since I spent so much time in the 'real world' and so little in the 'virtual'.
Am I happy? Yes. Although I will be happier still when I am less tired and when I can find the time to write regularly. Art and writing are so closely entwined that I need to do both. Besides, this is the one place where I can be myself, without a need to disguise the dark.
One day, I might learn to be less obesessive. Because that, of course, is the reason I am so tired. I feel as though I have plunged into another world, one that is so different from the norm that I must grasp each new thing less it disappear, drown in new experience. I am breathing water instead of air and do not want to surface.
Time has little meaning. I walk into a room, pick up a piece of charcoal and look at the model posing against a sofa draped in blue. Thought stops. There is only line and shade, the struggle to transfer what my eyes see onto paper. Pain, neither physical nor mental, has to power to invade this space. Time is meaningless. Two hours, three hours. How can that be? Expanded to contain all those sketches, or photographs or paintings, whatever that particular lesson contained. It seems like only a few minutes have passed.
I pay for my absorbtion. Standing, sitting for such lengths of time often means I need to take more pain killers or use a tens machine for longer later on. Some times my disgust, frustration with the work I produce releases the dark and I know, with absolute certainty that I am fooling myself. That I am a stranger, an interloper, who does not belong in this amazing, fantastical world. Then comes the urgent need to destroy. To rip paper and reduce photographs to ashes.
But I don't. Because tomorrow I will once again be submerged in the now. Forcing myself beyond what I believe I can do. And sometimes, just sometimes I find in my hands evidence that I am moving forward.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Errrrrrr
DATE: 11:47 PM
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BODY:
TD1 is a very intelligent young woman. Unfortunately, although she was towards the front of the queue when brains were handed out, she forgot to collect her common sense before venturing into the world. Her episodes of what I can only call 'ditsiness' are the stuff of family legends and tonight she surpassed herself.
How else can I explain the presence of a small electric whisk, complete with batteries, left to soak with the dishes from our evening meal in the washing up bowl?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: So What's all this about college?
DATE: 1:45 PM
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BODY:
I dithered. I'm good at that. If procrastination was an Olympic sport the gold medal would be mine. The question sat there like a rock in the middle of my life.
'Should I go back to college?'
A montage of complex questions masquerading as a simple decision.
Time was running out. Time would provide an answer of its own if I did nothing. The phone rang. A conversation cut short by me before yes or no could be voiced.
The phone rang. This time I had made the call. To B. a member of staff, but not the teaching staff. Supportive and understanding, she listened to what I did not say. Eventually, laughing at myself for having such ambitions, I told her how much I wanted to do fine art and why I thought I should not, could not.
A few days later I was showing my portfolio to the course leader for the foundation programme. Within a week I was sitting in a room, discussing time tables and projects for the next few months.
I am an art student.
Isn't that amazing?
Unbelievable.
True.
I stand in a dark room and produce photograms, watching images appear as if by magic. From behind an easel, pencil in hand, I try to capture the shapes and shadows of the life model who sits relaxed and patient on a blue covered sofa. Afternoons disappear in absorbed concentration. Fingers coloured with paint, paper covered with pencil sketches of a lily that slowly begin to suggest something ... lily like. The infectious enthusiasm of an art history lecturer manufactures a key to understanding and opens doors to places I thought beyond my ability to appreciate.
It is not easy. I have to force myself to get up, get dressed, catch a bus. Four days a week, I pause outside the gates of the college, taking deep breathes before steeling myself to plunge into the noise and chaos beyond them. Some afternoons I return home shaking with exhaustion. Sleeping for most of the evening, too tired even to eat.
Frustration at the quality of my work feeds the mocking voices in my head.
Even so I am determined to continue.
Because there are hours when time is suspended. When there are no thoughts, no surroundings, nothing except the pencil, the paint, the camera. Nothing but the immediate. My hands and the media.
I'm not sure it matters whether I have talent or not. What matters is those perfect moments.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Starting again...
DATE: 10:23 AM
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BODY:
Shadows crept from their hiding places and swallowed the light. Once more there was only darkness and all I could do was concentrate on getting through each day. My energy sapped by the need to pretend. To smile. To be 'fine'. New stripes kept me grounded. Red reminding me that I was still alive, that there was still something beyond.
Emails, comments, messages, points of light that showed I was not alone.
Thank you.
Shame that I have been unable to respond, I could not allow the dark a way out. It had to be contained, fought, resisted within the tightly wrapped cocoon that is me. Afraid that if I reached out I would fracture. That control so fiercely clung to would disintergrate.
There are not enough ways to say thank you. Knowing that there were people who cared, who noted my absence and wanted to help gave me strength. Your words tiny life lines to hold on to.
Now I am standing once more. Looking forward instead of inwards. I have made changes in my life. Returning to college being one of them.
I'm tired all the time. Maintaining the mask drains me. But one day, it will no longer be a mask but reality. However difficult, I am making the right decisions, I am sure of that. There are whole hours of sunlight, even the occasional day when the dark is no more than a memory.
And now I am back here. Because I miss my friends and because I want to thank them, you, for being there.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 10:38 PM
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BODY:
I'm tired of fighting. Tired of trying to make things work out and continuously failing. For a moment I thought the future might be worth looking forward to. Things seemed to be coming together, working out well. Only to crumble and vanish as I reached out. Nothing is worth the effort. I'm not worth the effort.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Big Smile
DATE: 1:25 PM
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BODY:
The boy's GCSE results are terrific! I am so proud of him!
- Drama B
- English B
- Lit B
- History B
- Maths B
- Frency C
- Science C and C
- RE A
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 9:55 AM
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BODY:
"Godazzlem Ebonii" otherwise known as Pru.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Why don't...
DATE: 9:40 AM
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BODY:
printers print out what you want them to print? I have spent hours over the last couple of weeks or so working on the image below. Finally I got a version that I was really pleased with. The hard copy version isn't bad, but some how it has lost the 'subtly' of the original. Obviously, my technical skills re printing are not up to the job. grrr.
(btw I have only just realised that if you click on the small pic that Hello displays in the blog, you get to see the larger version - Have I said this before?)
As you will probably have figured out for yourselves, the elephant has been very heavy just recently. Perhaps the staircase had a turn in it where it stuck. My demanding, naughty, sweet little Pru, has as usual, been a God send. Pru hanging upside down from the back of a dining room chair, attempting to catch her tail through the bars would bring a smile to anyones face. Pru throwing herself on her back at my feet and laudly demanding attention is very difficult to ignore. And Pru, curled up in my arms, alternately chatting and purring loudly is a moment of pleasure in a dark world.
Son gets his GCSE results today. The ceremony of going into school to discover how well or badly one has done, is not possible for him as it would involve a four hour drive each way. So I am to phone at 11am. He has asked me not to wake him up until I have done so.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 9:39 AM
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BODY:
Shades
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: WOW!
DATE: 8:22 PM
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BODY:
NTL is running a photographic competition on their website with the theme of 'community'. Some of the entries are displayed in an on line gallery. On a whim I took a photograph and entered. Drifting about the web this evening I decieded to go have a look what was new in the competiton. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my entry was in the gallery!!!!! I'm gobsmacked! lol!
Although maybe they put all the entries there...
(To see the gallery of entries, go to 'get involved' and then gallery. Mine is in week 6 and I bet you can guess which one it is....grin)
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Decision made...sort of
DATE: 1:04 PM
-----
BODY:
I have emailed my tutor telling him that I want to return to college next month so....
Lets wait and see what happens next. I had hoped that by the time the new academic year came around I would be feeling fit and well. That the dark would have departed, pehaps not for good, but at least out of sight for a while. Its slow descent over the last few weeks makes the future seem like an frightening monster to be battled with rather than an exciting challange to welcome.
(Thank you, my friends, for your comments. I will reply later when I can get on the computer again.)
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Still thinking...
DATE: 9:03 PM
-----
BODY:
I want to go back to college.
I want to do a fine art course rather than crafts.
Both ideas scare me, particularly in the context of my current frame of mind. I am going to email my tutor asking about part time and the possibility of changing courses. He could well say no, or whoever is in charge of fine art probably will. I've been looking through my 'portfolio' (the stuff I have posted here and more recently in Diet Coke) and I am not impressed.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Thinking it through...
DATE: 11:17 AM
-----
BODY:
I am not very good at decisions. My usual method is to think, consider, analyse until I am over taken by events and a choice is made without my active intervention. I am wandering along that particular path now, admiring the scenery and worrying endlessly about the destination.
Last year I was accepted onto a HND art and design (craft) course. For four months I played with ceramics, silver smithing, textiles and was the only student on the course to enjoy, be excited by, the art history component. It was as if someone had given me a key. A key to the world of art, that although previously loved and enjoyed, had often been difficult to understand. My tutors and fellow students also gave me something else. Confidence to explore.
I began to experiment with drawing and painting, things that were not part of the course but which I longed to try. I discovered that ceramics, which I had dreaded at the beginning, was an activity in which I could lose myself for hours at a time. The feel of the clay beneath my hands drew me into a world where I did not need to think, but simply be. I quickly realised that I had little interest in designing or making functional items. Some thing I had know already, from before the start of the course. Something I was afraid to admit to or follow.
'Art' with a capital 'A' was something other people did. People with talent. Creative people. People who could draw an apple that looked like a real apple. Not for me with my childish drawing skills. Crafts seemed like a parallel experience. Something that would allow me to be close to the things I could do in my imagination.
Student life did not last very long. My mental health began to deteriorate and by January I was in hospital after an overdose. The college staff were incredibly supportive and sympathetic. Far more so than the mental health services. I tried to go back but eventually chose to take time out and to leave any decisions about returning until this September.
Now the time to make that decision has arrived and becomes more urgent with each day and my mind is paralysed with confusion, uncertainty and fear.
Fear of adding yet another failure to the mountain. If I do not go back, I will have failed. If I return and find I am unable to cope, I will have failed. I am fairly certain that full time would not be a good idea. Judging by my current state of mind, the pressure would be too much. This part of the choosing does not present too many difficulties. I already know that my tutor would be happy for me to study part time with the hours and commitment flexible to accommodate my health.
Trying to cut away the unnecessary and look only at the basic decisions that I need to make, there are two:
Should I go back to college and try again?
The second, a complication that my own erratic mind has created.
Should I ask to transfer to a Fine Arts program?
This is what I wanted to do from the beginning but was too afraid to even consider. Those four months on the craft course served to increase my desire to study fine art without reducing my fear of making a fool of myself. It feels like reaching for something far above my abilities. Ceramics would still be part of the course so I would not loose that.
I have spent a lot of time recently drawing, painting and producing digital art (some of which I have posted on Diet Coke), the results sap my confidence instead of bolstering it.
The more I think, the more confused I become.
I have to decide what to do soon.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Decisions
DATE: 11:34 PM
-----
BODY:
I have decisions to make about the future and I am not finding it easy. Do I restart college in September or not? Not as simple as it sounds as it means making my mind up about several things. I need to think some more and then I will write about my thoughts tomorrow.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 5:55 PM
-----
BODY:
Receipt from Depression Alliance
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: First things First
DATE: 5:33 PM
-----
BODY:
Below is a copy of a receipt for the £85 you donated to Depression alliance,
I'm sorry if it isn't very clear. If any of my sponsors would like copy, please let me know and I will email a copy to you.
(Now all I have to do is write a piece about Project Blog for their newsletter.)
I seem be saying 'thank you' quite a lot. That is because there are so many good, kind people out there who drop by to visit. To everyone who left a comment wishing me a happy birthday, thank you! and please accept a big hug from me to each of you. Although I have not had much chance to come on line, I did take a peep now and again and finding those greetings made a big difference to me and to my day. :) xx
How did the day go, I can hear you wondering ... or maybe not... lol! To be honest it was a bit like the curates egg, good in parts. TD1 gave had made me a beautiful card that I will treasure always. And of course I had already received my present from her, Pru. My son gave me a very thoughtful gift, a brand new fountain pen and a lovely ball pen, for jotting, he said. Its a long time since I had a half way decent pen and I love to write with ink so they have both been well used already.
I did not get to see my youngest daughter. I wonder why I was surprised or why I allowed it to upset me? I should know better by now. Her father is on holiday and she is staying with her friend. Earlier in the week she had phoned to say she would call in as she had a present for me that her father had bought her to give me (!). But on the day TD2 called again to say she had no money for bus fare (something that surprised her dad when I told him). She did say she had a doctors appointment for the following day, and as I would have to go with her, she would see me then. However, on Friday morning she phoned again to ask me to cancel the appointment as she was baby sitting with her friend all day.
It doesn't matter.
No. Thats wrong. It does matter. I was hurt and upset. Angry, if I am honest. First Mothers Day and now my birthday. It really hurts.
I had to make an effort for the other two. They were there, they wanted me to have a good day and I wanted them to know how much I appreciate them. So I took us all out to lunch at Pizza Hut. Not very exciting, pehaps, but we enjoyed it. Afterwards we did a little shopping, I bought myself a new CD (Sarah McLachlan) and a new pad of water colour paper. Then Son went out with his friends and TD1 came home with me.
That was that. Another birthday over and done with, another year begun.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: After midnight
DATE: 12:41 AM
-----
BODY:
The Glorious 12th has begun. When I was a little girl I thought I was special, because my birthday was printed in diaries as The Glorious 12th. Poor grouse. Do they know that today their purpose becomes to provide sport for people with guns? Poor little girl. She thought the 12th glorious for such a short time.
Each year, on this day, I write of disappointment. Of my dislike of birthdays. Perhaps I should simply write 'ditto last year'. It isn't age that weighs on me. I am 47. So what? It is just another number. Handy for officialdom but little else. Its that little girls fault. She still wants to feel special. To wake up to mysterious parcels, envelopes stuffed with rhymes, birthday cake and parties. It won't happen. It never has.
It will be a day like all the others. There will be cards and perhaps gifts from the children. TD2 is coming over. She rang to tell me that her father had bought something for her to give me and she hoped I would like it. She did not choose it.
Maybe MJ will phone. It's several days since he has. Perhaps he will remember.
I got drunk last night. A rare and unusual event. I should have saved it for tonight.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Why?
DATE: 3:02 PM
-----
BODY:
Because words fill me, follow me, flow constantly through my mind.
Because I have to.
Because I want to be heard.
Because
I
don't know
who?
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: When?
DATE: 2:58 PM
-----
BODY:
When I first wake up.
When I am eating.
When I am on a bus
or
a train.
When I am watching tv.
When I am listening to music.
When I am lying in bed
awake
when
I
should
be
sleeping.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Where
DATE: 2:56 PM
-----
BODY:
In my blog.
In my other blog.
On my web site.
On envelopes.
On scraps of paper.
On the margins of books.
On clean, white sheets of paper.
On lined paper.
On pads of paper.
On the computer.
On my drawings and paintings.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: What?
DATE: 2:48 PM
-----
BODY:
What?
Lists.
Things to be done.
Things completed.
Things remembered.
Things to buy.
Things wanted.
Things to dream of.
Things to forget.
Things that are made up.
Things that rhyme
and
Things that don't.
Things that grow into stories.
Things that shrink into frustration.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Dark Days
DATE: 12:36 PM
-----
BODY:
It has been a bad few days for no particularly good reason. The standard arguments that every mother has with teenage children. Appointments to be kept with people trying to help my youngest daughter. The embaressment of sitting in one which she refused to attend and that her father had forgotten about. Worry about Pru, who has developed a rash and had to go to the vet and has to go again as it still has not healed. The pain in my back bad enough at one point to cause me to faint.
I have drawn and painted, but not written. Some how there were not any words to spare. They were all trapped in my head, running around and around, faster and faster. Keeping me awake or sending nightmares that left me shaken and covered in sweat.
A bad few days.
====================================================
We raised a total of £85 for the Depression Alliance and I will be posting a copy of the receipt here asap. The Alliance has also asked me to write a piece about my involvement in Project Blog for their newsletter.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: 5 Questions...
DATE: 8:49 AM
-----
BODY:
Two people agreed to allow me to ask them 5 questions, you can find the answers to those I asked Pogo here and Menina's answers here.
The questions that Black Rat asked me and my answers.
Any one else want to play?
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog update
DATE: 8:27 AM
-----
BODY:
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 9:32 AM
-----
BODY:
TD1 as she is now (well 18 months ago). My favourite photograph of us together. (Hope this makes up for posting the baby pic!)
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: A quick blog...
DATE: 9:08 AM
-----
BODY:
When it was all over and time to finally log out and go to sleep, guess what happened? I couldn't. Sleep that is. I went to bed. Tossed and turned. Starred at the ceiling. Starred out of the window. Read for awhile. Got up again, had something to eat. Made a drink. Went back to bed. Tried to sleep again. Nothing worked.
Wound up like a top, I could not stop the jumbled train of thoughts that was running through my head like an inter-city express. Why had I fallen asleep during Project Blog? Bad me. What had I written? Review each entry mentally looking for things I should not have said or people I had forgotten to thank. Was the PayPal button the right thing to do? How else could I collect donations? Had I offended anyone? Over looked a comment or an email? Wide awake and in the kind of 'high' mood that can be almost as bad as a 'down'.
Finally, I slept for a couple of hours.
I spent the evening watching a film with The Teenagers, eating Chinese and laughing and talking too much.
I am still tired, but feeling better, more relaxed. When I have done my chores I will come back and blog again. I have people to thank and a review of those 24 hours to write, an update on donations so far and my favourite blogs to read.
Till then, have a good day, my friends.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: My last post
DATE: 1:00 PM
-----
BODY:
for Project Blog 2004.
I have set up a PayPal account specifically for donations and pledges. (The link is in the post below) The button will be deleted after 48 hours. I will of course, post proof in my blog that all monies have been paid over to the Depression Alliance.
Total pledged to date £59
What more is there to say other than thank you once again and goodnight.
x
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 12:50 PM
-----
BODY:
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 12:27 PM
-----
BODY:
Its very nearly the end of what has been a very special 24 hours for me. To all those kind souls who have sponsored me, thank you. Your generosity has touched me. For everyone who has supported me with pledges, conversation, company, emails and comments, friends old and friends new, thank you.
And thank you to my guest blogger, my eldest daughter whose picture you will find below. (Someone will also find my dead body if she finds out I posted that)!
To date we have raised £59 for the Depression Alliance.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 12:26 PM
-----
BODY:
TD1
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 11:57 AM
-----
BODY:
%20of%20Picture%20496.jpg)
A baby Harry Potter hiding behind a couple of candles
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 11:55 AM
-----
BODY:
Wanna play?
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 11:55 AM
-----
BODY:
%20of%20Picture%201192.jpg)
Helping out. This is Magic. The ex got custody.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 11:27 AM
-----
BODY:
One and a half hours to go and I am dead tired and wide awake. The cats are sleeping in a heap on the sofa and the kids are snoring upstairs. Although they have both assured me that they are about to leap from their beds any second now, somehow I find it unlikely.
I'm having a look for some more pet pics.
I have a funny feeling that if I were to read back over some of the posts I have made during this 24 hours, I would be horrified at the quality of the writing and reaching for the delete button. So I'm not going to read them, lol.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: daddys_girl
DATE: 10:59 AM
-----
BODY:
You could always walk away.
Home, family, friends, had no more meaning for
you than library books disgarded on a park bench.
I went looking for you once,
concerned about my daddy alone
with someone else's belongings. Nothing of your
own, except a few clothes packed in an old suitcase.
I brought you photographs.
I did not understand.
Sometimes, I imagin strangers wondering how they came to be
left in the dust of an rented room.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 10:29 AM
-----
BODY:
Charcoal sketch
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: LOL!
DATE: 10:16 AM
-----
BODY:
| francesca_gray may explode without warning |
| M
EXPLOSIVE |
From Go-Quiz.com
(link pinched from SB)
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 10:04 AM
-----
BODY:
Gemma left the following comment a little earlier:
"Your descriptions of depression are very astute and moving, some of us know those feelings only too well but most of us can't articulate them as you can :o)"
Her words came at just the right time. More than anything I want to make a difference, even in a small way. I write in the hope of giving a voice to some one else who cannot find the words. Or to demonstrate to another person that they are not alone in their experience. If I can do that, then some good has come out of the years of my own depression. The time was not wasted.
Thank you, Gemma.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 9:25 AM
-----
BODY:
Not too long to go now. But there is still time to help me raise more money for the Depression Alliance. You could:
Sponsor me through the Project Blog website or make a pledge by email or here.
Buy a Gmail invitation for £10
Post a bid for this beautiful necklance (designed and hand made by moi) either by email or through the comments section of my blog.
All pledges/donations may be made either directly to Depression Alliance or to me through PayPal. Details to follow at the end of Project Blog.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 9:02 AM
-----
BODY:
Pastel sketch by Francesca
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 8:20 AM
-----
BODY:
Depression has many disguises. The ones of absence and paralysis I have already attempted to describe. There is also the face of anger and frustration. The times when merely the sound of conversation drives your to distraction. When you lash out with your tongue at those closest to you. Tension stretches you like an elastic band until you quiver at the slightest thing.
Then there are the tearful days. The days when an affectionate touch, and advert, a news item swamps you with despair. Or for no reason at all, tears overwhelm as if they will never stop.
Of times of crisis, I have written in Diet Coke and will not repeat myself here.
Not everyone will experience depression in all of these ways. Other people would describe shades of darknes I have never felt.
Sometimes it will be a shadow that darkens life for a few hours, a few days, a few weeks. Sometimes it will last so long, that if there is a light at the end of the tunnel, you no longer remember its excistance.
Individual. Sharing common symptoms but as unique as each human being.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 8:02 AM
-----
BODY:
Original Photograph (digitally manipulated) by Francesca
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 7:51 AM
-----
BODY:
Original artwork by Francesca
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 7:24 AM
-----
BODY:
The irony is that you believe every word that is said. You have said the same to yourself and worse a thousand times a day. You have no excuses. No explanation. No more understanding of why than anyone else.
Some days the simple task of getting out of bed is too much. You lie there, cocooned in the covers, making mental lists of all you should do that day, must do. Have to do. Beginning with getting up. You bend your will, order your body to obey, but your heart isn't in it. As if it were the 'surface' you demanding action, but the real you, lies dormant, hiding some where deep and dark. You berate yourself some more.
Or you do get up, get dressed, follow the usual routine. Without actually being present. Memory is full of holes, like a worn out, moth eaten jumper. Words slide away. Attention falters. Depression and sadness are not necessarily similar. There are times when emotion, any emotion, even the most painful would be welcome. It is the 'absence' that wears away your will.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 7:01 AM
-----
BODY:
Depression is a life altering condition. It can turn every day activities into insurmountable obstacles. It can destroy relationships and drive friends and relatives away. At first there is sympathy and support, often given with a flavouring of puzzlement and uncertainty. Helpful advice is offered, a cheerful chivying tone adopted.
'Nothing is ever as bad as it seems.'
'You just have to look at the positive side of things.'
'Count your blessings, there are many people far worse off than you.'
'Feeling sorry for yourself achieves nothing.'
'Just pull yourself together and smile.'
Besides, there is a pill for everything these days. Fill the perscription, swallow the tablet and you are cured.
Gradually, impatience, irritation, begins to replace the sympathy. Weeks have gone by, perhaps months and even those closest to you are tired of making allowances. Phrases like 'self indulgent', 'self absorbed' and 'attention seeking' are heard more and more often. A depressed person is not appealing company. There is no visible wound or injury that can account for the symptoms.
People begin to drift away. Quietly, imperceptably. Or with slammed doors and harsh words.
Isolation snaps shut around you like a trap.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 6:34 AM
-----
BODY:
I have almost made my target of £50. There is still plenty of time but I can't help thinking that perhaps if I had not fallen asleep I would have done better. So I am pledging £10 myself. That is £5 for each hour that I slept instead of blogging.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Oh the embaressment!
DATE: 6:21 AM
-----
BODY:
The shame! How could I? I fell asleep. There I have admitted it. Seriously, though, I am mortified, so embaressed. I fell asleep sitting at the computer and only woke up when I fell off the chair. That hurt. My punishment for letting the Project down. Sighs, luckily I have a new tens unit, which I am now going to use and then I will post properly.
Heck! Trust me, cant even stay awake for a few hours.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 4:30 AM
-----
BODY:
watching over you
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 4:01 AM
-----
BODY:
Cuddling up
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 3:34 AM
-----
BODY:
The baby of the family, Pru, a smoke Egyptian Mau. Living with Pru is like living with an extremely mischievous toddler. She may look sweet and innocent, but belive me that little girl is trouble on four legs. Whatever you are doing, she wants to be part of. Have you ever tried mopping a floor while a kitten hitches a ride on the mop? She chatters away and loves to put her face close to yours and stare. The humans in this household are not the only ones to be besotted by Pru, she has Harry and Merlin under her spell too.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 3:08 AM
-----
BODY:
%20of%20Picture%20110.jpg)
See what I mean?
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 2:59 AM
-----
BODY:
The eldest of the three by a year or two, this is Merlin, a chocolate Tonkinese. Beautiful isn't he? With his dense velvet fur and gooseberry green eyes. Don't be misled by his apparant elegance and sophistication, Merlin is a tart! This is one cat who is always ready for a cuddle from anyone willing to offer one. He is such a baby, purring and nuzzling and he just has to sleep curled up next to some one.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 2:34 AM
-----
BODY:
Meet Harry Potter. Although he is not the eldest of my three cats, he does seem to rther like the 'father' role. Much of the time he can be found watching the other two with a kind of patient tolerance or and expression that says 'do you see what I have to put up with?' He has the sweetest, most gentle nature of any creature I have ever owned and has never been known to scratch anyone, even accidently. His secret is that Harry is a big softie. When he decides he wants a love, his chosen victim has no choice but to give in. He nibbles your fingers gently, licks, treads, digs you out from beneath the duvet and head buts so hard you have to check you still have all your teeth! Oh and he doesn't miaow. Only squeaks when he lands.
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #28 (I think)
DATE: 2:03 AM
-----
BODY:
Time for some more pics, I think....off to rummage
I'm on yahoo messenger francesca_rambling if anyone fancies a chat
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Correction...
DATE: 1:48 AM
-----
BODY:
TD1 just pointed out that I should have entitled that last post 'Return of the Mummy' but then she is also the person who said we should call our latest cat 'Sally' (we already have one called Harry) just so she could say 'when Harry met Sally'.
(This does make sense, honest, I think).
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Return of the Mum
DATE: 1:36 AM
-----
BODY:
I'm back, wide awake (not) and ready to blog the night away.
The new total is £42 plus the 20 that is either dollars or pounds. The latest wonderful person to sponsor me is Lynn of Bacon, Cheese and Oatcakes fame. Thank you so much Lyn ~smiles~
Now do I dare read whatever it is that TD1 wrote? Terrific girl isn't she? Wonder if she knows how much I appreciate her giving me the opportunity to rest?
--------
AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Guest Blogging (again)
DATE: 1:01 AM
-----
BODY:
Mum is still doing her sleeping beauty impression so its my turn again.
Right now I'm doing what I usually do sitting at the computer (obviously) listening to my music. Like most people my age I spend all my money on clothes, nights out and music. My favourite artist is definitely and Irish singer song writer called Damien Rice. I've been a huge fan since my ex boyfriend first got me to listen to his album O. This was way last summer and I'm very happy that he is getting more exposure and more people are appreciating his work now. On Valentine's Day this year I went to see him play in Manchester and it was one of the most memorable nights of my life, he was just awesome.
However there is a funny story attatched to Damien (we're on first name terms.) Being a fairly naiive 18 year old and not really into the erotic literature scene I couldn't understand why the album was called O. I read all the lyrics to every song on the C.D and found only one reference to the title of the album in a song called Amie. ''Amie comne sit on my wall, and read me the Story of O'. So I set about on my mini-mission to find out what the story of O actually was. Thanks to the internet I found out that it was a very old book of the erotic variety or at least was considered that when it was first published. So i scribbled down a note of my findings and thought no more about it. Later on in the night mum came up to me and said 'I suppose I should be happy that there are no secrets between me and my children, not many parents are as open minded as me, you and your erotic literature.' I wasn't sure mum was entirely convinced that it really was research (it does sound like a rubbish excuse!) until I sat her down and explained the wonder of Damien Rice and made her listen to the album, lo and behold another Damien Rice fan was born.
The moral of the story, everyone should listen to Damien Rice.
TD1
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Guest Blogger
DATE: 12:35 AM
-----
BODY:
So mum is desperately tryin to recharce her blogging batteries and has asked me to step in. I certainly know what a terrific writer she is and am well aware of the high standard she has set so this is a pretty daunting experience. (Although I would never admit that to her face) Expect an entry littered with spelling mistakes and gramatical errors, but at this time of night I'm sure I can be forgiven.
The second problem I'm facing is to try and think of something to write about which shouldn't really be a difficult thing since according to mum I'm full of teenage angst and the world hates me. But I think that all that is pretty cliche so I'll steer away from that -laughs- Actually I think that I'll write about my mum, there's quite a lot to say there. Its a big honour that she has asked me to guest blog here, because I really respect her and her writing, I know how much it means to her. Mum and I have a special relationship that has never wavered at any point in my life, lots of people say this but she really is my best friend. Despite all the arguments we have, the usual 'i hate you because your my mum and thats the only reason I need right now' we get along most of the time. Mum asked me what I thought her most important qualities were and I said immidiately, 1) you're very open minded,. Nothing appears to shock her, she is certainly not judgemental and always prepared to listen to a story the whole way through before jumping to conclusions. 2) You're an excellent listener. Mum is always prepared to listen to somebody whatever their problem, whatever time of night it is and no matter what she is doing it can be dropped if there'es a problem that needs to be solved. 3) You're very loving. A hug is never far away when my mum is around and I'll never get to big to climb on her knee or snuggle up on the settee for a mummy/daughter cuddle.
Awww how very sloppy and gushy. Lets keep this post between us, wouldn't want mum to get a big head and all that :)
TD1
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 12:09 AM
-----
BODY:
Make a bid by email to francesca.gray@gmail.com and this unique hand made necklance could be yours. I will pay p&p for the winner whether here or overseas.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Update
DATE: 12:07 AM
-----
BODY:
Yet another kind and generous friend has sponsered me. Gemma has added £10 to the total which now stands at £33 plus 20.
Don't forget that there are two other ways of helping me raise money - First The 2 Gmail invites provided by Morgan :
' #12
First things the first, the message from Morgan should have looked like this:
On a first come first serve basis, I offer two of my remaining Gmail
invitations to Francesca in the following fashion as a form of
sponsorship:
The next two *new* (i.e., not someone who has already sponsored her;
unless they make an additional pledge for the following said amount)
sponsors would like a Gmail invitation so they may have their own
Gmail account and whom pledges a donation to the Depression Alliance
of at least 10 British Pounds or more, once Francesa e-mail me their
name and e-mail address, I will send them their Gmail invitation. As
already mentioned however, only two Gmail invitations of mine are
presently available for this.
and the piece of hand made jewellery (designed and made by moi) which you can make a bid on by email. Hightest bid so far is still £10. (pic to follow)
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Cricket's Corner
DATE: 11:38 PM
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BODY:
Cricket is another blogger blogging around the clock for charity, in her case Terre Haute Humane Society. With each of her posts there is a photograph of one of the animals living in the and some information about it. Personally I have fallen in love with Silas (posted at 2.02 pm) and Sarah (posted at 10.58 am). A charity well worth supporting.
Cricket is also responsible for the 'Before I'm gone' list that has suddenly appeared on the right of my page. You can find more information about this particular webring on Crickets blog. Such a lovely idea. Once Project Blog is over I will spend some time building a page worthy of it and thinking up some more must do things of course.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #21
DATE: 11:04 PM
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BODY:
For the first time today, although no doubt not the last, I can't think of anything to write. hmmm Any one got any suggestions or questions?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #20
DATE: 10:29 PM
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BODY:
Some of my posts this evening belong in 'Diet Coke' rather than this blog. However, as my nominated charity is Depression Alliance it was inevitable that I would write about both depression and my experience of it here. It feels almost like breaking a promise. I created the other blog to contain such thoughts and to keep them away from those who did not want to read them. Now here they are shouldering their way into my every day blog.
Earlier on I described something of an episode from my childhood. It is not something that I find difficult to speak of, but something that I find difficult to write about. In fact I have never written about it until recently when it began to leak into my poetry. I have planned for some time to try t put all of it into words. Hoping that by doing so I would finally purge the demons. Talking has not done so, perhaps turning it into stories might.
Maybe tonight has been the first step. I wrote something. A brief description of a few short months. Maybe now I will write more, or perhaps not. They are stories that I do not know myself.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #19
DATE: 10:05 PM
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BODY:
Brother and Sister
"You took me back, once, to see the tall, dreary buildings grown smug
in a suddenly fashionable part of London.
White paint and window boxes silently disapproved and pointed to the 'private' sign,
not wanting to be disturbed by children hand in hand walking out of years ago.
The cobbler on the corner was gone.
A grumpy man who never spoke and smelled of leather and polish and
skills that required no machinery.
The one-legged trombone player no longer swung down the high street on crutches,
smiling and making music.
A composite memory in your mind? Or a division in mine?
Who know?
Remember the kitchen without a lock through which strangers crept apologetically
on their way to the lavatory at the end of the garden?
The greedy pavement grill
that trapped darkness into a room that was home underground?
The betting shop next door?
That had gone, too.
Now in the early hours,
after enough alcohol to joke a past that exists only between us,
I lay my head against your shoulder.
You hold me tight
and we say nothing."
I'm not sure whether it counts as cheating to post a previously written poem from one of my other web sites. But I'm doing it anyway as I have done now and again in both my blogs.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #18
DATE: 9:36 PM
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BODY:
An annoymous sponser has sponsered me to the tune of another 20!!! Although I don't know if that is pounds or dollars, not that it matters one bit. Who ever you are, thank you. If you drop me an email I can thank you personally an also send you details of how to make the donation at the end of Project Blog.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #17
DATE: 9:01 PM
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BODY:
I may have a guest blogger a little later on. TD1 has almost been persuaded to lend a hand. Which would be nice for me, I could take a nap, lol! Could also be interesting...I wonder what she would say about me?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #16
DATE: 8:29 PM
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BODY:
Blogging makes you hungry, particularly for chocolate. If I have put on weight after the project its will not be my fault.
Just a reminder that I am blogging in aid of Depression Alliance, there is still plenty of time to sponser me either by visiting Project Blog or by emailing me.
If you are interested in receiving a Gmail invitation then check out this post
or if you would like to make me an offer for the summer fruits necklace, email me. The Highest bid so far is £10 (Yes that is all my own work. Now you know what I get up to when I'm not blogging).
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 8:04 PM
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BODY:
A little Francesca sitting between her Grandmother and her Uncle.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #14
DATE: 7:32 PM
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BODY:
There is much talk today about teenage and childhood depression. As a society we are far more aware of our young people as people. It was not always that way. I remember the first time I suffered a depressive bout.
I had been taken from my grandparents to live once more with my parents and syblings. My youngest sister was about a year old and it was the first time I had ever seen her. Next the family moved from the area I knew well to London. We had no where to live, wondered the streets, stayed in bed and breakfasts, then a refuge for the homeless for awhile. Before finally being housed in a basement flat. My mental health began to suffer.
Next came another move, this time to live with an aunt and uncle I barely knew. I became ill, physically ill. I have no idea what was wrong with me although I have heard it described as some kind of 'brain fever'. I remember the way I felt, the night mares. It was after I recovered that depression struck.
I remember vividly the feeling of nothingness. Of tiredness and disinterest. I remember sitting in a chair by the window, a blanket over my knee and everyone being nice to me. All I could think was why couldn't they leave me alone? I had no faith in their concern for me. No belief in anything.
Although I improved, slowly, the depression lasted for months and has recurred at intervals all my life.
Back then it was an unmentionable subject. I remember being told not to tell anyone about my illness, especially not about the convulsion that had been brought on by stress. All of it was taboo. To be forgotten, lest people think I were mad.
I was nine years old.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #13
DATE: 7:03 PM
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BODY:
Number 13, an unlucky number some say. Today I have only good luck. I feel surrounded by friends and well wishers. It doesn't matter that none of us have ever met and probably never will. All that matters is the support I feel from you all.
Thank you.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #12
DATE: 6:38 PM
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BODY:
First things the first, the message from Morgan should have looked like this:
On a first come first serve basis, I offer two of my remaining Gmail
invitations to Francesca in the following fashion as a form of
sponsorship:
The next two *new* (i.e., not someone who has already sponsored her;
unless they make an additional pledge for the following said amount)
sponsors would like a Gmail invitation so they may have their own
Gmail account and whom pledges a donation to the Depression Alliance
of at least 10 British Pounds or more, once Francesa e-mail me their
name and e-mail address, I will send them their Gmail invitation. As
already mentioned however, only two Gmail invitations of mine are
presently available for this.
For those from outside the UK, an easy to use currency converter is
available on this CNN Money Web page (upper right, sidebar) here:
CNN Money: Markets: Currencies
Gmail
----------------------
Thank you once again, Morgan, for your generous offer and for sorting out the mess!
Dont forget that I also have a fabulous hand made necklace up for grabs designed by me. The highest bid so far is £10.00. If you want this unique, original piece email me with a higher offer. The highest bidder by the end of Project Blog gets the jewellery and I will pay for the post and packing.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog #11
DATE: 6:03 PM
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BODY:
If this entry is late blame the cats, Harry Potter has deceided that my keyboard is a good place to sleep and Pru thinks my legs make a perfect scratching post. Merlin simply sits on top of the monitor and observes....hmmmm
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: PS
DATE: 5:41 PM
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BODY:
Yes I know I made a bit of a hash of that last entry. I'm flustered!
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog # 10
DATE: 5:38 PM
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BODY:
The kindness and generosity of people I have never met leaves me lost for words. Which is a tad unfortunate with so many hours of blogging still ahead! During the break, I received the following sponsorship offer from Morgan:
"The next two *new* (i.e., not someone who has already sponsored her;
unless they make an additional pledge for the following said amount)
sponsors would like a Gmail invitation so they may have their own
Gmail account and whom pledges a donation to the Depression Alliance
of at least 10 British Pounds or more, once Francesa e-mail me their
name and e-mail address, I will send them their Gmail invitation. As
already mentioned however, only two Gmail invitations of mine are
presently available for this.
For those from outside the UK, an easy to use currency converter is
available on this CNN Money Web page (upper right, sidebar) here: CNN Money: Markets:
Currencies.
For more information concerning Gmail, go to:
To learn more about Gmail, check out the following Gmail informational
Web pages:
Gmail Sneek Peek
About Gmail
and, for more about ...
Gmail and Privacy
Morgan"
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: #9
DATE: 4:59 PM
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BODY:
I have another sponsor and another $5 to add to my total. Thank you Elergy. I wanted to make a list of all the other bloggers who are taking part in Project Blog, but I can't seem to manage it. Instead, I will add them to an entry as I roam about cyber space enjoying all the new voices I have not heard before. Of course, I should I got all these sorts of things organised before today but me and organised don't get along very well.
No bids so far on either 'Summer Fruits' or the gmail accounts (rather think I missed the boat there but someone might want one), but as someone else just said to me... we've got all day!
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog - enry 8
DATE: 4:31 PM
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BODY:
Depression is one of those conditions that suffers from too much publicity and too little understanding. Everyone has heard of it. Everyone thinks they know what it is. It has become almost fashionable to suffer from it. I doubt that there is a person in the country who has not said at some time 'I'm depressed'. The very familiarity of the word leads us to devalue it. At the same time there is a tremendous stigma attached to depression. After all, its just a mood thing, isn't it? It strikes all of us at some time or another. All you have to do is pull yourself together and not let things get you down......
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog - Entry 7
DATE: 4:06 PM
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BODY:
Taking part in Project Blog is very important to me. I don't work so I am able to donate little in the way of cash to the charities I would like to support. My health problems mean that sponsored walks, bike rides etc are not possible. But I can write. And I can give up my time to attempt to raise both cash and awareness for Depression Alliance.
Perhaps it was selfish of me to chose to support and organisation that deals with a condition that affects me, personally. Maybe it is the personal connection that gives me the energy and determination to complete the challange. The reasons don't really matter. What matters is that I give something back.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog entry 6
DATE: 3:32 PM
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BODY:
If any one is interested in bidding for either a gmail account or the necklace email me with the amount and with what you are bidding on in the description.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog
DATE: 3:03 PM
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BODY:
No comments, no one in my shout box, no one on yahoo or aim.....I'm alone in the universe! (is that being egotistic or paranoid? answers on a post card please)
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 2:44 PM
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BODY:
'Summer Fruits' A one of a kind necklance featuring vintage accent beads. (Note that the pink is much more of a raspberry colour in real life)
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog 4
DATE: 2:32 PM
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BODY:
I have been trying to think of things that would keep the next few hours interesting both for myself and any readers who come by... these are my ideas so far:
1. A version of the 5 questions game... anyone want to aske me anything? Doesn't have to be 5 questions, 1 will do.
2. Suggest topics for me to blog about.
3. I still have 4 gmail accounts available, anyone want to bid for one?
4. I still intend to auction a piece of unique jewellery, hand made and designed by me. I deceided that I wanted to offer something nice than the original piece - picture to follow.
Dont forget, to sponsor me or any of the other participants, visit Project Blog
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog - 3
DATE: 1:59 PM
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BODY:
One hour and three posts gone already. Why do I get the feeling that this is the easy part? ~laughs~ I'm not sure I will still be smiling at this time tomorrow, some how.
For those of you who may have missed earlier posts, I am blogging to raise money for the Depression Alliance, a charity close to my heart. If you want to sponsor me and help fund research into depression and support for those whose life it damages, just visit Project Blog and follow the instructions for sponsors. I will email my sponsers with what to do next when the project finishes.
Yahoo Messenger: francesca_rambling
AIM: Francezcaa
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 1:41 PM
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BODY:
Port el-Kantaoui - not taken by me, but the cafe I sat writing in is just behind the galleon.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: A Mid-Life Adventure: part 5
DATE: 1:09 PM
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BODY:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Saturday, 3rd July 2004
I am sitting in a cafe, drinking freshly squeezed orange juice in Port el-Kantaoui watching the world go by. People, boats, twinkling lights are all spread out before me. Voices, Arabic, French, German, occasionally English almost drown out the gentle shush shush of the sea. The boats make a complicated interplay of shadows and reflections. Bare masts stand tall like some secret semaphored message.
So many people. Families, small children, couples with their arms around each other, heads close as they whisper and laugh together. I wish that MJ was holding my hand. The sense of being an outsider, a ghost who barely disturbs the air by her presence, is very strong tonight. Yet I am content. To be alone is not something to be feared. Loneliness is not always painful. The air is pleasantly warm, the juice cold and fresh. I observe and store up pictures in my mind to recall on other days when Tunisia is merely a distant memory.
Tucked away in the corner of the marina I found an art gallery with an exhibition of works by Tunisian artists. One particular painting caught my attention and I kept coming back to it. A man, whom I took to be the gallery owner approached and if there was anything in the exhibition that spoke to me particularly. I pointed. He smiled. It was his painting, he was the artist! His English was heavily accented and not easy to understand, but still we spent the most wonderful hour discussing his work. I am thrilled by this unexpected gift of interesting conversation handed to me from no where. I wish I could afford to buy the painting, maybe one day.
There is so much I want to see and do and experience while I am here. At the same time, I am content. Content to simply be.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Welcome to the party...
DATE: 1:00 PM
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BODY:
Notice the change of name? Its only temporary, just for the next 24 hours. I wanted to come up with a title that sounded like a pub name, but well, um.. If anyone can think of a better one, let me know.
I am now available on Messenger as francesca_rambling and on AIM as francezcaa if anyone fancies a chat.
Let the party begin.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Tick Tock Tick Tock Project Blog
DATE: 6:44 AM
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BODY:
Only a few hours to go, shouldn't I be sleeping or something to get into shape?
Pledges so far are £15 and $10 usd (sorry its too early in the morning to do the maths and comeup with a total, later people, later.)
I'm also pledging £10 myself to make up in a small way for my abysmal failure to attrack sponsorship, lol.
I do hope there are lots of visitors tonight. Although talking to mysef for 24 hours would be nothing new, I would much prefer your company. I promise to make it as interesting as I can with more exerts from my holiday journal as well as my usual rambling. And of course I will be on yahoo messenger chatting life (francesca_rambling)
See you later, my friends. Off to see if I can catch another hours sleep, I'm going to need it.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog update
DATE: 4:31 PM
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BODY:
Thank you to Jennie for sponsoring me, I really appreciate it!
Not long to go now. I will be on line, blogging every half hour from 1pm tomorrow. I hope I will have lots of visitors (and a few more sponsors) to keep me awake during the 24 hours. I will also be online in yahoo messenger for anyone who feels like a chat.
My id is francesca_rambling
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: A Mid-life Adventure: part 4
DATE: 2:30 PM
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BODY:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Friday, 2nd July 2004
I slept with the balcony door wide open. Just the net drawn across to discourage any insects that might have decided to visit. It felt wonderful, the nearest thing I can imagine to sleeping outside. Cool enough to need a sheet but warm enough for it not to really matter. The birds woke me again. I can't see them, only hear the jumble of sounds. There is one particularly loud and insistent cheep cheep that I wish I could identify.
The sky is a clear, light blue, a slight breeze cools the delicious warmth of early morning. I'm sitting on the balcony eating peaches and plums from those supplied by my 'admirer' before going down to breakfast. The food here has been a pleasant surprise. As well as the self serve, there are two a la carte restaurants where we may also eat at no extra charge. You do have to book though. I have booked a table at La Gardenia (Italian) for Sunday evenings.
6.15 am. Time for a quick shower before breakfast then it will be time to wait for the coach in reception. My trip to Dougga and Thuburbo Majus leaves at 7.50.
Oh, an unexpected extra. The TV in my room receives BBC World (just about), so I will not have to do without my daily 'fix' of news!
------------------------------------
Through a series of unexplainable mix-ups I did not go on the Roman Encounters trip after all. M, the rep was very helpful. I really like him. He altered my bookings so that today's adventure will now take place next Friday and I will go t to 'Showstoppers' tonight.
I wondered down to the beach this morning. It is not too far to walk. The sand is the palest of gold, warm and fine underfoot. I found it almost impossible to walk on even with the aid of my stick and once I had managed to stagger to the nearest lounger stayed put. The sea so calm and blue was very inviting and I wished that I could swim.
I lay in the shade reading and listening to music until it became to hot even for me. Its amazing how many people continue to sun bathe, even when the sun is at its highest, slowly turning red as their skin burns. I would love to have a deep golden tan, but don't think that some thing so transient is worth the discomfort.
It has been a very, very hot day. Somewhere around 40? I'm afraid I don't speak decimal...Laughs. Even sitting in the bar I was soon soaked with sweat. Siesta is a very civilised custom.
The fruit in my room had proved very welcome. I lunched on oranges, bananas and plums. The oranges are large and incredibly juicy. They taste delicious. I wish fruit tasted this good at home.
-----------------------------
I enjoyed the show put on by holiday reps from all the different hotels. It was a little tacky, but tackled with such enthusiasm one had to relax and enjoy. The professional act that shared the bill was 'The Dream Girls', an international drag act. For personal reasons, I am not fond of drag, it makes me uncomfortable. But I have to say that they were very good, funny too.
Both the reps, A and M, are excellent at their job. Very friendly and helpful, their desire to make sure that everyone has a good time seems genuine. Although I could do without the 'jolly holiday camp' atmosphere that erupts at times. That's just me, I'm not much of a joiner.
There were moments of intense loneliness this evening and discomfort. I was seated at a table alone and as it was waiter service there was no occasion even to greet another person. I felt self conscious sitting there. A lone woman at an empty table in a crowded room filled with couples holding hands, groups of friends and families. It took a lot of will power to remain, to keep my head high and a smile on my face, but I did it.
That aside, I am glad that I came on holiday. I am sleeping well, eating regularly and feel more relaxed than I have for a very long time.
August 2004 My daughters 18th birthda. This seems to be the only photo I have of us all together. From left to right: Me, TD", Son, TD1's ex, TD1
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 9:53 PM
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BODY:
So many flowers, where ever I look
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 9:52 PM
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BODY:
'Showstoppers' my first evening out
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog
DATE: 7:05 PM
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BODY:
Just three days to go until Project Blog at 1pm on Saturday. I'm still looking for sponsors as my efforts so far have not been very succesful..lol. The total raised so far is still only £15 from my daughter and my ex but I haven't given up yet!
PROJECT BLOG - CHARITY EVENT
On the 24/7/04 bloggers around the world will blog every 30 minutes in aid of their particular charity. That is 48 posts that might be essay length, one liners, a photograph, artwork or maybe even a joke! The event begins on Saturday, 24th July at 8am EST, that is 1pm GMT for those of us in the UK.
To take part yourself or to sponsor me go to Project Blog. Potential sponsors can also contact me directly at francesca.gray@gmail.com with 'charity' in the subject line.
WHY SPONSOR ME?
As those of you who read my blogs regularly know, I am a long term sufferer of depression. With that in mind, my chosen charity is the Depression Alliance, a UK charity that funds research into depression, publicizes the condition and offers support to those it effects. The following is taken from their website:
"Depression affects 1 in 5 people in the UK at some point in their lives.
Depression is the single most common reason for visits to the GP. More than 2,9 million people in the UK are diagnosed as having depression at any one time.
Up to another 8.7 million cases are neither recognised nor treated.
Depression Can be a killer - over 70% of recorded suicides are by people who have experienced some form of depression.
If it wasn't for Depression Alliance you probably wouldn't know any of the above. We need you to add your voice to ours until it's so loud that everyone knows the truth about depression. Then, together we can combat it."
Please support me and lets help to make this an event to remember.
If anyone needs more information, just drop me a line.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: PLAY 'FIVE QUESTIONS'
DATE: 2:59 PM
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BODY:
The following interview with me consists of five questions chosen by Black Rat from whose blog I lifted the idea.
If you want to play too, it works like this:
1. Leave a comment on my blog saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I will respond and ask you five questions.
3. You'll update your blog with my five questions, and your five answers.
4. You'll include this explanation.
5. You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.
Here are the 5 questions Black Rat asked me (I knew he would ask 'difficult' questions, lol), together with my answers:
- Paint a picture of yourself in words.
Are we talking about what I look like or who I am? The first would be much easier to do. Blonde hair, fair skin, dark eyes, I look younger than I am, so I have been told. 5'4" just about, I have small bones on which every extra pound looks like two, much to my chagrin. My hands and wrists are tiny, which makes it very difficult to get my favourite jewellery (bracelets) to fit properly. Rings are easier because they can be altered.
To describe who I am is much more difficult. I am a person of extremes. I love or hate, I am happy or sad, enthusiastic or uninterested. Emotional or numb. The middle ground is unfamiliar territory to me. I love cats, jazz, blues, good wine and delicious food. Books, poetry, art, writing and beautiful things. I am driven to constantly learn, to explore intellectually and I have a history of failing any kind of examination. I love being warm, hate being cold and am fascinated by colour. I'm a hoarder, a magpie, spontaneous. I have a habit of giving away my possessions and things I have made.
I am childish. I crave affection and security. I can be playful, mischievous, or silly depending on how you look at things.
I think to much and do too little.
2. Describe an idyllic 24 hours.
I rise early, shower, then sit in the garden to eat my breakfast. Real coffee, proper fruit juice and toast spread with bitter-sweet marmalade. As I read the papers, I glance up occasionally to enjoy the warmth of the early morning sun on my face or to pet which ever one of my cats is demanding attention. I know that there is a full day ahead, but there is no rush, I have plenty of time.
Once my meal is over and the dishes done, it is time to sit at the computer and begin working. First todays blog entry, then what? Work on my poetry? Write a new short story? Or maybe today will be a day for painting, for loosing myself amongst brightly coloured pastels that dust my hands as I draw. Which ever I chose, I work confidently, with no guilt about 'wasting time' or not doing a 'proper job'. Hours vanish without notice. How many times has that happened to me in reality when writing or drawing? Too many to count. There is no tension, no tiredness, no depression when concentration becomes purely focused in that way. Even time disappears.
Perhaps it is the sound of a telephone ringing that brings me back to reality. A friend calling for a chat or my sister to arrange an evening out some time soon. Not tonight, though. Because tonight I am meeting someone. I still have some free time before I need to get ready so I grab some fruit to make a late lunch then settle down in the garden to read. An old favourite or something new? It doesn't matter, there is plenty of both to chose from.
Later, in the early evening, I shower once again and change my clothes. A red silk dress, the fabric soft and rippling. I have always wanted a red silk dress. If I still don't own such a thing, then at the very least I will wear red shoes with whatever outfit I do chose. Those I do have. Someone once told me that every woman should own a pair of red shoes and she was right.
I meet him in town. In a quiet bar where we have one drink before going on to... Where shall we go? To the theatre to see a play or maybe a ballet. Why not to the opera? I have never been and I would so like to see a production of Carmen. I know the music off by heart. Afterwards, supper of course. Somewhere where a piano plays in the background and there is a small, intimate dance floor. We would talk and laugh a lot. Comfortable and at ease with each other. Sometimes the conversation would be of serious things, politics or philosophy, the arts. Other times the small things that connect people to each other. Mutual friends, daily happenings, shared jokes.
Now it is late. The sky peppered with stars. Time to go home. In a perfect world, we would walk along the shore. Empty except for us and a handful of others who are also drawn to the sea at night. There would be no need to talk. Just to smile and hold hands. To enjoy the evening.
Once home, we would have a night cap, close the curtains and leave the rest of that idyllic 24 hours to your imagination!
3. Your most memorable night.
Heck! Black Rat! After the last rather over imaginative fantasy real life memories rather fade into insignificance. Let me think...
Why is it so much easier to remember the sting of sadness rather than the ache of happiness? Twice, in recent years, I have kept a deathwatch. First at my grandmother's side and then my mother's. Both evenings remain vivid and detailed in my memory, as if they had been recorded on video. Twice I have watched over a baby in a hospital ward, the first time my eldest daughter, the second, my son. Each time, their illness was a physical pain in my body.
Yet there are happier memories that stand out. My first night with MJ when he knocked a pint of beer over me and I got my revenge when the sofa bed (the nearest thing to a double bed I had at the time), unexpectedly catapulted him onto the floor! Walking along a Cornish beach by moonlight. A light rain encouraging complaints from my children as they tried to shelter beneath the cliff. Watching with disapproval as I played along the beach. Allowing the sea to soak my feet and the hem of my skirt. I could see the lights of the town shining across the bay and watched a ship sail by. Distance making it look like a toy.
Then there is the night my first child was born. Drenched in emotions I have no words for, I stayed awake all night. The ward was on the top floor of a tower block and I was the only 'patient'. I stood looking out of a huge window, watching as darkness faded slowly into daylight and the sun regained its strength. I could see nothing below me. Mist rolled and drifted like clouds. It was as if I were suspended between the sky. Paused between the past and the future. The baby I had carried for nine months was no longer physically part of my body, yet I felt no separation. Some thing in me changed that night.
I had a daughter.
4. Reveal a secret about yourself not previously disclosed.
Are there any left? LOL!
OK, my real name is Michelle, will that do?
5. Your three most positive traits.
This is one of those questions best answered by someone else, but after some thought, I would say loyalty, curiosity and passion. All of which are also amongst my most negative traits.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 2:51 PM
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BODY:
Part of the hotel grounds....how beautiful is that?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: A Mid-Life Adventure: part 3
DATE: 10:08 AM
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BODY:
Part 1
Part 2
Thursday, 1st July 2004
I woke early to the sound of, crickets? And a thousand birds competing to prove who could sing the loudest. Despite the time, it was already warm and I spent a while sitting on the balcony absorbing the heat and the view. I would have liked to breakfast there. Eating the first meal of the day out of doors is one of my most favorite things to do, sadly it is rarely the right kind of weather in England. Hunger finally sent me searching for the restaurant.
It seemed that most people were having a lie in. Only a few early riser were already tucking in to bacon and egg, pancakes, cereal, fruit, whatever took their fancy. Faced with so much choice, my appetite fled and I settled for half a grapefruit and a thick slice of French bread spread with butter. Delicious and fattening, but who cares? I rarely eat butter, however seeing it piled up in soft, yellow curls made it irresistible.
I did not do much today. I still felt disoriented and unsure of myself. I explored the hotel, found the path that led to the beach and of course attended the Thompson 'Welcome' bash. An odd affair. Hot, crowded and over seen by two reps, it reminded me of the holiday camp I once went to as a child. There was useful information given, although the main aim seemed to be to sell the various trips on offer. We were each given a small brochure and a booking form and the impression that we had to make our choices there and then, or at least sometime that day. After giving myself a headache trying to choose where I wanted to go the most and what I could afford, I gave up and went back to my room with no decisions made.
It was easier to consider the options on my own. The two day trip to the Sahara that I had most wanted to do, was out of the question at a cost of £100. Finally, I settled on two visits to historic sites and three evening outings. I am concerned that I will find the evenings difficult, this seems like a good way of making sure that I will enjoy at least three of them. The first day out is to be tomorrow. I wanted something immediate to prevent my automatic response of retreat from people and activity.
I was not sure what to do with myself today. Intimidated by the hotel, daunted by so many things I have not done before. I even had to ask how to change my travelers cheques and for help in opening my safety deposit box! Although I had made sure that my mobile phone would work over here, I was unable to send text messages until this evening. I am not sure if the problem was with the service or with me. It doesn't matter now, I am reassured by contact from both MJ and TD1.
Some times I am so ridiculously childish. At a loss how to respond to the simplest of things. Take my 'Admirer'. Yes, after less than 24 hours I have acquired the attention of a Tunisian man. He approached me as I returned from buying more water and struck up a conversation. It was not until he began to tell me how 'beautiful' I am and that he had noticed me 'immediately', that I realised why he was chatting with me. I had thought he was merely being friendly. A pleasant man, not a boy, but then neither am I some young girl with an absolute belief in her own allure. I am a middle-aged woman whose charms consist of being a tourist with supposedly plenty of cash and 'loose' morals.
Since that first conversation, he has sent both flowers and fruit to my room. I am weak enough to allow myself to feel flattered by the unexpected attention, but also made uneasy and embarrassed by it. Especially when he asked if he could come into my room! I wish I could believe that someone were genuinely attracted to me, but despite my empty headed ways, I cannot.
Dinner was enjoyable. The food, a mixture of English, French and Tunisian is varied, plentiful and good. I share my table with an elderly couple I first met at the Airport, R and M. They have been to Tunisia eleven times, spent ten weeks in this same hotel at Christmas and are founts of information and fascinating stories about both their lives and their travels. Wonderful company, they set me very much at ease. The staff, many of whom know them well, make a tremendous fuss which is lovely to see.
Time to sleep. I have spent my evening sitting on the balcony with half a bottle of red wine and a good book. I can hear music from downstairs and voices, laughter. I have still not plucked up enough courage to join in so stay in my room. I cannot get enough of the view or of the warmth. I am content.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 9:26 AM
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BODY:
Royal Kenz
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 9:25 AM
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BODY:
The view from my window
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: A Mid-Life Adventure: part 2
DATE: 8:06 AM
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BODY:
Wednesday 30th June 2004
Last night, I slept not at all. Excitement, fear, worrying about what I may have forgotten. A failure of imagination as I tried to picture what the next two weeks would be like. My thumb throbbed and I was aware that its dressing made me look slightly ridiculous. As though I am constantly giving the thumbs up sign to who ever may be passing.
But that was last night. Now is an entirely new place, as though I had stepped through a window into a fairy tale. Nothing feels quite real.
I am very tired. Lack of sleep, traveling, stressing about things that did not need me to worry at them like a dog at a bone. G, my ex, drove me to the airport and stayed until it was time to move to the departure lounge. I was grateful for his company. So many people rushing around, confident that they knew what to do next, where to go, what was needed. My ignorance made me feel foolish. Do I need my passport now? How do I know where to board the plane? What do I do with this boarding pass? Do I have time for a coffee? To change the dressing on my thumb which is bleeding again?
Despite my panic, everything went smoothly and I soon found myself strapped into my seat next to a window waiting for take off. I had expected to be afraid. The last time I flew I had a three month old and a two year old with me and no time to take much notice of the experience. This time there was just me. Sitting alone on an airplane only two thirds full. My heart thudding in competition with the sound of the engines.
Then, then it happened! We were air borne and every fear, every thought, except for the sheer enjoyment, the wonder of the experience, fell away. My face pushed up close to the window like that of a child, longing to have someone to say 'look! Oh look!' to. I was aware of nothing except the view. Houses and cities turned into glorious patterns, then the sea, then wonder of wonder, clouds!
I must sound so naive. Stunned and almost reduced to tears by the beauty of clouds. It was like traveling through mounds of candy floss. Surrounded by shapes and subtle colour variations as though some giant had created an enormous sculpture, a piece of installation art to be viewed from the inside. A three hour journey seemed like only minutes. Watching the light change, the way night seemed to suddenly arrive and display its own special loveliness. Then the moon, so large and full, glowing like mother of pearl and so close I felt I could reach out and touch it.
All around me people chatted or read or slept. Closing blinds against this fantastical view as though it were dull or every day. Which of us sees the reality? Them or me? I suspect that it is me who is odd, and that most people will laugh at my enthusiasm for what is merely sky, clouds, the moon.
And now I am sitting in my hotel room, having walked around it several times (despite its smallness), touching things in an effort to make it feel familiar. I am over overwhelmed by the strangeness of everything. The heat, the press of people, strange accents and language I cannot understand. The holiday reps like boisterous sheep dogs.
After booking in and seeing that my case was safely in my room, I went to the bar and bought a bottle of water. I sat at a table set back in the shadows in a corner, but soon fled to the silence of my own space and the comfort of my journal.
I cannot imagine tomorrow.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 3:14 PM
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BODY:
Carthage
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: A Mid-life Adventure: Part 1
DATE: 8:21 AM
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BODY:
Did I really take a holiday for the first time in all these years? Is it true that I flew to Tunisia by myself for two weeks? Already it is beginning to feel like something I dreamed. But no, I have photographs (I am even in a few of them), and postcards, souvenirs, a book with thoughts jotted down at random. A faint tan and even some peeling skin on the back of my neck. In my purse there are email addresses, phone numbers of new friends and my cigarettes are Tunisian with Arabic writing on the packet. It happened. I really did it and I loved every moment.
There is so much I want to tell, to remember, to fix safely in words less it fades with time. Home feels different. The house too dark and cluttered, there is not enough light even out doors and I am cold all the time. Already my world is shrinking. Already I am contained within walls, within myself. I want to hold on to the way I felt during those two weeks. The sense of freedom, of adventure, but I do not know how to.
Is it that there was some 'magic' in Tunisia? Or is it that I was simply responding to a new environment, new people, new activities? The answer lies some where in between I think. Tunisia is very different from England. So much poverty and so much wealth side by side. A land of contrasts. Mountain and dessert, barrenness and fertility, ancient and modern. The five times call to prayer loud above the sound of tourist consumerism. Noisy, impatient traffic and unfailing courtesy. A powerful sense of community, of friendliness, of time.
A beautiful country. A lovely people. Memories to last a life time.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Five new poems..
DATE: 12:29 AM
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BODY:
I
Bling bling
A fashion statement?
Status stamped on wrist and ankle?
Ching ching
the movement of a hand.
Ting ting
with each step.
Enclosed in silver,
bound in chrome,
jewellery store shackles
to reassure.
Ching ching
Ting ting
Bling bling.
II
I took a break from insanity.
Two weeks of pure light
trickling perspiration mopped with
tissues and absorbed in multi-coloured fabrics.
Watching from behind the glass
alone, then reaching through and
touching normality on fourteen
stained glass sundays.
III
Hand in hand like teenagers
on a first date we walked the shore.
A strangers voice whispered holiday romance
sugared wth cliches too sweet to stomach.
I should have been flattered.
Seduced by moonlight
and music
and too much red wine.
By a pretty boy with a
neat line in chat.
Instead, my eyes were held by a man
who watched from the other side of the ocean;
and laughed.
IV
Hotel rooms
harbour
holiday
hopes that
happiness
will last beyond check out.
V
"For the lady..."
A tightly twisted buttonhole,
a garland of white petals.
A handful of coins
in exchange for intoxication.
But not for me.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Home again, home again, jiggety jig
DATE: 7:59 AM
-----
BODY:
The plane from Monister landed at Birmingham airport at around 1 am on Thursday morning. Shivering in the rain of a British summer, my two week dream was finally over. What remained of the night was spent laughing and cuddling with my son and eldest daughter. Sharing memories, searching my suitcase for the gifts I had bought for them, it was after 5 before I finally shut my bedroom door and slept for a couple of hours.
When I awoke I spent the rest of the day trying to return the house to some kind of normality. The children had tried hard not to disappoint the trust I had placed in them and there was not the devastation I had half expected to find on returning home. The cats sulked for a awhile, but it was not long before their delight in my home coming defeated their displeasure and my ears were filled with soft trills and loud purring as I worked.
The resumption of 'normal service' was underlined by the arrival in the afternoon of someone to reclaim the tens unit. The loan period is up and if I wish to continue benefiting from the relief it gives me I must purchase my own. I am grateful that the loan lasted until after my Tunisian adventure. I would have been unable to do as much as I did without it.
I have so much to tell, photographs to share, memories to be given shape and form less I loose them in the trivia of every day. But for now that must wait while I busy myself with laundry and hoovers and unopened mail. For now it is enough to say 'hello my friends, it is good to be back amongst you' and to save my teaming thoughts for a little later.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Back in 2 weeks
DATE: 6:59 AM
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BODY:
This is it folks, for a couple of weeks, I am back very late on the 13th July, so expect a Francesca full of holiday stories to reappear very soon after that. In my bag there is a notebook to continue writing my story and a lovely brand new journal to record my adventures. No doubt I will bore you all to death by posting entries from it here!
Am I excited? I guess so. The trouble is that after the 'day from hell' yesterday I am in the kind of 'on edge' mood that makes me feel as though I might fly apart at any moment. My thumb is still extremely painful and did not make it any easier to sleep last night. I will have to find a doctor or a clinic to take the stitches out in 10 days time and of course any treatment required for what is considered 'a pre existing condition' will not be covered by my insurance. The annoying thing is that if I had to cancel my holiday I would have been entitled to claim.
The injury will make some difference to my holiday. I can't get it wet, have to be careful of infection and will have to shower etc wearing a glove, which will be interesting, lol! Its also very difficult to use my left hand because of the pain, but hopefully it will ease over the next couple of days.
Yesterday is not a day I will care to remember. After leaving the house at 8am to take my ex to work I did not return or have an opportunity to eat until 5.30, except for half an hour when I took the chance to blog.
From A&E I took my son for his college interview (which went very well, btw), back home and then 30 minutes later out again to attend a meeting at TD2's school. The latter began well but ended badly. TD2 was there but her father was not, which as she lives with him made things difficult. I left feeling extremely worried about my daughter and feeling depressed. Not to mention the regulation guilt. It feels like a betrayal to be flying off on holiday when there are so many problems to deal with. On top of which I feel helpless, I don't know what I can do that would make any difference to the situation.
All that has to be some how put to the back of my mind for the next couple of weeks. In a few short hours I will be heading for the airport then off to Tunisia.
Wish me luck.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Sloppy Fairies
DATE: 1:46 PM
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BODY:
I just got back from the accident unit and am sporting a thumb about twice its normal size, stitches, steristrips and dressings. My ex loaned me the car this morning to help out and as I dropped him off at work he accidently shut the door (a sliding one) on my left thumb. Loads of icky blood, two open wounds, but I am very lucky not to have broken it or done any damage to the tendons.
Will write more later, but for now, it hurts damn it!!!
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Telling Tales
DATE: 6:44 AM
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BODY:
Ever since I was a little child I have told myself stories. Some of my earliest memories (of which I have very few), are of day dreaming tales. When I first left home I had boxes and boxes of exercise books and paper filled with my scribbling. Very little, if anything, of it still exists. I have a habit of destroying both my writing and my art work during bouts of depression, even my journals went the same way. In recent years I have continued to write poetry but very little fiction. Some of that has survived thanks to the internet. The hard copies have often been torn to shreds, but if a poem made it to my web site it has usually remained.
Although it is many years since I had the urge to write them down, the habit of telling myself tales has continued. Then last week, out of the blue, the desire to give an idea a separate existence on paper reappeared. How long it will last I don't know. So far I have a collection of episodes and character sketches around the same idea but not yet linked together.
It is a strange feeling, writing fiction again. Like exercising a muscle that has atrophied from lack of use. The words are there but the synthesis that binds each part together is missing. Never the less, I am enjoying writing again...I think.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Suffocation
DATE: 9:59 PM
-----
BODY:
My holiday looms ever closer, Wednesday will be my last blog for 2 weeks as I fly out that evening. There is still so much to be done that at this moment I cannot imagine being able to get everything ready in time. My mood has been very low for the past week despite the increase in medication and events seem to pile up one after another in an attempt to bury me under the weight of them. Taken separately each would be manageable but as it is I am acutely aware of my failures and feel as though I am merely waiting for the next.
Communications with my youngest daughter are much improved and I have hope that the rift between us is finally being mended. Yet I am consumed by a sense of helplessness. I have little or no authority over her, almost no involvement in her day to day life, yet it is me that takes her to the doctor each week, speaks to the teachers at her school and will be at the meeting with her head of year, school counselor, etc on Tuesday. Just me. Alone. There is nothing I would not do to help her, but she does not live with me nor wants to. I have responsibility without power and dread this coming meeting.
When the children were small I believed that I was a 'good enough' mother. Not perfect, but then who is? Never the less I trusted my instincts and we seemed to muddle along well enough. Now they are teenagers it is as if every decision I make is the wrong one. Every attempt I make to support and nurture ends in disaster. With TD1 and my son both at home I feel like something between a referee and a scapegoat. I am sick of being yelled at. Sick of feeling constantly in the wrong. Sick of doubting myself and wondering if their criticisms of me are right. Sick of feeling guilty. Guilty that I feel resentment and anger.
In the scheme of things, the things that make me feel that way are so silly, petty even. Take today. I asked both of them if they would be home for dinner, suggested that it would be nice to all eat together for once. They agreed. I prepared a meal. TD1 was in bed and by the time she came down I had finished eating and her dinner was cold. The boy has only just arrived home with not even a phone call to explain that he had changed his mind.
I resent the piles of clothes and make up and hair products scattered over my bedroom floor that do not belong to me. That I need to buy more cleansing wipes before I go away even though it is not me that has used them, that my favourite eyeshadows, the ones I thought I had lost, turned up in TD1's handbag. I feel guilty that I resent my lack of privacy, the lack of having things that are 'mine', that I am made to feel guilty about going away without them.
Maybe this holiday will be good for me. A chance to get away from every thing and every one. A chance to breath.
Something else to feel bad about. As one of my children said to me, I am a mother. If I had not wanted the responsibilities, the limitations of that role, I should not have chosen it.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: I'm Back!
DATE: 12:52 AM
-----
BODY:
Just a short post, it's late and I am very tired. With no internet, in fact, no computer access at all since last Sunday, I have felt very isolated. Despite considering myself pretty well protected my computer managed to become infected with the Sasser virus. Very nasty indeed. It has taken my ex and his friend R until tonight to get rid of it and get me back on line. I've lost a lot of stuff, which is sad, managed to hang on to some, which is good and can finally get back to surfing and writing my blog.
But for now, if there is anyone out there...goodnight...~smile~
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: The danger of artists and blogs revealed
DATE: 1:02 PM
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BODY:
I rarely write about current affairs or political matters, not because I am not interested (the truth is quite the opposite), but rather because others do it much better than me. Sometimes, however, the issues are too important not to stand up and be counted.
Here in the west we take our freedoms fore granted. We go about our daily business safe in the knowledge that we live in democratic countries where our rights are safe guarded. We grumble and perhaps even demonstrate when governments intrude too far into our private lives and limit our choices in some way. Object loudly to 'the nanny state'. Here in the UK we endlessly debate the European Union and form political parties to protect our 'sovereignty'. 'We' do not want our freedom to act to be curtailed by 'foreigners'.
And while our attention is focused on the continent and the rights of government to intervene in the eating habits of its citizens, our fundamental freedoms are quietly eroded almost without comment.
The 'War on Terror' and the blood and guts war in Iraq are also big issues. Ones that most people have a strongly held opinion on. Many people write, speak, and comment on the injustices that have grown out of our fears. Our attention firmly fixed on the safety of our soldiers, our cities, our citizens abroad; many of us have failed to notice the insidious tightening of a noose around our necks. The USA invents a new category of prisoners of war, 'unlawful combatants', removing the protection of international law in one move. The British government gains an exemption from human rights legislation in order to detain suspected terrorists indefinitely without trial. Joe public nods his head and says nothing. After all these people have given up their rights through their own inhumanity and besides, those of us with a clear conscience have nothing to fear.
Or do we?
Steve Kurtz, Assistant Professor of Art at the Carnegie Mellon University and a well respected artist in his own right is under investigation by the FBI. Last weeks several of his colleagues appeared before a Grand jury in Buffalo and further appearances are expected to follow next month. The story of how Professor Kurtz has found himself in this situation reads like something from 'The Twilight Zone'. On 11th May, Kurtz awoke to find that his wife of many years lay dead beside him. He dialled 911 and a bizarre series of events was set in motion:
'Paramedics, fire-fighters and police responded and found Hope Kurtz dead. Tests would show she suffered heart failure. Foul play was not suspected, and it would have been an open-and-shut matter but for one thing.
The emergency responders discovered a home laboratory containing bacteria samples, petri dishes and equipment to analyze DNA.
What authorities did next set the stage for an ongoing federal investigation with tentacles stretching to Carnegie Mellon University and the University of Pittsburgh.
Although Kurtz explained that the materials were for an upcoming art installation by his group, the cutting-edge Critical Art Ensemble, as well as research for a book, law enforcement was not taking the State University of New York professor at his word.
Suspicions aroused, Buffalo authorities contacted the local Joint Terrorism Task Force, eventually leading to a federal search warrant executed by agents in hazardous materials suits, some of them from the Pittsburgh FBI field office.
For 36 hours, they traipsed through Kurtz's house. They confiscated scientific apparatus, computers, research books whose subjects reportedly included bioterrorism and biowarfare, and correspondence.'
(Source Pittsburgh Post Gazette)
Despite explanations that the materials found were for an upcoming art exhibition by critical Art Ensemble of which Professor Kurtz is a member with an international reputation, the investigation continues, although no one seems to know which laws he has apparently broken of what charges the FBI are considering.
The case has far reaching implications for both the artistic and scientific communities and is being closely monitored by both. It has sparked a global network of support for Steve Kurtz and fuelled the debate about the extension of government powers post September 11th.
It seems that governments have very long arms indeed and for those of you who believe, as I did, that they are entitled to voice their opinions freely in cyber space, I suggest that you think again. 'Someone' may be reading your blog and if they don't like your views...
Last month I reviewed Someone Else's Life as my contribution to the Aortal Open Portal Project. One of my long time favourite blogs, the author, Blackrat, writes with a sharp eyed humour and intelligence that often sparks long running debates in his comments. As a free lance journalist he spent some time in Iraq earlier this year and wrote some fascinating posts on the subject from a personal perspective. A short while after his return home the blog fell silent. His many readers, including me, had become increasingly puzzled and concerned by his uncharacteristic silence. Then last Friday Blackrat posted for the first time since the 14th of May:
'Where have I been?
Nowhere unusual (although it hasn't been entirely dull either, although more of that later.) It appears that my coverage of a certain conflict and my reports from within did not meet with widespread approval and some, er, 'influential' people across the Pond discovered my blog and took issue with some of its content.
Governments may try, indeed, they may believe it desirous for them to keep a handle on what 'news' emanates from within a combat zone, but the internet and contemporary technology are proving more worthy adversaries in their attempts to do this than perhaps had been envisaged. Journalists and governments are always going to be diametrically opposed in these matters with incompatible objectives and compromise is a difficult thing to reach.
I haven't exactly been 'gagged' but...hey, go figure. You do the math.'
I had to read the entry several times before I could actually believe what I was reading. So much for the freedom of speech and freedom of expression. It seems that we are not only to be protected from terrorism but from artists and journalists too.
Doesn't that make you feel so much safer when you go to bed at night?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: A weary day and unexpected pleasure
DATE: 11:57 AM
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BODY:
I missed a day. For the first time in a long time I did not write an entry yesterday. Thursday was a weary day, the kind when words are both too much and not enough. That I had only had 3 hours sleep the night before did not help. I tried to catch up but although I rested, sleep alluded me.
There was no particular reason for feeling so down. Events had actually played out quite well. TD2 had come down from her bedroom and apologised for sending me away, then we had sat, cuddling and talking until 3.30 am. Making plans and searching for solutions for problems that only seem insurmountable when one is young and life is either wonderful or a disaster. I watched her sleeping and wondered what I could have done differently. Thinking how easy parenting is in hindsight.
I had to be up early on Thursday to take TD2 to her doctors appointment. These appointments have had an unexpected benefit, she and I get to spend a little time together. Things did get difficult, there was almost a quarrel, but the doctor was tactful and able to defuse the situation. Afterwards, rather than sending her straight back to school, we went to a cafe and spent a little time chatting.
I came home feeling hopeful that perhaps one day our relationship can be mended, yet at the same time wearied with guilt. Perhaps she will have to become a mother herself before she will understand how much I love her and that every thing I have done has been out of that love.
So today I return to my blog and find yet more signs of the kindness of unknown friends. Generous, unexpected words that brought a smile to my face and a warm feeling inside.
Thank you.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Late night musing
DATE: 1:29 AM
-----
BODY:
It's 1.30 am and I guess I should be asleep. I'm tired (when am I not?)just don't want to be alone in the dark. So here I am listening to music on Launchcast radio and wondering what to do next.
TD1 just came home. Straight upstairs to her room after switching on every light in the house. Following her, I could hear her voice on the phone to a friend. She sounded tearful, it doesn't take a genius to know what the course is, or rather who. I wanted to hold her,let her know that I am here for her, but she sent me away. Friends are more comfort than mothers when you are 18. I understand. It still hurts though.
I downloaded the latest version of Yahoo Messenger this evening. It looks like fun, I like the new audibles and there are more emoticons too. It's also handy to be able to launch Launchcast radio from Messager. The most interesting feature is the invisible status. Rather than a blanket 'off line' status you can choose who to be visible to.
It's some time since I was on line so I suppose I should not feel so disappointed that there is no one I know around to chat with. Some company would have been good.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Kindness
DATE: 8:07 PM
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BODY:
People are nice. Bloggers are extra special nice. As you can see from the addy on the right I have a brand, spanking new email address. A Gmail account of my very own thanks to Morgan. Thank you, Morgan, ~smile~ this must be the first time I have ever been 'one of the first' rather than a minimum of 5 years behind every one else.
I can also add Belgium (Zoe), the Netherlands (Anne)and Thailand (Maisie), to my list of visitors. Made all the more exciting because they were kind enough to leave comments so I have names and blogs to go with the countries. I also spotted a visitor from Singapore today. I feel a child's excitement when first discovering a world outside of home.
Thank you, all of you.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: All around the world
DATE: 2:53 PM
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BODY:
The most interesting thing about stats pages is not the number of hits received but the bit that tells you where people come from. I love looking at this list, it fascinates me. I am amazed that people from all around the world should drop into my weblog. As well as the UK and the USA I have had visitors from France, the Philippines, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, Romania, Singapore, Mexico and even Mauritius and I find that wonderful. All those places I have visited in my imagination, indirectly touching my life for a moment.
There is particular pleasure in finding that I have had a visitor from Mauritius. If there was any where in the world that I could visit, it would be there. My grandfather was born there, then sent 'home' at the age of seven for boarding school in the UK. I still remember the tales he told me, the way he loved his memories of what was the happiest part of his childhood. I wish he had lived longer to tell me more, or that I had been old enough not to forget so much.
===========================
Please sponsor me! - Pledges so far: 15.00 GBP/27.12 USD
PROJECT BLOG - I will be blogging for charity on 24/7/04 - details here
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 12:59 AM
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BODY:
New post on Diet Coke.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: That Monday Morning Feeling
DATE: 10:46 AM
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BODY:
My Grandmother would have been very pleased with this particular Monday. Dry, warm and windy. A perfect 'drying' day. Mondays were, by tradition, the day the weeks laundry was done.
I remember as a small child, lying in bed, listening to her singing as she dragged the twin tub from its place at the side of the kitchen and plugged in what seemed to me, a confusing array of hoses. The tub filling, I would hear her footsteps on the stairs as she came to collect the dirty laundry and her voice calling to me that it was time to get up. By the time the water was heated and ready for its first load, I would be washed and dressed, breakfast eaten and ready to join in the fun.
If Nanny was in a good mood, she would put a bowl of water with a smattering of washing powder added onto a chair and I would have my own washday Monday for my dolls clothes. Out of the corner of my eye I would watch her as with large, competent hands, she sorted laundry, heaving a load into the tub. Reddened hands, with swollen knuckles, fingers that flattened out and showed traces of the cross shaped scars gained when she had trapped her hand in a mangle on some far distant Monday when she was young.
The best part was when each wash load was finished and it was time to put it into the spin dryer. Large wooden tongues were employed to drag the clothes from the scalding hot water and deposit them in the next door compartment. They had to be arranged carefully around the central spindle to balance the load, then a circular, open weave, rubber mat would be placed on top. Once the next load of washing had been added to the machine, the lids would be closed, and the fascinating process would begin all over again.
The machine juddered and shook violently sometimes inching across the kitchen floor. The noise made conversation impossible although I could tell by her face that Nan was still singing. I loved to watch the water spilling from the pipe in the spin dryer back into the main wash. Fast and furious, milky white and bubbling like the foam from a waterfall. Occasionally, the pipe would jump out and pour steaming, soapy water all over the floor, soaking our feet.
Next would come the ritual of 'pegging out'. Clean clothes flapping in the wind like a banner that stretched the length of the garden. For awhile I had my own line, stretched between the garden fence and a pipe in the corner of the kitchen wall. Once my own tiny laundry was dry and folded, I had discovered that I could sit balanced on my little washing line as though it were a swing. I remember swaying in the sunshine, happily day dreaming until the time I lost my balance and fell, cutting my head open badly. My washing line disappeared after that, never to be seen again. But a couple of weeks later a real swing appeared on the garden lawn.
Mondays stretched out busy and comforting in my childhood. Long after the laundry had been gathered in, Nan would be standing by the ironing board, still humming to herself, as the pile of neatly folded, fresh pressed clothes grew beside her.
And I would lie in my bed, surrounded by the moist, clean smell of laundry day, the faint sound of my grandmothers voice through the walls leading me gently into sleep.
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Please sponsor me! - Pledges so far: 15.00 GBP/27.12 USD
PROJECT BLOG - I will be blogging for charity on 24/7/04 - details here
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Aortal Review - Sara Splits Infinitives
DATE: 9:13 AM
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BODY:
Sara began her current blog in June 2003 with the following words:
"I am a serious person, a nice person, even. Each day I got to work and help people. I do it with with care, and skill, and usually with success. People are grateful for what I do for them, my colleagues appreciate my professionalism. I suppose that this is all just as it should be.
And yet! You see, I've learned to be a good person, but I'm not completely happy with my behavior. There are times when I want to vent my feelings, be unreasonable, rant, rage, and generally behave badly. I also want a space to be tentative, unsure, to rehearse arguments, change my mind, whatever. Or to be trivial. Or to be nonsensical. Generally to mix up the serious and the silly, the sacred and the profane....."
If behaving badly means writing an intelligent, amusing, often acerbic weblog, then she has certainly achieved her aim. Observations of corporate life and office politics, characters such as Indiscreet Pete,
Kevin the Sociopath, his side kick John and Barney the ineffectual boss,are interspersed with commentaries on news items or some small incident turned into the most wonderful and sometimes touching, word pictures.
Sara's posts sometimes make me think, sometimes make me laugh, but it is the quality of her writing and her satirical wit that keep me coming back for more. Check out her entry for Wednesday 9th June 'Just What the Doctor Ordered' on recent comments made by the Health Secretary.
============================================================
PROJECT BLOG - I will be blogging for charity on 24/7/04 - details here
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Sweet like honey
DATE: 12:27 AM
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BODY:
Words fill my mind constantly. I revel in language, in the individual sound, shape, texture of a particular word. Sweet like honey words such as 'serendipity',damask', 'passion'. Sharp, shiney, metallic words like 'hot' or 'smack'. I love the way they build into stories, tales that waver then tumble into memories like a child's building blocks. Only to re-assemble into something new. An emotion, an observation sliding into thoughts.
It rarely stops, this internal dialogue. Fantasies created from facts, facts emerging from dreams. Words tumble out of me, overflowing the capacity of my mind and escaping into notebooks, journals, scraps of paper. Most are lost. Touched once then fading from my grasp. I bought a tiny dictation machine hoping I might capture the illusive. Hoping to slow the dialogue by freeing it.
But speech has become unfamiliar. Uncomfortable from lack of use. Ironic for one always accused of talking too much. So I write, and type and close my eyes, drifting in words, sweet like honey.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog - Blogging for charity
DATE: 4:15 PM
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BODY:
Tigers Eye Pendant
PROJECT BLOG - CHARITY EVENT
On the 24/7/04 bloggers around the world will blog every 30 minutes in aid of their particular charity. That is 48 posts that might be essay length, one liners, a photograph, artwork or maybe even a joke! The event begins on Saturday, 24th July at 8am EST, that is 1pm GMT for those of us in the UK.
To take part yourself or to sponsor me sign up at Project Blog. Potential sponsors can also contact me directly at francesca@beadmouse.com with 'charity' in the subject line.
WHY SPONSOR ME?
As those of you who read my blogs regularly know, I am a long term sufferer of depression. With that in mind, my chosen charity is the Depression Alliance, a UK charity that funds research into depression, publicizes the condition and offers support to those it effects. The following is taken from their website:
"Depression affects 1 in 5 people in the UK at some point in their lives.
Depression is the single most common reason for visits to the GP. More than 2,9 million people in the UK are diagnosed as having depression at any one time.
Up to another 8.7 million cases are neither recognised nor treated.
Depression Can be a killer - over 70% of recorded suicides are by people who have experienced some form of depression.
If it wasn't for Depression Alliance you probably wouldn't know any of the above. We need you to add your voice to ours until it's so loud that everyone knows the truth about depression. Then, together we can combat it."
To encourage you to visit my blog during Project Blog, I will be auctioning the tigers eye pendant (pic above),designed and hand crafted by me. Bids will be accepted by email or through my shoutbox during the 24 hours, with the current highest bid posted at the top of each hour. The winner will be announced at the end of Project Blog.
(Pledges/donations can be paid by credit/debit card or through paypal by clicking on the donate button in the sidebar. A copy of the receipt for the total paid to Depression Alliance will be displayed here after the Blog Project. If you prefer to send your donation direct to the charity, email me for details.)
Please support me and lets help to make this an event to remember.
Francesca
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Project Blog
DATE: 10:55 AM
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BODY:
I've had several questions asked about Project Blog(blogging for charity), I am going to collect them all together and produce my own faq to supplement the one on the project site. So if anyone has more questions please feel free to email me.
I'm really excited about this. It makes me feel as though I have something to contribute.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Serendipity
DATE: 5:42 AM
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BODY:
Yesterday I blogged about the Gmails for a good deed project run by Jonas. I said that I would like to do something for someone else but that I lack opportunity, but would keep a look out. Low and behold, this morning I received my copy of the newsletter from The Blog Review and low and behold the first thing that caught my eye was this:
Also up this year is the blogathon. Unfortunately the fine folks over at blogathon.org are not hosting one this year. Instead they are planning, coding and testing for a new and improved for 2005. So now Wendy and I have decided we need to practice staying awake and raising money for charity and we created Project Blog (project-blog.org). The event is just like the blogathon, 24 hours of straight blogging, so if you are interested, please visit www.project-blog.org and sign up. Also, if you can, sponsor Wendy and Me.
There it was, something even I could do. Blog every 30 minutes on the 24th July for charity! I've signed up and my chosen charity is The Depression Alliance
Now all I need are sponsers. If you feel that you could sponser either me or one of the other bloggers taking part, pop over to the Project Blog site and sign up. It would also be great if you could publicise the project in your own blogs.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Nice idea
DATE: 3:14 PM
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BODY:
Wondering around from link to link, losing myself in cyber space, I came across this:
We've gots em, the shiny, the precious ("Do some good") | a preponderance of evidence
I am on the mailing list for info on Gmail myself although I can't quite see why it has become such a 'fad'. Never the less I had to link to Jonas, I was so impressed with his idea, asking people to do a random act of kindness in return for a Gmail invitation. I have so little contact with people other than through the net that I can't think of anything I could do, other than add a little more publicity. But I shall look out for an opportunity, just because.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 2:34 PM
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BODY:
Thank you once again to a boing boingcontributor for starting my day with a giggle.
Arcata Eye Newspaper : Arcata Police Log Index
Who can resist an entry title like 'Lotion conscripted to evil purpose, ice cream cleared of wrongdoing' and as for the local bongo problem, I always did have a fondness for lymerics.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Number 52 - Part 2
DATE: 8:19 AM
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BODY:
Number 52 - Part 1
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He had been born in this house and his memories of those growing up years were still bright and clear. His eyes softened and his face took on the 'looking backwards' look of someone who sees what was rather than what is. I felt embarrassed by his gratitude. The stories he told were worth far more than the brief taking of my time and a cup of tea.
This had been his bedroom, that his mothers. Of course there had been no bathroom then. The cellar, now empty except for a few stored items, had been stocked with coal.
They too, had rented the house. During the day the owner, a dentist, worked in the front room, the back room a waiting area for his patients. The family lived upstairs or in the kitchen during those hours. His mother cleaned in exchange for the rent. She was also the local dressmaker, sewing simple dresses for local children and woman. That was how he first met his wife. A child with a new dress.
Next door had lived a large family. The old lady there now, the widow of this mans boyhood friend. Snippets of long ago gossip and childhood adventures kept me spellbound.
When he left, he shook my hand, thanked me again and wished that I would find the same happiness in this house as he had.
My home had been blessed.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Number 52 - part 1
DATE: 9:16 PM
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BODY:
It isn't really mine. I rent it from a private landlord. Above the door is a sign that says 'For Sale by Auction'. It appeared there one day when I was out shopping, no warning, no explanation. Sometimes I worry about it. About what will happen if someone does actually buy the house. Mostly I forget about it. I have become accustomed to the sign as though it were a natural part of the house like the door and the windows.
This is the 5th house I have lived in since I became an adult and the only one that has ever felt like home. Part of a row of four terraced houses, number 52 is larger on the inside than one would guess from the outside. Like the Tardis in Doctor Who. It still has remnants of its Victorian past, the original coving in the back room (my lounge), and a wonderful sort of archway at the bottom of the stairs.
It has its peculiarities and inconveniences. The stairs are steep and the ceilings high. I need a tall step ladder to change a light bulb. The bathroom can only be reached through the smallest bedroom where TD2 sleeps when she is at home. And there is no toilet upstairs. The toilet is through the tiny square space between the lounge and the kitchen that houses the back door, through the kitchen, then on through a narrow corridor like room whose original purpose is something of a mystery. I keep my freezer and my fridge out there, trailing extension leads to the power points in the kitchen.
One day, soon after I moved in, there was a knock at the back door. I opened it to find a well dressed, slightly embarrassed elderly man standing there with his wife. He explained that he was visiting the area for the first time in many years and had not been able to resist visiting the house he grew up in.
I invited them in and made a pot of tea of course.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Simple things amuse simple....
DATE: 6:34 AM
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BODY:
What do you do when you find yourself wide awake at 5am?
Potter around the net of course!
and spend half an hour playing with this. Thank you, boingboing for the link.
The results for my Amusing English place-names by post-code search is as follows:
Shavington Ho
Butty Moss
Dirty Gutter
Bottom Flash
Hole in the Wall
Jughole wood
Shatton Moor
Nob End
Menlove Gardens
Not one of which I have ever heard of before, despite living here most of my life and some of those places only being 10 miles away.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 12:20 PM
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BODY:
When they were small
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Something remembered
DATE: 11:49 AM
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BODY:
From out of no where came the memory of my youngest daughter when she was small. She was such a sweet child. Long blonde hair, big blue eyes, a sunny and loving disposition, she attracted people like moths to a flame.
I remember one particular occasion when we were visiting my grandmother in the nursing home. It was never an easy or pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon. We would sit, in plastic chairs, in a semi-circle around her in a busy lounge. Trying hard to make cheerful conversation that always sounded false. Some times Nan would complain bitterly that her granddaughter (me) never came to see her, had not visited for months. Other times she would recognise me and beg me to bring my father, her eldest son, with me the next time I came. I would promise, knowing that he would refuse and hoping that she would forget. Sometimes she addressed me as if I were my mother and my eldest daughter as though she were me. Most times she said nothing at all. Just smiled vaguely now and again.
My youngest daughter was the only one of us who never found these visits difficult. She remembered her great-grandmother in no other way than this and she had frequented old peoples homes and hospital wards literally since she was a few days old. She called all the residents 'Nan' or 'Grandad' and shamelessly solicited sweets and biscuits in return for a few minutes of her time and that radiant smile of hers.
On this particular occasion she was sitting quietly on the floor by my feet when suddenly, in a stage whisper, her voice filled with tenderness she said
"Oh look, Mummy!"
I followed her gaze and there, fast asleep in a chair was an old lady well into her eighties. She had whiskers on her chin, her false teeth had slipped and drool trailed from her open mouth.
"Look Mummy!" my little girl whispered, "Sleeping Beauty."
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 10:41 AM
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BODY:
My tickets have arrived! oh eck!
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Eighteen Days
DATE: 9:07 AM
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BODY:
Eighteen days, that is all the time that stands between me and my first holiday in far to many years. On Wednesday 30th of June I will be heading off to Birmingham airport and then taking a flight to Tunisia. It still does not seem real. Clothes bought on eBay are folded neatly and waiting in my room for me to pack them. My first ever passport is safely tucked away. There is still so much to do, I have not ordered any travelers cheques or currency, little things, details.
I should be exited but instead I am frightened. I will never have been so far away from home. I do not speak French, the second language in Tunisia, I will be alone.
It is ridiculous, childish, to feel the way I do.
I do not know what to expect, at the airport, the hotel. Will I be brave enough, will it be safe enough, to explore the way I would like to? The hotel does not accept children so it will not be filled with families, but will I be one lone woman amongst couples? Will my tens unit cause problems at the airport?
Will I get lost?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Sunshine Days
DATE: 8:10 AM
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BODY:
It looks like it is going to be another beautiful day. The sun is already warm and determined. I slept with the curtains drawn back, not wanting to trap what little cool air there was from the open window. I listened to the traffic slow to an occasional passing car as the night grew old and then to the chirriping of birds as a new day took its place. My bed became a pool of dancing light as the sun began to fill the room. I felt as though I were bathing in sunbeams as it reached out to warm my skin. I smiled.
I love my bedroom, or rather my bed. The room itself still needs much to be done to make it the retreat I envisage. When I moved here, a year ago last May, I needed to buy a new bed. On an impulse, I made a bid on a second hand four poster on ebay. The fates must have been smiling on me that day, it did not reach its reserve and I was the highest bidder. My ex-husband's mouth squeezed into that disapproving line he does so well as he told me I was irresponsible and mad to make such a purchase.
Maybe he was right. Common sense had nothing to do with fulfilling a small dream held since childhood. My very own four poster bed. A modern reproduction that masquerades as brass it may be, but still it is beautiful. I clothed it with red and black satin. Piled cushions in red and gold by the pillows. Threw a heavy, black and gold, medieval design cover along its length. Rosebud, a doll once owned by my mother, holds court there during the daytime.
At night it is my haven. The place where I read and write and sketch. Gradually filling as the week goes on, with books and paper, pencils and pens. Until Pru complains that there is not enough space to stretch out and purr.
This morning I swam there in sunlight and day dreams and knew that sometimes 'sensible' is not the right choice.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Tomorrow Never Comes
DATE: 10:43 PM
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BODY:
I am not going to turn my blog into a 'tribute' to MJ. There is no point. There is nothing much to say. He left this morning with a smile, a kiss and 'I'll contact you before your holiday' and that was it. All day I waited for a call that never came. I don't know when I will see him again.
This is all I will ever have of him. A night, occasionally a few days. Phone calls. Why do I accept it? I love him, yet is that reason enough to resign myself to being alone?
In his comment on my post Swings and Roundabouts, Denny said
...It should always be a matter of the heart, but it
helps if the mind and the heart are holding hands
at the time...
Perhaps my heart and my mind are holding hands. Perhaps I am simply being realistic in my expectations. For the first time, I have someone who loves me. Cares about me. I don't have to pretend with MJ. There is no need for masks. Yet at the same time he describes me, sees me, in terms I don't recognise. I wish I was the woman he says I am, strong and talented. There is no evidence in my life experience that would suggest I could ever find such magic again. To love and be loved.
I could not find it when I was young so what chance now that I am middle-aged, with a history of mental health problems?
Perhaps this is all I was meant to have.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Update
DATE: 7:51 PM
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BODY:
I had a clinic appointment today, I have posted about it on Diet Coke.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Success!
DATE: 4:24 PM
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BODY:
Through a process of trial and error (many, many errors!), I have finally managed to remove the blogger comments from the template. It looks much tidier now, I think. I have also added HaloScan to Diet Coke.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Swings and Roundabouts
DATE: 7:43 AM
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BODY:
Sometimes a disappointment is balanced by an unexpected pleasure, and so it was for me yesterday. My Sunday lunch and 'girly' day did not materialise, which was no great surprise. TD1 had forgotten her promise and not contacted her friend to complete arrangements. She says that it will happen, one Sunday, some time. It would have been nice, but still, I appreciate the thought.
Then yesterday MJ telephoned. He does so regularly. Although we are no longer together, he is still there for me. We talked for ages and gradually the idea grew in my mind that I was going to see him later that day. I felt the excitement grow as if someone were squeezing my heart and every thought that this was over vanished without even a seconds resistance.
I paid TD2 to help me with the housework and to go out that evening. She always does go out on a Monday but I know how short of money she is. It ended in an argument of course. She did not want to do chores, even for money and pointed out that in reality I was bribing her to make herself scarce so that I could spend time with MJ. Amongst many things said and yelled was "MJ whistles and you come running!"
True.
How to explain to an 18 year old that hearts grow older but not necessarily wiser? That a woman can fall in love as deeply, as passionately, as foolishly, in her 40's as she can in her teens? That even after two years, something inside me leaps at the sound of his voice, just as it did in the beginning? That to wake in the night and see MJ sleeping next to me makes me feel safe and eases the loneliness I have lived with all my life in a way that no other man has ever done?
I know it is going no where. But, oh! The journey!
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Silent Neighbor's
DATE: 7:01 AM
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BODY:
I read with delight Denny's most recent entry, Close Encounter with Screech Owls. Smiling at the tinge of envy I detected for a life where owls might watch you from trees in your own garden. The world of nature is in short supply in my home town without access to a car to escape the short distance into a more rural landscape. Yet even here such magical moments can happen.
Until last year I lived on a housing estate on the edge of town. The gardens were unusualy large and backed onto a large strip of rough ground that divided the houses from near by factories. At the bottom of the garden next to mine was a tangle of bushes and a tree.
On this particular day, the children had left for school and I was folding laundry. Taking a pile of TD2's clothes to her room, I muttered to myself grumpily as I noticed that she had not made her bed or opened the curtains. Drawing them back to let light into the room my attention was caught by movement in the garden next door. There, frolicking in the early morning sunlight, were two tiny fox cubs. In the shadows of the tree their mother lay relaxed, yet alert to any potential danger to her family. It was a beautiful sight, watching my silent neighbor's tumble and chase, unaware of their human observer. It was one of those perfect moments when only the 'now' exists.
Whether the vixen sensed my presence or perhaps it was simply time to move on, after a couple of minutes she moved closer to her cubs, looking around uneasily. A short, sharp bark of command and they were gone.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Another week ends, a new one begins
DATE: 9:29 AM
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BODY:
My son returns to school today. A 4 hour drive then first night blues so hard on both of us. This time he carries the knowledge with him that within a few short weeks he will be home for good. A flurry of exams and leavers parties will mean the time goes quickly.
For months I have lived alone with my two eldest children only temporary visitors. Soon, they will both be permanant residents once more.
The wheel turns and we begin again.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: D Day 60 years on
DATE: 9:16 AM
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BODY:
An act of remembrance.
An act of gratitude.
A reconciliation,
between the past
and the present.
May those who return
find peace.
May those who remained
know that they are
not forgotten.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Common Ground
DATE: 9:32 AM
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BODY:
It seems to be a day for unofficial 'chainblogging'. Other people's thoughts brushing against my own and opening memories, ideas, new paths for me to explore.
I enjoy reading Ronni's blog. She writes with such a calm, authoritative style. I admire her clarity of thought and 'togetherness'. She comes across as a woman who knows who she is and what she wants out of life.
Today she posted the second part of 'A mother's final, best lesson' (you can find the first part here).Beautifully written as always, evocative and touching, I could almost see Ronni's mother in my minds eye.
My mother also died of cancer. My memories similar and yet so very different. When she told me she was dying I poured my feelings onto paper. I never showed her what I had written. After her death I shared my words with my sister who asked me to read them at mum's funeral. One of the most difficult things I had ever done.
I have posted the piece on Diet_Coke.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: On being ungrateful
DATE: 2:52 PM
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BODY:
My daughter and her friend sent me a text to say that they have planned a 'girlie' afternoon for the three of us on Sunday and that they will be cooking lunch, because I am 'ace'. Something for me to look forward, to although I admit to a certain trepidation at the thought of TD2 cooking. I am touched by their thought and appreciate the gesture enormously.
At the same time I have had to bite my tongue. I feel guilty at the ungrateful thoughts I am being careful to keep unspoken. Sunday will be nice, but it would be nice if TD2 washed up occasionally without an argument or even helped with the housework. The every day things that no one does unless I do them. I feel like a nag, going on about chores, the mountain of her belongings in the hall, the university application not filled in. So I try to say nothing. I am too tired to argue.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Chain Blogging: The word was 'European'
DATE: 7:26 AM
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BODY:
Dave's post was filled with his memories of school days and the way our lives link in to a larger history. My mind swims in the past searching for a foothold on the shores of the present. As I read his words an image came into focus.
I was almost eighteen. Our arms linked, I walked with my grandmother in the early evening towards the primary school I had once attended. It was polling day and the news had been filled for weeks with discussion of today's referendum. Would this be the year that the UK joined the European Union?
So many times Nan and I had taken this same route together, as the acrophobic woman who rarely left the house gritted her teeth and fulfilled her duty. To vote. She never missed. This time would be different, this time I had my own polling card and the right to voice my own opinion.
I felt such pride as I marked my decision. I felt part of a great solidarity of past souls who had fought so hard for my right to hold this small piece of paper in my name. When I look back, that day is my coming of age, much more so than any birthday.
Next week I will walk to the polling station with my daughter. I cannot help feeling a little sad that she does not feel the same sense of pride and responsibility as she votes for the first time, as I did, on that long ago evening.
This is part of a chain of posts linked together by word association. The previous link in the chain was here. If you want to write another link here's what to do: Find a word, phrase or theme from this post to inspire your own and go and write it. It's that simple. Try not to write something that's similar to this post. That way the subject of the posts along the chain will vary. E.g. if I write about going to the doctor's, then don't talk about the last time you were ill, instead describe how you used to play Doctors and Nurses with the girl next door. Get the idea? Your post can be in any style you want. Copy this paragraph and tack it onto the end of your post, updating the link to point here, then leave a comment here that points to your new post.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Drat!
DATE: 11:06 AM
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BODY:
I have missed another doctor's appointment. Which means I have the embaressment of ringing the surgery, trying to explain to the receptionist and hoping I can get another appointment with the same doctor in a reasonable time frame. I have to do it because once again he only gave me 10 days supply of antidepressants.
Why on earth did I make an appointment for the same day, at the same time as my counseling session? Why didn't I realise before what I had done? and why oh why have I looked at the card several times and still thought it was for today?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: A day begun early
DATE: 5:36 AM
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BODY:
I have been roving the internet for the last hour. Catching up with favourite blogs and discovering new ones. It is always 'now' on line. When my day ends, someone elses begins. Each moment is filled with people somewhere writing something.I am not explaining myself very well. Vague thoughts and woolly thinking.
Some times I feel a though 'every one has gone to the moon' and left me behind. The internet is filled with people reaching out, our words brushing against each other like fingertips. The house may be silent and empty but through this window I glimpse other lives and I am comforted.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: HaloScan Comments
DATE: 7:44 PM
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BODY:
I have added haloscan comments, though whether I have done it properly is a moot point! Fingers crossed, folks.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Apologies
DATE: 7:17 PM
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BODY:
I'm really sorry to all those who have been put off by the way 'comments' is set up. It's Blogger, not me. If anyone out there can tell me how to change it so that people can leave a message using their own email/url without having to have a Blogger account or be 'annonymous', I would be truly grateful.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Another Wednesday
DATE: 8:03 AM
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BODY:
I forgot to put the dustbin out last night. Which with both teenagers at home means no where to put the rubbish mountain until next week. I was awake early enough, and remembered early enough to have rushed out in my pj's and wheeled the thing down the alley way to the main road. I could not be bothered. Curled up in bed, the tens prickling pain into manageable proportions, Pru purring in my arms, I listened to the sound of the truck ambling down the road. The regular thud, the mechanics of emptying, percussion to Pru's song.
Bin-day. Wednesday. Counseling-day. Get up, get dressed and leave the house day. Talking day.
A so very difficult to do such simple things day.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Another wasted day
DATE: 10:26 PM
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BODY:
I got up at 5.30 am. A ridiculous time of the morning to be awake but the pain in my back was so severe I needed to use my tens machine, which of course was downstairs. I spent some time reading my favorite blogs as I waited for the pain to subside. A pleasant distraction as there was nothing else I could do. Walking, even standing was close to impossible.
I planned to tidy up. To go through the mail. To sort out my clothes ready for packing. Instead I slept for most of the day. Waking for short periods to blog or cuddle a passing cat. Such a waste of a day. Another day. I did not bother to dress, persuaded my son to go to the shops for me before he went out, struggled to stay awake for more than half an hour, sometimes even an hour.
This is not building a new life. This is slipping backwards. Failing yet again.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 7:52 PM
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BODY:
'Hearth Cats' I like to think of them as the guardians of my home. My first 'Egyptian Mau's', far less mischivous than the real live version currently savaging a newspaper in the lounge.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Green Fingers
DATE: 3:01 PM
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BODY:
Against all odds
I have always envied those with 'green fingers'. My ex-husband had the knack of coaxing almost any plant away from the edge of extinction and back into optimistic growth. There again, living with me for almost twenty years he had lots of practice. Actually I was banned from going near anything that had roots and lived in a plant pot.
I like plants. I adore flowers, especially the scented kind. It is not my fault that rather than green my fingers appear to act as a kind of death ray. I can reduce the most healthy of house plants to a wilting, leafless stick in no time at all.
The 'money tree' in the photograph has lasted longer than most and I am rather fond of it. It stayed with me after the divorce and so far has managed to survive for several years. I use the word 'survive' deliberately as anything that suggested 'healthy' or 'rampant growth' would probably lead to prosecution under the trades discretion act. There have been anxious moments. Recently, most of its leaves fell off, but as you can see, there is still some nice, fresh, green ones struggling against the odds so there is hope.
Yesterday, it occurred to me that maybe the pot it lives in was a bit on the small side. The fact that it falls over so regularly was the give away. I'm not sure that being able to lift the whole thing out of its container, soil and all is a good sign either.
A quick trip to the shops to purchase a new pot, plant food and a worryingly large bag of indoor plant compost and I was ready to take emergency action. The new pot looked rather too large standing next to the old one. I'm rather hoping that is a good thing. I used up most of the compost, admittedly a good proportion of it ended up on the floor but there is still some left.
There is another survivor in the kitchen. I wonder how it would feel about moving 'house'?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Mothers and Daughters
DATE: 11:49 PM
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BODY:
A strange day, spent sitting in a hospital ward watching my youngest daughter sleep. Around 9am I got a call from my ex-husband to say that TD2 had been admitted to hospital at 3am with a suspected appendicitis. Thankfully, it turned out to be swollen stomach glands and she was discharged early this evening.
It was a horrible sensation. To know that my child was ill and I was not there. To know that she had wanted me and I was not there to comfort her. Apparently, her father refused to call me until either it was a reasonable time or he knew some thing for sure. I understand, appreciate, his thinking. Yet still it hurt.
We did not talk much, my daughter and I. I teased her a little, made her laugh and call me 'witch!' She allowed me to cuddle her for a while, her head resting against my shoulder. Mostly she slept. Mostly I watched.
The fingers of one hand were curled into a loose fist against the pillow. Blonde hair a Rapunzel tangle framing her face, slightly flushed with rose coloured sleep. I felt a familiar contraction deep in my stomach. The immortal, invisible umbilical cord that connects a mother to her child.
I miss her so much and the guilt of failure weighs me down like lead boots. Even today we walked warily around each other. Careful to avoid any words that might rekindle the war between us. My little girl. My last born. The child I thought I knew so well who turned into a stranger as she turned into a teenager.
Last year she chose to live with her father. I rarely see her. Even on Mothers Day she stayed away.
Last night, today, she needed me.
Nothing has changed.
Tonight, she is safe at home with her father and I have an ache deep in the pit of my stomach.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: From a boy to a man
DATE: 6:52 AM
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BODY:
My son is home from boarding school for half term. I miss him terribly when he is away even though the terms are short and the holidays long. Soon he will be home for good, preparing for the next stage of his life filled with A levels, college and new friends.
It was a difficult decision, to allow him to go away to school, especially given my background and my need to keep my children close. The opportunity arose, the chance to experience things that I could never provide. The fees paid, so the freedom to make the decision on its merits, not financial possibility.
Eighteen months ago he was failing in his state school. Flirting with the kind of trouble teenage boys so often find irresistible and talking of forgetting about education and getting a job. I encouraged him to take up the offer of a place at this new school but the choice had to be his. Especially as it meant going back a year and beginning GCSE's all over again.
I am so proud of him. That he thought it through carefully and against his own inclinations, took this unlooked for chance to start again.
I am even more proud that despite home sickness, despite missing his friends, he has seized the opportunity and built success on what were the seeds of failure.
He has grown tall and self possessed. Confident of who he is and what he wants. He talks of university and his plans for the future. I wish, for his sake, that he was staying at the school to do his A levels. The school will miss him, he is a prefect and a popular boy with both his peers and those younger and older than himself. But it is his decision to make, not mine.
And I trust his judgment.
I see the person he has become and the man he will one day be...And I am proud.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Death Watch (Poem)
DATE: 12:27 AM
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BODY:
It had come at last. Suspended living, silent visits, ended
with the click of the receiver. The bitter taste of guilt filling
my mouth with ashes of a funeral pyre not yet built.
Mourning long over, last words spoken and goodbyes said
would now be resurrected. Re-living that uncertain moment
when vivid grey eyes had turned upwards with the
pleading helplessness of a child. Confused. Frightened.
She had stopped speaking one year? Two years ago?
Day turned to week, to month, as did my visits.
The calmness was surprising. Collecting belongings,
turning the key in the lock, starting the engine.
I would have expected more.
The nurse has a kindly voice and an anxious face.
Discomfort showing like the hem of a petticoat
peering from beneath her uniform. There is no hope.
Death had been on hold for too many years in a
cheerful lounge filled with waiting. The television turned
up loud to drown out so many lingering endings.
It would be a welcome caller, kinder than the sly thieves of
her laughter, her wisdom, her sometimes spiteful tongue.
Her dignity. We had been strangers too long, she and I.
She lies there unknowing, uncaring. The silence magnifies
the forced cheerfulness of one-sided conversations whispered
as if afraid to be overheard. Words are toys scattered
to fill the minutes. I gently brush a strand of limp hair
from her now unfamiliar face, grown old and distant.
My hand touches the hard-edged husk of her.
Too many hours in this night. Minutes snatched
to drink luke warm tea and eat biscuits. A temporary escape.
Afraid to be gone to long less the moment is missed,
the final betrayal. But the sun comes up fighting
fabric covered windows with sly fingers of light.
Playing sulky shadow games. Waiting continues.
Unable to outwit the crawling hours of exhaustion,
fear recedes. The nurse slips into the room unnoticed,
observes each detail, each change in her patient,
finally announcing the arrival of death. Too soon! Too soon!
Love erupts with childish rage! My arms cling, hold tight,
refuse to let go! A shrieking, sobbing stranger’s voice cries out
No! Come back! Who will love me if you leave? The selfishness
of grief forcing one more hesitating breath. Let her go.
Tears spill and splash, washing her face as once a woman's tears
had washed the feet of Christ. The final reversal. Her words in my mouth. Hush, go to sleep,
Goodnight and God Bless, see you in the morning
with tea and biscuits. Goodnight, I love you.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: chainblogging : "the palm of my hand"
DATE: 10:18 AM
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BODY:
Hands fascinate me. From the tiny, grasping hands of a newborn child reaching out to discover the world, to the delicate fingers of a musician whose hands conjure magic and dreams.
I remember my brother David's hands. Large and strong, with nails bitten to the quick. Never still. Twirling a lock of hair between blunt, restless fingers or building model galleons with careful precision. Curled into a fist of frustration and violence. Gently, tenderly, cradling a child or an animal. The sensitive, loving man damned behind a macho mask escaping in the gestures of his hands.
I remember my grandmothers hands. As they were at the end of her life. The bones of her personality with the flesh removed. Tissue paper skin lying in folds of a lifetimes domesticity. Artistic hands that wanted to paint, to create but which grew old cooking, cleaning, caring for others. One hand frozen into silence by a stroke, one by resignation. Their silence evidence that she had withdrawn from life and now only waited for death to confirm her decision.
I watch my own hands. Flying across the computer keys. Resurrecting memories and pinning them to the screen. And suddenly I remember the man I loved. Feel the weight of his hand tangled in my hair, his palms holding my face.
And I miss them all. The hands that have shaped my life.
This is part of a chain of posts linked together by word association. The previous link in the chain was here. If you want to write another link here's what to do: Find a word, phrase or theme from this post to inspire your own and go and write it. It's that simple. Try not to write something that's similar to this post. That way the subject of the posts along the chain will vary. E.g. if I write about going to the doctor's, then don't talk about the last time you were ill, instead describe how you used to play Doctors and Nurses with the girl next door. Get the idea? Your post can be in any style you want. Copy this paragraph and tack it onto the end of your post, updating the link to point here, then leave a comment here that points to your new post.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Conflict
DATE: 8:12 AM
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BODY:
I refuse to give up. There has to be a way to fight back, to finally take hold of life and shape it to my desires. For all these years I have been merely a shadow. Forcing myself into the shape of some blueprint, some me that I thought I should be. I dreamed of other things, dreamed of who I would be and what I would achieve, yet thought them only dreams I had no entitlement to.
A chameleon, defined by my surroundings, I have forgotten my own reality. Invisible. Each time I attempt to make a path of my own I fail. By my own doing. Fleeing back to the comfort of shadows with the sound of mockery and contempt ringing in my ears.
"Who do you think you are to be attempting this? Do you think you are special? Have talent? Abilities?' Your dream is bigger than you are capable of being. Reaching for stars that are not yours to take. Vain, selfish, foolish woman. Go back!."
And with each failure the voice becomes louder and my retreat deeper into the darkness until I find myself alone. The world shrunk to these walls. Yet the dreams persist. Whispering in the silence, almost drowned. Insistent in their demand for attention. Fulfilment.
Stinging my hands into hurried activity with pen, paint brush, needle or computer. Forcing their way through the smallest crack in the walls to touch the world outside.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: another - Aortal Review
DATE: 7:50 AM
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BODY:
Nathalie Chica is a student from Los Angeles who, like me, has two blogs. The first is 'Cup of Chica' . A well laid out design and easy navigation makes this site a pleasure to browse. With well written comments on everything from music to gross tv ads, I enjoyed rumaging around and following the many links she provides in her posts.
But it is Nathalie's second blog 'Another' that really caught my attention. To quote her own words...
"But, I don't want to lead poor depressive souls astray, so I feel obliged to say, I'm not yet sure my blog will be helpful. I want it to be, but my more immediate desire is this: to create a forum for critical thinking about mental health issues that doesn't require either an academic background or a passive acceptance of psychological tenets and practices. For some people, that kind of forum might feel unproductive or useless, either because it's an amateur effort or it encourages what seems like too much over-thinking. But, I do think my sideblog links to enough good sites that, at the very least, Another can act as a portal to more helpful information."
The range of links is excellent, pointing to many sites that I have not previously discovered for myself ranging from general mental health resources to magazines, journals and recommended blogs. Nathalie's posts are well written and interesting. Her revues of articles concise and fair.
Another is definately one for my blogroll.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Under the hand of Morpheus
DATE: 4:44 PM
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BODY:
Sleep has muffled the last few days into nothingness. An all pervading lassitude weighing down my eyelids. The only possibility to close them and drift off into a dreamless silence. Emerging only briefly, struggling for wakefulness like a drowning man coming up for air. To eat whatever comes to hand that does not need cooking. To feed the cats. To watch something on the television, soon forgotten.
A parcel sits on the table unopened. My eBay purchase, a personal CD player to take on holiday with me. There should be excitement, shouldn't there? Or at the least curiosity.
Unopened letters gather dust. Nothing important, not even a bill amongst the 'dear householder' and 'Prize Draw'. Maybe I should keep a waste paper basket by the door so that the postman could post his litter immediately to its final destination.
Email to answer. But nothing to say.
A web site to update. But no enthusiasm.
The hand of Morpheus rests on my shoulder once more and my eyes grow heavy.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: A Bouquet for Blogger
DATE: 1:36 AM
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BODY:
I have to say a great big thank you to support at Blogger. I had a problem and they fixed it with a patience, courtesy, kindness and promptness that is unusual these days.
Thank you.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: The tables turning...
DATE: 11:18 PM
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BODY:
On the day she turned 13, sweet baby daughter was sneakily exchanged by aliens for the teenager from hell. The last year has been, shall we say, challenging? Unwilling to accept the boundaries that I imposed, a constant state of what can only be described as warfare developed between us. Eventually she decided to live with her father instead of me.. His approach to parenting is more laid back than mine and involves constant compromise. Or in translation, more or less allowing her to do what ever she pleases. The Ex's justification was that my way did not work, his did. The evidence being that he rarely fell out with TD2. My counter claim that she and I could also get along fine if I left her to her own devices fell on deaf ears.
It has been a very painful time for me. This feeling that I had lost my child. The guilt of wondering if perhaps I had been wrong and should have done things differently. I love my children dearly. All three of them. Being their mother is the single most precious and important thing I have ever done. I can say in all honesty that every decision I have made in regard to them has been because I believed it was what was best for them. Watching them grow up, blossoming into unique individuals I could feel proud, that if I had done nothing else worthwhile in my life, I was a good mother, or at least a good enough mother.
Then the relationship between TD2 and I broke down, she moved out and I was devastated.
This morning, just as I was about to leave for my counseling session The Ex phoned. Would I please call our daughter because he was having problems with her. He could not deal with the particular situation as he was now at work and so was 'putting it on to' me, his words. As it happens the situation resolved itself without my intervention. The plain fact is that even if it had not, there was nothing I could do.
The Ex has consistently undermined my authority. With the situation as it is there are no sanctions I could use. I rarely even see our daughter. I do not understand what he expected of me.
The call left me feeling upset, concerned about my child's behavior, helpless and guilty. The unspoken accusation was that I was refusing to help when in reality I could see no way in which I could.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: "I'm pushing an elephant up the stairs" (From The Great Beyond , REM
DATE: 6:35 AM
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BODY:
That line from a song by REM sticks in my mind. I first heard it on a advert for something I think, maybe a trailer for a program's, I can't remember. It struck me as an apt metaphor for my life and has become one of my favorite songs. Thinking about it, it would make a better title for this journal. I feel a change coming on.
I have been awake since 5am, finally giving up on the idea that I might return to sleep an hour later. The cats were pleased to get breakfast so early and have returned to their respective favorite places to curl up and doze. Merlin, snuggled up to TD No1, Harry Potter on the second from the top stair and Pru purring loudly on my lap as I type.
Pru has been a Godsend in the weeks since she joined our family. Almost as demanding of attention as a small child, she prevents me from sliding into complete inaction. Her antics and chatter often bring a smile to my lips, no matter how down I feel.
I have a counseling appointment this morning. I don't want to go. Or rather the effort of getting ready, catching a bus, walking to the office, all seems too much. Never the less, I will do all of those things. If I don't, K will phone to find out why not and I will feel guilty for letting her down. I promised her that I would keep seeing her and I know that it will benefit me.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: A second blog
DATE: 6:22 AM
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BODY:
I have set up a second blog entitled 'Diet Coke' and already written a couple of entries. Those pages will be for the past and for writing about mental health issues. This one is for the present and the future.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Catagorising Demons
DATE: 5:47 PM
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BODY:
The only thing I don't like about this blog (other than the fact that I'm not clever enough to skin it myself - design no problem - css etc is), is that there isn't a facility to put posts into catagories. I want to write about the demons that fuel my depression and mental health issues, yet to have such entries interspersed with daily meanderings doesn't feel or look right. Besides, I would prefer to give people the choice not to read those posts if they don't want to. Not that anyone reads my blog anyway!
The only alternative I can come up with is to begin another blog to run along side this one. Not an ideal solution, but it will have to do for now.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Another Day
DATE: 12:01 PM
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BODY:
Yesterday I was seen by a different doctor than usual. I was surprised not to be dismissed quickly with a prescription and a form for repeats. He asked me questions, wanted to know if I was self harming again and asked to see the cuts. No doctor has ever actually asked that before.
I got my prescription, but only for a weeks supply of antidepressants. He wants to see me again next Monday. He also told me to contact the mental health clinic where I am an out-patient and have my next appointment brought forward from August.
I phoned them this morning and was told that they could not see me until the 8th of June at the earliest.
They do their best, it is not the fault of the doctors, physchiatrists, physchologists, nurses, etc., that the mental health service is under-resourced. The intentions are good. Information about care plans, crisis management, points of contact and so on is readily available, unfortunately, for the most part such things exist only on paper, in glossy leaflets on reception desks.
I have no care plan that I am aware of, when I once asked about it I was given a vague answer about not everyone having one. I have no contact with a community physchiatric nurse, because there are too few to go around, which means they are only allocated to the most needy.
As for crisis management... A few weeks after I came out of hospital I phoned the clinic one Friday, things were going badly and I did not know where to turn. I was put through to the clinic manager and after being asked a few questions, given a 15 minute appointment for the following Monday.
Which means that on days like yesterday, there is no where to turn.
I got through it and today is another day.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Repeat Performance
DATE: 9:40 AM
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BODY:
I feel like a fraud in doctors waiting rooms surrounded by coughs and colds, small children with flushed faces and the elderly accompanied by carers with too loud, over cheerful voices. Today was more uncomfortable than usual. The receptionist searching for a record of the appointment I was so sure I had made. The one I should have kept at 9.10 last Friday.
Embarrassed, glancing at the paper on which I had carefully written down the day and the time, incorrectly, wanting only to leave and forget all about it.
A cancellation means that I will return this afternoon at 4.05 to see a different doctor. I don't want to go, yet know that I need to begin taking antidepressants again. I did not take my last prescription, the tablets are here somewhere but I cannot remember where I put them, or if I threw them out. So sure this time that I was well. Sure enough to tell my GP only two or three weeks ago that this time I could maintain the high.
Not even sure that the medication makes much difference, but not knowing what else to do I will be once again sitting there. Waiting. Patient.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 8:03 AM
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BODY:
Hiding 
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: The Triumph of 'I'm OK'
DATE: 7:14 AM
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BODY:
When I first came across Andre Jordan's blogg, it was what he had written in his bio that caught my attention. His humorous description of what it is like to be depressed struck a chord with me, as did his determination to begin a 'beautiful revolution'. It chimed neatly with my own intention to 'live life in reverse'.
So far I am not doing so well.
This morning I found Andre's entry for the 6th of May 2004 and I have posted it in its entirety below.
Today, when my therapist asked me how I felt, I told her that I felt OK. The significance of what I had just said was not lost by either one of us.
A year ago I arrived at her door sad, depressed, suicidal, and tormented by my demons. At that very first meeting, my therapist asked me what I wanted, why I was there and what I hoped for. I told her that I just wanted to be OK, nothing special nothing amazing, just OK.
Today, for the first time in my adult life, I feel OK. I am still paranoid, I am still shy, I am still irrational but my demons have gone. My therapist agrees and feels that her work is done. She tells me I have been a pleasure to meet and that I am 100% OK. Then I just cry, my relief is enormous, I am completely overwhelmed by the journey my mind has traveled.
A revolution can take on many forms but none are more beautiful, than a revolution of the mind.
That is my goal and there is the proof that it can be done.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 8:57 PM
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BODY:
The view from my window
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Another day gone by
DATE: 8:23 PM
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BODY:
Glancing at the clock a few minutes ago, I realised that yet another day had slipped from my grasp almost without notice. Can it really be almost 8.30 in the evening? It has been such a beautiful day, warm and sunny, even I could not fail to notice it, if only through the window. I should have been out there, enjoying the weather, but where could I have gone?
Walking up and down the high street lacks a certain appeal and as for my garden - there is no garden - only a bare yard. The extension on my little terrace house dividing me from the undertakers on one side and a low wall, separating my home from the empty one on the other. Perhaps if I added a small table to go with the chair and maybe a hanging basket or a tub, something with flowers and colours and life, that small space might appear more enticing.
I did walk up to the shop this morning. I needed milk for my coffee. In a moment of weakness I bought a large bar of Galaxy and ate that for my breakfast.
Then I allowed the day to fade into night while I sat at the computer. Designing the way I would like my blog to look and failing to understand how to edit the template. Wondering through the web, peeping into other people's lives, ignoring my own.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE:
DATE: 11:14 AM
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BODY:
My ex-husband and I have lived apart for at least 4 years, so how come most days I get a phone call from one of my daughters saying "Mum? Where's Dad?"
Err hang on while I just consult my crystal ball...
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: The Silver Ring Thing
DATE: 8:21 AM
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BODY:
The Silver Ring Thing is coming to the UK in the summer hoping to persuade British young people to sign a pledge of sexual abstinence before marriage. No doubt thousands of teenagers will part with ten pounds in exchange for a symbol that announces their virginity to the world, just as many have done in the States.
Personally, I have reservations about the project for several reasons. Not least of which is the claim by the BBC's Breakfast program's that 9 out of 10 scheme members eventually break their pledge and are less likely to take 'safe sex' precautions when they do so. Which is not surprising as peer pressure to become sexually active has been replaced by pressure to conform to a new group and that first experience is even more likely to be unplanned.
As a parent, I am well aware of the need to protect our children from growing up too soon, from unwanted pregnancy and from engaging in sexual activity before they are emotionally ready. I'm just not too sure about the 'all or nothing' approach of both organisations like The Silver Ring Thing and sex education in general.
I have tried to be open with my children, to promote an atmosphere in which it was easy to share both information and feelings. My goal was to help them to develop a sense of personal responsibility and enpowerment. The choice to abstain prior to marriage or not, the when and the where, the with whom, would be would be their own, informed decision.
Schools and the media do a good enough job in spreading what could be called the 'technical information' for little to be left for parents to supply. But there are gaps in the building of emotional frameworks. There is much talk about 'peer pressure' and yet little about the simple facts of their own instincts and desires.
I have one son and two daughters. Even in this 21st century there is still a sort of vague belief that it is boys who 'want sex' and pressurise girls into acquiescence, as if their own sexuality was non-existent. I suspect that many young people are caught out by the strength of their own desires partly because such things are rarely discussed.
Sexuality is a pleasurable part of our human nature. Sometimes it is a beautiful, precious part of the intimacy between two loving partners. Sometimes it is a physical response to a physical need. I have tried to teach my children that they will want to have sex, that is a natural appetite, and to be conscious at the same time that to desire does not necessarily mean to love. I have tried to teach them that to consider oneself old enough to engage in sex means accepting that you are also old enough and mature enough to accept the responsibilities that go with it.
Responsibility for the feelings of your sexual partner.
Responsibility for your personal health.
Responsibility for the potential consequences of creating another life.
I have shared my knowledge and my beliefs, but tried not to impose my opinions. They are individuals with a right to make their own decisions and their own mistakes. I only hope that I have given them enough tools to ensure that their choices are informed ones.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Pondering anonymity
DATE: 3:34 PM
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BODY:
I wonder why I use a pseudonym when writing both my poetry and my blog? The more I think about it, the less I can come up with a valid reason. It can't be to protect my family. There is little chance of them coming across either site by accident and if they did, I have shown them most of the more 'sensitive' stuff anyway. The fact is, that friends and family would recognise me easily whatever name I use. It is hardly a secret that I suffer from a depressive illness, that I have a debilitating back problem and three cats named Merlin, Harry Potter and Pru! (Never mind the fact that my photograph is around here some where too. The children might be shocked to read some of my more erotic poetry, as TD No 1 recently said, 'Mother's don't have sex lives. The thought is disgusting!'
A comment that reminded me of a story my grandmother told me. Apparently, her mother came to visit one day and mentioned that she didn't think her husband was long for this world. Nan was somewhat surprised. As far as she knew her father was in good health considering his age. Both puzzled and curious she probed a little further only to be told 'He doesn't want sex anymore. Isn't natural and isn't like him.'
My poor grandmother didn't know whether to be embarrasses by this startling revelation or to laugh. Her parents, by the way, were both in their 90's! Although as the youngest of 16 children she conceded that her mother might have a point.
As a postscript to the story, my great grandfather died a few weeks after this conversation, proving, as his wife pointed out to her daughter, that she had been correct in her surmise.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Aortal Review - Someone Else's Life
DATE: 10:28 AM
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BODY:
There are some blogs that you return to again and again, not just to read the latest entry but to browse the archive of past musings. Over the months, I have spent hours immersed in the writing of Blackrat, 'The Accidental Journalist'. Always interesting, usually topical and with the kind of posts that have you reaching for the 'comment' button. The conversations between the author and his readers are often as compelling as the original article.
Blackrat introduces his blog with the following words,
I'm an ordinary bloke but feel as if I'm living the life of another. For the past five years, I've lived almost every dream I've ever had. Several careers and a lack of direction all came together when I was 30 and I found a previously untapped ability to use my experience and make things happen. It doesn't feel like work, I'd pay to do my job. I am the accidental journalist and this is my story.
More of the story of how he came to find himself traveling the world, writing features and commentating on world events can be found in the section entitled The Accidental Journalist.
For anyone interested in the Iraq war and current situation in Iraq - The View From Inside, is a must read. Blackrat spent a month in the war zone and wrote extensively on his experiences.
Polish off your opinions, make yourself a cup of coffee and take some time to enjoy someone else's life.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Silence Is.....
DATE: 12:16 AM
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BODY:
just that, silence.
I have spent the evening reading blogs, on-line newspapers, news sites, what ever caught my eye. Anything to keep my mind occupied and stop myself from thinking too much. It works for a while, but there is a limit to how many hours even I can stare at a computer screen.
The house is so quiet, even with the television on. The cats are asleep and except for Pru, are not particularly good conversationalists even when awake. The last time I spoke to any one except TD NO1 was Wednesday when I got a phone call. The last time I saw or spoke to my daughter was the same day.
I am not the kind of person who needs to be constantly surrounded by other people. Quite the opposite. I like and need time on my own. Even so, lonliness is a smothering blanket tonight. I have an appointment with my doctor on Monday, my determination not to take any more antidepressants seems to be evaporating as the greyness gathers around me once more.
So tired, yet I do not want to go to bed. I cannot stand the thought of all that empty space and the darkness.
I really am turning into a mad old woman with a house full of cats.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Utility Bill Saga's
DATE: 11:51 PM
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BODY:
cede
A very funny post by Simon and like so much good humour based on how things really are. Perhaps the government should scrap plans for a national identity card and simply make it compulsary for everyone to carry a utility bill?
Which leads me to another thought about the peculiarities of such things. If you have a reasonable income and pay your gas and electric bills on line, by Direct Debit etc., many companies will give you a small discount. If, on the other hand, you pay as you use power through a card meter ( which inevitably means that like me, you are on a low and/or limited income), it costs more.
Now that makes perfect sense, doesn't it?
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Mr Morgan, The Mirror and the Faking of Photographs
DATE: 7:35 PM
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BODY:
I would have a little more sympathy for the editor of The Mirror if he had apologised for the paper's error in judgment. I give him the benefit of the doubt that he did really and truly believe that the photographs were genuine, even though it is difficult to understand how and why he should have done so. That they were faked, seems to have been fairly obvious to every other experienced observer as well as many members of the public.
Mr Morgan's sacking was an inevitable development given the adamant stand that he took, although I do think that escorting him from the premises in the company of security guards was an overly dramatic gesture. Perhaps a normal action for dismissed executives, but an unnecessary gift for the headline writers never the less.
Despite all this, The Mirror has done a good job in preventing the UK from taking the moral high ground concerning the treatment of Iraqi prisoners. We have had to face the reality of war. There are no good guys.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: WIL WHEATON dot NET
DATE: 3:41 PM
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BODY:
WIL WHEATON dot NET
Coming across this blog site by accident (through a photograph of a cat at buznet), my thoughts returned to those I have lost because of cancer. Too many and I will not dwell on that now. I have written about them in my poetry web site (Scarlet Nails - I have added a link). One day there WILL be a cure for cancer and we will lose our fear of this thief of life.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Mother and Daughter (photograph)
DATE: 2:29 PM
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BODY:
My eldest daughter and I
I am sure that there is a higher purporse for the existance of teenage daughters, if only to punish mothers for wrong doings in a previous life. I have two. Teenage daughters, that is, so I must have been very wicked...laughs.
That is the eldest, TD No. 1, in the photograph. Beautiful, isn't she? Intelligent, loving, loyal, I love her dearly and am very proud to be her mother. Never the less she drives me crazy!
All mothers of daughters should be provided with a yale lock for their bedroom doors by the National health service. Toiletries should come in teenage tamper proof containers and kept in lockable bathroom cabinets. TD No.1 complains bitterly when her younger sister helps herself to her cosmetics or clothes, yet seems to think that my rants about her own, er, 'borrowing' habits are mearly signs of selfishness and bad temper on my part.
She has 'borrowed' cleansing wipes until the box is almost empty...again.
Deoderant is 'borrowed' on a regular basis.
She vehemently denies using my bubble bath (expensive and a rare luxury that I treated myself to at Christmas), yet the level in the bottle steadily declines.
This morning I discovered that my shampoo was almost all gone. A particularly strange disapearance as it is one especially formulated for fine hair and as you can see from the photograph, TD No.1 has the most beautiful, luxuriously thick hair.
Luckily, she can no longer fit her feet into my shoes, but my underwear, now that is another subject altogether.
The curious thing is, she left home last September. Curious because my bills have not decreased, nor the amount of housework to be done and I spend as much time with her as ever I did...
There is no point in asking her about the evaporating shampoo, she would only look surprised and ask why I always blame her.
My youngest daughter lives with her father, there is only TD No.1 and me in the house. Except for the cats.
I wonder...
Harry Potter's fur is looking particularly healthy at the moment.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: That Friday Feeling
DATE: 10:00 AM
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BODY:
The sky is that particular shade of blue/grey that hints at rain before lunch-time. A dreary cast to the light makes it hard to believe that summer is close by. Like my cats, I am a warmth and sunlight person. Cold and rain send me running to curl up in some cozy spot, to sleep and dream of sparkling days.
I am stir crazy. Longing for the smell of salt on the wind and the sound of waves tickling the shore. I want to be cross at the importuning of seagulls and to pick sand out of curling ham sandwiches. I love the sea, it even makes bad weather bearable.
Soon. Soon. Only a matter of weeks and I will escape ordinairy life for two weeks. Excitement catches my throat and fear dances in my belly. It is many years since I have travelled abroad, years since I holidayed at all. And this time I will be alone.
Some days, I think I must be crazy, others I want to laugh out loud at the sheer adventure of it all. Choosing, booking, getting a passport, all exciting novelties for a middle-aged woman whose furthest excursion is usually to Tesco.
I love the sea, and the sun, and to explore new places. And this time there will be no one else to defer to. No children to entertain. No meals to cook or husband to make plans.
No seagulls.
And no ham sandwiches.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Small Succeses
DATE: 1:28 AM
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BODY:
Heck! I've managed to add both a counter and Buzznet! Amazing! Not only that they seem to be working ok, though rather lost down there at the very bottom of the scroll. There is a pic of me in my Buzznet album and profile, I'm sure that eventually I will manage to put one here too.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Three Poems I wrote about self harming
DATE: 10:05 PM
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BODY:
Diet Coke
My life is like a diet coke.
It looks like the real thing.
Smells like the real thing.
It is not until you taste it that the difference becomes clear. Artificial sweetness with an
aftertaste of chemicals.
Citalopram is my additive. (30mg daily)
It stops me from screaming.
Except I don't scream. Or cry.
I stripe my arms
with frustration
labelled
'superficial'.
The blade, brand new and shining, calls with a seductive voice
that I must ignore.
Today.
The hot weather traps me.
Sleeveless tops and short skirts make it impossible to hide from the prying eyes of children.
Too warm to cover up and still avoid their questions.
I do not scream
Or cry.
I wait.
For the weather to break.
Wounded
A need to
justify,
the pain inside
with
red
stripes
of
flesh.
Words blunted
like the blade tearing
uselessly
at the superficial.
Crying blood tears silently
through white skin.
Temptation
The blades are out tonight.
Siren sharp edges shuffle words
between sense and no-sense.
A yes-sense place
where the darkling parasite shifts and stirs.
Some soundless, shouted thought
disturbed its sleep and now
that mindless appetite devours light.
Light or life?
What difference when coils choke and blind eyes
see only blade shining red relief?
So small and object of false promise.
Promise.
Promise-not-to balances promise-need-to.
"Resistance is useless"
"We have ways of making you talk!"
As corny as that and just as laughably true
in this particular re-run
of empty, pointless, battling.
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AUTHOR: Francesca Gray
TITLE: Beginning Again
DATE: 8:37 PM
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BODY:
I am not new to blogging. I have kept an on line journal else where for some time. Whether or not I shall continue to write in both is a question without an answer for now. I like the potential to use my own design ideas here at Blogger, though first I suspect I will have to improve my knowledge of html. There is no hurry, for the moment I am content to settle in and comfortable with using this site.
(Laughs! The spell checker wants to replace 'blogging' with 'flogging')
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TD1 as she is now (well 18 months ago). My favourite photograph of us together. (Hope this makes up for posting the baby pic!) 
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Not too long to go now. But there is still time to help me raise more money for the Depression Alliance. You could:
Sponsor me through the Project Blog website or make a pledge by email or here.
Buy a Gmail invitation for £10
Post a bid for this beautiful necklance (designed and hand made by moi) either by email or through the comments section of my blog.
All pledges/donations may be made either directly to Depression Alliance or to me through PayPal. Details to follow at the end of Project Blog. 
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