Gowns, Donkeys and Pranks

This picture filled post is in three parts, which I have ordered to get progressively less serious!

Part 1

They begin with my Graduation Ceremony from Leeds University. It was the hottest day England has ever known- and I was sentenced to wear a heavy, dark cloak. The only thing that prevented me from 'accidentally' stepping back too far and sinking into the deliciously cool pool, was that I had three layers of mascara on and didn't want my brother to take 'to-bribe-later' photos of me looking like the love child of a panda and a soggy over-sized bat.

With mum

With big bro

With yummy drewbear

With chiefdad

Part 2
Following my Graduation, Drew and I visited the quaint little seaside town Scarborough (aka geriatric-ville) with my parents. 'Twas most charming!

My mum sewing in a hole in the sand

Drew and Mum, wishing they could be part of the OAP ice-cream club...
Whispering secrets that only donkeys find interesting

Hee haw! I would ride these donkeys when I was a wee lass on holiday. It is amazing what glee a child derives from plodding on such a dumb and docile (albeit cute!) creature ten paces up a beach. I would have posted picture of my age 5 experience, but I was riding Lady Godiva style- and I have being warned by my often-worrying mother to be 'careful of cyber- weirdos who might be reading your blog'. Well maybe the next couple of pictures will scare any creeps away...

Part 3

One of the Props I had to locate for the theatre company I work for was a severed head (Bunyan's Christian regularly steps into our world and witnesses historical events- including king Charles been decapitated) When the gruesome rubber head arrived in the post I decided that drew was getting spoiled in his mellow marriage, and managed to spring a few pranks upon him- including appearing suddenly around the corner as the poppy eyed giant...

And putting him to sleep on Drew's pillow! Tee hee. My pranking days , on the whole, ended when Hannah and I put our partnership on hold for a few years. But I do like to keep her hilarious spirit alive!

A Sonnet

This is an attempt to discipline the ideas in my head into a controlled pattern. I have never written a poem before so randomly embarked 'the sonnet' as I figured it will be a structured way to capture my thought. Be gentle dear critics, remembering this is my debut, and read it out loud! (surely the golden rule in reading a poem)

Quenched

"Open", the Calling's message becomes clear
And illuminating, through the reach down
To draw my hands from covering each ear;
I listen, waiting for what is spoken.

Muffled voices echo from below.
The silenced are drowning, deep in a well:
Their stories and dreams have no place to go.
Forbidden to sing; forbidden to tell.

Straining, I approach the structure, and see,
One stone that was formed from my indifference.
As it crumbles, others stop and draw near.
Their presence will demolish the silence.

Calling, sweet Calling interrupt my walk,
Without you I am deafened by my own talk.

Empty as a pocket...

... Where is that money tree hiding? Do not get me wrong, it is not that I lust after wealth. My childhood was penniless and I was the happiest most fulfilled little mancub you could imagine. Although it is possible to use this idea, as well as the well documented truth that money in excess can distract a believer from a pure dependent relationship with the Heavenly Father (camels and needle eyes....), to argue that money should not be a matter of concern is erroneous (utter bunk).

I am in a bit of a dilemma, I could keep following my dream, and cling to the hope that I get the £££ to take my MA or i can give up on the idea settling for a 'proper long-term job' this stifels my creativity and passion, but pays the bills. God gives us dreams and hope, but, however, He is also the source of wisdom. Wisdom to put dreams on hold?

So yes, 'blue' is what I am feeling. However I have a sneaky feeling that I will look back over this time and not see the frustration, but, only see what I learned throgh the experience- how to maintain a marriage amid stressful conditions; how to be inventive with potatoes and rice; how to gain Kelli's forgiveness (for not coming to her wedding); how to save busfare by hurtling into town on a pedal-less bike or how truly empathise and not to romanticise the lives of poor people (who's stories I eventually want to communicate through theatre).

Who knows what the future holds, And I for one need to settle my teetering nerves with a few 'trust' sandwiches, and a cup of 'count thy blessings' tea. No matter what happens, one thing is for certain: I have the world's Grooviest Gran.

Here is a picture of her in her Ronaldinho mask that she wears while watching the World Cup. She has a small 'sympathy' crush on him (..."well, someone has to", she insists.)


She gave my cousin the fright of his life when she answered the door with it on! 'Grannybug', or 'The Queen', as I call her, has a wicked sense of humor and prooves that life over 80 can be fun. She always taught me to say 'I am who I am, and I don't give a damn.'

Here she is keeping law and order in my cousin's hat. Yes, I am proud to be named after her (middle name = Sheila).