I am not an exciting, brilliant red woman.
I am not a dynamic, energetic orange woman.
I am not a shining, beaming yellow woman.
I am not a peaceful, calming green woman.
I am not a communicative, opinionated blue woman.
I am not a shadowy, spiritual purple woman.
I am not a dainty, blushing pink woman.
I am a plain, ordinary, BEIGE woman.
But Arnold Bennet said that he was fascinated by "The interestingness of ordinariness".
Keep on Keeping on or as the French say, Bon Continuation.
How can I write when I am a beige woman, well white to be precise? I am not black or disabled or suffering from a terminal disease nor have I been in a terrible accident. I am not the winner of a sports event. I have not won prizes nor do I excel in my hobbies of painting and gardening. Although I do give money to charity my activities do not warrant notoriety.
I come from an ordinary family. My parents and all my siblings and my grandchildren and great grandchildren are to date ordinary.
I suppose reaching the age of eighty is some kind of achievement but believe me it is not an achievement which brings any kind of thrill. It brings arthritis, fatigue, and memory loss and other things which I may remember later.
I do not have a degree in Creative Writing. I have had no success in any of the many competitions I have entered.
There is one thing that spurs me on to write, it is Arnold Bennet's statement " the interestingness of ordinariness". It is a very awkward phrase, even clumsy. But hey if Arnold Bennet says the ordinary is interesting who am I to disagree.
Jean Wild
On Saturday Mslexia arrived. As usual I have ideas, so many ideas and the usual problems of lack of time and energy to profit from them. Anyway here's one.
There was an article about lesbians having short hair. I am not sure if it was meant to be a joke or not but it reminded me of programme I taped from the TV. Remember video taping? I spent an hour looking for and finding said video. Now of course I have no video player. who does these days?
The programme, in fact there were two programmes , one was called "Women like us" and a follow up was called "Women like them/that".
I think the main message was that lesbians didn't look any different from straight women.
https://www.rainbowfilmfestival.org.uk/2016/07/23/women-like-us-women-like-that-with-qa/
I have no idea why I waste so much time on Facebook and Utube. I could be writing, painting or gardening. When I read my my old blogs I find them quite interesting and am pleased that I wrote so much.
After seeing David Hockney's latest project I am inspired. I really want to go to the exhibition in London and who knows after lockdown maybe even the one in Paris. I like his brilliant colours. I am moved and excited by his work. He moved to Normandy and he wanted to see the Bayeux Tapestry he bought a folding copy. I have the same one. I suppose that should say I have a similar one. So he made a similar one but of his own Breaking Spring paintings. How ingenious. I must find my one and take a photo of it. This painting is called Late Spring. This one is Yorkshire not Normandy.
Well the boxes are still here and me and the Boss continue to have our morning together time by the pond. She has her cup of tea and I have a drink out of the pond Then I sit on the seat by her side and she strokes me.
I am not sure but I think something big is about to happen because I've heard talk of vans and dates and signings. However I don't think any of it concerns me. The Boss has made sure during all the upset and activity that I have my place in the sun.
Today seems a little different. The big baskets have appeared. The ones we get put in when we go to the vets. I am a pretty good escape artist and often get out of the box and hide in the garden. Also two large vans have arrived. The men who have brought the vans are now loading the boxes into the vans. I really can't understand what is going on.
It is taking a long time to load the boxes even though the Bosses two best friends have arrived and are helping. Throughout the morning other people keep arriving and there seems to be a lot of hugging and crying. I can't get a handle on to what is going happening. My sisters and me are grabbed and taken to the loft and voila my sisters are forced into the baskets and given something to eat. Well I'm not blxxxdy well not going to be caught and I run like hell down stairs and out through the conservatory door and into the garden. I find a place from where I can observe but can't be seen.
I don't believe it. They have put my settee in a van. In fact they have put nearly all the furniture into the vans. Oh no, now the two cat baskets are going in too. I tried to get back in to the house via the cat flap but there is no cat flap now and the hole has a piece of wood across it so I can't get into the house and all the doors are closed. So I return to my position of observation.
No,no,no, she can't get in the van. The Boss is in a van and the two vans drive away. Surely she'll come back.
It's been two days now and I can't get into the house but the French woman has put a box and a blanket in the greenhouse. I suppose that's for me. She keeps calling my name but I never have anything to do with any other human except my Boss. She tries to coax me with food and puts a bowl of water down. I wait until she's gone before I try the food.
I have no idea how long it has been but I know the Boss will come back. She loves this house and the garden She created the garden you know. It was just a field when she came here 16 years ago. She wouldn't just leave it and she wouldn't leave me.
I suppose I shall just have to be patient and wait.
I haven't looked at my Short Stories for months. I was intending to publish them but I didn't get around to collecting them together. I also need to get them edited. I need to find some motivation. I know it is very cold, extremely cold but that is no excuse for me. I have warm clothes and central heating.
I need to find some motivation.
