Write Dorne
A woman starting to wear too much purple!
#Gluten Withdrawal Symptoms
Thanks to Micki Rose for this post and blog.
I have gone gluten free and am in my first week of the withdrawal symptoms. Feel rubbish at the moment, but hope to feel better and lose some of my big bottom!
I’ll be back to bore you with the details and explain my reasons for giving up gluten… when I can stay awake long enough.
Thanks for reading.
Dorne x
I am currently helping a particular chap who, we assume, is suffering with ‘gluten withdrawal’. This is a pretty common phenomenon when you remove what are essentially very addictive (and opoid-like) substances from your body. I wrote about this here and here too.
P is suffering from neurological symptoms (mostly anxiety and depression) and not having a very nice time of it. He has been searching for reassurance on the internet (as we all do!) and came up with a couple of really useful links, (actually ones already on this blog – follow the second link above), but we share them again here for anyone else needing them:
First, a LiveStrong piece: Gluten Free Diet and Withdrawal which details some of the theories why it happens to some people. It doesn’t happen severely to most people in my experience with patients so far, but almost everyone gets some form of…
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Writing in Pajamas
To be lost in the moment – lovely.
Enjoyed this post and so I am reblogging it on Write Dorne.
Thanks to D Wallace Peach and thanks to you for dropping by.
Dorne x
Peach pj’s on the line
I just spent 5 days editing without changing out of my pajamas. It seemed a good time to share an old guest post I had the honor of contributing to Seumas Gallacher’s wonderful blog. Thus…Writing in Pajamas.
To me, flannel pajamas are symbolic. Whenever I get the chance, I wear them all day, and in case you were wondering, I’m pj-clad as I type this post.
In my mother’s generation, all-day pajamas indicated a mortifying degree of sloth. Pinch-lipped gossips would roll their eyes toward heaven, conjuring images of beer before breakfast, dust bunnies, and soap operas. If a woman wore pajamas all day, she certainly didn’t chair the holiday bazaar or volunteer at the library. Her kids lacked appropriate moral supervision and, no doubt, roamed the neighborhood like hooligans. Never mind her neglected spouse nibbling TV dinners after a long day at the plant.
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Welcome 2017! How will you live your year?
January 1, 2017 – gosh that feels good to write that. It’s a new year – all fresh and virginal.
It’s a bit weird how one tiny second that takes us from one year to the next is so liberating. And it’s all in the mind. Nothing has really changed, but the power of our collective minds makes it so.
We have a new year and new challenges to deal with. But, we have fresh hope and a sense of a new beginning.
True, some folk are still on a rather warped and destructive path of their sense of justice… that’s life. We don’t have to let them win though.
We have a break up with Europe to face and an uncertain and controversial person about to enter one of the most powerful posts in the world. Wars rage and famine continues to take lives all too easily.
Change is going to be the buzz word of 2017. Change can scare folk rigid. But, it can also deliver pleasant and unexpected surprises.
Like that job you took that you hated at first and then really fell in love with, as you adapted to the change. Or the move to a house that didn’t feel like home and then you cried, when you had to leave it and move on.
We can let the world and its current events scare us , or we can choose to live and see the good things.
Wherever you are and whoever you are I wish you a good and peaceful 2017. May you rise to your challenges and find the good in this weird world – that is of our making.
How about you? Do you love or fear change? Does 2017 fill you with hope?
Thanks for reading – it is truly appreciated.
Dorne x
World’s oldest albatross lays egg — Dear Kitty. Some blog
I’m reblogging this amazing short film from Dear Kitty. Some blog.
I can’t get my head around how old this bird may be and the amazing life she has experienced. Some hope in these troubled times I think.
Thanks for dropping by.
Dorne x
This video says about itself: 19 February 2016 World renowned oceanographer Dr. Sylvia Earle reflects on the incredible connection between a Laysan albatross named Wisdom, the oldest known bird in the world, and the Worldwide Voyage of Hōkūle‘a, as both have traveled countless thousands of miles over the last several decades. From the South China […]
via World’s oldest albatross lays egg — Dear Kitty. Some blog
Glimpses – Launch Day #NewBook #booklaunch
I’ve ordered my copy. Many congrats to a great guy and great storyteller. Best of luck. x
Ladies and Gentlemen, I am delighted to announce that we have lift off.
Glimpses, my first book, is now available to buy as a paperback.
Glimpses – The new book of some of my short stories. Publication Date: Paperback: Now Available. Kindle: Tuesday 6th December 2016.
If you would like to order a copy, then please click on the link below and you’ll be taken to the Amazon site in the country you are based. Where Amazon is not available, you’ll be taken to the UK site.
If you would like a copy signed by me, the author, then leave me a message in the comments section and I’ll get back to you. Amazon doesn’t offer paperback versions in all countries, so I’d be delighted to sell and send you a paperback copy.
The Kindle version will be available from 6th December 2016 and is available to pre-order.
To all…
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A teenage greyhound’s first blog post. Love from the Daisy Dog.
I want to like, wash my bottom on the sofa in the lounge and then I may have another little snooze. Before you’re sick ,mummy has a big fluffy throw on there and a waterproof cover: and so my bottom will not make the sofa smell. Which is a shame, because I love all things smelly and fluffy. Cool!
She can’t do anything about my farts smells though. They are like something else. They’re awesome! Sometimes I have to run away from them. I mean where do they come from? Well, alright I know where they come from… but, I mean what have I been eating? Like! They’re so GROSS!
I’ve been living in this place like since January and it’s like okay.
I will be five in May of next year. Yeah, because I was like four in May of this year… get it?
I like to be cuddled and I love to get myself comfy on the sofa and screw the covers up. Sometimes I drag the covers off the sofa and dump them at the bottom of the stairs like. That’s awesome.
If dad leaves his empty coffee cup on the coffee table I like to get in there and have a slurp of it. Yummy. Yeah, that’s awesome – me… a teenage greyhound on caffeine. You’ve got to see it to believe it. Heard from downstairs, me in the bedroom sounds like an earthquake… cool – like!
Why is the coffee table called a coffee table like? Like does it need to have coffee all over it? I can help with that!
This thing called Christmas is coming like and mummy has put things called decorations up in the house… the whole house. Daddy says it’s too cluttered and mummy tells him it’s Christmas and to shut up – like. Later on I find daddy looking at the decorations and smiling. When mummy ( who is also known as she who is usually obeyed) asks daddy to put the lights up outside, at the front of the cottage ( because we have to emphasize we live in a cottage – like) he can’t get out there fast enough – like! This has nothing to do with mummy – she is trying to get her chocolate – filled bottom through the loft hatch, to find more Christmas decorations. Daddy may never get back in again. The decorations may fill the house – like.
Anyhow – like. I’ve discovered something called crackers. Mummy had carefully selected some to go with the rest of the rubbish she has on display – like. I got hold of one the other afternoon and showed it to daddy. He told she who is usually obeyed and she took the cracker away and then she moved the other crackers.
She’s forgetting that if I stand on my hind legs – like, I’m nearly six-foot tall… hah, hah! I could get the crackers – like.
Right, I’m bored now – like. I need to sleep a bit more, but I might come back again sometime – like.
If you’ve read this… cool! If not… I’m not really that bothered – like.
Big sloppy kisses and a right awful pong from The Daisy Dog x
And they say that animals don’t have souls.
I’m having my morning coffee and spotted this. This is for animal lovers everywhere. You are going to need your tissues.
Dorne x
Do you remember Dixon of Dock Green in the sixties? A Saturday trip down memory lane.
There’s something special about Saturdays. I was born on a Saturday night, just as Jack Warner as Sergeant Dixon in Dixon of Dock Green said “Evening all!” I’m led to believe that this was about 9.20 pm. My paternal grandma watching it downstairs, turned up the sound on the television as I screamed upstairs,throughout the episode. When it had finished she investigated the source of the noise pollution. She loved me really… and me her.
For those of you that aren’t familiar with 1960’s television shows in the UK, here’s a clip of the opening titles.
You’ve got to admit that’s pretty gripping stuff. Cor blimey! This show went on for many years. Sergeant Dixon brought me into the world and accompanied me throughout most of my childhood.
As a very naughty six-year-old that crawled the length of the children’s hospital ward underneath the beds, to hide from the nurses; used the beds as trampolines and swung from the toilet chains, I had my tonsils removed. I also pretended to be falling asleep and then made my bid for freedom, as the poor surgical staff tried to anaesthetise me. Round and round the room I raced, like a caged animal trying to escape. Someone opened a door and I saw my escape… only to be captured by a mad scramble of frustrated, but relieved hands.
“I’m going to sleep now.” I told them and waited for that awful black mask to be removed from my face.
I woke up on the ward, minus my tonsils and feeling cross with myself for letting them get the better of me.
For being such a good girl? I got a Lady Penelope doll. I was Thunderbirds crazy. My Lady Penelope wasn’t chauffeured around by Parker in a pink Rolls Royce, no… she drove herself in a blue, plastic jeep. She drove like a mad woman and did things for herself. She didn’t wear the shop bought costumes. I made my own creations for her and I think mum might have chipped in as well with a few items. She was a hippy with headbands, maxi dresses and was nothing like her television personality. She talked with a Yorkshire accent and didn’t brush her hair very much. She climbed trees, played in mud and sand and just lived like a child.
Here’s the Thunderbird’s version of her Ladyship in action.
Later on, as a teenager, Saturday meant pay-day for my paper round and a free Mars bar. I’d buy a can of coke and slurp, and munch my way around my paper round. Then I’d head off to Music College for the morning. I played clarinet. I still have it and occasionally I try the odd Clarinet concerto… as one does. My mouth is not used to the reeds these days and I get blisters. Also, it sounds like a cat on heat! The poor thing can’t get any relief.
These days Saturdays are still special to me. It’s almost as if I can feel them. The traffic that meanders its way through the village and past our cottage sounds different and feels different. I can almost feel that Saturday shopping anticipation/ going to the match/ to visit friends. No work – for some. At this time of the year Christmas shopping is picking up and the excitement levels of guys being dragged off to shopping centres is at an all time high.
Early on a Saturday morning I roam the sleeping village streets with the Daisy dog and imagine the snoring folk behind the closed blinds and curtains. Eventually, they will rise, without the aid of an alarm and sleepily wander into their Saturday.
The only part of Saturday I can’t abide is the evening television. It’s all stupid game shows, dancing, prancing and mindless garbage for morons. Yeah, I love it. I persuade hubby to binge watch zombies, controlling presidents/politicians and aliens. A bit like Brexit and the Amercian Presidential Election really!
So, that’s a muddled up post about Saturdays/ childhood memories and a bit of other stuff thrown into the mix.
And to think that this all started off with some fog and frost this morning. It got me out of bed… to photograph it and it got me thinking about Saturday.
There may be some of you who would have preferred the fog and frost… SORRY! But, memory lane got in there first.
So, did any of you have a Lady Penelope doll? Watch Thunderbirds? Play clarinet? Do you remember Dixon of Dock Green? Have your tonsils removed in childhood? Climb trees?
I’m off to walk the Daisy dog now and climb a few trees! Oh, and I forgot to mention the roller skating. Maybe next time.
Thanks for reading.
Dorne x
What’s this obsession with everything being neat and tidy: a quick rant!
In the village where I live we have masses of leaves. My picture shows the Daisy dog having to brave these evil, little critters! These leaves have to be controlled. They lie around in their masses, just waiting to gang up on some poor, innocent soul. I doubt other places have the same amount of leaves that we have. They are just everywhere… waiting for some excited child to run through them.
This is so not right.
So, this morning three boys from the local council came along to our road, which is the main road that winds through the village. They’d clearly heard about the leaves collecting on the grass verges and in the gutters. These untidy objects needed to be dealt with. Why? They just did. These leaves are loitering without intent… or something along the lines of that.
Out came the leaf blowers and one guy with an old-fashioned rake. The two with the leaf blowers had enormous fun with their toys as they blew the leaves off the grass, into the air – making wonderful patterns in the air and then in to the gutters. The one with the rake just messed around up the lane for a bit… sulking – he’d wanted a leaf blower as well, but there was only two.
Both drains at the bottom of the opposite lane are well and truly blocked now. Bring on the rain and the flooded road that will follow… and I’ll be bolting to the sand bag store. Actually, these days I don’t bolt anywhere – it’s more of a wobbly slob. But, at least the evil critters that littered the grass have been moved… about six feet to the left of where they were loitering before.
Also, and this is the really good part, anyone coming along with a pushchair or mobility scooter will not be able to locate the dropped kerb. It is several inches under the mound of festering leaves. How cool is that?
These three Christmas elves (gone very wrong) wearing high-vis jackets have cleared off now and we are left with really big mounds of wicked leaves to go jump in slob about in. My grandson isn’t here – so someone has to do it!
High winds will re-distribute the leaves back to where they damn well want to settle. That’s evil nature for you.
Just what the hell was all that about? And we as taxpayers funded it? Well done to the jumped up little upstart that thought up that great plan, from behind his overly large, and very tidy desk.
My, I’m turning into a miserable, moaning old cow.
Why can’t folk leave things alone and let nature be her messy, beautiful self?
If those Christmas elves want something to do, they could come back after the bin men have been at lunchtime today. There’ll be plenty of stuff that doesn’t make it on to the wagon. It’ll save me picking it up, when I walk the Daisy dog later on.
But no, I guess the elves will be somewhere else aimlessly blowing hideous leaves into piles and then standing with their hands on their hips for ten minutes, before they head off to do battle with some more wicked leaves.
What I want to know now is, whether my moaning and groaning is justified/ due to my age (I’m not that old though!) /or just part of my miserable persona?
Thanks for reading.
Dorne x
What it means to be a mum/grandma – on my daughter’s birthday..
Monday will be my daughter’s birthday. At 5.34 pm she will be 36 years old. (Gosh, I feel old. But, in a warm fuzzy kind of way.) This post is by way of saying Happy Birthday to her.
Here’s what I remember.
She made her screaming entrance into the 80’s world on a snowy, Friday tea time. We were in a rather traditional, old hospital ( we had an extremely efficient and quite frankly scary matron! Think Hatty Jacques in the Carry on movies!) in Bradford, West Yorkshire.
I still vividly recall studying the tiny baby/ living doll in the crib at the bottom of the bed that I , YES ME ! had just delivered.
I’d waited so long for her to arrive. She’d made me sick just about every day of my pregnancy and as is often the norm, had performed gymnastics – whenever I’d tried to rest. I’d been pretty sure I was about to give birth to a football team.
We’d had a dress rehearsal with the first labour pains… when I was up a step-ladder, painting her nursery in neutral colours. ( We didn’t know what we were getting back in my day.)
We’d got the baby stuff together and had three of everything. One on, one in the wash and one ready. Generous folk had knitted me a huge collection of cardigans and booties in an assortment of colours. They’d made me bedding sets for her pram and cot and our tiny house was full of all things baby.
Favourite memories.
I loved pegging out her brilliant white terry nappies on the washing line. (In fact I made it my mission to get them the brightest white I could and soft… as, and for my baby’s bottom!) I could have watched that beautiful statement to the world that I was now a mum, blow in the breeze all day; except I had a few other things to do.
As she grew.
Sadly things didn’t work out between her dad and I and we went our separate ways. As a single parent there was challenges to be met and overcome. Money was tight and very carefully budgeted. We had a house that was well lived in. It suited us and our numerous pets. She once wrote about our magical house. I couldn’t have had a better compliment and I like to think that I got something right…though not everything. Does anyone?
.
I remarried and through the rebellious, teenage years we battled on. Aliens abducted her and left us with an argumentative. very messy and hormonal clone for quite a few years. They returned a more grown up, calmer version of her and peace returned.
Then she flew the nest.
” You see much more of your children once they leave home. “
Lucille Ball (1911 – 1989)
Now she is grown.
With a four-year old son of her own, she is a brilliant, working mum and partner.
Next September my grandson will go to school and I hope I will get to stand outside school with the other mums and grandmas, as I collect him from school.
I love my grandson to bits. My baby has a baby . I still find that amazing, even after four years. I’ll say it again… my baby has a baby! Because, as parents our children grow up, but they’re still our babies, aren’t they? They have their own children and we get to watch them from a different angle, as they parent their children. Feeling proud of them does not even start to describe how you feel.
I peered into another crib and saw a familiar tiny baby/doll with perfect little fingers and toes. Two beautiful blue eyes looked back at me. Seeing my grandson for the first time was the most amazing experience. I won’t forget it.
“There came a moment quite suddenly a mother realized that a child was no longer hers…without bothering to ask or even give notice, her daughter had just grown up.”
Alice Hoffman
And so the cycle goes on.
Happy Birthday to my beautiful, clever and loving daughter. I will never be able to thank you enough for making me a mum and grandma.
So, how about you? How do feel about being a parent/ grandparent? Do you remember how you felt when they were born? Do they continue to surprise you? (I’m guessing they do.)
Thanks for reading.
Dorne x
What about our children and their children?: the Brexit – Trump Show aftermath.
Here in the UK democracy has taken a hit twice in the same year. Ironically, the votes for CHANGE have been made under the banner of democracy. It could be a joke – if it wasn’t so damn sad and tragic.
Brexit was sold to UK folk as boosting our failing National Health Service, with money saved from not contributing to an evil EU. All migrants became potential terrorists and Brexit made folk fear their, pre-Brexit perfectly acceptable neighbours.
Let’s get our country back – was their motto. Let’s make our country great again.
I may be missing something here, but, my memories of life in a pre EU Britain involve coastlines and beaches that were quite frankly health risks. A swim in the sea amongst turds, condoms and god knows what else was something to savour. People and their rights counted for very little. And, we lived with the constant fear of another World War and consequently one that involved ever more sophisticated weapons of mass destruction.
Now fast forward to America and their version of Brexit… driven by a wish to make their country great again, banish Americans and residents of America who have a different religion, way of life and blah, blah, blah.
It’s tragically familiar. We live in a world where a minority of extremists are being allowed to render us stupid, do away with our democracy and push our development as so-called intelligent human beings, backwards. We’re ruled by the fear they manufacture.
We need to listen and take the lead from today’s generations.
They are the ones that will have to live with this damn mess. Ask them and they will tell you that they wanted to remain a part of the EU, yes, it’s not a perfect animal, but it wasn’t about to attack them and eat them up. They embrace the way folk meet and talk, try to find a common ground, agree to disagree and recognise that you can’t have your cake and eat it!
For some reason the older folk ,that influenced the results, think we can.
Hey Europe, we don’t want to be part of your smelly gang anymore, but, we still expect to play and be allowed to join in… with no commitments of friendship, or give and take.
What? we can’t? BOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
And now you’re going to get hard with us and exclude us? WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
But, we were once the great British Empire. You can’t do this to us.
America has now gone the same way.
Hey, we enjoyed this guy on The Apprentice and we should hire him.
He is hugely racist, sexist, lacks respect for women, can’t control his temper and hugely fancies himself and as Mr President. You’re hired! Oh, and watch out for your genitals… he just can’t help himself. If he sees beautiful he’s just got to kiss it and stuff.
And now he’s THE PRESIDENT ELECT . He can do what he damn well likes.
Go on, give him THE box with the nukes in and watch him play.
Just like a child, he’ll build walls, knock em down and make up his game as he goes along.
He’ll take away affordable health care for the masses, cancel trade deals and accelerate global warming. It’s all about America… right? Don’t even mention the racist card that he holds.
And now the whole world is going to be appearing in this strange Truman Show gone very wrong. Just as Brexit cocked things up first, we have season 1 of The Trump show to look forward to. Only, it doesn’t stream on Netflix a la House of Cards. Frank Underwood would be an absolute pussy compared to the Trump.
But, I can’t get my head around the fact that the voters who forced these retrograde events are older. They probably own their own houses. Many of them no longer work and they are financially secure.
What about our children and their children?
Have they even considered the future generations, or is all about them? How they can improve their lifestyles , have MORE and hang everybody else.
Do they want a World War 3 so they having a matching set? Those were the good old days, hey?
But, what do I know? Perhaps these folk know something we don’t and they have just made the wisest decisions that will save us from our own stupidity and selfishness.. Maybe we’re not seeing the whole picture and things will work out just fine. Are we the selfish ones? Running scared? Lacking in vision?
For our children, their children and their children, I would love to be proved wrong and made to feel bad for voting against Brexit and for willing the lesser of two evils, Hillary ,into the White House.
But right now, I feel so guilty and powerless for not being able to influence/stop this shit that has happened.
Thanks for reading.
Dorne x
Recent posts on my sister blog: dorne whale - my inner child
Let’s talk snow… it’s just a memory.
There was a time when I lived in a place where, if it snowed… boy did it snow! Massive drifts of the beautiful white stuff was the norm. And being snowed in the house was not unusual. The car needed snow chains on to get anywhere and the boot of it was always weighted down… for […]
Ugly Duckling Storage Box Makeover
Originally posted on Pewter and Periwinkles:
My latest project was a makeover for a sad little box that I got at the thrift store so long ago and sat in the basement forever. I think I paid less than $5 for it and it is a good thing because the supplies cost a little more…
Macro Monday ~ January 30, 2017
I can’t get over this amazing shot by Candice-Marie. How beautiful is nature? I have a long, long way to go with my photography and this inspires me to learn more and experiment. So, I’m reblogging on here. Enjoy and thanks to Candice – Marie for posting. x
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