I stood at the Gate of the Year

I STOOD AT THE GATE OF THE YEAR
by Minnie. J. Haskins

I said to the man who
stood at the gate of the year
"Give me a light that
I may tread safely into the unknown".

And he replied,

"Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God
That shall be to you
better than light and safer than a known way!"

So I went forth and finding the Hand of God,
Trod gladly into the night

He led me towards the hills

And the breaking of day in the lone east,

So heart be still!

What need our human life to know

if God hath comprehension

God hideth his intention."

Child of the Universe

We went for a stroll on the Llanelli Coast today. When I stood  and look at the sheer vastness of this , it brought  home just how much of a microcosm we are in this vast world. Microdot or not, each and everyone is of importance - it reminded me of part the of The Desiderata, 'You are a child of the universe; no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here'............

Penfolds and Page not Found

(Written by me circa 2006)

The thing with Penfolds and MS is that you wake up the following morning, not with a hangover, but with a numb hand which takes half an hour to come back to life, whereupon it feels electric-shocky. This alerts the senses to and sets the tone for today's flavour of MS; the rest of the peripheral nervous system twitches and tingles away discordantly, intent on intruding, gate-crashing on any kind of serenity within; so much so that you just have to get up at the ungodly hour of 5am for distraction.  

And such is the fickle nature of MS that I’d walked two miles the previous evening over sand dunes and stony, woodland paths engulfed, no seduced, by the fragrance of wild garlic which grows so profusely there at this time of year; I even had the audacity to forget that I share my life with a debilitating, progressive condition.

"You know you'll never get better," are the words ringing in my head; words uttered a while ago by a nurse who is about as tactful as a fatal brain haemorrhage, unlike the cunningly insidious nature of my own neurological condition.

After tossing and turning there during the pre-dawn hour, my loved one kicks me out of bed for having the damned cheek to feel very well, very bright and breezy physically,  but feeling foul mentally because I have a long  day ahead of me alone - but not only for that reason because he too knows I need the distraction

I get out of bed, make a cuppa with my left hand instead of my pre-dominant right, and no that's not a moan but simply a statement of fact - such is life with MS after a brief encounter with Penfolds. I boot up my laptop but don’t open my email client because  I feel like writing, which to many like myself is a long, laborious, loose tapping with one finger of my left hand.

The affair with Penfolds is by now but a memory, and the details of the previous evening dissipate whilst I have my third cuppa Tetleys. The men are yet to stir upstairs despite the humidity in the house after a night of torrential rain.

An idea had been mulling around my head because of the forthcoming solitude of my day. That idea was based on the words we often find on the Internet - 'Error 404 - Page Not Found'. However for some reason, I couldn't formulate what was in my head enough to commit thoughts to keyboard because I was afraid in case it had the same kind of angry tone as 'Come Undone' by Robbie Williams - familiar with it?

I didn't want to write anything along such a negative theme because that's not the way I was feeling in any case, so I finally gave up.

Next I click on my Outlook Icon- and  how lovely, I don't get Page Not Found, but I get the first email of the day and it is from none other than the dearest friend an MSer could wish for and then a link to a website forum  where that very person had sneaked in overnight on a conversation between myself and a very lovely person who seeks solace in that forum. 

A paragraph springs to mind from a travelogue I once wrote: 

"So there I was quietly stumbling along in the casual way I do, when out of the skies which are cyberspace fell another fellow stumbler – whoosh! right into my life, but more like a snowflake floating-falling from a brilliant  blue sky rather than the typically heavy thud of an MSer."

I cannot ever write ‘Page Not Found’

In remembrance - 9/11

Day 254/365: in remembrance - 9/11, a photo by Eiona.R. on Flickr. [COPYRIGHT PROTECTED IMAGE]

9/11 – The Orphans.
A peck on her cheek as he left for the station,
Not knowing the fate that awaited a nation,
A kiss gently blown to a babe not yet born;
A familiar scenario each USA dawn.


A stab through her heart when she heard of the horror
On CBS News, as she felt the world cower;
For death came so swiftly right out of that sky,
To husbands and fathers, in the blink of an eye.

Today a child watches the world weep once again
As Westerners mourn for the day named 9/11.
Are pecks on the cheek and a kiss gently blown,
Sole legacies left by fathers unknown?

Can each orphan resolve the grief of a nation?
Will they be the ones to lead Man to salvation?
For the powers - that - be took their freedom away
By denying all access to what happened that day.

Will the orphans of truth seek their own retribution
For atrocities cast against their own nation?
For Truth must be there, but knowledge is spurious;
Man, mourn the fact - the Fat Cat killed the curious.

© Eiona Roberts - Published by Jasmine Books 2006

The Station



We recently spent some time away, including a week in Hampshire with our good friends, Jan & Alan Coupe of Wisteria House, Stubbington . One of our days out that week was a trip on the Watercress Line from Alresford to Alton. When we got home and I started looking at my photos, it reminded me of this below the picture.....

'The Station' by Robert Hastings

Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are traveling by train. Out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there, so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loitering - waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

"When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry. "When I'm 18." "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz!" "When I put the last kid through college." "When I have paid off the mortgage!" "When I get a promotion." "When I reach the age of retirement, I shall live happily ever after!"

Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~







A Return to Bruges

Night falls over Bruges [EXPLORED # 102 on 4/06/11], a photo by Eiona.R. on Flickr [THIS IMAGE IS COPYRIGHT PROTECTED]

Not an easy blog entry to make . I'll try to explain........I was stood in Clinton's Cards, Oxford Street, Swansea looking at the 60th birthday cards, thinking to myself, "But I don't feel old enough to be buying a 60th birthday card for my husband." Not the usual upbeat quirky thoughts you'd expect from me. Anyway I bought the card,bought the pressie and a week later departed for Bruges to celebrate Huw's 60th birthday.

There's so much to write about the wonderful time we had but for now a cameo in pictures or the alternative quirky account here

Have a break; have a Kit-Kat

Day 148/365: have a break; have a Kit-Kat, a photo by Eiona55 [having a Kit-Kat] on Flickr.

Back in a bit :0))