Tag: DPchallenge

March 3, 2013 / Memory

With apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson.

Daily Prompt: No, Thanks

Is there a place in the world you never want to visit? Where, and why not?

There was a time when I believed that travel was not for me. I had no wanderlust and really could not understand why, with all that Great Britain has to offer, anybody would need to travel abroad. There are still so many parts of the UK that I have not visited and would love to see but I did finally get myself a passport when I turned 40.

Not that the passport saw much use; mainly through economic considerations, I suppose.

My passport has timed out now and has not been renewed, but the small amount of travel that I have done has led me to wish that I might do more.

When I think of travel, it is always to temperate, cool, or downright chilly climes. All of the places that I long to see and explore are well outside of the tropics. I am not attracted by sun or sand; take me to Scandinavia, to Alaska, to the Antarctic, please. Offer me an all-expenses paid luxury trip to any destination in the world and my mind will not leap towards the sun unless led there in time, by other considerations.

The travel that I have done has taught me enough to know that I find Culture fascinating, and especially Food Culture. I think I would go anywhere if led by tales of sumptuous art, magnificent architecture,and splendiferous food! In other words, I would cope with the heat if I had to in order to explore the other facets of a country.  My youthful claims of “I would never go to India/Africa/The Mediterranean/etc.” have been tempered by experience and age. Of course I would go – for short periods and if I only had the resources…

It would be madness not to! I would never (now) turn down any opportunity to travel anywhere at all.

In fact, I have mellowed so much with age that I would now even visit America. I think. The problem with America is, so far as I can see, that one has to pass through the bits that one would not want to visit, in order to reach those parts that one does. So, while I would never wish to see New York or LA, or any large centre, I can’t really, for example, get up in the Rockies without at least passing through a large airport.

Also, maybe, I don’t want to visit anywhere that brings out the snob in me… Yes, you know what is coming, please don’t take me to the Costas.  Sun oil and chip oil and lager louts. Ugh.

Holiday in Hell
Holiday in Hell

Please don’t take me anywhere the Club 18-30 is staying, either.

Oh, yeah, that's tasteful...
Oh, yeah, that’s tasteful…

If I travel, it is to meet the local people, eat the local food, have the local experiences. I want to stay in a small off-the-beaten-track establishment and not in a chain hotel. I do not want to go anywhere that caters for English tourists. I want to be forced to try my language skills out and improve them.

In general, my notion of travel is not about visiting a place. It is about the getting there. Travel as both Process and Product. I’m not one for rushing about, being squashed in a plane and bored to tears, hurrying to a single place where I am then indolent for two weeks. I would be happier taking a week to get somewhere and then simply turn about and travel home by the alternative route. Just pop me on a cross-Continental train, a whale-watching Arctic cruise, or a slow boat to China and arm me with a journal and a camera and I will be the happiest little traveller in the world. I could truthfully answer this prompt with a single word answer “nowhere” so long as I am simply passing through (and there is potable water.)

Having said all this, there is one travel experience that I shall never, ever repeat, and that is the bus trip that I took from Yorkshire to the Continental Christmas Markets of Germany, Belgium and The Netherlands. It was Hell on Earth. I won’t go, and you cannot make me!

(which brings us neatly around to closure.)

Christmas to a child is the first terrible proof that to travel hopefully is better than to arrive – Stephen Fry

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March 2, 2013 / Memory

Daily Prompt: Places

Beach, mountain, forest, or somewhere else entirely?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJhq46ZpVbM

For me, any or all of those will suffice; so long as they are wild and empty spaces. Not for me the burning sun, oiled bodies, chilled beer and sun loungers.  Cliff’s beach party would send me scurrying inland to the mountains.

As it happens, I have no choice nowadays; it is the beach or nothing, as our little island has no mountain, no trees, just miles of white sand and sweeping bays.

wpid111-beach-1-of-1.jpg
Mr L, On The Beach

There have been other times, elsewhere. High mountain tops, long days in deep forests.  I have loved them all because you were with me, dear, exploring the wild places. You and I alone, with the dogs and not a soul about to share it  with. These are for you:

The Long Days Out

(i) Hunting for hidden treasure in the Forest of Dean

Long ago, one gold leaf
Covert in a russet tree –
You and I, seeking

(ii) Christmas Day on Cairn Daimh

Pie in the sky lunch –
solitary dining for
Mincemeat Mountaineers

(iv) In the forest by the sea, at Lossiemouth

Lossie forest, verdant
Have my cake and eat it too –
Hear the waves breaking

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March 1, 2013 / Memory
wpid92-Dear-me-1-of-1.jpg
Writing me a letter

Daily Prompt: Back to the Future

 A service has been invented through which you can send messages to people in the future. To whom would you send something, and what would you write?

Dear Beth

You are old now, and failing. Do not grieve. Do not rail against your aged bones or mourn the things you have not done. You have had a good life.

I am writing to you now, to remind you of some of the living that we did. Does it seem so long ago and far away now? Perhaps our worst fears have come to pass and our memories fail you fast. Hold this letter close, dear Beth, and read it time and again if need be; keep me alive in your mind and do not give in to the passing years. Whilst I write this, and you are there to read my words, the girl that once we were lives still inside us.

Do you still find it sad that the girl we once were took so long to find her life? That was heart-rending and such a waste – but oh, my, she did make up for it, didn’t she! The things that she did; the achievements, the loving, the learning, and all that writing. She seemed always to be writing,  that younger Beth, in some kind of desperation to make her mark on the world I suppose. Always with that need to prove our mother wrong.

Do you remember stamping our foot and blurting through angry tears “I am not stupid, I’m NOT!” Why was it that we never met her expectations, no matter what we did or how we triumphed. Never a word of praise, no matter what we did. Not even when we won that prize. Do you recollect  that first year of  our Open University Degree, when they telephoned to say that there was an Award  for the best student on the course and reminisce on the pride we felt on learning that no woman had won the Technology prize before.  We were the first. Do you remember the trophy and that big fat cheque; do you recall the beautiful opal ring that came from it. That ring became our Luck Piece; it went to every exam and every job interview and it never, ever failed us.

Do you remember the poem we wrote on the writing course, when we used the ring as inspiration? I have included it with this letter.

Bopal

I am enclosing that ring with this letter too. The life that we are living here and now as I write does not call for personal adornment and I fear that the ring will be lost if not cared for. I want to be buried with that ring on my finger (making damn certain our twin does not get her acquisitive wee grasp on it), so I am sending it ahead. It is the most precious thing that we have ever owned. When you wear it, remember me as we are now, and as we were when we bought it, that day in Barnard Castle in the last century.

That was the start of it all, really. The time when life began for real. It was only a few years later when we finally stood up to our mother and told her that I was a big girl now and not to be bullied any longer. As I write this letter, it is 26 years since that happened; she still does not speak to me, did she ever welcome us back to her before she died. and did we care, either way, by then?

So, life began in the Thirties and didn’t we let rip! Whoever would have thought a career would come our way, or Academic Honours. Lovers too! Liberation came late in our life but we had such fun being a thoroughly disreputable forty-something. In fact that part of our life was very physical; do you recollect all those hours in the gym, the hills we climbed, the paint-balling day, the army assault course?

The other surprise of our life, at about the same time, was discovering our love of teaching. Wasn’t that a turn up! All those Summer Schools; all those lovely students, so many wonderful people who taught us very much more than we taught them.

Then there was Steven. There we were, being happily single and doing our own thing and suddenly we were tamed. Steve swept into our life so quickly; how could we ever have anticipated what was to come. It was a rocky ride while we waited out his divorce but finally we came to a place of great peace and contentment.

I hope that he is still there, by your side as you read this letter from me, supporting you and loving you as he has always done for me. One of the benefits of taking on a younger man should be that he is still beside one when old age arrives. Don’t be proud, Beth, let him help you with the things that you can no longer manage; you can be so obstinate and independent, but do allow him to show his love by letting him care for you.

As I write this letter, we are in that part of our life where we have fled the rat-race, given up our career and are living on peanuts on a wild Scottish isle. The pension is in sight, though not yet here. We are still young enough to have fun and to love and to learn and that is really all that our life has been about. I want to believe that you are still here, in this home that we forged on our island, perhaps still at your spinning wheel and with Steve at your side. I  trust that you are blessed with good health and enough money to get by and to remain independent in that home. Above all else, I hope that we still have our wits about us.

Live well, and be happy

Beth

More responses to today’s challenge:

February 28, 2013 /

Daily Prompt: First Light

Remember when you wrote down the first thought you had this morning? Great. Now write a post about it.

I was obviously mulling over the weekly writing challenge the other night as I was sleeping. In fact, I “wrote” a fabulous piece on the topic of Dystopia. It was coherent and it flowed well; the argument that I made was strong and it had both humour and illustrations. A great Blog entry, in fact. An exemplar.

Within moments of waking, it had all fled my mind and when I sat down to tackle the challenge, I struggled. I still have not written that piece.

I was thinking that I should keep a notebook by the bed, as I have previously done (on advice from writing tutors in the past.) I resolved to find a suitable book and place it on the bedside table, despite the knowledge that I can never write anything down when I wake as I am without my glasses at the point of the day.  Believe me, if I scribble anything down in my bedside book, it is later indecipherable – this is why I kicked that particular habit.

Anyway, resolve I did – act I did not. Not even when I read yesterday’s prompt.

tryharder

So, my first thought this morning was…. why didn’t I find a notebook to put by the bed? I now refer you to  yesterday’s post, and The Law of Sod.

Other Posts on this DPchallenge prompt: