Finding Miracles

This picture has nothing to do with this post but that's the mood I'm in this morning

Yesterday I walked Moll near Mawnan Smith, down to the sea. The sea was flat calm, cobalt blue, the sky as bright as a summer's day in our childhood memories. No wind ruffled the trees and bluebells poked their young, inquisitive heads through the ground as we walked along.

At the bottom of the woods, I started walking up Rosemullion Head, where the shadows were so clear they looked as if they'd been carved.

"Hello!" said a voice. "I bet you don't remember me."

I did. She was someone who had belonged to a writing group I went to years ago. She used to live with her mother but she died and she is now living in "lodgings" (a term not often used nowadays) nearby. She was walking two portly dogs, and stopped to question me on what I was doing.

I'd just finished transcribing an interview from that morning and told her that I was writing more journalism nowadays.

"Oh," she said. "You are lucky. I'm still waiting for my miracle."

My heart sank. But I had to say something. "Sometimes you have to go and get your miracle," I said. "I've found it's all about perseverance."

I didn't add that I also need determination, dedication, a sense of humour, sensitivity, empathy, the ability to listen and the need to pick myself up when I've been kicked in the teeth. Which is often.

She smiled. "Oh well," she said. "Perhaps my miracle will come along one day." And she called to her dogs.

Her dogs ignored her much as I fear her miracle might.

Awards and Buster II

I’m very chuffed to be awarded this from both Laurie and the Rotten Correspondent. Many thanks to you both. I won’t nominate others, but you know you deserve it – please take it and display it proudly!

On Sunday morning we walked Mollie down at Steamer Quay, by the river in Totnes.
The tide was up the highest we’ve ever seen it; nearly bursting its banks, and up and down the river the Dart rowing team were out practising in their skiffs. Tiny female coxes roared instructions at the eight men puffing and blowing as they pulled their oars in and out of the water with varying amounts of skill.

We met a lady with three dogs of indeterminate origin, one called Buster. A collie cross with milky blue eyes – he had trouble seeing.

We stopped and chatted, as you do with other dog lovers, and she told us that she was fostering Buster.

“His owners couldn’t cope and wanted him put down,” she said.

I caught my breath, horrified that someone could think of doing such a thing and she saw my anguish, nodded in agreement.

“Someone took him to the Animals in Distress rescue home in Ipplepen and I said I’d foster him.” She pointed to Buster trying to chase Mollie, unsuccessfully. “He enjoys life - apart from his awful arthritis,” she said. “It was so bad when he was in kennels that they had to lift him up each morning. But now he’s with me I’ve got the heating on at night and he’s much better.” She groaned. “I dread to think what my heating bill will be like!”

We stayed and chatted for a while longer before walking on, and she took her brood off in the opposite direction.

I won’t forget her – thank God there are people like her around.

Support

No, no news but we’re trying to be positive. Perhaps he is lying smugly on someone’s bed, being fed tuna on a silver spoon. (In which case, why not come home?) Perhaps he couldn’t wriggle away because of his bad leg. Perhaps he’s locked in someone’s garage. You can go mad speculating, so I try not to.

At least some decent weather helps; Bussie will be warm and dry, wherever he is. As Breadbox said, it’s the not knowing that’s so frustrating. You can’t do anything if you don’t know what’s happened, can’t move forwards. I can only hope that my Bussie is safe, and that he’ll come home soon. Whoever can tell what a cat’s thinking?

But thank you so much for all your support. Not just from people I ‘know’, but from those I have never met before. When I read Lesley’s second comment just now I felt blessed that so many people have taken the trouble to say they care. It means more than I can say and brings back faith that despite what happens, often unaccountably, there is a brighter side to life.

I’m sorry I’m not able to thank you all owing to a very wobbly Broadband connection. I spent nearly two hours on the phone to some BT fellow whose grasp of the English language wasn’t too good and spoke very quietly, so I kept shouting, ‘SORRY, COULD YOU SPEAK UP?’ down the phone. He failed to solve the problem, but apparently the problems is caused by BT upgrading our Broadband connection. No, it doesn’t make any sense to me, either.

So for the next week I could be having a wobbly Broadband connection which means I may not be able to thank you all personally, and visit your blogs. Bear with me. I will keep you posted – it just takes hours to add a comment on my own blog, let alone anyone else’s.

(While I don’t want to wish my life away, I can’t help thinking I’ll almost be glad when this week’s over.)

On a brighter note, I see from the Western Morning News yesterday that Bilbo, a Newfoundland accompanying his lifeguard owner at Sennen Cove, managed to save a Dutch tourist’s life. Weighing 12 stone, Bilbo tried to stop Lein Snippe from entering the water. When that didn’t work, he swam out so that she could see how hard it was for him to get back.

‘It was incredible,’ said Lein. ‘It was almost like he was talking to me.’

I was hoping to end with a cheerful cat story, but I can’t quite see a cat diving into the surf. On the other hand, I’d never be surprised by a cat’s capabilities. And Bussie, if nothing else is a prima donna. He loves the limelight. So come home soon, Bussie. You’re famous now.

Awards, Novels and Itching

First of all, many thanks to the rotten correspondent for her award of Creative Blogger. I am extremely honoured and grateful; very ego boosting start to the week.
I will pass this on to other bloggers in a day or two when I've had time to have a trawl.

Also many thanks for all those encouraging comments about my meanderings on writing fiction. I would like to clarify that I have not yet had a novel published (god dammit to hell) but one of these days I will. Unfortunately the decision whether to publish a book these days is nowadays down to the Marketing department and has less to do with the writing itself. Yes, I can write (all of us bloggers can do that) but nowadays unless an agent and publisher is convinced that what you write will sell, you’re not going to get published.

So what makes a book sell? Ah, well, there’s the conundrum. No one actually knows. It’s an indefinable thing, like falling in love. It either works or it doesn’t, and until the book’s out there, who knows whether people will want to buy it? There are certain factors which will help or hinder, however:-

Don’t write about cancer (my last boo boo)
Don’t write about people with an age gap (ditto)
Don’t write about the theatre or ballet (yes, another of mine)
Your main (female) character must not be over 40 (another mistake), preferably early to mid thirties -

And so the list goes on, with lots and lots of Dos and Don’ts about plot, characters, conflict etc. which I won’t bore you with. All of the above rules can be broken, of course, but not by me – or not yet. So this time I’ve tried to keep within the rules. I can only keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best. Keep yours crossed too, would you? My baby is going off in the post today as soon as it’s stopped tipping down.

And many thanks for helpful comments about Mollie’s itching. As it’s on her back, she can’t scratch it with her claws so she hasn’t broken the skin, and a lot of the time it doesn’t bother her, but when it does, she gets very agitated. It’s not her anal glands as she had those done last week (a recurring problem, unfortunately, but one that I have now been shown how to do by the vet). I’ve decided to take her to the vet and made an appointment for tomorrow morning – they’re too busy today. In the meantime I’m off to buy moisturising shampoo and Aloe Vera. Will keep you posted on both babies.

Wet wishes (as opposed to dreams)

It’s been a wet week here in Cornwall, prompted by my unfailing capacity to overempathise. I can’t help it – I think I was born with my emotions far too near the surface. It started with Graham’s extremely well written blog – see link on right hand side - which had me sobbing into my keyboard.

Then my friend Viv lost her dog. Another deluge from the Flowerpot department. Last night I met a friend for a drink and was trying to cheer her up but ended up telling her about Sammy and cried so much I choked on my wine. (What a waste.) Deb stared at me I spluttered and coughed, tears streaming down my face. Still, at least that took her mind off her own problems.

Lastly I’ve just finished Marley & Me by John Grogan – a wonderfully touching memoir about a completely mad but loveable dog and the effect he had on his family. I was reading that at 4.30am, sobbing into my pillow. Don’t read this if you’ve just lost your pet, but it’s a beautifully written story of farewells and new beginnings, and what dogs can teach us about life. Very heartwarming.

So in order to stop the floodates, I thought I’d write about something entirely different and one that will keep me dry (I hope).

Looking at the rotten correspondent’s blog yesterday, she asked what we would do with $25,000. By my maths, this equates to about £12,500 and the stipulation is that you have to spend it on yourself and yourself only. I find this difficult as I’m not good at spending money on myself, but here goes.

I’d buy a campervan** so we could take Mollie off for holidays. We don’t have holidays at the moment – they’re not in our budget, and I don’t like hotels or bed and breakfasts much, Himself doesn’t like camping, so a campervan would be ideal. We could take off and adventure when and where we felt like it. I’m not sure how much they cost, but knowing us we’d get a secondhand one.

What I’d really like is to live somewhere with a proper garden – we have a small, very secure yard where Mollie can go and frolic via the catflap (both cat and dog use it) but it’s not the same as a good bit of grass and trees and things – she can’t have a good run. That’s what I’d like but you can’t really just buy a garden and plonk it down next to your house. So -

I’d go to a supermarket and buy whatever caught my fancy – without worrying about the cost. Books, stationery (I love buying stationery), flowers, stuff for my tubs, wine (lots of), food and treats for Mollie and Buster. Am I allowed that?

I would then ring my dearest mates and we’d go out for a meal. Somewhere dog friendly of course.

What would you do?

** I've just told Himself who said he doesn't think much of the idea of a campervan. Spoilsport. So Moll, it's you and me, girl!