Coral McCallum

Any of you who either know me in person or who follow my blog ramblings will by now be aware that my grasp on what’s left of my sanity can be tenuous at times.

Lunchtime strolls along the waterfront walkway in front of the “salt mine” are the perfect place to clear your head and, depending on the direction of the wind, to blow away the cobwebs. Many of the photos I take and subsequently post to Facebook are taken during these sojourns. A lunchtime walk needs two vital pieces of technology- my phone and my iPod. (If I forget my iPod, my phone can double up as both at a push.)

One day last week I took a photo of a one legged seagull perched on the railings. I had seen this bird around a few times. At first I had thought it had curled its other leg up as they are prone to doing but, no, this poor wee soul only has one leg. (Maybe I’ve taken this walk too often when I’m recognising the local seabirds on sight.) Anyway, the stark white of its plumage against the grey river scape set a good scene for my photographic efforts for the day.

Happy with the end result, I duly posted it to Facebook.

It generated a few “likes” and comments, one of which sparked my curiosity. A friend commented, “Did you know those can live up to age 30!”

Cynic and doubter than I am at times, I turned to Google and Wiki for confirmation. He was quite correct, with the oldest gull, a Herring gull, having a confirmed aged of 49.

Satisfied that I had learned something, I put all thoughts of the photo and the average age of seabirds to the back of my mind.

Until that was the next day. It had been a long stressful morning for a multitude of reasons that I won’t bore you with. Suffice to say, by midday my mind was fried, my caffeine levels were off the scale and I was on the verge of tears.  Phone and iPod in hand, I set off along my usual route, slowly unwinding as I listened to the not-so gentle strains of my music. Step by step; song by song I began to pull myself to together. By the time I turned into the path leading back towards the front door of the “salt mine”, I was as calm and collected as I was likely to get.

And then it happened!                                                                           

A large seagull was walking along the path beside me. I stopped walking. We stared at each other intently for a few moments then my grasp on my sanity slipped out of reach as I found myself thinking, “I wonder how old you are?”

It’s rapidly approaching that time again when I am faced with an all important decision. This happens roughly every two years and creates a dilemma that rages on for weeks. If I make the wrong choice I have to live with it for the consequences….oh decisions, decisions!

So what is this great dilemma?

It’s time to upgrade my mobile phone.

Yes, I know I don’t have to choose a new model and could quite easily live with the one I have…or could I?

I’m convinced that t mobile phone manufacturers and  phone companies are in cahoots. Mysteriously, after functioning perfectly for 23 months, my phone has  begun to play up. Simple things like part of the touch screen no longer responding, the battery life halving almost overnight and other similar annoying little niggles. All minor faults that when grouped together become serious enough to tempt the user to start shopping around for a new “toy”.

For me a mobile phone has to have two things – a first rate camera and an expandable memory. (Two years ago I opted to go for a fixed amount of memory- poor choice!)

Now I also require the device to come with a suitably large data bundle to allow easy access to social media sites, email, the news, the weather, Google ….I could go on and on but I’m sure you get the picture.

The one feature that holds no interest to me is games. As a reformed Candy Crush addict I no longer play games on my phone.

However the feature of least importance is the device’s ability to actually make phone calls.

Why do we even still call these hand held pc’s phones?

At the risk of sounding “old”, it doesn’t seem so long ago that very few people carried mobile phones and even then these large bulky handsets could only call, text and play Snake. It also doesn’t seem too far back when the phone was something that sat on a table in the hall or the living room and the handset was attached to the body with a short curly wire. None of this push button nonsense either – you actually had to “dial” the number by putting your finger in the appropriate hole and spinning the dial round. You also had to know the number you wanted to dial – none of this “contacts/people” stuff.

The first cordless phone in our house was a luxury – but one that came with a new household rule – “The handset must always be replaced on the base unit as soon as you’ve finished your call.”  (I’m sure this was brought into force after my dad left the handset in the greenhouse or some such place!) The end result was that you ended up making your call standing beside the base unit so there was no real “cordless” benefit after all!

Stepping even further back in time for a moment. I remember around 1976/77 we took delivery of a new slimline trendy “Trim” phone with a very distinctive ring. The novelty of this quickly wore off when the family budgie, Freddie, began to impersonate the “ring” causing great confusion and many needless mad dashes into the hall to answer the silent phone. That phone was soon returned to BT.

And phone boxes- when did anyone last use one? I don’t even know that Boy Child or Girl Child would know where to start with a pay phone. Gone are the days of the emergency reverse charge call home when you had lost (or spent) your bus fare.

Ah happy memories of days gone by when phones were actually just used for talking to each other.

So, back to my current dilemma – to upgrade or not upgrade? That is the question.

A 1970’s Trim phone

(credits to the owner)

The first quote, spotted on FB recently, reminded me of a photograph I took of the second. It is above a doorway in the New York Public Library- a wonderful place to visit!

Both quotes got me thinking- which five books would I choose if pushed to do so?

As I’ve said before in relation to music, your choices will vary depending on mood and personal circumstance at the time. There’s no right or wrong answer.

Perhaps it’s also time for a confession – I am no lover of the “classics”. Yes, I’ll go and wash my mouth out with soap for admitting that! However, in my defence, I’ve read very few of them and enjoyed those even less. I’m not saying anything against these books- they just don’t appeal to me.

Don’t ever “tell” me to read a book because I won’t do it. This harks back to being told to read novels and classics for school English exams. Recommend a book to me and chances are that I’ll get to it in my own good time

I also tend to select books using a  methodology that I use for choosing music and wine – if I like the cover or the title then I’ll probably check it out further.

So, to try to narrow my eclectic tastes in literature down to five volumes…..

1 The Lord of the Rings – JRR Tolkien – the best written book I’ve ever read.

2 Shantaram – Gregory David Roberts –an incredible tale that draws the reader into the heart of the characters.

3 A Prayer for Owen Meany – John Irving – yes, I bought this one because I liked the armadillo on the cover and opened it to find a fabulous tale inside. One of many John Irving books I own and treasure.

4 Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil – John Berendt –for its fabulous cast of characters and the fact it reminds me of  my honeymoon in Mauritius a long time ago. Perhaps something Freudian there….

5 The Pilot’s Wife – Anita Shreve – it has the “house” in it. I love the recurring house that appears in several of her novels. It’s also a fabulous story and makes you think about how well you really know your partner.

Right, I knew I couldn’t limit this to five so I’m going to beg your forgiveness and add on another

6 The Alchemist – Paulo Coelho – initially loaned to me by an old friend with whom I’ve long since lost contact sadly, and one I’ve re-read several times. The first of many Paulo Coelho books in my collection. One that set me on the road to follow my own dreams.

So what would be in your top five (or six) and why?

credits to the owner of the Neil Gaiman quote photograph

I think the recent hot weather has dried up my “well of ideas” a little over the past week or so. Perhaps also it’s because my “real world” has been a bit manic. Who knows!

In an attempt to keep these posts varied and fresh, I’m going to play a game with this post. Using an idea from a tutorial book I downloaded a while ago, I’ve taken ten words and will weave each of them into a short piece of fiction.

At least that’s the plan! Here goes….

The ten words are –

gamble, exact, bow, tower, risen, spin, soil, shame, melt, attack.

Wish me luck!

Grave Misgivings?

The full moon had risen, partially hidden behind a wispy veil of clouds. As the clouds parted its silvery light shone down on the pile of soil that marked the fresh grave.

A few hours earlier, from the sanctuary of the church tower, the dark angel had watched as a small group of mourners had paid their last respects to the old woman. The same old woman on whom she had fed a few days before. At the head of the grave, the old woman’s dog had sat watching as its mistress’ coffin was slowly lowered into the cold damp depths of the earth. Now, hours later the dog still sat in the exact same spot.

It had never been her intention to make the old woman her prey. Her sights had been set on younger richer blood but the risks associated with drinking from her preferred choice had been too great. It had proved to be too big a gamble for her to take that night. A small part of the dark angel felt a sense of shame at her attack on the woman.

Gliding soundlessly down from the church, the angel landed beside the grave. Time to pay her silent last respects. Something in the lunar magic of the full moon was tugging at the remnants of her lost soul. As she landed on the damp grass, the dog looked up. Politely she made a deep bow to the grave and the dog. Mirroring her futile gesture of apology, the dog lowered its head too.

A distant sound caused the angel to spin round and re-focus her attentions on the moonlit road that ran behind the dry stane wall of the graveyard. Thud. Thud. Thud. The steady rhythmic tread of the approaching runner caused the last glimmers of remorse to melt away into the night.

Deep within her the angel could feel her hunger stir, no longer satiated by octogenarian blood. Without a backward glance she spread her wings and took to the air in silent pursuit of her next feast.

Did you find all ten words?

(the start of the angels’ tale can be found above under fiction- short stuff and is titled Silently Watching)

I stumbled across “The Writers’ Retreat” cartoon on Facebook recently and it made me smile. (It also reminded me of my favourite jigsaw from my childhood but that’s another story….)

The picture stopped me in my tracks as I was transported back to late last December when I took the plunge and created this blog page with trembling hands.

Over the past seven months I’ve visited many of the “rooms” within “The Writers’ Retreat”.

For many years I’ve hidden in the comfort zone of the “Cave of Reclusive Genius” too shy to let the world enter my creative world and too scared to let it see what I was creating. My heart still pounds when I hit “publish” every week on each new post or page but it slows to a normal rhythm a little quicker each time.

I’ve meandered through “Plot Labyrinth” when my serialised tale “The Imp” took off (It can be found on the fiction-short stuff tab). From a one off piece, that was scribbled to relieve the boredom of waiting outside the school in the dark while Boy Child attended his Wind Orchestra rehearsal, the story twisted and turned and grew into a tale that I’m extremely proud of. Who knows, if I visit “Inspiration Overlook”, the imp may be back.

I’ve sat gazing into the “Reflecting Pool” many times as I debated with myself over which of my poems to share with the world, many of them deemed too personal to share.

The “Shrine to the Muse” has been photographed and acknowledged regularly as my larger “creative baby” has grown.

There have been several frantic visits to the “Emergency Idea Generator” as I’ve flapped about not having a blog post in mind for the week.

I’ve watched the sun set from “Magic Realist Pier”, whilst trying to avoid the siren’s call to “Cliché Island”, and kept my goals in sight, wholly appreciative of the massive challenge ahead of me.

“Procrastination Patio” has invited me to sit back and relax in the sun with a cold beer or a chilled white wine all too often of late!

Currently I’m enjoying the warmth of “First Draft Furnace” with the welcome company of three trusted friends.

Hopefully 2015 will see me visit “Publisher’s Roost” to celebrate the birth of my “creative baby” but, for now, I’m away to climb “Aspiration Tower” and drink in the view.

What room are you hanging out in?

credits to the owner of the cartoon