Tag Archives: #bloggerlife

The Measly Jar of Motivation – magical beach sunrises vs sunsets

Two of my favourite words!

As Autumn/Fall settles in around us, summer feels like a rapidly fading memory.

Yes, I know that the sun rises every morning but there is something healing on a soul level to be found from wandering along the beach on a warm summer morning watching the sunrise.

When did you last watch the sun rise up over the horizon? Stop and think about that for a moment.

Have you even taken the time to pause and watch sunrise?

I’ll confess it’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to fully appreciate sunrise. I’ve caught glimpses of it through the open bathroom window but that’s been it for quite a while. Something that I need to address in 2027.

Those who follow this blog regularly or who know me personally will already know of my love for a particular beach at sunrose so I apologise if I am repeating myself here.

A very long time ago, as a ten-year old girl, I fell in love with one special beach town. To this day, I have no idea why this particular place stole a piece of my heart but it did.

When it came to choosing a location for the setting of my first “book baby” Stronger Within, it was this town that I chose.

Throughout the Big Green Gummi Bear’s illness, I watched the sunrise at the beach via a local webcam and through social medial posts from local photographers. Those photographers don’t know it but they saved my sanity and gave me something to hope for. For their early morning ventures onto the sand, I will be eternally grateful.

My first holiday/vacation alone was spent in this small town. I’d made a promise to myself that after years of watching the sunrise online that when I could, I would sit on the beach and watch the sunrise for myself and I did…. several times.

There is something magical about wandering down onto the beach when the new day is just a glow on the horizon. The world around you feels clean and new. Walking across the expanse of soft sand towards the ocean, the sand is cool underfoot; a stark contrast to how it will feel later in the day when it feels hotter than the surface of the sun!

Walking along the beach barefoot on the hard packed damp sand with the occasional wave washing in over my feet, watching the sanderlings going about their day, keeping an eye out towards the ocean for dolphins and pausing every now and then to monitor the sun’s journey over the horizon is my ideal way to start the day.

It’s just a pity that that town with its beautiful beach sunrises is three-thousand miles away from where I live.

If I lived closer, I’d walk it every day.

Don’t get me wrong, you get gorgeous sunrises in Scotland too. (Just before any local friends moan at me) Many times in the past I’ve diverted off my route on the commute to work to capture a stunning sunrise shot. Pretty as they are, local sunrises just don’t have that bit of magic that makes my beach sunrises so special to me.

Last summer, as you’ll have seen from my California blog series (if you missed it scroll through my blog) I spent my summer break elsewhere. Watching the sunset at the skate park in Venice Beach was special. Those sunsets surrounded by skateboarders and palm tress were wonderful but I’ve a confession…. I missed my beach sunrise walks.

In an ideal world, I’d love a beach town that had those amazing skate park sunsets and mu magical beach walk sunrises but that’s not possible in the real world. (Yes, my beach town has nice sunsets before any of the locals from there complain but those sunsets don’t have skate park and palm tree magic…although yours do have bandstand magic.)

Now as dark mornings and dark evenings loom large on the horizon for the next few months, I’m already dreaming of summer 2027 and, if the planets align, dreaming of more sunrises spent walking on Rehoboth Beach.

The Wheel of the Year Turns…..Mabon

And so, The Wheel turns as summer ends for another year and autumn arrives. This shift is signalled by the Pagan festival, Mabon that marks the Autumn Equinox. There’s no evidence that the Celts celebrated this time of year but there are records of the Neolithic and Bronze Age settlements marking it. The Mayans also recognised it but the name Mabon itself is more modern. As with Ostara in the spring, this is the time when day and night are equal again.

Mabon, according to Wiccan tradition, marks the second harvest and a time when the Goddess begins her annual transition from Mother to Crone in preparation for guiding the world into the darkest part of the year. It’s a time of balance, a time to give thanks for what has come to fruition (harvest); it’s a time to begin preparing for what must be let go (trees shedding their leaves.)

Personally, I find this transition from the light and warmth of summer into the darker part of the year a difficult time. I love summer! I love the light mornings and light nights and the sun’s warmth! But I recognise that the seasons need to change and that The Wheel of the Year must turn. Summer will be back next year.

Autumn is a time of reflection, a time to spend time outdoors in nature. Let’s be honest, despite my love of summer, who doesn’t enjoy an autumnal walk when the sun is shining and the leaves are beautiful shades of red, orange, brown and copper.

It’s a time of year when even our food choices have an extra cosy warmth to them. While I’ll never be a pumpkin spice fan, I do love cinnamon and apples and sweetcorn – all things associated either with Autumn of the harvest season.

As the nights grow darker earlier, there is a certain cosiness to be found from closing the curtains, lighting a candle or two and perhaps writing a reflective journal…or to plan next summer’s holiday!

How many sleeps until summer?….

Images sourced via Google – credits to the owners

California Adventure Pt 2 – Hunting down a cactus….

Before I left home Boy Child asked me to take a specific photo for him while I was In the Venice Beach area.

Back in 2024, he had spent a week in Marina del Ray, the town to the south of Venice Beach and had seen a huge cactus plant outside a house near his Air BnB. He was curious to know if it had grown any taller.

How hard could this be?

The Venice Beach boardwalk was gradually coming to life as I walked towards Venice Beach Pier. All along the way, the vendors were setting up for the day ahead, the shops were opening, joggers and dogwalkers were out in force. Every now and then, I would pass one of the local homeless community, each of those souls a stark reminder of the darker- or should that be sadder- side of this town.

When I reached Washington Blvd, I turned left and headed inland. As I walked, I was conscious that the shops and cafes were gradually getting smarter, more upmarket. Conscious that I was on a mission, I walked past Starbuck, ignoring the temptation of a second morning coffee.

The further inland that I got, the more RVs I spotted parked at the side of the road. There were also an old yellow school bus and a few cars with the windows all blacked out. Outside one large black RV, there were several bicycles under a tarpaulin, a small paddling pool on the pavement/sidewalk beside a collection of “sidewalk chalk” kids’ drawing. A sad looking dog kept an eye on me from an open window.

These weren’t just parked vehicles.

These were people’s homes. The owners most likely held down several jobs and earned more than I do.

A few minutes later, I turned off the road into the street where I had been told the cactus plant was growing. In a few short minutes, I had become surrounded by million-dollar homes. It wasn’t sitting easy with me.

I found the cactus plant, took some photos of it to send home to Boy Child then began to retrace my steps. As I passed the black RV for a second time, I felt the saddest dog eyes in the world following me….

California Adventure Pt 1- Venice Beach Canal District

 This blog is the first in a short series of blogs that I wrote while I was on holiday/vacation recently.

This year I had decided to venture further afield than in previous years and had booked 11 nights in Venice Beach, California. It was my first trip to the West Coast of the USA.

My first walk along the beach to the Venice Beach Fishing Pier then back along the boardwalk had been an immediate overdose in all things California-palm trees, pelicans, surfing. They were even filming Baywatch on the beach! It was all a bit overwhelming to wee jetlagged me!

After lunch I ventured back out for another meander (OK, I was actually in search of a liquor store and some white wine!) and decided to explore a bit.

Hidden a couple of blocks inland from the craziness that is the Venice Beach boardwalk is a tranquil oasis of European-influenced calm. The Venice Canal Historic District is a small network of six man-made canals, originally designed to recreate a corner of Venice, Italy in Southern California.

The canals were built in 1905 by developer Albert Kinney and originally covered a much larger area. Albert Kinney’s vision was to create a seaside resort with canals, gondolas, and Italian-style architecture. Sadly, many of the original canals were filled in during the 1920’s to make room for more roads as automobiles grew in popularity. (More about cars later in this blog series)

Now over a hundred years later, the remaining six canals (Carroll, Linnie, Howland, Sherman, Eastern and Grand. I’d expected more Italian names to be honest) are connected by nine arched footbridges. The gondolas of Kinney’s vision have been replaced by kayaks and small floating docks. Most of the architecture is more modern than I’d expected but nestled among these modern properties are some beautiful homes oozing character.

I’ll be honest, the shallow canals smell a bit. There didn’t look to be a lot of water movement but you could see that the levels were low.

The canal district is a wildlife haven for wading birds like herons and egrets plus other birds. As I wandered along the narrow walkways, I only spotted one lonely egret and a single duck. Apparently according to the signs there are seals and occasionally sharks spotted in the water. What I hadn’t anticipated seeing was a coyote warning poster on one of the bridges!

It’s easy to see why this area is popular with photographers. The romantic author in me could easily visualise a couple posing for their wedding photos on the quaint bridges and among the plethora of flowers overhanging the narrow pathways…. hmm…now there’s a thought…storyline!

A Jet Lagged Blog …. ZZZZ

There very nearly wasn’t a blog post scheduled for this week due to one thing – jet lag.

However, for once, I was well-prepared and actually wrote this a few weeks back, safe in the knowledge that I would most likely be incapable of stringing two words together this week.

Jet lag really knocks me for six, especially if I’ve flown from the USA back to Scotland.

So, what causes jet lag?

No, the answer isn’t really “Going on holiday” but it is…kind of.

If you travel across more than three time zones there’s every likelihood that you will feel the effects of jet lag to some extent.

My summer trip this year is (well, was, by the time you read this) a trip to Venice Beach, CA, USA followed by a few days near Philadelphia before flying home. That’s a journey through sixteen different time zones in just over two weeks.

Jet lag itself is basically caused by your body’s internal clock getting knocked out of sync by crossing too many time zones too quickly. Some people believe that jet lag is all in the mind but that couldn’t be further from the truth, although the mind is impacted by it.

Brain fog, poor concentration, and temporary memory loss can all be symptoms of jet lag. I experienced this over twenty years ago the first time I took my kids to visit family in the USA. My aunt had very kindly looked out a pile of children’s books to help entertain my two. Girl Child was only 4 years old at the time and wanted me to read Dr Seuss’ “One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish “aloud to her. I tried. I really tried but by the time we had got to about page eighteen and met a man called Gump who had a seven hump wump, I gave in. I just could not read it, In the end, I passed the book to Boy Child who was 6 years old to finish reading it to his sister.

Jet lag causes biological chaos in the body. It puts your mind and your body at odds with one another. One is wanting to eat because at home it would be a mealtime while the other is saying “No. It’s time to sleep.” The sleep hormone, melatonin, is one that gets knocked for six with jet lag and surge randomly throughout the day. I tend to experience this when I fly east back to Scotland and for a week feel randomly sleepy around 4 o’clock in the afternoon.

It is recognised that jet lag hits harder when flying east. Flying east shortens the day and that is harder to adapt to than the extended day (late night) you experience flying west.

The actual flight itself also contributes thanks to low humidity on planes, the pressurised air in the cabin and a general lack of hydration.

On average, jet lag lasts one day one day for every time zone crossed so I should be back in the right rhythm in time to write next week’s blog!

(image sourced via Google – credits to the owner )

The Measly Jar of Motivation – what if you gave yourself permission to dream?

Oh, now there’s a question! Who among us doesn’t dream?

I dream on a regular basis. No, I’m not talking about the snatches of dreams that we recall after a night’s sleep but instead I mean our hopes and dreams. If you could wave a magic wand and bring your dream life to life what would your world look like?

Personally, I would start with my kids. I’d love to see them both settled in their dream homes and following their dream careers and living their best lives. All I want is for my kids to be healthy and happy.

For myself, I dream of finding my “and she lived happily ever after” life. This isn’t a pity post, but those who know me, know that life hasn’t always dealt me the kindest hand. Let’s leave that thought there.

In an ideal world, I’d live in an ocean front house like Jake and Lori’s house from my Silver Lake series of books. That really would be my ideal house and location. I’d have enough pennies in the bank not to have to worry about money. (I’m not putting a figure on it.)

I’d be a beach bum cum author. No surprises there!

Every morning, I’d walk the beach at sunrise before enjoying breakfast on the sun deck with my book before spending a few hours writing. There would be no writer’s block! Words would flow effortlessly onto the page. (Well, this is my dream life so why not. LOL)

It goes without saying that there would be at least two large fluffy cats sharing my home in my dream world too.

In this dream life, my books would be on the shelves in the bookstores and be selling well. If I saw any in the stores I’d autograph whatever was on the shelves as a surprise to the reader who eventually picked it up.

Life would be filled with family and close friends and unconditional love.

Evenings would be back lit with stunning sunsets and sleep at night would be sound and uninterrupted.

Oh well…..a girl can dream…..

What would your dream life look like? Please comment below.

A walk in WitchWood….

Sometimes in life you need to pull up those “big girl panties” and step out of your comfort zone. Sometimes you need to challenge yourself. It’s never easy but it’s there to be done.

I did just that recently.

I stepped so far out of my comfort zone! So, what did I do?

I took part in my first ever trail race.

It’s been almost a year since I last ran but when I entered the inaugural Witchwood Run at festival level, I felt confident that I could at least walk a couple of laps of the 5.9km course. The event was being run by a friend so I had also volunteered my services as a marshal for later on in the day. (In fact, when I submitted my entry weeks ago, he messaged and asked, “why have you entered my race?”- a very good question!)

The Witchwood Run was badged as a family affair so we took that literally – Girl Child also offered her services as a marshal while Boy Child took things a step further and entered the full 24 hr event, despite never having done any trail running and only ever having run 20km on the road.

Shortly after 7:30am on the Saturday morning, we made our way up to the event’s base camp at Everton Scout Camp in Inverkip, weighed down with bags full of clothing, food, juice and a pop-up tent. Least said about the walk up that hill the better.

We set up camp then Boy Child and I went across to the scout hut to complete our race registration, collect our numbers and our all-important timing chips. The whole area was buzzing with runners arriving and making their final race preparations. From the size of the tent village near the start line, many of them had camped out the night before. Hardy souls these trail runners.

Weirdly I wasn’t nervous. I can get nervous about going to Tesco so feeling calm felt bizarre. That calm feeling lasted until the race directors gave the assembled runners their pre-race briefing then panic rather than nerves hit me like a tidal wave!

What was I doing there? Running races were the late Big Green Gummi Bear’s territory not mine. I felt like an imposter! Fear flooded through me that I was about to make a total fool of myself. Riddled with self-doubt and anxiety, I let the whole scene play out around me. Could I do this?

Still feeling totally panicked I walked across the start line.. well, the clock was ticking. Time to find out what I was made of.

Boy Child crossed the start line with me but quickly forged on ahead. He had his own target in his sights.

My target? I’d told myself I could complete three laps.

As I climbed the stile at the start of the first ascent, I continued to question my sanity. The initial climb up a narrow steep trail criss-crossed with tree roots was tougher than it needed to be. Still panicking, my breathing was shallow and I was quickly gasping for each breath.

My inner voice of reason kicked in and told me to stop being a wimp and to get the job done.

The trail emerged out of the trees onto a fire break road that the course followed downhill for over a kilometre before it took a turn through a gate onto a forestry track. At the end of that undulating track was a gate that led into a field. It was all uphill as the route followed the field’s perimeter round to a second gate that led into a very boggy uneven field to be traversed. Once out of “Shrek’s swamp”, it was across a cattlegrid, back up the long drag of a hill on the fire break road (that gentle downhill on the way out became an endless hill on the way back) then it was back down through the trees, over a second stile then downhill over the timing mat.

At one point while I was walking down the fire break road on the first lap there was a hoarse crow flying above me cackling loudly. I swear that that was The Big Green Gummi Bear laughing at me!

What was I doing there in among all these experienced runners!

Gradually, as I talked myself down, I realised that several of the other competitors were walking with many of them looking as out of shape as me. Whew!

The course was tough going but after two laps I felt ok. Conscious that I hadn’t eaten much, I decided to take a pit stop for dome food before tackling lap three.

As I descended down towards base camp, my calves began to cramp up and I really struggled to get over the second stile without falling.

Duly fuelled up for a third lap, I set off again, cursing that first ridiculously steep section under my breath. This lap, I felt more relaxed and was even enjoying the whole experience. The fear was subsiding thanks to largely to the encouragement of my fellow competitors. Everyone was rooting for everyone else and there were lots of shouts of “well done” and “keep going”. Seeing and hearing such camaraderie warmed my heart and helped to raise my spirits. Halfway round lap three, my brain began to contemplate that maybe there could be a fourth lap…

As I crossed the boggy field for the third time, I could feel both knees protesting. Walking back up the fire break road seemed to take forever as my knees grew sorer and sorer and my calves began to tighten again. The descent down into base camp was agony. It felt as if someone was stabbing knives into the sides of my knees with every step I took. As I climbed over the stile at the end of the lap, common sense prevailed and I decided to call it quits, (I knew I still had to be on my feet for several more hours to complete my marshalling stint.)

I had done what I set out to do. I had put my money where my mouth was and completed three laps (18 km or thereabouts) and had earned myself a stunning bronze Witchwood medal. 

Go me!  LOL

Reflecting back on the event, with my knees still aching, I’m proud of what I achieved. That’s not something I acknowledge very often.

While I had been undertaking my marshalling duties deep into the night, I had been swapping timing chips for medals. It planted a seed. The silver medals are very pretty….. to earn a silver medal, you needed to complete six laps… could I manage that in a couple of years’ time?  Was four or five laps a more sensible target for 2027? Time will tell.

As for Boy Child, I’m super proud of him! He managed a fantastic fifteen laps (88.5km) and earned one of the coveted black medals. Quite the achievement for him and a proud mummy moment for me.

To find out more about the event and 2027’s event details please check out.

The WitchWood Run – 16th May 2026 | 24hr Lap Race in Historic Inverkip

(credits to the owner of the above image )

Spring is all around us…. you just need to look and listen

In the UK the clocks have finally gone forwards, the final declaration that Spring has arrived. Woo Hoo!!

For the meteorologically minded, Spring began four weeks ago on 1st March.

For the astronomically minded, Spring began last week with the Spring Equinox on 20th March.

For the Pagans among you, Ostara was celebrated on 20th March.

There can be no further argument. Winter is finally over! Hallelujah!!

(I hate winter! It’s too damn dark and cold.)

As I went for a quick lunchtime meander on the Equinox, I was surrounded by clear signs that this is the season of new life and renewal. The birds were singing their hearts out in the trees. There were a few orange and black tree bumble bees foraging. The sun was shining and it was warm! But what struck me most was the flowers.

After months of bare branches and distinct lack of colour, Mother Nature was working her earth magic and there were several wildflowers in bloom.

Aren’t they pretty?

And as we savour the delights of Spring there’s something else just around the corner to look forward to…. Summer!

Unconditional Feline Love (flash fiction -150 words)

Alone in the bedroom with their human, the two cats sat watching as the brave face she had put on during the day, the smiles and laughter from her business video calls, vanished. As they watched her pull a baggy t-shirt over her head, a cloud of sadness descended over her. Was that a tear on her cheek?

The feline brothers exchanged a glance, telepathically agreeing their strategy. Their human was their world and they were hers.

In the darkness as she slept, they settled on the bed, one on either side of her. One slept curled up close to her heart where she could reach out and hug him close. The other brother stretched out along the length of her legs, sharing his body heat with her to help ground those human emotions. Both of them purred the sound resonating deeply.

Surrounded by unconditional feline love, she slept soundly.

Note- the cat in the photo was Gandalf, my beautiful white boy who crossed over the rainbow bridge a long time ago. He was one of a kind. Miss him.

Several Pairs of Feet and a Lot of Brown Hens….

Over thirty-five years ago I read a book by Barbara Erskine called Lady of Hay. I still have that copy of it. That book sparked a lifelong interest in regression and past lives.

Is this really our first life? Is it our only life? What about all those déjà vu moments? Were there other lives?

At the time, in the late 1980’s, I remember telling my mum that I would love to be regressed but that was pre-internet, and it was difficult to track down a therapist via the Yellow Pages. Plus, would I really trust a total stranger to do that kind of therapy with me even if I did fine one?

The thought floated through many times over the years, but I never acted on it until now.

If you are a total cynic about past lives, re-incarnation and the like, you might want to stop reading here and come back next week.

Still with me?….

A couple of weeks ago while I was scrolling through Facebook, I spotted a post from a friend celebrating her success with two recent training courses. There was a lovely smiling photo of her with her two certificates. Two words on once of the certificates caught my eye. I zoomed in – past lives.

Ok so now you see where this is going….

After a quick telephone chat with the lovely lady herself, I made an appointment for a past lives’ hypnotherapy session.

If you Google past life regression therapy or past lives’ hypnotherapy you get an AI overview that explains “it’s a hypnotherapy technique that guides a person to access supposed memories of past lives to resolve current issues.”

I wasn’t going into this with the naïve expectation of learning that I’d been a princess living a fairy tale life or been a famous author or anything overly specific. Ok I might have been curious to learn if I’d been tried and hanged as a witch. (None of my close friends would have been surprised if that was the case!)

I didn’t go into the session itself with any expectations. I went in with an open mind.

What followed was the most amazing and surprisingly relaxing ninety minutes or so.

It would be unfair of me to go into too many specifics of the session here. (It might also make for a boring read if I relived it chapter and verse here and now.) Instead, I’ll cover the salient points that I feel comfortable to share.

I’ve never experienced any form of hypnosis before and that was perhaps the part I was a little anxious about. I needn’t have worried. That part was incredibly pretty and relaxing and led to me visualising a dark night sky (although my night sky was a colour I refer to as Reiki purple.) criss-crossed with a web of silver silky cords.

In my mind’s eye, with the therapist’s gentle encouragement, I chose one to follow and picked it up. Over the course of the session, I was encouraged at points to let go of the cord and “drop into” that life, starting each time by looking at my feet.

I saw several pairs of feet. The first pair were crammed into shoes that were too tight. I could actually feel my feet being squashed even though in my current life they were encased in a comfortable pair of Converse. Next were bare feet belonging to a girl of about twelve or thirteen. Men’s brown leather lace up shoes followed then it was back to bare feet. These bare feet belonged to a little boy about eight years old and they were filthy! Emerald green silk shoes followed on, and the final pair of feet were in well-worn black leather shoes.

Each time I got a sense of the lifetime that those feet led rather than feeling that I was in that lifetime. In the brown leather lace up shoes’ life, I was in a printshop with a huge old-fashioned printing press surrounded by piles of paper. I could smell the ink.

The lifetime with the emerald green silk shoes was the one that made me feel uncomfortable. That woman had led a life dominated by a controlling husband and was sad and lonely.

The final pair of feet in the comfortable black leather shoes provided the most vivid images of the session. I was asked to describe what I could see at one point. My reply almost made the therapist giggle. “Chickens. Brown hens everywhere. I like the eggs, but the hens are a nuisance!”

In future blogs or short stories, I may reveal more details of the lives each of those pairs of feet led but for now it feels right to keep most of that private.

The session did give me an insight into where one fear I have may have come from. I don’t like the dark. I get quite scared if I have to walk into a dark room or an unlit hallway. I’m fine outdoors in the dark. It’s indoors darkness that scares me and I’ve never known why.  The little boy with the dirty bare feet shared the same fear.

Several of the pairs of feet lived in coastal areas so perhaps that explains my love of being near water and needing to see an expanse of water on a regular basis. I could never live inland.

The therapist had assured me before we said goodbye that I wouldn’t take any of these past lives with me when I left. The past stays in the past. But, as I drove home, I couldn’t shake the image of the cottage with all of those brown hens in front of it.

When I went to my refrigerator to get something out to cook for dinner, I went to pick up the packet of chicken breasts and paused… It ended up being pasta for dinner. I just couldn’t face potentially cooking one of those pesky brown hens!

If any local friends want to experience their own past lives’ hypnotherapy session please reach out to

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100086909415191

(Image sourced via Google- credits to the owner – no watermark on image)