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.
Oh, good question from the Measly Jar of Motivation to start the blogging year!
Placate- from the Latin placare meaning to appease.
Placate – to make someone less hostile or angry; to pacify or calm someone.
When I pulled this question from the mason jar, I thought “Oh, this will be easy!” but now that I am thinking about the origin of the word placate and the dictionary meaning, I’m not so sure.
So, why am I finding it a challenge to answer this question? Because I’m genuinely not a hostile or angry person who needs to be pacified and placated. It’s as simple as that.
On the odd occasion when I do get angry, I’m more likely to walk away than to get riled. I dislike conflict.
If I look at this question from a different angle and rephrase it as “What calms you?” then it’s easier to answer…much easier!
A walk along the beach is my favourite way to calm myself and replenish my soul. There’s a small stretch of beach about a mile and a half from my house and as often as I can, I’ll walk there and let the feeling of the sand under my feet ground me. If it’s a sunny day then that’s a bonus as sitting in the sun is another thing that I do when the chance arises to keep calm, I think I’m solar powered! LOL
Practising yoga and channelling Reiki as I meditate first thing in the morning several days a week, calms me. I might only spend a few minutes on my yoga mat some days but it’s enough.
Writing is the other obvious answer to the revised question. I journal extensively and have done for years now and I find that is a really effective way to calm down, especially if someone is preying on my mind. Seeing the “issue” written down on the page frequently kills its power. Don’t underestimate the value to be found in journalling. Not a day goes by that I don’t write something, even if it’s only my diary entry at bedtime.
Finally, music is another thing that calms me. There’s always music playing in the house or in the cara. I have my “go to” songs for certain emotions but music, especially live music, is so good for the soul.
Wrapping her woollen shawl tighter around her, she bent into the wind as she hurried up the path that led to the row of fishermen’s cottages. It was a clear crisp early spring day and small white clouds were scudding across the blue sky. Despite the beauty of the day around her, she felt weak and ill as she headed towards the last cottage in the row of five. Wood smoke was spiralling from its chimney, a clear sign that Mamm-Wynn Honour was at home.
As she eased it open, the wooden gate protested noisily, its screech disturbing the brown hens that were scratching around in the grass for corn.
“Mamm-Wynn?” called the young woman as she knocked on the door.
“Come in, child,” came the reply. “I’ve been expecting you.”
A welcoming warmth wrapped itself around the young woman as she entered the cottage. When the cottages had been built, the last one had been built with a different internal configuration. Instead of two rooms downstairs, it had one large room that served as kitchen and living room. Over the past thirty years, Mamm-Wynn Honour had raised four sons in the small cottage and the large wooden table had seen many a family meal. A broad ladder against the far wall led up to two tiny attic bedrooms. A black cat lay on the bottom tread keeping a watchful eye on the room.
“Sit down, child,” invited the elderly woman was standing by the fire, stirring a small kettle that was hanging over it. “Your tea is almost brewed.”
“My tea?” echoed the young woman, taking a seat on a low wooden stool.
“Yes. Ginger tea. It’ll help with the sickness if you drink it first thing in the morning,” replied Mamm-Wynn Honour. “It just needs another minute or two over the flames.”
“How did you know? I’ve not breathed a word to a soul!”
“There’s not much goes on in the village that I don’t know or sense.”
“I’ve not even told Simon yet….”
Fetching a cup from the shelf beside the fireplace, the old woman poured the fragrant steaming tea into a small cup and handed it to the girl.
“Careful, child. It’s hot.”
“Thank you,” said the young woman accepting the cup. “Will it really help with the sickness? I’ve barely been able to eat for two weeks I’ve been so sick. My father wanted to send for the doctor but my mamm said not to waste his money and that I was to come and see you. She said that you’d know what to do. Did she speak to you?”
“No, child.”
“Then how?” asked the young woman.
“Mamm-Wynn just knows,” said the pillar with a wink. “The babe will be born at the winter solstice. You’ll give birth to a healthy son.”
“I will?”
“Mamm-Wynn is never wrong about these things, child. Now drink that while I pour the rest into a jar for you fetch some eggs to take home to your mamm.”
As soon as I pulled this prompt from the Measly Jar of Motivation, I smiled as a childhood image came flooding back – rosebud sweets!
I haven’t tasted on of those sweets in almost forty years! (Lord, that makes me sound SO old! LOL)
When I was a wee girl, before I was old enough for school and then during the school holidays, I would go to the local post office on a Tuesday with my Wee Gran to collect her pension. The postmaster, Mr Stirling was a character. He was a lovely old man who always had time for a blether and a joke with his customers but equally important, he kept a dish of sweets beside him to give to the children who came into the post office.
The dish was actually the plastic lid off one of the big jars of traditional “old fashioned” sweets that shops used have lined up on shelves behind the counter.
Usually there was a lengthy queue in the post office on pension day. I would stand patiently with my gran as we edged closer to the counter. There were always two people serving – Mr Stirling and a lady called Agnes. She too had a dish of sweets beside her, but she didn’t always offer you one. I don’t think she liked children that much and to be honest, I was a little scared of her.
If Mr Stirling served my gran, before he’d stamp her pension book and count out the cash, he would offer me the dish and say to take a sweetie. Sometimes, when he was passing the pension book and pension back across the counter, he would say to take a second sweet.
Those small pink rose scented fondant sweets were delicious. To this day they are one of the scents and tastes of childhood.
A few years later, Mr Stirling retired, and another postmaster took over. The first time after that when I accompanied my gran to the post office, I was a little bit anxious. Would this new man know that he was supposed to give the children a sweet? Would he think I was too old to get a sweetie?
I needn’t have worried. The dish of rosebud sweets was still there.
Years went by and I grew up and became a teenager, while my wee gran simply grew older. Occasionally when I was in my late teens, I would be trusted to go and collect her pension for her. As I stood in the queue feeling both grown up at being trusted with such an important errand and about sixty or seventy years too young to be in the queue, another thought entered my mind. Was I now too old to be offered a rosebud sweet?
It turns out I wasn’t. I guess you’re never too old to enjoy a rosebud sweet.
Image sourced via Google- credits to the owner (no watermark)
Anyone who knows me personally would most likely tell you that I’m historically not the best at taking “special care” of myself. I am passionate about wellbeing and for the past couple of years have been focused on making sure that my “personal battery” is well cared for and kept charged. Well, I’m trying to focus on that.
Throughout the majority of The Big Green Gummi Bear’s terminal illness, I was running on fumes. It’s only now, when I reflect back, that I can acknowledge that I burned out towards the end of 2021 and then kept going for two more years. Life really didn’t leave me any other choice.
That level of burn out (emotional and physical) takes time to recover from and it’s something that on many levels, I am still healing from.
So, if I had my ideal day to take “special care” of myself, how would I spend it?
There’s an obvious answer – I’d click my flip flops together three times and transport myself to the beach at my happy place.
I’ll resist choosing that option and instead describe a day spent at home.
Let’s imagine that it’s Monday and I have a “rest day” off work and the whole day to do as I want.
My day would start off gently with some yoga, most likely Yin Yoga as I would have the luxury of more time than I do most mornings, followed by a short chakra meditation combined with some crystals and some self-channelled Reiki energy. When I have finished my yoga and meditation, I would journal about the session and set an intention for the day. This is something I do every day, recording it in my gratitude journal. The intention doesn’t need to be complicated. It might be one word or a short phrase like “I will be gentle with myself today” or I will be kind to myself” or “I am worthy”. I would also draw an oracle card for the day from my preferred deck.
The next act of special care on the agenda is a long hot shower followed by breakfast – OJ, black coffee and a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel with a few rashers of smoked streaky bacon or pancetta. (I never said that I was necessarily going for the healthiest option here.)
I would then spend the rest of the morning doing something creative, either preparing a blog for posting or working on my current book baby. If the weather was being kind and was warm and sunny, breakfast and this creative time would be spent outside at the picnic table in the garden with my cats milling about.
I’ll assume for the purposes of this blog that it’s a beautiful warm summer day,
Lunch would be a simple affair- caprese salad, yogurt, an apple and a bottle of flavoured water. (I’m a big fan of Waterdrop tablets so who knows what flavour the water might be). I’d read my kindle while I was eating lunch outdoors.
After lunch, I would continue to read my book for a while in sun before setting off for a walk along the coastal road to the beach. This stretch of beach is quite short but it’s just enough to feed my inner “beach bum”. As I walk along the sand I’d scour the beach for sea glass, searching in particular from some blue sea glass. By the time I arrive back home a couple of hours later I could easily have walked five miles.
If time allowed, I’d relax with another drink of water, a handful of plain Pringles and my kindle until it was time to cook dinner. I enjoy cooking so making a meal isn’t a chore.
After dinner I’d feed my creative soul and spend time working on my current book baby. As this is my ideal day, the words would flow effortlessly onto the page…if only!
Around 9pm I would put down my pen and spend an hour or so relaxing by watching TV with the Boy Child. This may also involve a glass of white wine and a few more plain Pringles (I’ll admit to a weakness for plain Pringles)
Before bed, I would write my gratitude journal for the day- best moment of the day, three things I’m grateful for and three things I’m looking forward to. I would also write my diary. (I’ve kept a daily diary for over 40 years) then read a few more pages of my book before turning out the light and enjoying eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Oh well, a girl can dream!
That would be a good day though.
How would you spend a day taking “special care” of yourself?
Today’s challenge is to show up for your writing and write about it.
Oh, tough one, Measly Jar!
To be honest, I show up every day for my writing in some shape or form.
As a bare minimum, I write my diary and complete my daily gratitude journal. Last Christmas, I received a copy of Donna Ashworth’s daily journal “Words to Live By” and I’m completing that too. I’m enjoying the challenge of completing it. Her prompts are thought provoking and I’m trying my best not to overthink my answers. It’s a weighty tome so I am currently contemplating how to keep it on track when I’m away for a couple of weeks next month. I’ll figure something out, I’m sure.
Today as I write this, it’s a Bank Holiday in the UK and I’ve definitely shown up for the “planning meeting” about my writing. My focus for the past couple of hours has been my blog- yes, this blog- and planning out the posts for the next few weeks in an effort to work out how many more I need to write to cover the dates until I return from my summer holiday in mid-July. I generally try to keep a couple of weeks ahead of the game with my blog as I don’t like to feel the pressure of “needing” to write a blog for the current week. I also don’t like resorting to “On Holiday – back in two weeks” type of emergency blog posts. They feel like cheating.
Apart from this post, I have two more to come up with and I’m covered until mid-July. Go, me, being all planned and organised! LOL And, no, I’m not giving you a sneak peek at what’s already scheduled. You’ll just need to be patient.
Where I’ve perhaps not been so good at showing up for my writing is in the evenings when I have time set aside to work on my current “book baby”. This one is turning out to be a bit of a “baby elephant” – two years and then some in the writing so far. I’ve blogged about it before so don’t intend to repeat myself but since The Big Green Gummi Bear’s passing in October 2023, I have struggled to get back into the flow with it.
At the start of 2025 I promised myself that I would make a concerted effort to get it written and I am getting there. It’s just all taking much longer than I am entirely happy about. The words are finally beginning to flow more freely so I now feel more confident about completing it. Even that was serious doubt for a while! Do I feel confident enough to share any of the finer details yet? No!
There’s also a distinct difference between showing up for your writing and your writing showing up for you. Getting the two in sync can be tricky I’ve discovered.
Most evenings I sit down at my desk prepared to write for an hour or two. Some evenings the words flow and before I know it, I have a thousand words on the page; some evenings I’m lucky if I add a hundred words. Over the years, I have learned not to force it. If I try to force the words onto the page, I invariably end up scrapping them the following night, rendering it time wasted.
There’s also writing “housekeeping” to be done on a regular basis. As an Indie author, there’s no marketing team behind me, so I set time aside, usually on a Sunday, to schedule the promotional social media posts that appear on my author page. This is also the time slot where I set up any book giveaways that I have in mind. Marketing and advertising aren’t my strong suits, but I try my best.
Have I risen to the challenge today…. Ask me again in a few hours.
She had been walking forever or at least that was how it felt. The sun shone down on her path as she walked trail after trail. Each crossroads she came to had a signpost pointing four different ways. The only problem was that all signs led to the same destination. The only difference was the difficulty of the route. How was she meant to choose?
Her stomach grumbled with hunger. She had long since forgotten the taste of a favourite meal.
Putting one foot in front of the other, she kept moving forwards, letting life’s shadows fall behind her. Some of the paths she chose proved to be easier than others. Did some part of her subconscious deliberately self-sabotage and choose the more difficult ones as punishment for a crime that wasn’t hers? She always had been too hard on herself.
A long straight uphill path stretched before her. One more climb. Did she have it in her to reach the unseen summit?
Cresting the hill, she finally saw it. A small cottage with a breathtaking view over the water, surrounded by a white picket fence Cheesy but true.
Opening the gate, she trudged wearily up the path towards the peacock blue painted door. Suddenly she became aware that there was a key in her jeans pocket. Had it been there before? There was a painted sign to the left of the front door revealing the name of the cottage- There. It made her smile.
The Measly Jar of Motivation has thrown out two phrases that scream “Breakfast!”
Breakfast is a meal I’ve had a difficult relationship with over the years. I’m not great at eating first thing in the morning. A big, cooked breakfast would be totally wasted on me.
Those followers of this blog who know me personally might be somewhat surprised that hot coffee is not the first thing I need every morning. At a push, I can make it to lunchtime without my caffeine hit but I cannot function without my orange juice. It’s a vital component of my morning routine. I love the taste of oranges although I would never sit and actually peel and eat an orange. I hate finding “bits” in my OJ so its smooth/pulp free all the way for me.
After OJ then comes hot coffee – hot, strong and black. I can’t stand cold or even cool coffee. I like my Americano piping hot.
As for food… well, that’s either a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel or hot buttered toast. If I’m in the office, it’s a cereal bar.
On a Sunday, I like to have a more leisurely start to the day and treat myself to some crispy pancetta with my cinnamon raisin bagel and my coffee. We all have our weaknesses…
Last summer, when I returned to visit Rehoboth Beach, I became a regular at a local diner. I also became a creature of habit despite their extensive breakfast menu- OJ, coffee and a short stack of pancakes. Delicious! I can’t wait to go back this summer for more of the same.
Most days I walk by the house I grew up in…well, grew up in from the age of nine to seventeen. I look fondly at its steep driveway and smile.
I have many memories associated with that driveway by my favourites are of playing on it in winter in the snow. As an adult, I hate snow. I hate being cold. But as a child, that driveway was the best place for sledging and for sliding.
After one memorable snowfall, I recall playing for hours with my childhood friend. I didn’t own a sledge, but she did. The best I had was an old metal tea tray that I waxed with a candle to make it run faster.
We spent ages that day smoothing out our “run” down the driveway. I should explain that at this point in time, under the several inches of snow, the driveway itself was unsurfaced. Blaze had been spread over it to provide a surface for future tarmac and at the bottom there was still a pile of several tons of blaze. With a bit of work and some snow packing, it made the perfect ramp at the bottom of our “run”
With clumps of ice clinging to our woolly gloves and filling our wellie boots, we spent hours sledging on the driveway, getting closer and closer to becoming airborne off the top of that ramp.
If memory serves me right, my friend managed it at least once on her sledge before we realised it was better fun sliding down on the metal tray as it went faster.
The closest to the luge as I’ll ever get!
Precious childhood memories that were rewarded at the end of the day with red icy cold fingers wrapped round a mug of hot chocolate.
Coral McCallum 