Film Review: The Lucky One

We borrowed this one from the laundry, a romantic tale released in 2012 of a marine finding a photograph of a young woman whilst on tour.
He couldn’t find the owner, and kept the picture himself, then when he returned to the US, set about trying to find her.
Using the landmark from the photograph, he tracks her down but is mistaken for an applicant for a job at her dog boarding kennels and actually hired by her grandmother.

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Looking after Mum

I realise there is a lot of ‘personal stuff’ in this and my previous post.
Maybe too personal for blog land, but my feelings and emotions, usually kept to myself, run deep as I try to see everything from all angles, not just mine.

Mum and Dad moved in with my sister and her family in 1995. My Dad died a year later.
Between 1996 and 2007, Mum was independent in her outings and would catch the bus to meet me for lunch every week. Sometimes, she would come to the bank on a Friday afternoon coming home with me for the weekend, us taking her back on Sunday.
We had her over for Christmas,  New Year and Easter dinners, picking her up and taking her home.  **
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Responding to Thinking Of You

My previous post generated some very thought-provoking comments, and for those not familiar with my blog, some may not realise that my Mother lives with my sister and has done so for 21 years now.
It was never intended to be a permanent arrangement, but when my Dad died in 1996, everyone was glad that Mum wouldn’t be alone and it just seemed to make sense for her to remain where she was.
Then my sister lost her husband in 2010 and if Mum had ever had an inclination for independence, it went out of the window as she felt my sister needed her.

For the past few days, I have been trying to put things into perspective to relay onto paper.
I have written several posts on our visits Down South, and others on the relationship with my Dad and my Mum. I will follow this post up with Looking after Mum.
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Thinking of You

If we were closer, you would know I am thinking of you.
If you understood me at all, you’d know I’m remembering forty years ago, just as you are.
I came across a photograph of your wedding day. Such a happy picture, three of us laughing, the sun shining for a change.
But I didn’t need to see that to remember.
You see, I remember lots of things.
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94 years young

It’s my Mum’s birthday today, and as we couldn’t get down to see her as originally planned, I gave her a call.
My sister grunted ‘Hello?’ into the phone, then said she’d get her. End of conversation.
mum and meKnowing Sis had taken Mum out for lunch yesterday, it was nice to hear Mum mention it without prompting, though she couldn’t remember where they went, just that they went out. She sounded chipper and well, telling me she was getting up ready for the day.
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Film Review: I am Wrath

In the bargain basement at £7 this week was this offering which we have finally got to watch.
The last film I saw John Travolta in was From Paris with Love, and ignoring the bad language, the film was pretty terrific with a good story, humour, plenty of action resulting in a high body count, and an ending that subtly left things open for sequels.
If you are expecting something on the lines of Taken, The Long Kiss Goodnight, Unknown, or even True Lies, put it back on the shelf. The only similarity is a former life.
This guy knows exactly who he is, but choses not to be. Until his wife is murdered in front of him that is. And the wall comes tumbling down, literally.
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Thursday photo prompt – The glade… #writephoto

Another interesting photo prompt from Sue Vincent over at the Daily Echo.

photoprompt 19 mayThe Glade.

There was nothing there really, no stumps to sit on or areas to spread out a picnic cloth and goodies, just some barren trees, a rocky path and some moss-covered stones.
Yet anyone who reached the other side did so with a sense of relief.
Teens had often dared wannabees to ‘Walk the Glade’ at sunset as a kind of initiation ceremony into whatever gang was popular at the time.

As the shadows fell in the closing hours of the day, The Glade took on an entity all of its own.
The tiny shingle on the path would shimmer in the fading rays, like a million eyes cast to the sky for guidance.
But it was the moss stones that held the secrets.
Some faced upwards, squinting against the sun as penance for some deed unknown,  others were shielded in shady places, but one showed a hand clasping the stone to drag the buried body forth to feed.
Tree limbs so innocent by day stretched along the ground, touching the moss stones to caress them awake. It was time.
Time for their underworld to rise, and heaven help anyone walking on their sacred ground.

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