If I were a toy,
Would I be loved by a child?
Treasured and cherished,
Adored all the while?
Shop shelves are full
Of ranks of us here
Identical in feature,
What draws attention near?
To be picked and escorted
To a child’s waiting arms
Hugged and told secrets
Of the Innocent’s charms.
A doll or a soldier
For a girl or a boy,
What gives more pleasure
To a child than a toy?
Our lives may be short-lived
As our owners grow older,
Other things hold more interest,
And we’re given the cold shoulder.
Forgotten and discarded,
We may be tossed in the bin,
Broken and crumpled,
Rot and decay soon set in.
But sometimes we’re lucky,
A new light shines on us all
We’re retrieved from the scrapheap
And taken down a dark hall
Into the work room
So cozy and quaint,
We soon learn the miracle
Of materials and paint.
With love and devotion,
On this Enchanted queue,
Sprinkled with Magic,
We’re mended, made new.
With ribbons and bows
Placed under a bright tree,
Another life for this toy,
That could have been me.
If I were a toy,
To the bank, that is.
Halloween is just around the corner, the clocks go back this coming weekend, and Christmas wares are fast appearing in the shops.
It seems weird being greeted by 2 ghoul mannequins in the foyer only to step into the main building to an array of fake trees and snow, Santa’s grotto, fairy lights and tinsel.
Maybe one year they’ll get confused and Santa will greet us at the door in October with ghouls and ghosts in the ‘grotty’!
To be honest, sometimes I feel that is the case as Christmas has become so commercialised and lost a lot of its magic.
13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi
Hubby was watching this on YouTube yesterday when our connection crashed about half an hour from the end.
Having seen the DVD in the supermarket, I asked him if he’d like a copy, so we bought it today.
Based on the true story of the events of September 12th 2012 when Islamic militants attacked the US Consulate in Benghazi, the cast has no Big Names, so there is no ego bashing for credit of character portrayal.
Although there is obviously a lot of gunfire and blowing things up, there are parts where the film shows the guys’ family relationships as well as their camaraderie in the field.
I therefore found it realistic and felt for this elite ex-military team of six who were the only hope of saving American lives in jeopardy, who were prepared to pay the ultimate price as there was no support available or forthcoming.
I was gripped to my seat towards the end, not knowing who were the good guys or bad guys, wondering how much more they could withstand and hold out, and angry at the Powers That Be who did nothing to help buy them some time, if nothing else.
If you want to know more and how the film compares to reality, I found this (source) whilst looking for my cover image.
For me, this rates a high 8 out of 10 along with American Sniper. Well worth a look.
I reckon the experts would have a field day trying to analyse this one!
In years gone by, whenever I was under stress I would dream of one of two things…….. either being in a room where the walls were closing in on me (Indiana Jones ‘stole’ my idea in Raiders of the Lost Ark) or toilets.
There are quite a few ‘conveniences’ in my sleeping moments just now, ranging from bowls that are high up on the wall, cubicle-less thrones open for all to see, cubicles that are totally throne-less, or a never-ending corridor of doors leading into cubicles of doors leading into corridors of doors leading into cubicles………….. you get my drift.
In self-analysis, I always took the view that it was because I needed to relieve myself of the pressure, but something always got in the way or hindered my progress.
Of course, being of ‘that age’ (sexy-genarian), getting up in the middle of the night for a wee is perfectly normal now.
Last night’s dream was totally new to me though.
My ‘commode’ was nothing out of the ordinary, apart from having a hinged flap with a handle in the bottom.
I had a chaperone into the chamber and given instructions on how to use the equipment.
It would appear that one did the business, then pulled the handle to lift the flap, and thus dispose of the waste.
E-yew! It meant of course putting one’s hand in the bowl after going through the motions.
Majestic they stand, shedding sorrow,
The crisp golds, browns, russets and reds,
Discarded, falling dying,
A carpet of colour
Trees in the woods
Image from google
This is my second attempt at a nonet:
A nonet has nine lines (no rhyme required), syllable progression 9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1
I hope you like it.
The story behind the Mop Fair dates back to the 12th Century (see this post), but if you were asked what ONE tool would depict your trade, I wonder what you’d say?
Mine is easy.
Have pencil will travel.
I may not have a curly piece of paper, letters after my name or a port folio of qualifications, but I do have common sense, a methodical brain, can multi task, spell and add up.
As a bonus, I actually enjoy figure work, and have good time management skills. As an aside, I also make a good cup of tea.
This therefore gives me a good chance of finding work in an office.
Some considerable time ago, like June last year, Hubby and I bought ourselves some clogs for less than four quid from one of the local supermarkets.
He was able to get himself a second pair for even less a few months later, though they didn’t have any more in my size.
Although literally ‘cheapies’, I got more than my money’s worth as they were great to slip on with or without socks, especially if I was just nipping up to the loo or to have a shower. Continue reading