When I Come To It

creek-and-bridge

I thought I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. And now I had. It didn’t look so rickety up close. Even had a certain look of strength about it. And it wasn’t exactly crossing a ravine. Somehow, having approached it leisurely, in my own time, I was ready to cross it. I didn’t break stride and put to the back of my mind what lay ahead on the other side. For all I knew, the path might open to the valley of the dolls. Or perhaps another bridge. But I’d cross that one when I came to it.

I like to take my challenges when the time seems right. This flash fiction challenge appeared in my inbox today and appealed to me on a number of accounts.

I’m on holiday from school for a week, which also means so are my kids. You know how weans can nip your brain with, ‘what are we doing?’ Well, that doesn’t work too well with me. I’m not a big planner, having learned years ago, to go more with the flow. As a result, we’ve done something different each day, more on the spur of the moment than through any planned itinerary. I like it that way. Crossing my bridges when I come to them.

The challenge asks us to include a little about our week, a song to sum it up and to include, within the body of exactly 100 words, a favourite childhood toy.

Tick. Tick. Ticking more below.Looking out from Largs

Looking out from Largs. The sun does shine in Scotland sometimes. October’s good with me. 🙂 I headed off for the day with three of my daughters as everyone else was working. Poor buggers.

My eldest

My eldest, Claire. She’ll kill me!

My youngest

My youngest, Anna. She’s too wee to. 😉

Louise and I were camera shy. Which is surprising for her but not for me. I’d had three hours sleep the night before – it having been the first day of the holiday and sitting up Twittering politics and drinking whiskey and coke. Somebody’s got to do it. Occasionally. I just kept my sunspecs on and nobody was any the wiser. Except maybe the girl who took our lunch order and wondered why I was wearing them indoors. She never said though.

Inverkip Marina

Inverkip Marina. No, I don’t have a boat. But I like looking at them. 🙂

Last night was a quiz night with all of my crew and a few and a pile of fajitas. My team came second but I had the two youngest which I thought was a bit unfair considering the game was for over 16’s and they’re 8 and 14. And I was up against umpteen universities and an auld guy called Frank. Love him to pieces but he doesn’t half know shit what with all that age on his side. His team won. Sods. Do you know from which film the following statement comes? ‘There is no spoon.’ Well, I didn’t. Till after I heard the answer and then I was fuming. I don’t watch all that many movies so I was rubbish at those questions. But I love this movie. I blame the noise and everybody telling everybody else to wheesht. My excuse. Sticking to it.

Yes, so, going with the flow. Today I’m a lady of leisure which is brill. Everyone has something on. So have I right enough. I got up and put clothes on. Had a coffee. Ate some grapes. Had another coffee. It’s hectic.

Tomorrow we’re thinking – not planning – on the East Coast. I love St. Andrew’s and the area all round. Beach, sea. Loads of craft shops and book shops. Coffee shops. City with a country town feel. I always try to get a wander around it every year. Kinda late this year. But I’ve had a lot of bridges to cross.

Oh! Song!

This one. Because ‘I’m On Top Of The World’. Yass!

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Fledgling In Hand

Fledgling_Bombycilla_cedrorum

(source)

…and in all dreams

I soar

and risk

and shelter

alien to life

awake demands

be there, do this, 

must do better,

in dreams

another life

in different hands

gentler hands than mine own

more forgiving

big and soft and strong enough

to hold my all

fledgling am I

not yet born to living

in dreams

I’m free

to risk

and fly

and never fall

Reading a poem by Paul this morning and immediately agreeing with its sense of other worldness. I recall a lot of dreams. Not sure why. But I love them. It’s a whole other world where I’m almost a different me. The essence of self perhaps rather than the shell-encased. Or not. But most enjoyable.