Blogs Reunited

To make up for the fact that I might be a bit of a plank, I’m issuing an invitation.

You see, I quite frequently do my blog reading in bed with my Kindle. It’s less cumbersome than my laptop and I can pretend that I’m going to sleep when really I’m catching up and promising myself five more minutes. And, if it falls on the floor when I drift over, I haven’t ruined a laptop – done that one before. Drambuie. Hell of a mess.

Now, if any of you use a Kindle Fire for bloggy business you may be aware that the buttons for follow and pressing send on a comment are gie close together. This may have resulted in me unfollowing some people almost immediately after making a comment. Yeah, I always make a habit of commenting then unfollowing. Good practice. Not.

It may, however, be down to the WP gods, as some people I refollowed commented that the same thing had happened to them. And, right enough, I’ve been surprised, a few times lately when folk followed me – what, again? I thought. I don’t want to make false accusations and my Kindle is a bugger, at times, what with predicting my text wrongly and making me look like a moron. Of course, I know how to spell luvverly poest. I just don’t know how to turn off the suggestions that keep coming up. Also, it has this nasty habit of making whole other words up which would be fine if I lived in Gobbledygook but I don’t. Just talk it sometimes.

Anyway, I was on Donna’s Always On My Mind Blog Party. Don’t you just love a good party? And I kept seeing people’s names and going, I haven’t seen you around in ages in my reader or emails. Then I clicked on their blog and the little follow button, down there at the right hand side – why did they move it, I liked it where it was, up there, ^^^ – showed up and I had the red neck of refollowing people I didn’t know I’d unfollowed.

I could go into that dohickey page where all the blogs you follow are listed and check each one but that doesn’t help me know who’s not there. Only who is. And those ones show up in my reader and emails.

Do you see what I mean?

Well, the long and the short of it is that I thought I’d open this here page up to all who read my scribblings and any who do not, (if you happen upon here, welcome!)

Please feel free to link a post below and take the opportunity to make new bloggy friends. I will also do my utmost to read each and every one. And, if I come across another blog that I have inadvertently unfollowed, I’ll just quietly click follow without any further explanation. Deal?

Now, I was going to turn off comments on this so’s people would go to comment on other people’s sites and not here (watch out for that follow button, though, if you’re on a Kindle) but then realised that you wouldn’t be able to post a link to your blog post.

Tech, eh?

I hope you meet new people through this and that I get to catch up with those I’ve lost track of.

Bring your own booze. I don’t drink on school nights – well, not often. So, I can’t call it a party. More a reunion, I guess.

Oh, apparently, you’re better to just post one at a time so, if you want to link more than one, best do each separately. I don’t know why either. Maybe a favourite of yours or your most recent? Whatever you like. I follow lots of different types of blogs because I love lots of different types of things – photography, art, poetry, politics, cooking, crafts, travel, science, you name it, – so don’t be shy. You’re more than welcome.

Happy 1st February (when it comes, 42 minutes and counting). That has nothing to do with anything other than the fact that Spring is getting closer and January is a bitch. I’ll be glad to see the back of her. But very happy to see you here.x

Advertisement

Freedom’s Place

A few weeks ago, in light of the Paris terrorist attacks, I wanted to get off the world. Make it stop, I was thinking inside myself and out loud. I was crying. I know some of you think of me as a little ray of sunshine most of the time, ever optimistic. And I am. Most of the time. Because I work at it. And, deep down, I am a positive person, with a side order of depressive empathy.

So, a few weeks ago, when I wanted to get off the world I almost shut down this blog. I tried to export all my work to a new site but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. I contacted support who got back to me in jig time. But, while I was waiting for them, I opened up a new blog site. There I was going to transfer everything. Start again. Just like I wanted the world to do. Support got back to me, I imported all my writing to save on file to my computer for later export. Who knew it was so easy? But I decided to sleep on it.

And I changed my mind. Woman’s prerogative aside, I had had a rest, a new day had dawned and, with it, fresh hope. It took me a few weeks to get my mojo back. I needed a holiday. But I would have missed writing.

I left the site as it was, name still there, nothing else on it. A fresh place, a free place, a place needing built anew. Just like the world in many ways.

Which brings me to the point of this post.

One of my guests here has enjoyed guesting because her own blog has a definite personna but one that doesn’t reflect the many facets of her. She’s restricted by her online blogging face. And I know she’s not alone. Why else did I want to create a place where I could weep and wail and gnash my teeth without folk thinking I was having a meltdown, going under? I wasn’t. But I did want to go somewhere where no one knew my name or anything about me. A sort of haven, a refuge if you like.

I’m going to let the place go live and anyone who wants to have a place to explore other aspects of their blogging that might not fit on their current creation is more than welcome. There will be no necessity to follow others – everyone has enough to do – there will be no responsibility on the part of facilitators to monitor or schedule, there will be no concern as to who sees, how many followers, what the stats are, any of the bloggy concerns. You can link to your own page. Or not. Up to you.

It will simply be a place where people can be free to be whatever they want to be – in prose, in poetry, in music, in photos, whatever. An experiment in collective creative process.

It will be Freedom’s Place, which is what I called it a few weeks ago when I wanted to get off the world. Please feel free to be an author of any type, creativity, building a new place from scratch.

No racists, homophobes, haters need apply. I’ll delete you. Just like that. But then, I don’t get them here. Just lovely people who may want another place to holiday from time to time.

Think of it as somwhere to have a break. Doing things you may not always do. Writing styles you may never explore otherwise. Maybe you’re a photographer who wants to try poetry. A humorist who wants to get serious. Or a poet who wants to try vlogging (oh that’s me, done that!) You be the judge of what you do on holiday. No one else is judging. Just having a break and letting the tide take where it will. No names, no pack drill.

It’ll be like a kibbutz. Freedom’s Place – A Collective.

Take your old gear with you, hang out, hang about, hang it all.

If you’d like a timeshare, your holiday place for the future, email me at scottishmomus@outlook.com  I’ll fire off an invite to author. And Bob’s your auntie. Booked for when the need arises. Happy holidays.

Be anonymous, go commando, whatever. It’s your holiday home.

 

 

Words of Another

I wonder, sometimes,

if the words of another

reveal me to me

better than mine,

If, in sharing

their thoughts on the page,

cosmic held hands

raise ridiculous to sublime.

It’s not that I think

that I cannot convey

most visions

that whirl in my mind

But I wonder

if inhaling

words from another,

some truths are easier to find.

Recalled with Thanks

We don’t do Thanksgiving here in Scotland. But we do do giving thanks. (That doesn’t sound right…do do). Anyway…

Today I recollect the day of my mum’s death.

Cheery, I know. But it is, in many ways, because I get to give thanks to her for being my mum, for being who she was and who she still is, living on in my mind and heart.

I get to remember her and all the people I love because that was what she was all about.

She and my dad. Fourteen days from now I get to especially remember him all over again.

I get to think about what mattered to them and how they went about it in their everydayness. I can do that anytime, I know. But today makes me reflect more fully on all that I have to be thankful for, past, present and future.

And because I’m thankful for so many wonderful people in my life and the love that surrounds me I want to pass it on.

Thank you to all who read these pages. And thank you to all my beautiful guests who carried this blog for the month of November. I really struggle to find words of apt appreciation. You showed love and I love you for it.

Thank you all.x

 

Lovin’ This, btw

I’ve obviously confused WP with Twitter. Why else would I be filling you in on random thoughts? ( And, I ask you, 140 characters and sometimes that amount’s already there if you want to retweet. What’s that about?!) FB’s slightly better but I’m among friends here whereas I don’t know half the feckers who follow me on FB. Mostly, it’s political. I don’t know a fair few feckers here either. But, it feels like home.

So, I was having a night off tonight from all techy, bloggy stuff. Lasted about as long as Brief Encounter. What a movie, bar the jawries in the gubs. So, she’s gone home to hubby and now Bette Midler has got her falsers in and is gonna sing, ‘I put a spell on you’. And Hugh has yet to come. Pardon the expression. So I have that to look forward to.

I’d forgotten that blobbing in front of the telly could be quite so enjoyable. If only I could stop talking.

Thing is, I start Nanowrimo tomorrow. Got to clean out my office now that two further fledglings have flown the coop. Mucky feckers. Seriously. It’ll be thon time tomorrow before I write my first two thousand words.

I don’t see the word count as a problem per se. I have a slightly garrulous gene factor going on here. I’m about 4, I think it is, away from 1000 posts in the time that I’ve been here.  ( 16 months). I wouldn’t normally think that’s a problem. If you’re a talker, you’re a talker. Even if the words are just written.

Factoring in reblogs, I’ve talked for around 900 posts. That’s a rough guess. I can’t be arsed checking.

Soooo,

I’m enjoying the telly, going to continue the dream tomorrow of actually writing and finishing, albeit in rough format, a novel. (I’m not counting the fallow collection I’d be embarrassed to show.)

Lots of words.

As far as I know WP doesn’t have an app or widget to do a word count on accumulated posts. And maybe that’s just as well. Some may have to be categorised as pure shite. Who wants that in their inventory? Not I. At least, not until the final edit. Then god can have a say.

Point of this post? If there is one. Apart from reaching 1000 (including others’ reblogs).

I have a lovely core of followers, a number who bear no significance to the number that shows in stats. What a steaming pile that is in the big pile of shite that statistics is. No offence to carpet salesmen everywhere. Or that ilk.

But those who are here are lovely. They really are. They give me a sort of fuzzy glow. I don’t need accolades from them. I love popping into their lives through this medium. I’ve made connections that matter to me.

Now, one of the things that I’ve noticed – maybe you have too – is that reblogs don’t always do justice to the purpose of the reblog. I mean, do you reblog shite? No, of course not. Not unless it’s your own. But, those faithful, who like the smell of your shite ( is that a fetish, btw?) will still mostly only read your shite rather than someone else’s. I do it too. I followed you. Not who you fancy. Except, I’ve met a fair few worthy bloggers through reading reblogs from those whose opinion and judgement matter to me.

So, I guess this is an invitation.

If I already follow you or you follow me and I don’t follow you. (And I know there’s a fair few of those. Sorry, but I can’t keep up!) Or, if you think you’d like to introduce yourself to my peeps (‘cos chances are, if they like my shit they’ll like yours), I’d rather see my blog in use than let it fall into disrepair.

I have my fingers crossed that I can do 2000 a day before I allow myself the pleasure of blogging here. They’re not crossed because I’m lying- we don’t do that here- not the lying, the fingers crossed for that purpose. Fingers crossed here is for luck. And I guess I’ll need my share of that to achieve the aim. Live the dream. Gene factor included.

I won’t blog here unless I’ve done the equivalent of 2000 words a day. I figure that’s motivation for me. Carrots and sticks in operation.

If you’d like to meet my lovely people and put your words to them I’m one email away. And my blog is yours. Unless I write 2000 words a day. Which case, tough shit. 😉

Now, I think I have four more posts to go before the 1000. Is that embarrassing? I need someone to tell me this shit! It’s 8pm and fifty- two minutes. I’m going for four more then silence unless….

your words or mine…

Selfish, I guess.

Motivational, definitely.

A possibility to meet lovely new bloggers who have inspired me to just do it.

And maybe a bit of giving back for what I have received here. You bless my soul with your words and encouragement. No matter the numbers here, it may be that someone of those who encourage me may encourage you. And you might just do the same for them.

Mi casa es su casa. scottishmomus@outlook.com

140 characters! Don’t make me laugh! 🙂

One proviso. Don’t depress the fuck out of my peeps! Even pain has hope. I like humour. Love. Sensuality. Hope. Poetry. Myths. Aw, feck it, if you don’t know what I like by now you must be a stranger here. In which case, welcome. To the possibility of dreams.

Get in quick! I may be inundated from 1333 followers….ghosts in the night of all that’s yet to be holy.

 

Soul Seekers

Yesterday the only blogger I’ve ever collaborated with…sounds rude, doesn’t it?!…reblogged our collaboration and inspired me to ask for more. Watch this space!

In the meantime, one of my other favourite people, Mark, wandered out from Australia’s bush territory, haggard and drought-ridden, in need of nurture by a Scottish handmaiden – ok, get with the programme, it’s not called poetry for nothing! – and has been settling in to a new way of life with the promise of his healing gifts being used for the benefit of many.

We got chatting…as you do.

And lo and behold, something he said triggered a response in me that led us to this collaboration in the comments section! I’m chuffed as f…anything. There’s a little magic in the moonlight and some wanderlust in souls that seek to find.

Soul seeker,

journey far in waxing, waning moon…

 Heart healer,

words of healing, life in tune…

 

Believe then, in magic,

writ by silver’d stars…

 And belief within,

Life open, without bars…

 

Hush, spirit, listen well,

heed that aching need…

 To find the truth,

the beginning of a seed…

 

Be still, in the knowing,

Let silence fill your mind…

 A gift from up above,

a wonder you will find…

 

No magic be cast here,

Mere souls in perfect tune…

 With love and a sharing,

Perfect harmony with the moon…

 

Be faithful to the aching…

The voice that cries within…

 For in that understanding,

is a love that’s always been.

 

May Music, Day 19 – What’s Yours Is Mine – And Vice Versa

It’s taken me some time, though it’s still not an established fact in entirety, that some things in our home do, in fact, belong only to me.

I’m now fairly certain of finding most of my stuff where I left it. Mostly. Some things, however, still get lifted and meddled with. My phone was a case in point. Up until I put a lock on it, I was never quite sure which new background pic would greet me on any given day. Ditto with my laptop. Having a lock on both now means that I no longer have pictures of someone’s big toe staring at me or a wean’s selfie with appended message, ‘Do you love me? Admit it, I’m your favourite child!’

There’s a lot to be said for communal living. Folk tampering with my toys is not one of them.

Except I have no one to blame but myself for this next part. On first taking possession of my I-pod a few years ago – a ‘free’ gift with a new phone – I had no clue how to work it. One of my daughters took me, and it, in hand and downloaded all of her songs from her media library onto the contraption and showed me how to press a few strategic buttons. She helped me add a bunch  of my own. She doesn’t live here any more. So I’m stuck with her tunes and mine living together in some disharmony.

This one’s ok as the first, alphabetically, on my playlist. But it’s not one I would have downloaded myself. But, as Twindaddy’s asking, for question 19 of the 25 days of music challenge, what comes first, this is what you get. What’s mine, or not, is yours.

Anyone know how to delete without erasing the entire thing? No? Me neither.

A19 – Maximo Park

Sensory Treasure

I whisper in your heart

to hear your hurting,

I kiss your tears

to taste away your fears,

touch your hands,

absorbing all your feelings,

snuggle close, scenting

pain-filled, broken years.

You gaze into my eyes

to know I’m seeing

all within your soul

you can’t convey.

In sharing all our senses,

flowered open,

love and understanding

feel a way.

I know your soul

by breathing in your essence,

believing all

my senses may reveal,

caring for you whole,

nothing concealed,

and treasure all the scars

I help to heal.

Let’s Begin

I call to you now.

Nothing elusive,

Fragmented,

Philosophical.

Nothing

Ethereal,

Unworldly,

Unknown.

Only shared

Understanding.

I call.

As any bird

Has ever whistled to another,

As whales describe

The ocean

In surreal sounds

That haunt forever

And teach patience

Understanding

And love.

I call to you now

As a human,

As a woman.

As me.

There is no other.

Just as there is no other

You.

I call to all you are,

Have ever been

And wish to be.

As you were created.

As you have become.

In all the ailments

And hurts you know

And feel.

In all that you think.

I call.

There is a oneness

That unites.

The air we breathe.

The hearts that beat.

The biological.

Let’s begin there.

 

Breaths Of Air

Sirocco stirring

Sands of time,

Diablo melting

Mind,

Mistral chilling,

Vaping life,

Winds of fame

That blind.

 

Give me winds

That sweep from sea

Or rush

Down mountain pass,

That charge, invigorate,

Clear all inside,

Billow through,

Enlarge.

 

Or gentle breeze,

A breath so fine,

Whispering through my

Hair,

Gentle caress

Of tenderness

From lips that

Breathe your air.