The Nature of Me


What is me?
A shadow or a being?
Something lost or something to be found?
If at birth I am me
Then once I was me
But now?
Who is me?
If at death I am me
Then I am not yet me
Then what of now?
Is me just a hope or dream?
Something far off
Until a line cuts through
And marks the end?
Something lost or something to be found?
What is me?
And what of now?
I am me
Something shaped by what is lost
Something shaping what is to be found
A someone in the passage of time
Me is a moment in time
And yet an entire lifetime
I am me

Vintage Buttons


Last summer I was working on a knitting project and I needed buttons.  Lots of buttons.  Preferably cute ones.  So I asked around my friends to see if they had any they could donate.  One friend gave me a box full of buttons; unfortunately most of those were way too big for what I was doing but there were some amazing vintage buttons buried amongst them.

Want to see?

Lansing Pearl Buttons Two on a Printed Card

These ones were still on their original packaging

Lansing Pearl Buttons Reverse of Card with Metal Clips

I haven’t seen clips like these used before to hold buttons down – they remind me of the clips that hold new shirts together

Tiny Metal Button with a Portrait of a Lady

There’s something really Italianate about this one. I wonder who she was?

Metal Button with Three Holly-Style Leaves

Pale turquoise plastic button with coloured dashes

I’m not sure if this one is technically ‘vintage’ – I’m sure my mother’s clothing used to have buttons like this!

Metal button with flower shapes, some painted

Gold-coloured metal button with an openwork design of three birds

This one suggests ‘Celtic’ to me – or maybe Anglo-Saxon

Metal button edged with painted flowers

And this one feels Swiss to me somehow

Textured translucent plastic button

I think this could pass as a blancmange…

Round plastic button with gold painted edges and bumps in a rectangular middle

I see Lego brick…

Silver-coloured button with leaf design

For some reason, this one makes me think of the old thrupenny bit – was it the thrupenny that had the thistles?

Brown and white plastic button with an etched 'Indian' design

Metal-backed pearly buttons

My friend knows nothing of where they came from or when as  she was passed the box of buttons from a neighbour who has since passed; we just know that the lady used to travel as a nurse and bought buttons as souvenirs.  I don’t know if you could do that so easily these days, it seems to me that the round, plain plastic button has become as universal and generic as too many other things in the modern world.

Have you got any special buttons to remind you of places or people or times?

Things I Miss


The Big Things


My friends

The seasons

The weather


The Small Things


Being part of something

Being there for someone

Coming and going as I please

Doing something on the spur of the moment

Doing things just because

Doing things for myself

Having things to look forward to

A Year On


Cold Blue Stare - Face of a Painted Gorilla Sculpture

This wasn’t what I was expecting.  It was meant to be all done and dusted by now.  Over it.  Getting back on with my life.  And it didn’t work out that way.  A whole year.  Where did it go?  What have I to show for it?  I don’t even think that I’ve made any progress.  A whole year.  Where did it go?  A whole year that I will never get back.

Expect Nothing


idiosyncratic eye:

Wise words and a beautiful moment

Originally posted on My Pajama Days:

Expect prompt

I’ve spent a lot of wasted time expecting people to be different.

Expecting them to be thankful or honest.

Expecting them to love unconditionally or be tolerant without question.

Expecting them to be compassionate, self-less or encouraging.

Expecting them to apologize.

But mostly, I think I’ve just spent a lot of wasted time being disappointed, time that would have been better spent giving wholly of myself without expecting anything in return.

As I crossed over the 40-something threshold a couple of years ago, my perspective changed. My focus became less about being and more about doing. My mind’s eye has finally partnered with my heart’s desire, working together to hopefully leave this world a better place than I found it and without any expectation of being recognized for my efforts.

Give without getting.

Forgive without an apology.

Trust without hesitation.

Help without judgement.

Love without condition.

The more I work…

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My Body is a Two-Year-Old


‘I can’t sleep … it’s too light in here.’
‘I want a drink of water!’
‘I don’t like the dark.’
‘It’s too cold.’
‘The covers are too heavy.’
‘Now I need a wee!’
‘My leg hurts.’
‘Can I have another hot water bottle … pleeeeeeease?’
‘What was that noise?’
‘I don’t like the rain.’
‘My head hurts…’
‘No, I really need a wee… NOW!’
‘I can’t sleep … it’s too windy.’
‘My duvet smells funny.’
‘I can’t breathe.’
‘I’m thiiiiiirrrrrrrsty!’
‘I itch…’
‘My tummy hurts.’
‘Why’s the neighbour hammering at one in the morning?’
‘I want another drink of water.’
‘That draught hurts my ears.’
‘I can’t feel my fingers.’
‘I might be hungry.’
‘Does someone want to read me a story?’
‘My head hurts.’
‘I’m tired.”
‘I don’t like it here any more; can we go home now?’
‘I don’t like that shadow.’
‘Owww. My toenail just stabbed me!’
‘My pillow squeaks.’
‘I’m too hot now.’
‘Isn’t it time to get up yet?’
‘… my beaker’s empty…’
‘This is so booooooring.’
‘I’m so sore.’
‘There’s a lump in my mattress.’
‘My foot’s gone numb.’
‘What’s that flashing light?’
‘My neck’s a funny shape…’
‘I need another wee.’
‘That clock is really loud.’
‘I want a different pillow.’
‘I just want to go home…’

Where there is no spring and no autumn: the world of rapid cycling


idiosyncratic eye:

What are your own seasons?

Originally posted on purplepersuasion:

Seasons are funny things. If you live in a equatorial region, you may barely experience them at all; if you live in a polar region you probably live part of the year in unremitting darkness which eventually gives way to “white nights”. Living through a heat wave that has gone on for weeks, it can seem impossible that our streets and parks and fields were once covered in snow. Bizarre, even. Yet as we crunch over layers of ice, in that strange silence that comes only after snowfall, it is the sensation of heat and light, of long days and high pressure, that we cannot recapture. No wonder that so many films and novels play with the idea of perpetually cold environments, or create desert planets, or dream up worlds in which the seasons are very different to our own.

I think I’m on pretty safe ground in assuming many…

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