tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63956975644101958452024-03-14T01:34:23.780+00:00ForeverPhoenixClaire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-34027535574259254952021-06-17T19:17:00.003+01:002021-06-17T19:17:30.957+01:00My New Baby: "Straight from the Soul", now available on Amazon...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nrjfCODAdBmfcj5ocOXu7cXJFs9tQwdoV8JMtFMF62mp_F9oZEdILqqTvoJJwUQghpsQB8WPlbjMhx1pPo6z5vtdv4EJJaK4s7D5ytmwfegeg-3M5iGKS9qR-si3UVopb1AdxRcgDueD/s2048/IMG_1321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nrjfCODAdBmfcj5ocOXu7cXJFs9tQwdoV8JMtFMF62mp_F9oZEdILqqTvoJJwUQghpsQB8WPlbjMhx1pPo6z5vtdv4EJJaK4s7D5ytmwfegeg-3M5iGKS9qR-si3UVopb1AdxRcgDueD/w304-h406/IMG_1321.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-4326768515671534542021-01-29T22:03:00.009+00:002021-06-17T19:25:53.655+01:00One of the poems from my book, "Straight from The Soul": The Ever-Changing Self <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>A Russian doll <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Of many selves <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Inside this woman<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>A young girl dwells <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Playful and joyous<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>She’s the fun part of me<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>The one who sings loudest<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>And feels the most free <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>But sometimes the woman<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Who’s been battered by life <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Takes over my head space<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>And causes me strife <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>These different personas <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Appear to be real<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>But their transient nature<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Another truth must reveal <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>So, who is this “I”<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>That I think of as me<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>And which of her faces<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Reflects reality? <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>The self that I sense<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>When my thoughts become still <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>And my mind is unshackled <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>From the force of my will <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Tells me that I’m not the body<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Or even the mind <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>But the silent observer<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Who exists beyond time</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQWpS8jykwbgAgnOJ0YLJWpW3myULgBrIEmjxYR9l9nOICBRV4ygZVrJ6QQZQNCd16q9ftw8GE8ZxVVmglBM4_wkHqQgQpuoJziZBV9SJXM7nFdz4l9C1PnWb2rIMWD3OQ0CCzQCTtK8I/s2048/pxfuel.com-2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQWpS8jykwbgAgnOJ0YLJWpW3myULgBrIEmjxYR9l9nOICBRV4ygZVrJ6QQZQNCd16q9ftw8GE8ZxVVmglBM4_wkHqQgQpuoJziZBV9SJXM7nFdz4l9C1PnWb2rIMWD3OQ0CCzQCTtK8I/s320/pxfuel.com-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span> </p>Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-25294971891325194962020-12-05T11:52:00.000+00:002020-12-05T11:52:15.445+00:00Abuela's Signature Dish<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTp07pkZtOKA8Fj490hjFh1RHVGF1ll5ONGVN8e4GUAlFueaISpp5ddHYVll7YFgJKC4Iq_t_lzZjFgZgBW5VZTSWALep-0KgeQms_zfdYazib0si1lSX_GxUieG3fEqoIKA3UTlYCB6zk/s679/A279CFF1-C572-4CA9-9245-2BFACD6842F5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="679" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTp07pkZtOKA8Fj490hjFh1RHVGF1ll5ONGVN8e4GUAlFueaISpp5ddHYVll7YFgJKC4Iq_t_lzZjFgZgBW5VZTSWALep-0KgeQms_zfdYazib0si1lSX_GxUieG3fEqoIKA3UTlYCB6zk/s320/A279CFF1-C572-4CA9-9245-2BFACD6842F5.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>To my daughter, the ultimate “foodie”</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When my daughter was away at boarding school, she used to phone my mother every weekend and say: “What are you making for dinner tonight <i>abuela</i>, go on <i>torture</i> me!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Her grandmother was the ultimate domestic goddess and for as long as I can remember, the kitchen was her uncontested realm. So much so that when I was a child, she discouraged me from helping to prepare our daily meals as she was so particular about the way things should be done. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She travelled regularly for work and consequently the influence of other cultures permeated the kind of dishes she prepared. Whilst my friends looked forwards to traditional fare English fare for dinner, such as toad in the hole or lamb cutlets, I would often be greeted by the exotic smell of Moroccan Chicken Tagine or one of Madha Jaffrey’s spicy curries when I came home from school. At first my inexperienced tastebuds protested at being assaulted by such sophisticated and unusual flavours, but I soon came to appreciate a wide variety of different food. So much so that by the time I was 10, I would just as happily eat Coq au Vin for dinner as fish fingers and chips!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">One of her signature dishes, and a personal favourite of mine, was her Lebanese Chicken recipe. The aroma of this mouth-watering dish as it slowly cooked in the oven would make my mouth water in excited anticipation. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">She would begin by peeling the potatoes and cutting them into cubes. Then she would season these with salt and pepper and put them in an oven-proof dish along with the organic chicken thighs, which had been finely coated in top quality olive oil. She would then add onions, lemon and garlic to the dish and liberally sprinkle this mixture with allspice, nutmeg, and cinnamon. Once the chicken was cooked, she would garnish it with fresh coriander and serve it accompanied by, Fattoush, a traditional Lebanese salad. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This colourful salad was almost as delicious as the main event itself. The basic ingredients consisted of cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, radish, and green onions. To this she would add two cups of roughly chopped fresh parsley leaves (with their stems removed) and one cup of roughly chopped fresh mint leaves. Finally, she would sprinkle the leaves with bite-sized fragments of toasted pitta bread, fried in olive oil until they turned golden-brown. Just before serving, she would dress the salad with a delicious mixture of fresh lime juice, olive oil and mixed spices. As a special treat, I was sometimes allowed to help her knead the mixture used to make her homemade flatbread, which was always served with houmous on the side. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Throughout my childhood years, the knowledge that my mother was making this dish for supper would brighten my whole day. Later, when I became an adult, I discovered that a sure-fire way to impress a prospective boyfriend was to lure him back to my place with the promise of homemade Lebanese Chicken. I was sure to follow my mother’s time-honoured recipe to the letter, which by that time, I had finally learned to make!</span><o:p></o:p></p>Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-42900389475709372962020-11-30T20:13:00.005+00:002020-11-30T20:14:40.706+00:00An Encounter with Eve<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwMb1XzJ8QM7HyXlHp5SiFPFyXjBxmo8Q4kXJNZ6CFmYaY6n0lowry8RRkE5HpGfuPtS3cO4CDo1xrj979t88U8gr6ApGAap8icbfHqNyQUy0MM-3CuO6wxZsGiPQE__Z-WEx2QHLZXaSg/s960/46014096_10215954681432752_4023570013372809216_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="389" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwMb1XzJ8QM7HyXlHp5SiFPFyXjBxmo8Q4kXJNZ6CFmYaY6n0lowry8RRkE5HpGfuPtS3cO4CDo1xrj979t88U8gr6ApGAap8icbfHqNyQUy0MM-3CuO6wxZsGiPQE__Z-WEx2QHLZXaSg/w292-h389/46014096_10215954681432752_4023570013372809216_n.jpg" width="292" /></a></b></div><b><br /></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">I hear the creak<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">Of her high-backed chair<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">And before I even see <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">Her beautiful face<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">I know it is her <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">She has come to me in dreams <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">And once when I summoned her<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">With my angel board<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">She is my guardian and protectress<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Watching over me day and night</span></b><b> </b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Keeping me from harm</span></b><b> <o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">She gifted me</span></b><b> </b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">With her talent for words<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">And from her I learned</span></b><b> </b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">To love a good tale<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">She made my childhood unforgettable</span></b><b> </b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">And her passing grieves my heart still</span></b><b> <o:p></o:p></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">For decades I have</span></b><b> </b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">Suffered the guilt<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Of a dark secret</span></b><b> </b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Too painful to share</span></b><b> </b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">Something rotten at the heart<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">Of our little family<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">A sinister predator<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Who robbed me</span></b><b> </b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">Of my childlike innocence</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">She already knows the details<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps she has always known the truth<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Without me having to speak of it</span></b><b> </b><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">She utters these words:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">“I’m so sorry this happened to you <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">You no longer need to be afraid <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">It’s not your fault, you were just a child<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">I will always love and protect you<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">You are safe now<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">Rest here with me a while”<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">And with that<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">She takes me into her arms<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">And I relax into her embrace<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">And let the tears flow<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><b><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p>Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-20039600111798124332020-11-29T16:14:00.008+00:002020-11-29T21:17:12.134+00:00Lola's Friendly Stag <p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2zBp2xmNpK8aZg4ikqK9ROrlhpAe4JA9vFLSMraUYcJzP-uQ3seh4D3hztWPhD7Er6XBixTFBU1XwlHEhfH10f8ul75OFkojnyLpo8TUBjqQNN5rnpU1RD_Ws3lz6XExpNdjyqC401LP/s1715/0a0f875ae4a1082ec87d9f6c7f5e7a68.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1715" data-original-width="1259" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2zBp2xmNpK8aZg4ikqK9ROrlhpAe4JA9vFLSMraUYcJzP-uQ3seh4D3hztWPhD7Er6XBixTFBU1XwlHEhfH10f8ul75OFkojnyLpo8TUBjqQNN5rnpU1RD_Ws3lz6XExpNdjyqC401LP/s320/0a0f875ae4a1082ec87d9f6c7f5e7a68.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A long time ago </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">On a winter’s day</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Your daddy and I </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Went out to play</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">As it was cold </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And there was snow </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We hoped to find </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">An Eskimo</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We’d heard they live</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Where it is cold </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We weren’t sure where</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">As we hadn’t been told </span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But though we searched </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Both high and low</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We found no sign </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Of an Eskimo </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Just then we heard</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A sudden sound</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Like thundering hooves </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Upon the ground</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And there before us </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In the wood</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A friendly stag</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Most proudly stood </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">His branch-like antlers </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Held on high</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">His nose turned up </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Towards the sky </span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">He looked at us</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">With deep brown eyes </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">His gentle face </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Filled with surprise</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“Hello, dear ones”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We heard him say </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“I wasn’t expecting </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Any humans today” </span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“This is my wood</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But you may stay </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Just be careful where you play</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">So you don’t scare my friends away”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“Don’t worry, dear Stag”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Your daddy said</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“We will remember what you’ve said</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But may we pat you on the head?”</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“Of course, dear chap”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The Stag replied </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“Just come closer</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">By my side”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We stood and stroked</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">His shaggy coat</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The fur so soft </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Around his throat </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Until he said</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">“It’s time to go”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And leapt away</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Into the snow </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Although we felt sad </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">To watch him go </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We forgot all about </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The Eskimo!</span></p><p><br /></p>Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-70290484952652710762020-11-28T12:48:00.000+00:002020-11-28T12:48:17.675+00:00 Snail Mail: A Letter of Gratitude<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PPAIDdXZ-sQv5Lyt83-uWBHjcpcJ4wIZSR1LuCTvCU6cu8YZ4nyMcJpfSYuUf-TpjV6cv2rW7p7Y23ftXqUuciXmT5BhGPN-cL6N3YcpGZ1xyp8KHXFPb2SZVezjYKk5QiJ2G1CSHPf6/s1900/53335-facing-the-sun-folded-hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1266" data-original-width="1900" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PPAIDdXZ-sQv5Lyt83-uWBHjcpcJ4wIZSR1LuCTvCU6cu8YZ4nyMcJpfSYuUf-TpjV6cv2rW7p7Y23ftXqUuciXmT5BhGPN-cL6N3YcpGZ1xyp8KHXFPb2SZVezjYKk5QiJ2G1CSHPf6/s320/53335-facing-the-sun-folded-hands.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Five long years have passed since you’ve been gone<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Since we last heard your unmistakable laugh<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Like a schoolgirl, who feels self-conscious in her spontaneity<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But time has done nothing to fade<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The memory of your voice, your words, your gestures<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Those things that made you unmistakeably you<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">You have left me motherless and alone<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Yet something of you lingers on in me<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Deeper than shared experience or DNA <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I see the evidence of your legacy every day<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It shapes the values that determine how I live <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My love of travel and the written word<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember the stories you read to me when I was small<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A different one each night to spark my imagination<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The soft lilt of your voice lulling me to sleep</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And how I discovered the truth about Father Christmas <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The year you tripped over the foot of my bed<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Delivering my stocking after one too many glasses of wine<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember how you stood up to my teachers<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When they refused to give me a chance<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“If she’s so bright, let her prove it” they said<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Undeterred, you replied<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“She can’t, she’s too depressed to get out of bed<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s not her job to prove anything, it’s your job to teach her”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the end, they relented <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Worn down by your tireless appeals<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">To their better nature<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember how brave you were<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Faced with the knowledge that your illness had no cure<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No trace of self-pity, the grace of your acceptance a lesson to us all<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And how hard you fought towards the end<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Struggling for each breath, with that same steely determination<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That characterised your entire life<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We will always miss you Mama<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">You gave so much to those you loved<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was blessed to have you as my mother</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><br /></p>Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-16170064654120135892020-11-27T18:03:00.004+00:002020-11-27T18:37:50.231+00:00A Memory of Winter<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJryKhtBk9ZcFJk7t6VLR2yZAX6Xgxz4kPLr7QT27ntRBpb7g_zrTZ6_qJ9yLy6ERsOblCMpvZL_wEIXLJnIZaUusm7waPVV0CqyJX6BTGgDQ25Cp8m0WHw9RLMC8FIMlxTl_1Viwh-cHS/s1920/deer-1209766_1920.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJryKhtBk9ZcFJk7t6VLR2yZAX6Xgxz4kPLr7QT27ntRBpb7g_zrTZ6_qJ9yLy6ERsOblCMpvZL_wEIXLJnIZaUusm7waPVV0CqyJX6BTGgDQ25Cp8m0WHw9RLMC8FIMlxTl_1Viwh-cHS/s320/deer-1209766_1920.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Last night, I dreamt I had returned in time to inhabit the small body of the child I once was. In my semi-conscious state, I saw before me a dreamlike version of the magical wintery scene that I witnessed when I was 8-years old. The dream was so vivid that when I woke up it took me some time to reengage with the reality around me.</span></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the real-life version of events, I remember that I was sent to bed early after a minor disagreement with my parents involving my stubborn refusal to eat dinner. The following morning, my brother and I had woken early to find that the world outside our house was covered in a thick blanket of snow. At that time, we were living in a small village in rural Oxfordshire and nature’s presence dominated our daily lives. We lived on a cul-de-sac surrounded by trees inhabited by many different species of wildlife. The snow in such a setting is distinctly different from how it looks in an urban context. I remember the sense of excitement I felt as I flung back my bedroom curtains and saw the branches outside my window hanging low with the weight of its heavy ivory mantle. At that early hour, the only imprints on its pristine surface were the footprints of birds and small mammals, and the temperature was still cold enough to prevent it from turning to slush. We were too excited to wait for our parents to get up, or to eat breakfast; we wanted to be outside feeling the icy air on our cheeks and having our first snowball fight of the season. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember that we dressed as though the house were on fire, not bothering to wash faces or clean teeth, and crept downstairs so that our parents wouldn’t hear our feet on the wooden stairs. I was the first to haul on my winter wellies, and as soon as I had done so, I ran outside and pirouetted around the garden like a ballerina who’s mistaken her ballet shoes for walking boots. There was still a delicate, powdery veil of snow falling, and when I opened my mouth to let out a happy laugh, I felt its icy crystals dissolving on my tongue. My brother soon joined me, and for a while we roared around the garden pelting each other with hastily improvised snowballs. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I can’t remember whose idea it was to go for a walk, but after we had tired of the garden we headed out in the direction of the local woods, conveniently situated down the hill from where we lived. As we trudged cheerfully down the hill, throwing snow at each other, I remember having the strange but exhilarating feeling that we were the only two people in the world. The snow had covered the entire village and there was nobody in sight. We were in high spirits and even the icy water seeping into the bottoms of our leaky boots could not dampen our childlike exuberance. In this state of happy companionship, chattering and laughing as we went, we crossed the main road at the bottom of the hill and passed through the big iron gates that led to the forest beyond them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I will remember the emotions I experienced as we stepped through those gates for the rest of my days. When I look back, it seems as though there were some sort of sharp demarcation in reality between the moment <i>before</i> we passed through the gates and the moment immediately <i>after</i> we passed through them. As though we had stepped into a parallel universe, where time moved at a slower pace. Like the children in Narnia who stumble across another world at the back of their ordinary looking wardrobe, it felt to us as though we had stepped out of our mundane, every-day reality into a magical universe. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The scene before us as we entered the forest actually made me stop in my tracks, and the idle chatter between us immediately subsided. A single stag stood directly before us, his snow-covered hooves reflecting the bright light of that crisp and perfect winter morning. He remained immobile, as if frozen in time, and we too remained motionless – hardly daring to breath. He stood tall and proud before us, his magnificent antlers held high, his nose quivering in nervous anticipation. Immediately behind him, the forest spread out on all sides in its full and wondrous winter glory. Elms, ashes and oaks looked resplendent beneath a cloak of snow that draped its way around their trunks and encased their slender branches. Nothing stirred in the undergrowth; there was no movement and no sound, just a profound stillness and a deep silence that reminded me of being underwater. It felt as though the world around us had come to a halt in that single moment, and that we had become immobilised in a snapshot in time. Then, all of a sudden time unfroze and the stag leapt sideways into the undergrowth; his survival instincts finally kicking in. And just like that, the spell was broken. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The sense of all-consuming awe and astonishment that my younger self experienced that day has stayed with me ever since. And although in real time those precious moments only lasted a matter of seconds, I experienced them as beyond time: in another realm where stillness, peace and beauty reign supreme. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-65330202693335484302020-11-24T19:00:00.005+00:002020-11-24T20:22:09.885+00:00How to decide whether to take a lover...<p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">In 2015, my brave, funny and unbelievably stubborn mother finally lost her battle with cancer. Since then, I have missed her with greater and lesser degrees of intensity with each day that has passed, but I cherish my memories of her and the precious time we spent together. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">She had a keen eye and a sharp wit, but she was very much a product of her generation and a rather old-fashioned upbringing on a farm in rural Essex. My parents had a long and not very happy marriage - she passed away just short of what would have been their 50th wedding anniversary - but it would never have occurred to her to leave my father. She was very much of the mindset: “<i>you’ve made your bed, now lie on it</i>.” Her parents before her were much the same, the product of a union between two people who fell in love and then discovered after they were married how little they had in common. In my mother’s view, the only way to survive decades of marriage was to have the occasional extra marital dalliance and I was aware from quite a young age that she was doing precisely that. I didn’t judge her for it, but it was not a mindset that made sense to me. Apart from the obvious complications of sustaining a parallel relationship with two men without them finding out about each other, I didn’t see how any partnership that is rooted in lies and deceit could possibly thrive. So, I’ve always valued honesty and transparency above all things in my relationships. I have had two marriages to date, but I was faithful to both my husbands. My mother thought that I was rather puritanical and that my belief that infidelity in a committed relationship is a deal breaker was rather <i>holier than thou</i>. So, it’s fair to say that her attitude to this subject was very different to mine.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">This was far from being the only area of life in which my mother and I did not see eye to eye, but we never let it come between us. In fact, we often enjoyed a good-humoured joke on the subject of lovers and their desirability or otherwise. But there was one particular incident that brought this subject out of the realm of theoretical debate into reality, and I look back on it as one of the funniest moments we shared together.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">One dreary Sunday afternoon in late autumn we were sitting in a companiable silence in the living room of her Georgian house. It was the sort of day whose drab monochrome sky made the passing of time feel particularly monotonous. I recall that there was a strange stillness in the air that day and the only sound to be heard, except for the occasional rustle of my mother’s newspaper, was the steady ticking of the old grandfather clock. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">All of a sudden, we were both abruptly jolted from our state of torpor by the harsh grating sound of the front gate swinging open on its hinges. We weren’t expecting any one and it seemed like an unusual time of day for it to be the postman. I reluctantly rose from my chair and went to see who this unwelcome stranger could be. When I opened the front door, I was greeted by a delivery boy bearing a long, unwieldy looking parcel, which he abruptly thrust into my arms. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“Needs a signature” he muttered, casting a curious eye over my shoulder at the grand looking hallway behind me. I could see him looking at the ornate Chinese vase on the table and thinking to himself that it must have cost a fortune. I swiftly signed and shut the door firmly behind his retreating back. My mother looked up with a quizzical expression and raised an eyebrow as I returned to the living room with my package.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“Did you order something from Amazon for me?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“No darling”, she replied. “It’s not your birthday and it’s too early to be thinking of Christmas presents.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“That’s odd”, I remarked. “I haven’t ordered anything but this parcel has my name on it so someone must have ordered it for me.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">We both gazed suspiciously at the parcel as though it held the answer to some explosive secret. I began to examine its smooth contours through the wrapping paper to see if I could guess at its contents. This is something I’ve been doing since I was a young girl, as I love to prolong that feeling of excited anticipation you get before opening a gift. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“Darling, for goodness sake just open it!” my mother exclaimed impatiently. “You never know, you might have a secret admirer!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">I laughed at this suggestion, not thinking for a moment that she might be on the right track. At that point in time, I had recently separated from my second husband and I was not in the least bit interested in swapping my single status for another relationship. Nonetheless, my curiosity was piqued and having failed to guess at what the parcel might contain or who the mysterious sender could be, I was now impatient to open it. So, I ripped the masking tape from around its bulky circumference and tore a large strip off the top right corner of the package. Inside, amidst multiple layers of protective wrapping, I was surprised to find a long box with a Hobbs label on it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“I love Hobbs!” I exclaimed. “But I never buy anything from there unless it’s in the sale and I definitely didn’t order this.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“Well someone must have!” my mother retorted. “Look and see if there’s a note inside it somewhere.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Despite turning the package and its contents inside out, no such note materialised but I was thrilled to fling open the box and discover a rather exquisite and expensive looking pair of black knee-high boots. Almost the instant I did so, I heard a ping on my mobile notifying me of a new message. It didn’t occur to me that the two things could be connected, but I glanced at my phone anyway in case it was something important. To my surprise, I saw that I’d received a text from a former boyfriend who I hadn’t heard from in a very long time. The message read: <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“I heard from mutual friends that you’ve been having a hard time. This is just a little something to let you know that despite time and distance I’ve never stopped thinking about you. You previously made it very clear to me that you wouldn’t take me as your lover, but I hope that now you’re separated from your husband you’ll reconsider.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">I was so astounded by the bluntness of his message and the inappropriacy of his gift that I barely knew how to react. My mother must have read the expression on my face because she instantly said: <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“I was right, wasn’t I? Is it from Jake?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">I didn’t bother to ask her how she knew, as she had always had a sixth sense for those things, so I just nodded incredulously. My mother clapped her hands together in girlish glee and let out a deep belly laugh, of the kind I hadn’t heard since she’d been diagnosed with cancer six months previously. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“That’s wonderful, darling. And what a superb pair of leather boots!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“How can this be wonderful?!” I exclaimed. “I may be separated from Alejandro but Jake is still very much married; so, this gift is entirely inappropriate. Furthermore, I don’t even know if they are leather!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">I’m not sure at what point the material of the boots became as important to me as the morality of whether or not it would be acceptable to keep such an inappropriate gift; but it seems that my love of boots outweighed my sense of guilt. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“Actually,” I replied, “there is one way to tell if they’re real leather and that is to smell them.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Reluctant to waste any more time, I quickly applied my puppy-dog nose to the task and began sniffing at the boots. As I was doing so, my mother remarked drily:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“Do you mean to say that if the boots are leather you will keep them even though they are a gift from a married man? And may I ask if this also means that you’ve changed your views on the subject of extra-marital affairs?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 6pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">“Of course not, mum!” I replied indignantly. “But I can’t very well send them back to the address they came from or his wife will find out that he sent them to me. And if they are leather, then they are way too good to be sent to the charity shop.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: large;">“Ah, I see!”, my mother exclaimed. “In that case, you have quite a dilemma on your hands. Perhaps you should take them to the cobbler in Saxon Square and say to him: “I’m thinking of having an affair with a married man, but I can’t decide if that is the right thing to do. Could you kindly help with my decision by letting me know if these boots are made of genuine leather?”</span> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif"> </span></p>Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-30898985093552464722020-09-30T23:15:00.018+01:002021-06-17T19:25:40.569+01:00One of the poems from my book, "Straight from the Soul": In Memory of Eve<h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></h2><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i><span>W</span><span>e knew you as Eve<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>and to my young eyes<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>When they handed out grandmothers<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I got the prize</span><span style="font-family: arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>A weaver of tales<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>and a spinner of yarns<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Your words had me spellbound<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>like magical charms<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i> </i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>A tale of two creatures<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>was a favourite of mine<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>So I knew it by heart <o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>by the time I was nine<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i> </i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>A vain white rabbit <o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>and a dim-witted mole<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Were abruptly acquainted<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>when she fell in his hole<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i> </i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>She begged him for help <o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>so he prayed for her soul<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Whilst her beautiful fur<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>slowly blackened like coal<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i> </i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Decades have passed <o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>since we last saw your face<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>But your wonderful stories<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>leave an indelible trace<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i> </i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>To those who loved you<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>As dearly as me<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><i>These treasures now form</i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b><span><i>Your legacy</i></span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span lang="ES" style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b> </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><i><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></i><b>Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2020</b></p><div><b><br /></b></div><p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="ES"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB36BM7Du3KMuUaGuVRy7GOBIzMA6plN8uGhaEFqkmPUWdX454xn1NA9M9Wem5NdRFasutZ6_LhDbb-fv7TjjfRLWOHJtvczejhnq14DG_w-WWG6aTrj8yNeQDB-wJpV2JmZXHRfoe0fE2/s800/Clipart-Email-15451160.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB36BM7Du3KMuUaGuVRy7GOBIzMA6plN8uGhaEFqkmPUWdX454xn1NA9M9Wem5NdRFasutZ6_LhDbb-fv7TjjfRLWOHJtvczejhnq14DG_w-WWG6aTrj8yNeQDB-wJpV2JmZXHRfoe0fE2/s320/Clipart-Email-15451160.png" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="ES"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="ES"> </span></p>Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-73930941527080909502020-05-14T16:22:00.000+01:002020-05-14T21:41:15.503+01:00Extract from "Love in the Time of Quarantine" (a novel)<div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16pt;">As she prepared to leave the house, Eva glanced at herself one last time in the hallway mirror. For the hundredth time she wondered whether her chosen outfit reflected the studied nonchalance she aimed to convey but didn’t really feel. She had dressed carefully aiming to look elegant but casual, confident but not too sexy, effortlessly chic rather than dressed to impress (she didn’t want to look as though she had tried too hard!) She had combined leather-effect skinny jeans with a sparkly black top and knee-length boots (thigh-length would have looked too obvious and definitely conveyed the wrong impression.) Finally satisfied with her appearance, she let herself out of the flat, picking up the pace as she walked towards Southbourne High Street in a bid to make up for lost time. She knew she was running a bit late but she reminded herself that being punctual wasn’t a good thing on a first date... let him wait a bit; after all, a woman should never appear too keen. As she walked, she wondered what Rick would think about her spur of the moment decision to start dating other people. “None of his business” she quickly reprimanded herself. After all, why should she feel guilty?!; he had told her not to wait for him, so she was merely following his advice...it wasn't as though she was doing anything behind his back. Anyway, what were the chances the guy she was meeting would be a suitable match? Based on her recent but very limited experience of internet dating, Eva reckoned they were somewhere in the region of one in a million!<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-49458384015927472632018-09-15T11:49:00.004+01:002020-10-01T20:27:19.640+01:00A New Dawn...<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
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<b><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: medium;">Separation within separation<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #666666; font-family: "helvetica";">At night your face appears before me<br />Suspended in mid-air<br />I hear you tell me without words<br />That you will always love me<br />That you can never leave me<br />As this was decided before our birth<br /><br />Yet destiny decreed long ago<br />That we must endure many bitter partings<br />As only through separation<br />Could the soul's lessons be learned<br />Heart over head, love over fear<br /><br />And now I await your return<br />For your heart to join mine<br />In the joy of reunion<br />Still your doubting mind, my love<br />For the dark night is fading<br />Making way for a new dawn to rise</span></b></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-63722574702929814862018-09-06T22:22:00.001+01:002020-04-24T15:04:49.237+01:00Finding the hidden gift...<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">What if what you perceive to be your biggest ‘flaw’ is actually your gateway to discovering and embodying your greatest gift? And what if all you need to understand this is a simple shift in perspective? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Ever since I can remember, I have always been acutely sensitive to my environment. As a result, when I was growing up I often felt as though there were no boundaries between myself and other people. It is hard to describe, but I frequently had the seemingly irrational feeling that all that was preventing me from being engulfed by those around me was a very thin and highly permeable membrane. In other words, I was highly attuned to other people’s energy. As most of us carry some emotional baggage, my acute receptivity to this caused me to absorb a lot of negativity. This toxic overload sometimes led me to experience feelings of complete overwhelm and acute distress. But, back then, I didn’t have the self-awareness to know what was causing my anxiety. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I continued to suffer the consequences of my sensitive nature for many years and it was only when I reached my early thirties that things began to change. By this stage, the depth of my discomfort had grown so strong that I decided to embark on an urgent quest for anything that might offer some relief. This in turn took me on a long journey of self-discovery and spiritual development. It was at some point in this process that I had the revelation that what appeared to be my biggest weakness was, in fact, my greatest strength. It’s not surprising that it took me a while to get this, because the way this gift was packaged made it look more like a curse! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Although I’ve learned to embrace this aspect of myself, there’s no denying that my ability to feel intensely is something of a double-edged sword: on the one hand, it gives me a strong empathy for the feelings of others, an almost psychic ability to read people and predict things before they happen, an acute awareness of what my body likes and doesn’t like, and a strong inclination for creative self-expression; on the other hand, it makes me acutely vulnerable emotionally, highly prone to getting ill (I have a delicate digestive system and a notoriously low tolerance for alcohol!), and inclined to suffer from anxiety and depression. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Unfortunately, being born into a household where I was the odd one out in a family that advocated the ‘<i>stiff upper lip and get on with it’ </i>attitude, did not help. I suspect that my father was more similar to me than he liked to admit as he was a sensitive soul, who often banged up against the rough edges of life. But, he grew up in an era when people were not encouraged to be introspective and there were few tools available to help him understand himself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">By comparison, I am lucky because I have had the opportunity to understand and embrace this aspect of myself. This has been a long and arduous process and it is by no means yet complete; in fact, it’s still very much a work in progress. But, I am learning to channel and redirect my sensitivity so that instead of being a thorn in my side, it is becoming a vehicle for my own healing and transformation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">But before I could get to this point, I had to learn how to protect myself from other people’s energy. This has been a vital lesson in self-preservation as it has enabled me to finally free myself from the psychic overwhelm that has plagued me for years. I have developed several techniques to help me achieve this, by drawing on a combination of Buddhist philosophy and the practice of Yoga. These tools have been invaluable in helping me learn to strengthen my boundaries, so that I no longer absorb what does not belong to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Another key stage in this process has been learning to ‘listen’ to my body by honouring and respecting the messages it conveys to me. For example, whenever I eat something that my digestive system can’t easily process, I get almost immediate physical feedback that this substance is toxic for me. When I was younger, I tended to ignore these messages, with the result that I suffered from acute IBS for many years. In the same way that my body alerts me to those things that it finds harmful, it also sends me a clear signal of what is needed to maintain my health. For example: if I become deficient in certain vitamins, I will experience strong cravings for foods that contain them. On a day to day level, this means that I have to monitor what I eat and drink with care. But this seems like a small price to pay for having a guidance system that lets me know exactly what I need (and don’t need) to stay healthy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">But the greatest blessing to come from learning to fully embrace my sensitive side has been the breaking open of my heart! For much of my life, I have been caught in a debilitating battle between my intellect (my logical mind) and my intuitive knowledge (my heart). This constant tug of war between my instinctive and analytical selves has frequently left me feeling confused and exhausted. It has also made it difficult for me to make decisions about the important things in my life: such as career and relationships. Unfortunately, it has taken a series of traumatic life events for this breaking open to occur – the death of both my parents and a close friend of mine, the loss of my former career and the disintegration of my marriage. Nonetheless, this personal transformation might have taken longer had it not been for these events. Experiencing so much loss in a short period of time has forced me to re-evaluate my life and this process has involved a slow and painful stripping away of the ‘ego.’ But this has been a gift in itself because the loss of my career has led me to understand that I am not what I do – therefore with or without a ‘job title’, I am still a valuable human being. Likewise, the loss of my parents and beloved husband has made me realise that I am still worthy of love whether or not I am someone’s wife or daughter. I believe that what is gradually emerging from the rubble at the end of this ‘phoenix process” is nothing less than my most honest, raw and vibrant self.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I have come to believe that the Universe is always conspiring to support our spiritual growth (even when it does not look that way) but when we are experiencing a lot of hardship it is easy to lose sight of this. So, whenever things are not going as I would like, I have learned to ask myself: where is the blessing or the gift in this? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">This ties back in with the central premise at the beginning of this post: what if what we perceive to be our biggest ‘flaw’ is actually our greatest gift? I believe that even though it’s sometimes hard to see it this way, there are no ‘mistakes’ in life. I feel certain that the organising intelligence that governs everything (call it God, or whatever other name you choose) would not have brought us into the world without equipping us with the tools we need to navigate our way. Accordingly, we are all born with what we need to prosper and thrive – even if we don’t always recognise it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">So, next time your inner critic starts berating you for being ‘<i>too much of this</i>’ or ‘<i>not enough of that</i>’- take a breath, quieten your mind, and allow your heart to do the talking. Drop into stillness and find that age-old wisdom that lies buried beneath the ego and all its fragile defences. Ask yourself: how can I look at this differently? Is it possible that this ‘flaw’ could be a gift? If you make a practice of doing this, you may discover that the part of you that you have spent a lifetime rejecting is the gateway that leads directly to your greatest self. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2018</b></span></div>
Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-1297884882333355802017-05-19T20:08:00.000+01:002020-04-24T14:56:22.566+01:00The Return<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEADns2J_LblA96x36c2ef0tjLqkPq2HDEkytAHHyGnJ9e0zZRHWTgfvKcaHRmK59IUrXGywFWjZvZy8tQ-zRxW2d2BlN0csb8p9YlDfNm61xMor-DNLJI7P1R707B8629jB4PxlBaXdCO/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEADns2J_LblA96x36c2ef0tjLqkPq2HDEkytAHHyGnJ9e0zZRHWTgfvKcaHRmK59IUrXGywFWjZvZy8tQ-zRxW2d2BlN0csb8p9YlDfNm61xMor-DNLJI7P1R707B8629jB4PxlBaXdCO/s320/maxresdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Cartagena de Indias, 21 February 1990</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The
aeroplane cruises slowly down the runway, taillights catching the fading glow
of the Caribbean sun as it dips below the horizon. Then, at some invisible
signal from the control tower, it begins to gather momentum. A violent shudder
ripples through its dusty undercarriage as aluminium wheels vibrate at speed on
scorching tarmac. Just above the passenger windows the words – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Avianca, Colombia</i> – are just visible in
the fading light. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">As the
plane tilts its nose skyward and the ground drops away from beneath her feet,
the girl shifts uneasily in her seat and lifts a protective hand to the soft
swell of her belly. She is barely twenty years old but something in her eyes, a
sort of guarded watchfulness, belies her youthful appearance. This impression
is heightened by the way she sits, like a tightly coiled spring turned protectively
inwards on itself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The
tawny-haired man across the aisle has been observing her since they boarded. He abruptly discards his newspaper and raises a quizzical eyebrow in her direction, but before he can pose the question forming in his mind she has already turned
away – clamping her eyes tight shut as if to erase her surroundings. As she folds
herself away inside the private world of her thoughts, her features assume a
closed ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do not disturb’</i> expression. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">As the
aircraft gains altitude, distancing itself from the shrinking landmass below,
the man reluctantly returns to his newspaper and the girl begins to daydream.
In her mind’s-eye she sees herself floating over the earth – an incorporeal
being suspended in time and space. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Suddenly she flinches and covers her face – as if to shield
herself from an invisible blow. But the noise inside her head is growing louder
and she can no longer ignore its persistent drone. The voices are relentless
now, forcing her to take note - to acknowledge what she doesn't want to hear. She knows that it is useless to resist. These spiteful harpies always gain the upper hand, feeding on her anxiety like a wake of ravenous vultures. Soon they will become as familiar as her own skin and she will think of them collectively as, </span><i style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.6667px;">The</i><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Furies</i>. She braces herself for the sting of their final verdict: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is it, Lara. It’s time to face the
music.</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There is nowhere left to run.
You are alone</i>.’<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small;"><b>Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio 2017</b></span><br />
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-31025709611521461312016-11-17T20:48:00.001+00:002020-06-20T10:18:08.223+01:00What's Your Story? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: #353535; font-family: arial;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 16pt;">"<i>If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change</i>." Wayne Dyer</span></b><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "arial"; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></h3>
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I have come to see that it is not so much what happens to us in life that determines the quality of our existence, it is the narrative we construct around the events we experience. We all have a filter through which we interpret and try to make sense of our lives, but what matters most is whether our interpretation of 'reality' is beneficial or detrimental to our well-being. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">One of the most influential people in helping me grasp this concept and understand how my 'story' was influencing my experience of life has been my good friend and life coach, Linda Ford. Linda has not only helped me to see that I had created a narrative around my life that disempowered and entrapped me, she also made me aware of a tendency to portray myself as a victim of circumstance; this had become a self-fulfilling prophecy, ensuring that I kept attracting more of what I didn't want in my life. This is because one of the fundamental principles of the law of attraction is that you become what you think about most of the time! So, if you are constantly dwelling on what's missing from your life or how difficult things are, you will just keep experiencing more of the same. Furthermore, even if you are consciously striving to secure a great job, find your soul mate and create material abundance, if your default mode of thinking is of the 'glass half empty' variety, none of the things you are seeking will show up in your life. This is because you cannot be a vibrational match for love, success and material abundance if you continually dwell on the lack of these things in your present reality or make negative affirmations such as: 'knowing my luck it will never happen!' or even worse, 'it's the story of my life!' And that expression, often so thoughtlessly uttered, is particularly illuminating in this context because that is exactly the point: what we tell ourselves about what happens to us is just that - a <i>story</i>. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">To give you a concrete example, I could look at the events of the past two years of my life in two entirely different ways. The events themselves remain exactly the same, but how I choose to interpret them is completely different. During this period, I lost my mother and former boyfriend to cancer within a year of each other, my father was admitted to a care home, I lost my job and my marriage came to an end. Added to all this, I found myself trying to sell two properties during a year of extreme political volatility and instability. These are all incontrovertible facts and they make my life sound pretty awful but how we feel about what happens to us, particularly those events outside our control, is always a choice. So, I can choose to feel trapped and disempowered or I could make a different choice, one that liberates and empowers me! I am not suggesting that these losses have not been deeply painful, but rather than allowing them to overwhelm me, I have learned to use them as a powerful catalyst for personal growth and transformation. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #353535; font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">For the first time in my life, I am learning to become truly self-sufficient - both emotionally and financially. Following the loss of my nine to five job and a regular income, I found a number of less stressful and more creative ways to make a living. This included becoming a host mother to a number of overseas students, some of whom have become friends for life. I also took advantage of this career break to learn Italian and dedicate myself more fully to my practice of yoga. But the most significant development for me is that I have learned to enjoy solitude rather than fear it. I have also discovered, after years of bouncing from one drama-fuelled relationship to another, that I don't actually need a man to be happy. This has been an unexpected revelation to me. Learning to look within for my own sense of self-worth and not to continually seek external validation is still a work in progress, but I might never have started the process were it not for this period of enforced solitude. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I</span><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> have also come to see that although many of the losses I have
experienced have been devastating, they are not unusual: after all, we all have
to face losing our parents someday and jobs and relationships come and go. This
awareness has made me reassess these events, causing me to reflect that perhaps
I am not the victim of a malevolent universe or some particularly harsh karmic
payback!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The world is not perfect and
few of us go through life completely unscathed, what matters in the end is how
we interpret and respond to the challenges we face.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">On this note, I recently heard an inspirational podcast by Deepak Chopra, broadcast in the aftermath of the recent US presidential elections. Deepak was talking about how to restore our collective peace of mind and wellbeing in such turbulent times. In this context, he admitted that he had struggled to accept the recent choice of the American electorate. However, he had some powerful words of wisdom to share about how we might begin to make peace with an event that had caused him, and many others, such concern. For him, the first step in this process was to recognise that whilst he was powerless to change what had already happened, he could change how he felt about and reacted to it. In describing how he shifted his consciousness from a state of anger followed by uncomfortable resignation to a state of calm acceptance, he made the following analogy. He asked us to imagine being on an aircraft that was being flown by a pilot that we didn't like or entirely trust. In this scenario, most people's initial reaction would be one of fear and unease - understandably so, since our lives would depend on the pilot's ability to get us safely to our destination. But although we might be powerless to change who was in charge of the plane, we would all share a collective desire for the pilot to get us home safely, and with that objective paramount we would offer our full support and cooperation. So, even though we didn't chose the pilot, our priority would be to help ensure the plane arrived safely at its destination. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Deepak's point was that rather than wasting our time and energy arguing with what is - in this case the incontrovertible fact that Donald Trump is now President of the USA - we should instead focus our energy on what we can control, namely our own response to this reality. He also asked us to remember that even if we did not elect this president, it is in the country's interests for him to succeed and all Americans need to get behind him in this endeavour. For my part, although I have often struggled to practice non-judgement and acceptance of what is, when I have managed to achieve it, I have enjoyed much greater peace of mind. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #353535; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.0pt;">It is important to emphasise here that acceptance is not the same as resignation. We can and should stand up to injustice in the world, just as we have every right to express sadness and disappointment when we suffer any kind of personal setback. But the important thing is not to get stuck in this level of consciousness. It is normal and healthy to grieve for the loss of a loved one or to denounce any kind of injustice at the top of our lungs, but ultimately we have to accept what is and move on. Otherwise, we run the risk of becoming victims of adversity rather than masters of life. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #353535; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">Ever since I was a little girl, I have loved a good story. But until quite recently I had never fully considered how the narrative we construct around our experiences is in itself a form of fictitious story. The key events and circumstances forming the backdrop to our lives may be fixed, but our interpretation of them is completely subjective - hence one person's tale of disaster may be another's tale of triumph. The fact of the matter is that we always have a choice: we can either present ourselves as victims of circumstance, or we can consider ourselves creators of our own destiny; we can either live in fear of adversity, or we can learn to embrace the opportunities it brings; we can either focus on the problems, or we can look for the blessings behind them. I believe that this is what it truly means to be free.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #353535; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial";">When I look back over my turbulent and unconventional life, I sometimes wish I had had an easier, less drama-fuelled existence; yet, had things been any other way, I would almost certainly have never become a writer. I would definitely have had far less material to inspire my creativity! So, instead of comparing myself to others or wishing things had been different, I have decided to appreciate the uniqueness of my own life and use it to create a story of hope and inspiration. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #353535; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small;"><b>Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2016</b></span></span></div>
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-44888608108836292702016-05-31T21:09:00.000+01:002020-04-24T15:06:19.611+01:00Plenty more fish….<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Until
recently, internet dating was not a world that I had ever considered entering.
At the risk of sounding smug, this is because I had never felt the need to do
so. Throughout my adult life I have rarely been short of male company or
attention but following the break-up of my marriage and the sudden loss of my parents, I have found myself in an unexpectedly solitary place. Although this experience has been devastating on many levels, these painful losses have also brought some unexpected gains. For one thing, adversity has forced me to develop greater self-reliance, determination and resilience - qualities I never knew I possessed until they were put to the test. As a result, I no longer worry so much about the future because I know I am strong enough to deal with whatever life brings my way. Furthermore, being alone during a period of such intense emotional upheaval has also had its benefits because it has meant that I have only had myself to consider. This has allowed me to take my time to heal, unencumbered by the need to
worry about the potential impact of my grief on a husband or partner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact with the benefit of hindsight, I can see that this period of mourning has almost required me to take
extensive ‘alone’ time. For the past year I have had very little appetite for
company, much less for any regular form of socialising, so the fact that my
only bed fellows have been an elephant and two bears has actually been something of a blessing! They may have looked on impartially as I have drenched my pillow in tears night after night, but equally they have made no demands on me whatsoever. And as it turns out, the freedom to grieve unencumbered by the expectations of others has been vital in helping me navigate through my dark night of the soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>Nonetheless, as I have gradually begun to emerge from my hermit's cave, I have discovered that the once familiar contours of my personal landscape appear to have contracted and distorted, to reveal a bleak and barren panorama. This uncomfortable confrontation with reality has made me realise that I have been living in a bubble for many months, insulated from the world by the force of my grief; and while my attention has been diverted elsewhere, Solitude has crept unnoticed into the vacuum left by so many losses - stealthily insinuating herself as a permanent resident in my life. Although this uninvited guest has served me well during some very turbulent times, in recent weeks she has started to outstay her welcome. In fact, I have begun to resent her pervasive presence, stalking me like a shadow from dawn to dusk. <br />
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This has recently led me to conclude that the time has come to infuse some colour into the grey landscape of my life - a little laughter to lighten the mood, with a touch of playfulness for good measure. My time of grieving is over and like a modern-day Persephone, I must reemerge from the shadows of the underworld and step into the light, so that winter can end and a new season begin.<br />
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With this in mind, a few weeks ago I decided to stop waiting for someone to come and rescue me from my (mostly self-imposed) loneliness and take matters into my own hands. So I began to look around for a playmate: a like-minded soul with a
reflective nature and a spirit for adventure – the sort of male equivalent of
me. I soon realised that this was an ambitious expectation for a woman living in a small Dorset town where there are few single men and even fewer who might be considered ‘dateable'.
In fact, the only person who could have become a serious contender for my
heart during this period turned out to need more personal space than a herd of wild bison and a social
schedule that the Queen herself would envy! Unfortunately, it took me a while to realise
that settling for the odd scrap of attention in the hope of something more –
the crumbs from the table instead of the whole cake – was the worst form of
self-deception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A painful lesson after a year of hard knocks but apparently one that had to be learned.</div>
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I soon realised that the only way forwards was to free myself from the constraints of unrealistic expectations and unsatisfactory attachments and take a more practical approach. Given the lack of potential in my immediate environment, this meant that I would have to broaden my
horizons: cue my first foray into online
dating! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is an option I had never considered as I have always believed it to be the least
appealing way of meeting someone - not least because it offers a convenient forum for the deceitful and the desperate! But given the lack of alternatives, I realised I would have to put my prejudices to one side.</div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And so it happened that a few
weeks later, in a moment of frustration at the thought of another weekend alone
whilst my happily coupled friends were otherwise engaged, I decided to join
Match.com. In retrospect, this may have been my first mistake but a girl’s got to start
somewhere and let’s not forget that I was new to this whole online dating thing! Anyway, having created a reasonable profile summary – which in just 200 words, fell short of adequately describing the complex, multi-faceted creature
that is me but still managed to convey something of my personality – <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I uploaded a recent photograph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That done, I got on with my day and thought
little more about it. Until later that evening, when I picked up my mobile and
saw that I had nearly 100 new messages in my gmail account! This was
simultaneously both flattering and intensely annoying, as the last thing I
wanted was to have my email account swamped with messages from a dating site. But after briefly reviewing their content, I realised that the majority could be deleted
in one swift cull. For the simple reason that most of the men who had written
to me were overweight and thinning on top, and some of them had chosen to upload
a profile picture which displayed more of them than I wished to see. After all,
most of us prefer to wait until we have at least dated for a while before
seeing the object of our desire semi-naked. Or am I just being old fashioned?!
Then there were the comments. Two in particular are forever emblazoned on my
memory. The first read as follows:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Hi there. My name’s Matt. You are a real
stunner – love the photo! You don’t give much away in your profile though.
About me, I have been told I look a bit like Leonardo DiCaprio. I’m an easy
going, straightforward kind of bloke. The kind you can trust: guaranteed to
break your bed frame not your heart</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Once I had
properly processed this, my response was pretty much: ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">umm, …next</i>!’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sometime
later I was contacted by a man named Gideon, whose message made me want to pack
my bags and leave the country! It went something along the following lines: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hello gorgeous. I saw your photo on here and
think you’re beautiful. I don’t have a profile picture on display because one
of my teenaged daughters is doing her GCSEs and I don’t want her to find me on a
dating site. Her mother and I have separated but we’re still involved in a
legal dispute over our property and land. Long story short, she has moved out
but is trying to get custody of our younger daughters. Anyway, perhaps I could
inbox you with my photo and if you like me we could arrange to meet</i>?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I was tempted
to reply with something like: ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hello
Gideon. Thanks for your message. Do you mean you are worried about your
daughter finding you on a dating website or your wife? As for meeting up,
thanks but no thanks. I have enough complications of my own</i>!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">These were
probably the two strangest and most memorable messages in about 100, but
combined with little evidence that there was anyone I would consider dating
amongst the remaining 98, the decision to cancel my membership forthwith was a
no-brainer! Amusingly enough, I met up with a friend of a friend the following
week whose reaction on learning that I had signed up to Match.com was something
like:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Match.com?! Reeeally?! Don’t you know that
most of the men on there are builders or window cleaners?! You need to try a
more upmarket site. A friend of mine met her husband a few years ago on
Guardian Soulmates.’<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Apart from
the obvious intellectual snobbery of this comment, what made me laugh most about
her remark was that I had been frantically seeking a window cleaner to tackle
the numerous windows of my parents’ large Georgian house in the hope of
attracting a buyer. Had I known that Match.com had a lot of subscriptions from window
cleaners I might have stayed, if only to get myself a discount on my window cleaning
bill! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">After this
brief trial period of internet dating, I really thought that would be the end
of my adventures in this arena until about a month later when I found myself at
a loose end once again. What to do? The options weren’t exactly numerous and
going to see a film unaccompanied in London is one thing, but in a small
provincial town where you can’t easily slip unobserved into a seat – you tend
to stand out at the Regent Centre if you are tall and striking and under 60
years of age! – the appeal of this idea was minimal. As I was considering
whether to accept a last minute invitation from someone I had long since
decided was not only bad for my liver but also my peace of mind, I recalled
that a friend of mine had met her partner on a website called ‘Plenty more
fish’. So I ditched the idea of going out with Mr Right Now (but you’ll regret
it later) and settled in for the evening with a glass of red in one hand and my
iPad in the other to undertake the tedious process of writing another profile summary.
This time I was a little more hopeful, but mainly due to the triumph of
optimism over experience than for any logical reason. Fast forward one week and
my experiences on this new dating site were already beginning to closely resemble
those of the first. Furthermore, some of the profiles of the men who had shown
an interest in me were far from appealing to my feminine sensibilities. Many of
them appeared to understand very little about marketing themselves to a female
audience and some of their comments suggested that any sane woman would be well
advised to give them a wide berth! By way of example, I give you Steve from
Southbourne, who wrote something along these lines: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Although I’m not exactly Brad Pitt, I’ve
been told I’m quite handsome. I have been around the block a few times and done
some things I’m not proud of but I’m happy with my life right now. I am no
saint but I do know how to give a woman a good time. Just one thing, if you
decide to date me, don’t do what my last date did when she sent me a message
saying ‘nobody home’ just before we were due to meet and when I got to her house,
sure enough there was nobody</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">home!</i>’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If this was
his profile on a dating site, I would be fascinated to read his CV! Steve clearly
had no idea how to endear himself to a woman, which was made all the more
apparent when he sent me a message (by way of introduction) which just said –
Yes or No? This did not require too much thought on my part. My immediate
reaction was to respond with: ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Well lover
boy, I hate to break it to you but it has to be No</i>!’. I don’t recall the
exact response I gave at the time, but I must have said something uncomfortably
close to the truth because he immediately blocked me from contacting him, which
was more than fine by me! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Perhaps I
am a little harsh and also a touch impatient – after all, few people encounter
their Mr Darcy on the internet or anywhere else that quickly. However, I am at
a stage in my life where I have neither the time nor the inclination to kiss
any more frogs and if my Prince Charming is still out there somewhere, he is
clearly riding a lame horse in the wrong direction. If you happen to come
across him, do please let him know that the lady of his dreams is getting a
little weary of waiting and point him in the right direction! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Luckily
none of this has been wasted experience and I have learned a little more about
myself in the process. It seems that when it comes to dating, I tend to veer
between the extremes of settling for way too little (which always happens when
I default to my habitual pattern of falling for an unavailable man) or being so
fussy that I refuse to consider someone unless there is an instant attraction. So clearly
I still have some work to do on myself in this area. But one thing I have
learned is that whenever I settle for less than I want in any area of my life,
the universe tends to respond with ever diminishing returns. This is how the
law of attraction operates: if you hold a deep-rooted feeling or belief that
you don’t deserve to have your needs met, that will be the reality that you
experience. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outer experience mirrors
inner thought and from what I have observed, this is a universal truth as
unquestionable as the law of gravity! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As for
internet dating, although it clearly works for some, I think I can conclude
that it is not for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t believe
in the idea that we only have one ‘soulmate’ and I stubbornly refuse to share the
widespread view among my single female friends that all the good men are taken.
Yet, whilst I recognise that there is some truth to the old adage that there
are always ‘plenty more fish in the sea’, I also know that I’m not casting my
bait for your average fish. I am hoping to meet someone unusual… someone a bit like
myself, and that person is likely to be as adverse to sifting through profiles
on cyberspace in search of love as I am!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: x-small; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2016</b></span></div>
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-22514620969477235022015-12-17T11:35:00.000+00:002020-04-24T15:07:24.378+01:00The Power of Union<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Towards the
end of 2014, I finally decided to stop procrastinating and get myself to a yoga
class. The reason I had been avoiding
taking up yoga for so long is that I had mistakenly assumed that I would find
it too slow paced and gentle, especially as my usual exercise routine consists
of rigorous workouts of the ‘<i>no gain without pain</i>’ variety. I have since
discovered how wrong I was to dismiss this ancient form of exercise as some
kind of gentle stretching routine for those who don’t like breaking into a sweat! I have also found that my rather presumptuous assumption that all yoga devotees
are uptight vegans whose preferred beverage is a carrot and beetroot smoothie
is not entirely accurate! Furthermore, I soon discovered that there are many
forms of yoga and that some of them can be very challenging, both mentally and
physically. In fact, trying to hold some of the more strenuous postures in
Ashtanga yoga for any length of time, whilst simultaneously remembering to
breathe correctly, is a lesson in concentration and endurance unlike any other!
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">I am not sure
why I felt such resistance to learning yoga because in many ways it is the
perfect form of exercise for someone with a passion for dance; in fact,
the graceful flowing movements are very similar to the ballet poses I spent
hours practising and perfecting as a young girl. But the
greatest benefit I have gained from my yoga practise - in addition to greater
strength, flexibility and balance - is an improved sense of well-being and calm. The end result is that I sleep better, my concentration has improved and I am generally less anxious.
In fact, following a good yoga workout I often feel as though I have been
cleansed from within. I have also learnt
to breathe properly so that whenever my mind starts racing and spiraling out
of control, I have the skills to calm myself down just by focusing on my
breathing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The meaning
of the word ‘yoga’ is union – signifying the union of body and mind. And in a
year that has been marred by one loss after another, I am deeply grateful to
have learnt the skills to quieten my raging mind and aching heart – bringing
some much-needed balance to my tempestuous life. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: x-small;"><b>Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2015</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwv-dtiBtak2wMF5IhW-a4EJQENuzY0Bgk1KZVED9gT8Ie-F1i5DrXk1cQXyD92gMEZqcq7xa3iy4y_2PnyyjuXTCgcI1f0CGwepLuYcMW5zc2mfsjAO4BQPoqXETTFQrmWoaWxzRxHiP/s1600/11108402_10205854857223459_5200945397896078952_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwv-dtiBtak2wMF5IhW-a4EJQENuzY0Bgk1KZVED9gT8Ie-F1i5DrXk1cQXyD92gMEZqcq7xa3iy4y_2PnyyjuXTCgcI1f0CGwepLuYcMW5zc2mfsjAO4BQPoqXETTFQrmWoaWxzRxHiP/s320/11108402_10205854857223459_5200945397896078952_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-44335310511108530152015-12-07T08:45:00.001+00:002015-12-07T08:53:06.063+00:00Rising from the ashes of adversity ... my recent interview on Authenticity Radio<a href="https://www.spreaker.com/embed/player/standard?episode_id=7289813&autoplay=false" target="_blank">https://www.spreaker.com/embed/player/standard?episode_id=7289813&autoplay=false</a><br />
<br />
<br />Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-68325690122218627682015-11-27T12:18:00.002+00:002020-04-24T15:10:59.021+01:00Silver linings…for Lola<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">As yesterday
was Thanksgiving, my housemate and I decided to honour this date by sharing some
of the things we are most grateful for over dinner. This got me thinking about
some of the most significant events of the past year from a new perspective;
one that is more focused on what I have gained during this time, rather than
what has been lost. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">I have always
had the tendency to be a ‘glass half-empty’ kind of girl but I am acutely aware
that the key to contentment is being grateful for what you have – never taking
good fortune for granted, however fleetingly it may occur. So in my final post
before the beginning of a new year, I would like to review some of the most
salient experiences of 2015 from another angle. If only to remind myself that
in this most difficult and unforgettable of years, there have also been some wonderful
moments…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b>Spring</b><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The first and
most memorable of these was the birth of my beautiful niece, born in early
March. I will never forget the elated expression on my mother’s face when she
came to tell me this wonderful news. By
this stage in the year, she was very seriously ill but nothing could detract
from her happiness at knowing she had a new granddaughter. Looking back, I feel
certain that she must have used every last vestige of her formidable mental strength
to remain with us for this major event. I also know that she could not have
left this world in peace without being certain that her granddaughter had arrived
safely. Although the baby’s birth at such a difficult time caused us all to
swing between extremes of joy and sorrow, it gave us a new focus that helped shift
our attention from the spectre of illness and death. Eight months later, now that my brother’s
daughter is beginning to reveal her character and grow into her features, I
realise that nothing is ever completely lost – things just change their form. I
say this because this gorgeous creature has a little piece of my mother
indelibly written into her DNA, as can be observed from her big blue eyes and
forceful character! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">One of the
most enduring outcomes of my mother’s passing has been the way it has
transformed the relationship between me and my brother. The shared experience
of caring for her has brought us closer in ways that I could never have
imagined. During the final week of her life, an unprecedented kind of role
reversal occurred as we assumed the responsibility for caring for her, like
parents watching over a young child. We barely left her side for five seemingly
interminable days – taking it in turns to stay awake at night and when things
got really bad, looking after her together. The shared responsibility of supporting
her, and each other during those tough times has created a bond between us that
I have not felt since we were children. I can only feel gratitude for our
newfound closeness – no matter how difficult the circumstances that brought it
about. I am also profoundly grateful that we were able to honour my mother’s final
wish of dying at home. So many people spend their last days in the clinical
environment of a hospital, far from their friends and family – instead she was
surrounded by love until the very last moment of her life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">By early
summer, my life had acquired a veneer of stability following the emotional
turmoil of the preceding months.
Nonetheless, I was conscious of a lingering fragility just beneath the
surface. My main concern was my son, who had become uncharacteristically
withdrawn following the abrupt loss of both his grandparents. He had always
been very close to both of them, and inevitably their sudden departure hit him
hard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">So, I decided
that what we both needed was a change of scene and a dose of <i>la dolce</i> vita: sunshine, good food and
beautiful people. Over the last few years, Italy has become my favourite European
destination and fortunately my son loves it as much as I do. So in mid-July, we
arrived in the beautiful medieval town of Assisi. What I hadn’t known when I
somewhat arbitrarily chose that particular destination is that our visit would
coincide with the Umbria Jazz festival. This annual event is arguably one of
the best Jazz festivals in Europe and we soon discovered that it was taking
place in the renaissance hill city of Perugia – just half an hour by train from
Assisi. The atmosphere at this 10-day event was electric as some 200,000 people
thronged the streets to enjoy the free concerts, which continued all day and long
into the night at both ends of the old town. The cafes were rammed with people
watching lesser known musicians conducting impromptu jamming sessions, while
the headline bands followed a more orderly schedule in the main square.
Christian and I soaked it all up and even got up to dance to the lively melodies
of one of the best Italian Jazz bands I have heard to date: ‘<i>Accordi Disaccordi</i>’. Formed by a trio of
two guitarists and a double bass player, their music is best described as a
mixture of gypsy jazz and swing, heavily influenced by Italian traditions. Hearing
them play was one of the highlights of our holiday – reminding me that some of
the best things in life occur unplanned. <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">One month
after our return from Italy, events in my life took another unexpected turn: on
the 31st August, I finally came face to face with my soulmate! This was
probably the greatest surprise of a highly unpredictable year, not least
because the person in question did not conform to my romantic ideals. In fact by
virtue of her gender, <i>she</i> did not take
the form I was expecting at all! Perhaps I should clarify what I mean here by
the term ‘<i>soulmate’. </i>Like most
people, I had associated this concept with the idealistic notion that for every
person there is just one other being in the world, who is their perfect match. But it now seems that romantic love doesn’t
necessarily play any part in it – a soulmate is just someone who <i>gets us</i> like nobody else does. For me,
the only reliable indicator that we may have met this significant person is an
inexplicable sense of recognition and affinity – for reasons that obey no
apparent logic. This perfectly describes my first encounter with Emma. Instead
of conforming to the standard form of an initial greeting, along the lines of: ‘<i>Hello, nice to meet you</i>’. Our first
exchange was more like: ‘<i>Hey there, nice
to see you again. By the way, where the heck have you been all this time?!</i>’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">As time went
by, many unlikely parallels between our lives emerged. To begin with, sometime
in mid-October while idly discussing our plans for the following week, we discovered
that we share a birthday. Although this was a surprise, it may account for some
of the striking similarities between us. But, in addition to being born on the
same day, we also found that our interests, aptitudes and family backgrounds are
closely aligned. One thing is certain, I have never met anyone whose thoughts
and emotions I can read so easily, and who needs no words from me to know what
I’m feeling. Whatever the explanation for this apparent synergy, our meeting
could not have happened at a better time for either of us. For my part, Emma’s
presence has helped lift my spirits during some very challenging months; while from
her point of view, living with me has given her somewhere to find her feet and spread
her wings. Either way, this is something I could never have envisaged when I
decided to rent a room in my house!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b>Autumn</b></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Following an
eventful but restorative summer, autumn heralded the arrival of another series
of unanticipated events. In early October, an email appeared in my inbox
advertising a healing workshop in Glastonbury. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Within minutes of receiving it, I made the rather
spur of the moment decision to attend. I didn’t want to give myself too long to
think about it as I sensed that this was something I needed, even though my
natural scepticism was already telling me otherwise. It is perhaps understandable
that I felt apprehensive about sharing my feelings with a room full of
strangers or being forced to partake in a series of </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">hippy</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> healing rituals! But, I am glad that I chose to ignore the
promptings of my inner cynic because the weekend involved a substantial number
of just such activities. And h</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">ad I known this for sure, I would probably have run for
the hills! But by trusting my instincts and not my doubting mind, I gained more
than I could have imagined </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">– </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">not just in terms of healing but also in the form
of unforeseen opportunities. The most exciting of these was being invited to
talk about my writing in a radio interview. Watch this space!</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b>Winter</b><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">As late autumn gave way to winter, further unforeseen developments brought new challenges in
their wake. In mid-November, my boss called me into her office to tell me that she
had decided to extend my probationary period. This was not what I was expecting
to hear, especially within weeks of being given a pay rise in recognition of my
achievements. I was aware that my energy levels and concentration had been less
than optimal but this announcement was still a bombshell. I have never failed
to get through a probationary period in any job I have had to date, so this was
very hard for me to accept. On the other hand, I have never had to learn the
ropes of a new job whilst simultaneously having to manage so much adversity in
my personal life. To her credit, my boss was very sensitive in her delivery of
this news but after a week of minor vicissitudes, this additional setback hit
me hard. Since then, I have begun to see the possibilities that this apparently
adverse turn of circumstances has revealed. To begin with, I now have the
option of working flexible hours so that I can try to regain the balance and
focus needed to function effectively at work and beyond. I have also been given the unprecedented
opportunity to decide what direction my job should take. But the greatest benefit to arise from this apparent
setback is that it has reminded me that the support I need is all around me – I
just need to slow down and allow myself to accept it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">I always know
that I have been touched by the presence of grace when events conspire to
nurture and support me, without my active participation in seeking them
out. I can only feel gratitude for the
many manifestations of grace that have been bestowed on me during such a
turbulent year. I say this because throughout this period, I have the
impression that I have never been alone in my struggles – even when it might
have appeared that way. On the contrary, during the toughest times I have been supported
through unexpected channels and in unforeseen ways, bringing me all that I have
needed to whether the storm. As one of my favourite quotes reads: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">‘</span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I do not understand the mystery of grace –
only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">’</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">In the wake
of so much change and transformation, I know that I have reached a major
turning point in my life. But as I stand at the crossroads between my past and
my future, instead of suffering for what has been lost or worrying about what
is yet to come, I finally feel free to embrace the gift of the present moment.
For the first time in many months, I feel a sense of hope and anticipation. This is because whatever happens in 2016, I know that I will not be alone. And for that I am
truly grateful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright @ Claire-Louise Osorio, 2015</span></b> </span><br />
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-5594199627334363942015-11-17T17:54:00.002+00:002020-04-24T15:11:38.732+01:00Looking back...moving forwards<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">With
Christmas just over 5 weeks away and 2015 soon drawing to an end, I have been
reflecting on some of the events of the past year. I can say without hesitation
that this has been one of the most challenging and life-altering periods of my
entire existence. I hope that with time and distance I may be able to see the blessings that have arrived in the wake of so much loss and sadness, but I am
not there yet. Like the survivor of an unexpected natural disaster, I find
myself standing in an altered landscape surveying the destruction of what was
and wondering if I dare to trust the ground beneath my feet. For this reason, I am
not going to write about my experiences in any detail until I have gained
the clarity and sense of perspective that only comes with time and distance. Instead,
I would like to share some of the things that have helped me get through the
lowest points of my journey. I do this in the hope that those who have been
through something similar may gain some comfort and inspiration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">At the
beginning of the year, a close friend gave me a copy of a book called ‘<i>Broken Open</i>’ by Elizabeth Lesser. At the
time, I was so preoccupied with what was going on in my immediate environment
that I had little time or inclination for reading; I was still coping with the
painful realisation that my mother was losing her battle with cancer and that
my marriage was over. But, in fact it turned out to be the one of the most
valuable and timely gifts I have ever been given. In the intense weeks following
my mother’s passing, this book soon became my favourite bedtime companion, my
inspiration and, at times even my saviour. It is no exaggeration to say that
reading it has helped keep me grounded and stable during the most arduous
moments of the past year. For this reason alone, I would not hesitate to
recommend it to anyone who has suffered a major loss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">In essence, ‘<i>Broken Open’</i> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">is
of a series of beautifully written essays that document the many ways that we
may be broken open by events such as the death of a loved one, divorce and
illness – and how we can emerge from these life-changing events, altered but
strengthened<i>.</i> It suggests ways that this involuntary <i>breaking open</i> can actually be beneficial
if we allow ourselves to embrace rather than resist the process, so that we emerge from the ruins as stronger, wiser and more compassionate individuals. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">A
central theme of the book is something the author refers to as the ‘Phoenix
Process’ </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">–</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">in honour of the mythical phoenix, which is said to burn itself to
nothing and then arise transformed from the ashes. She speaks with unflinching honesty
about her own major Phoenix Process, which arose from the demise of her
marriage and how this led to the birth of a self that had lain dormant for
years. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">There is a paragraph in this section that particularly struck me. It reads as
follows:</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">"</span><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">I have seen people crumble in times of
trouble, lose their spirit and never fully recover. I have also seen others
protect themselves fiercely from any kind of change, until they are living a
half- life, safe yet stunted. But I have also seen another way to deal with
change or a painful loss. I call this other way the Phoenix Process - named for
the mythical phoenix bird that remains awake through the fires of change, rises
from the ashes of death, and is reborn into his most vibrant and enlightened
self.</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Reading this served
to remind me that we always have a choice as to how we respond to life’s trials
and tribulations: we can either allow them to break us or we can use the
suffering they cause as fuel for self-development. But one of the most timely
and useful lessons I gained from reading this inspirational book is the idea
that you have to <i>lean into</i> your grief
rather than seek to avoid it. There is one particular paragraph that neatly
encapsulates this concept, which reads as follows: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #181818; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">"</span><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">If we do not suffer a loss all the way
to the end, it will wait for us. It won't just dissipate and disappear. Rather,
it will fester and we will experience its sorrow later, in stranger
forms." </span></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">This caught my attention because it made me see that I had become so adept at containing
my emotions that I could no longer feel anything much at all. I was so busy
trying to mask my grief so I could function like a ‘<i>normal’</i> person that I had scarcely noticed the gradual numbness enveloping
me, like a dark and very dense fog. Reading
this made me realise that unless I gave myself permission to really <i>feel</i> my pain, I was going to end up
reliant on sleeping pills or antidepressants - for a very long time. This may
sound simple enough but in practice, allowing yourself to feel following the
loss of a loved one can seem much like jumping backwards off a cliff without a
harness. This process requires trust and courage in equal measure: courage to
face the sadness and allow it to flow through you, and trust that the painful
feelings will eventually subside. I think of this as something akin to stepping
into a metaphorical ring of fire – where you just surrender to the process and
allow it to burn away and purify the painful emotions. I now know that allowing
such feelings to come up helps them to subside more quickly than trying to
block them, which actually takes a phenomenal amount of energy! And it definitely works better
than trying to force them into submission with all sorts of diversionary
tactics. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">I will end by
saying that although this year has been one of intense and difficult changes –
leaving me feeling at times like the victim of a series of very bad car accidents! – I am aware of having gained something valuable from this experience.
This is because from time to time, I have been able to gain just enough
distance from all the turmoil and drama to appreciate my own remarkable
resilience. At such moments, I have been filled with a great sense of reverence
and respect for myself. For what these hardest of times have shown me is that
even though I may sometimes doubt myself and even though I may still stumble
and fall, I will never allow myself to be defeated – no matter what life may
throw at me. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: x-small;"><b>Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2015</b></span></div>
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-88544409998641383872015-09-17T15:58:00.003+01:002015-09-17T16:27:31.651+01:00The Rise of the Phoenix<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The last few
years have been a sterile period for my creative life – something akin to an
Alaskan winter from which I am only slowly beginning to emerge. The story
behind this is a long and complex one but the reason for my recent silence is
that in March of this year, my mother finally lost her battle with cancer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">When she was
first diagnosed, we were told in no uncertain terms that there was no cure for
her particular variant of this disease but that the symptoms could be ‘managed’
for an ‘indeterminate’ period. Loosely translated, this meant that she would be
given intensive chemotherapy but that how long she lived would depend on the progression
of the cancer. As a result of this
devastating diagnosis, from April 2012 until March 2015, I experienced the strange
and unsettling sensation of falling off a cliff backwards in slow motion;
certain that I was going to hit the ground eventually, without being sure when.
Throughout this time, I battled to prepare myself psychologically for her
eventual departure from this world and our lives. Perhaps not surprisingly, I also found myself
unable to write with any consistency. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Now that the
ice has begun to thaw around my battered heart, I hope that the words and
stories that I want to share may start to flow freely again. Perhaps the time
has come to cast aside the hard shell of my grief and rediscover those things
that bring a smile to my lips and a spring to my step. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Over the last
three years, acute instability and uncertainty have been the dominant themes.
During this period, I have been fascinated by the striking synchronicity
between events in my personal life and the powerful interplay between the
planet of Saturn and my birth sign of Scorpio. I have always believed that
interplanetary movements affect us mortals here on earth, so the apparent link
between what has been going on for me personally and what has been occurring <i>out there</i> in the solar system comes as
no surprise to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">As it turns
out, between October 2012 and September this year, Saturn has entered, exited
and then re-entered the sign of Scorpio; bringing with it many tough lessons –
particularly for those of us born under this sign. Saturn isn’t a warm, fuzzy
planet at the best of times and it assumes a particularly cold countenance in
Scorpio. Saturn’s job is to accelerate the processes of maturity and
responsibility by forcing us to examine those aspects of ourselves that we
would prefer to ignore. Under its influence we are given the opportunity to get
our house in order, or continue to suffer the consequences! These things are
forced on us, as most of us would naturally avoid them if we could.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Saturn’s most recent return to Scorpio is the last time
this planet will pass through my birth sign for the next 29 years. </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">From what I have read, this will offer
Scorpios everywhere another opportunity to apply the wisdom acquired from the
harsh lessons of the past few years: a chance to review and correct mistakes
and wind up any unfinished business from the original transit. For me
personally, Saturn’s last dance with Scorpio has resulted in the unrelenting
disintegration of almost every aspect of my life - including work, money,
family and marriage. During this period, the tectonic plates of my personal
landscape have shifted dramatically. The end result is that all that seemed
stable and secure has been dismantled and reconfigured.</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">In my quest
to negotiate this turbulent period to the best of my ability, I have devoured all
manner of articles from a wide range of sources. One such publication was an
interview in Twine Magazine, in which Twine’s resident astrology writer
discusses Saturn’s transit through Scorpio with professional astrologer, Dr Debra
Silverman. What I liked most about Dr Silverman‘s observations is that they
offer a fresh and profound perspective, both on the nature of Saturn and that
of Scorpio. In fact, her words on this subject – quote to follow </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">– </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">have given me some useful insights and
a renewed sense of empowerment:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">“<i>Saturn doesn’t have to be negative at all.
He is the high-school principal that catches you in the hallway and asks you if
you’ve done your homework. If you go against Saturn and try to cut corners and
take shortcuts, Saturn will call you into his office. But if you do your
homework, he will reward you with achievement and success. Those who seek excellence
simply have to become friends with Saturn. It doesn’t mean you have to hate
what you are working towards. It means you take what you find joy in doing and
practice it regularly in order to find mastery over it. Saturn is Purpose. If
you are aligned with your purpose and </i></span><i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">practice it regularly, Saturn says, “You’re with me.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">In this interview, Dr Silverman also challenges some of
the commonly held misconceptions about the misunderstood and much maligned sign
of Scorpio. In her words, Scorpio is “<i>the
sign that takes the darkness and brings it to the light</i>.” I love this description
as it reaffirms my sense that Scorpios possess something akin to x-ray vision.
This enables us to see beneath the surface of things to expose the truth – no
matter how dark or inconvenient it may be. In fact, this innate ability to
uncover the shadow-self in both ourselves and others is no doubt why some
people feel uncomfortable in our presence!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Towards the end of the interview, she goes on to explain
that there are, in fact, three kinds of Scorpios– depending on how spiritually
evolved the person in question may be. These are as follows:<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">The
Snake/Scorpion: This is the Scorpio who dwells only in the darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">The Eagle
(or “Blonde Scorpios”): Scorpios that dwell exclusively in the light. Often
“goodie-goodies” because they fear and reject their own darkness without
acknowledging it. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Symbol; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">The
Phoenix: This Scorpio is the most powerful sign in the Zodiac. Phoenixes have
no fear of the darkness yet they are comfortable in the light. Where there is
no fear, there is power. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">What immediately
struck me about this was that when I decided to name my blog, I actually had no
idea that the phoenix is a symbol of my birth sign! I do love this kind of ‘coincidence’,
which I think of as just another form of synchronicity. Either way, the fact is
that for as long as I can remember, I have felt drawn to the striking images of
this mythical creature rising from the flames of destruction to be born anew. By
virtue of its innate capacity to transmute material reality, the phoenix is a
powerful alchemist and an enduring symbol of hope and resilience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">During some of the most challenging periods of my life, the
symbolic power of the phoenix has served as a reminder of my own strength and
resilience. It has taught me that whatever life may throw my way, I too have
the ability to raise myself up from the flames of adversity. This is never a
comfortable process and I have rarely come through it unscathed but, despite the
inevitable battle scars, I have always emerged stronger and wiser from the
ashes of my former self. And for that I can only be grateful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-19509944761876729742014-02-02T14:21:00.000+00:002020-04-24T15:12:14.665+01:00The transformative value of suffering…<br />
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Bad things happen to us all from time to time but I have
always believed that what defines our value as human beings is the way we
respond to such challenges. And sometimes out of the greatest suffering, the
most amazing transformations can be born. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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As those of you who regularly read my blog will know, at the
beginning of this year I found myself facing a crisis in my personal life. I cannot say that I am grateful for this experience because the
pain I felt was so intense that for a while I struggled
to eat, sleep and do even the most basic everyday things. On the other hand, it did serve a useful purpose: something akin to a long overdue and much-needed wake-up call! With the benefit of hindsight, I now appreciate that perhaps only
something of this magnitude could have made me see that I had inadvertently taken a detour down a blind alley. For the truth is that I had been sleepwalking
through life for many months - barely conscious of myself or my interactions with others - along a route that was taking me further and further in the wrong direction. I would no doubt have continued in this way had the invisible hand of destiny not intervened - forcefully slapping me awake and breaking me open!</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have always been a person who is prone to extremes. Unfortunately,
this means that I am very sensitive to both the positive and negative forces in
life - with an innate tendency to lean towards a ‘glass half empty’ type of thinking.
So, unless I constantly challenge myself to stay conscious, when difficulties arise I can easily find myself sucked under by their negative pull. This is effectively what had been happening to me over a prolonged period and although I was vaguely aware of it, I hadn’t fully appreciated just
how far down the road to hell I had travelled until the Universe decided to
intervene by giving me a huge kick in the rear! At the time, I wondered what an
earth was happening and how life could seemingly be so consistently cruel to
me. But, I have come to see that although this has been an excruciatingly painful
experience, it has actually been necessary to get me back on the right track.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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I do not often refer to Buddhism in my posts but it is of particular
relevance here, because the way I have dealt with my personal challenges is
firmly rooted in the philosophy of my spiritual practice. Nichiren Buddhism
teaches that life’s problems are necessary because, without them, we would be
unable to develop ourselves as human beings and change our negative karma. This is quite a radical concept and one that
embodies a profoundly hopeful way of looking at life’s adversities. Instead of
seeing pain and suffering as just pain and suffering, this school of Buddhism
teaches us to see any kind of adversity we may face as an opportunity. In fact
the Lotus flower – which represents the guiding philosophy of this form of
Buddhism - can only grow in murky waters. This perfectly symbolises the concept
that in order to grow and change, we actually need to experience adversity. And,
at times, life can definitely throw plenty of mud our way! <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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With this in mind, I have dedicated myself body and soul to
using my suffering to make some much long overdue changes in my life. This has
resulted in a radical re-evaluation of who I want to be and how I want to show
up in the world. Almost every aspect of my life has been questioned in this
process – including how and where I live, what I do for a living and the way I
relate to others. In fact, in this last area I am already beginning to see positive
changes in the way I interact with some of my closest family members –
particularly my brother. <o:p></o:p><br />
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As you know, the title of my blog is Forever Phoenix and I
have always felt a deep connection to this mythical creature and all that it
symbolises. At various stages in my life, I have had to rebuild my world and
start over but I have never learnt so much about myself in the process as I
have in the last few weeks. Of one thing I am certain – this suffering has allowed
me to become softer, more self-aware, and more compassionate to myself and
others; but, above all, it has enabled me to become much clearer about how I
want to live my life. So, despite a deep sense of sadness and regret, I actually
feel more alive and more awake to life’s possibilities than I ever have. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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Suddenly it feels like I am poised at the edge of something
very new and exciting. And, like a diver, I am flexing my muscles and taking a
deep breath – ready to plunge wholeheartedly into the beautiful unknown. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2014</span></b></div>
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-36732242215236051482014-01-07T15:16:00.002+00:002020-04-24T15:12:52.565+01:00New beginnings and difficult endings...<div class="MsoNormal">
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The beginning of any New Year is usually a time
of hope and optimism. It is also a time of reflection as we look back on the
year just passed and think about our goals and resolutions for the year to
come. But the transition from one calendar year to another rarely signifies a
sudden change in personal fortune – whether positive or negative. It takes more
than a change in date to make that happen, and many of us will have abandoned
our plans for self-improvement before the month of January is even over. Yet
still, we hold onto the hope that with good intentions and a bit of will power,
the New Year will bring us what we truly desire. <br />
<br />
On a personal level, I was very glad to say
goodbye to 2013. It had been a year beset with difficulties at work and in my
personal life. So like many others, I held onto the hope that 2014 would see an
improvement in these areas and that perhaps grace and good fortune would be on
my side. Unfortunately, just 7 days into the New Year, I have found myself
still facing the same challenges as last year, only now I am facing them alone.
Just 3 days into 2014, my husband and I separated after 4 years together.
The shock and pain of this is still so fresh that I barely know what to do with
myself, but I am doing the one thing I can do right now – which is to
write.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I can’t say that this break up was totally
unexpected, but just last month my husband and I had spent some meaningful and
much-needed time together, so I had dared to hope that we had turned a corner.
I had hoped that we could reconcile our differences and begin to move forwards
in the same direction, sadly I was wrong. After a stupid and seemingly inconsequential
argument, he announced that he had been unhappy with me for months and that he
no longer loved me. I was stunned and devastated. When someone tells you they
are unhappy in their relationship with you, there is at least some chance or
hope of talking it through and finding a resolution. But, if that person tells
you they no longer love you, there is nowhere to go from there. <br />
<br /></div>
What saddens me most is that although we had
been feeling more and more disconnected for several months, instead of talking
about it or taking action, we just let it go. To be fair, during this
time my husband tried to bridge the ever widening gap between us by offering me
his support, but I just felt so exhausted and empty inside that I could not
respond. I had become so caught up in my own problems that I didn’t fully
realise that I was pushing him further and further away.<br />
<br />
Someone once told me that when we are facing
great trauma or stress in our lives, we revert to our default patterns – the
ones we learnt in early childhood. Unfortunately my default pattern seems to be
that when I am suffering, I cut myself off from the most important people in my
life. I become self-involved, introverted, and stubbornly self-sufficient. From
an early age, I have learnt to shield myself from disappointment and pain by
not relying on anyone but we all need help and support, especially during tough
times. Unfortunately, in the course of several bad relationships, including the
one I had with my father, I also learnt that the only way to avoid being hurt
by a man is to barricade your heart from him. Because of this, I refused to
allow my husband to support me when I needed him most - inadvertently sending a
signal that his help was not needed - when actually nothing could have been
further from the truth!<br />
<br />
It is not my intention to blame or berate myself for what has happened
because there had been problems in my marriage for a long time and it takes two
to break a relationship. But, I have to recognise the part I played, if only to
make sure this never happens again. I do not want to live a life devoid of
shared intimacy, unable to either give or receive love, so the time has come
from me to take what lessons I can from this painful experience and make some
long overdue changes to the way I live my life.<br />
<br />
So, I intend to turn my focus inward and start
doing the work. I don’t know how I am going to get there or how long it will
take, but I must have faith that I am the master of my destiny and that I don’t
have to let the past determine my future. The only way the pain of this
situation can have any purpose or meaning for me is if I can use it to
transform myself – like the phoenix rising from the ashes. It is not
coincidental that I use this metaphor, Forever Phoenix, is after all the title
of this blog. The reason I chose it is because throughout my life I have faced
a series of major setbacks and losses and, each time, I have had to start over
and rebuild my world from the inside out. I have no doubt that I will do this
again, despite the heartbreak that currently engulfs me.<br />
<br />
I don’t know how long it will take me to pick
myself up and start over but I don’t think it is just a matter of time. They
say time heals all wounds but in my experience, it takes a lot more than that.
If we don’t really learn from what has gone wrong in our lives, we just carry
old scars forward and carry on making the same errors time and time again. To
change our destiny – our karma – we have to actively participate in the
process, arming ourselves with courage to transform those things in ourselves
that keep causing us to suffer. This is my goal, not just for this New Year,
but for the rest of my life. Meanwhile, I pray that I may emerge from this
experience, stronger, wiser, and happier.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading and wishing you all that I wish for myself - peace of
mind, gratitude and the resilience to cope with adversity without losing hope -
not just in this New Year but Forever After.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2014</span></b></div>
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-82759384595317892242013-03-08T16:04:00.002+00:002017-03-08T11:20:04.431+00:00If I won the lottery….<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Words are my true love and putting them together into a well-crafted ensemble is my favourite pastime. Unfortunately, herein lies the rub; because, in recent months, I have had no time to pass in this creative endeavour. This saddens me… in fact it down right depresses me because I get such joy from writing. However, there is writing and then there is WRITING …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">To clarify, I admit that, <em>strictly speaking</em>, I cannot claim that I have had no time to write. In actual fact, I have sat before my computer tirelessly weaving sentences together for many weeks now. However, whilst the aim of these daily endeavours is undoubtedly a worthy one, this form of self-expression definitely falls into the category of writing - as opposed to WRITING. The reason is simple: although the creation of a compelling appeal allows me to craft my words in service of a worthy cause, it rarely inspires my Creative Muse to put in an appearance. In fact, this lady has been uncharacteristically silent for some time now and I suspect that she will remain so, unless given an unexpected opportunity to materialise. For the reality is that each minute of my day is currently accounted for, from the time I awake to the moment my head hits the pillow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">I often hear people talk of what they would do if they won the lottery. For me it is quite simple: I would quit my job, find myself a quiet spot on a Tuscan hill, and WRITE - all day, every day - from dawn ‘til dusk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is my dearest and most cherished dream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-4926188972211495362013-01-10T15:05:00.002+00:002020-04-24T15:14:03.290+01:00Looking back with an eye to the future<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">As 2012 drew to a close, I inevitably found myself reflecting on some of the highs and lows of that extraordinary year. I refer to it as extraordinary because during the last 12 months, some truly life altering events have occurred in my little corner of the universe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">In Chinese culture, 2012 was the year of the Dragon - the Water Dragon, to be specific. The dragon is widely regarded as the most auspicious of all the animal signs; therefore, in Chinese astrology, dragon years signify good fortune. Dragon years are also associated with growth and change. According to popular mythology, the dragon’s head and tail cannot be seen at the same time - symbolising its unpredictable and untouchable nature. From this, we might infer that believers in Chinese astrology would have expected 2012 to be a year of transformations and unexpected events. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">Broadening our cultural reference point, the ancient Mayans also predicted that 2012 would be a year of deep and far-reaching transformations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, the wisdom of the ancient Mayans was erroneously interpreted by many as a sort of ‘Nostradamian’ prophecy of impending apocalypse. However, according to Mayan scholars, what the Mayans foretold was that significant transformations would occur in 2012, not that life on earth would cease to exist. This is because, according to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mesoamerican_Long_Count_calendar" title="Mesoamerican Long Count calendar"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Mesoamerican Long Count calendar</span></a>, 21 December 2012 marks the end-date of a 5,125-year-long cycle. Consequently, far from signifying the end of the world, this date referred to a period of change and renewal – the start of a new era. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">On a personal level, there is no doubt that for me and my family, 2012 was a year of cataclysmic shifts. In early January, I suddenly found myself facing the threat of redundancy– a terrifying prospect for anyone who has no other income to fall back on and a child to support whose father makes no financial contribution. Not only that, I had relocated from London to take my current job and, after less than two years, it seemed like I would have to begin the arduous search for work all over again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had taken me a long time to adjust to living in the South West and to settle my son into a new school so this idea did not fill me with joy - particularly as it would most likely involve moving away from the area. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">Then in May, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. This was a huge shock to me and my family, particularly as this formidable lady has always seemed so physically strong and robust – so much so that in 25 years she never once took a day’s sick leave from work. However, on reflection, I realise this may have been due to her stubborn British stoicism, rather than because she was blessed with exceptionally good health. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">I have never had an easy relationship with my mother, but suddenly finding myself forced to confront the prospect of her imminent death was devastating. We all know that our parents will not live forever and, having worked for a bereavement charity, I thought I would be better prepared than most to deal with this reality; yet, as I discovered, nothing prepares you for the loss of someone you love. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">However, there is no doubt that I would have coped better with the shattering reality of my mother’s life-threatening illness were it not for the fact that I was also facing huge pressures and uncertainty at work. As if things were not tough enough already by this stage, I had also taken on the role of primary carer for my father, who has early stage dementia. During this period, it felt like a huge fist had appeared from nowhere and shattered my whole world, with one deadly blow after another. For, no sooner had I started to deal with one difficulty when something else presented itself. I was being dragged out of my depth by a hostile sea and it required all my energy just to stay afloat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">Having read the above, you will probably not be surprised to hear that these events had a detrimental effect on my personal life because, like most people in times of crisis, I reverted to my default survival mechanisms. Such automatic and instinctive responses may be designed to protect us but, because they are fear-based, they never serve us well. In my case, I have allowed some of life’s more bitter experiences to convince me that I cannot rely on anyone other than myself. So, when faced with a serious difficulty, I tend to close myself off from those closest to me. As a consequence, over the years I have gradually built up a formidable armour of self-reliance. Furthermore, having battled through life’s difficulties alone for the greater part of four decades, it seems that I have become an expert in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">going solo</i> – not because I want to, but because I am unwilling to risk being let down by someone I love. It seems I have gone from being naively trusting in my misguided youth, to intensely guarded and risk-averse in my middle years. The unfortunate result of all this is that, rather than reaching out for help during the dramas of 2012, I drew up my emotional drawbridge and disappeared behind a self-constructed fortress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">We have all heard the expression ‘no gain without pain’ and, from this viewpoint, there is no doubt that 2012 taught me some very valuable life lessons. Knowledge is power – or so they say - so I would like to think that in 2013 I will find a way of using my hard-earned self-awareness to make some changes to my life. The beginning of any new year offers an opportunity to reflect on the year that has just passed and although I don’t have faith in so-called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New Year’s Resolutions</i>, I do believe that now is as good a time as any to make determinations for the year ahead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">Therefore, the time has come to share with you my dearest hope for the immediate future – a form of prayer or vow, if you like. In broad terms, it goes something like this: no matter what challenges I may face in 2013, I will respond to them differently from last year. Instead of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">going it alone</i>, I will risk being open and learn to gratefully accept support whenever it is offered to me; I will constantly strive to discard my stubbornness and fear; finally, I will learn to share my journey through this life with all its joys and sorrow – my hopes, dreams and fears – with those who truly love me. Above all, I will no longer allow the bitterness of the past to colour my experience of the present. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small; mso-spacerun: yes;"><b>Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2013</b></span></span></div>
Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6395697564410195845.post-64956973676457284652012-10-10T15:39:00.002+01:002020-04-24T15:15:12.930+01:00The importance of grandmothers….<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">I have often observed that women play a primary role in keeping the family together and it is the matriarchal figure of the grandmother who frequently takes the lead in this most noble of endeavours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">These days, with increasing economic pressures adding to the strain on young families and escalating divorce rates, grandmothers often play a pivotal role in their grandchildren’s lives. As a society, we are indebted to these strong, principled women, whose deep-rooted sense of the importance of family is at the heart of their worldview. These are women who have already raised their own children and finally have the freedom, perhaps for the first time in their lives, to do as they please; but, rather than spend their remaining years pursuing hobbies or taking cruises - they find the greatest satisfaction in spending time with their grandchildren.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">My own grandmother greatly enriched my childhood and twenty-three years later, I still feel her influence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To a child, the summer holidays can often seem interminably long and monotonous, but my grandmother’s vibrant imagination and talent for story telling would transport me to a magical world, where anything seemed possible. I like to think that my love of writing has been her legacy to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">However, it is my own mother, who has given me the greatest example of all of the importance of grandmothers. I was just twenty years old when my first child was born and ill equipped to cope with the demands of caring for a newborn baby and completing a university degree; thanks to my mother, I was able to manage both. She was present from the moment my daughter came into the world and has been a guiding force in her life ever since; because of this, grandmother and granddaughter share an unshakeable bond. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">Such is their complicity that my daughter quite often tells her grandmother about the important events in her life before she tells me. At times, this has caused me to feel sidelined and overlooked, but I recognise that there are certain things that are easier to confide to a grandmother than to a mother. Furthermore, grandmothers are usually better listeners and have the wisdom to know how to advise without appearing to interfere. They are also able to maintain a degree of emotional detachment from their grandchildren and, unlike mothers, do not hold themselves responsible for their every mistake! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">I used to tell my grandmother things that I would never dream of telling my mother. It was wonderful to be able to confide in someone who loved me unconditionally but who rarely passed judgment. For example, I would frequently share my dreams of running away from home with her - this was something I had been plotting since the tender age of five! Rather than reacting with alarm or criticism, my grandmother limited herself to calmly enumerating the obvious impracticalities of my plan. She advised me that I would need considerable funds to live on my own and that I would have to save my pocket money for many months. She also gently reminded me that although my parents were undoubtedly hard to live with, they did provide basic things for me, like food and shelter (without which a young girl could not survive for very long!). </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">At the time, I did not feel patronised or ridiculed for my childish dreams of escape – on the contrary, my grandmother always lent a sympathetic ear to my problems; however, she never failed in her duty to remind me that, despite my parents many imperfections, their love for me was unquestionable. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">She also never failed to reassure me that – if things got tough – I could always seek refuge at ‘</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">grandma’s house’</i><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">I have often thought that my children’s lives would be very different without the presence of their grandmother. She has been their rock in an uncertain world and they rest safe in the knowledge that they can always count on her. The bond they share with her is particularly precious because neither one of them has known their paternal grandparents. The reason for this is sadly commonplace: when relationships break down, children not only lose contact with the absent parent; they also very often lose their connection with their extended family on that side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">For my daughter, the reality of this statement is sadly poignant. She has a wide network of relatives on her father’s side that she has never met – including her paternal grandparents. In fact, she was planning to travel to <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Colombia</st1:place></st1:country> next year to visit them but just last weekend, her sister wrote to say that their grandmother had died. In view of the fact that she had never even spoken to her father’s mother, the depth of her grief took my daughter by surprise. However, it seems to me that the reason she feels this loss so deeply is because she knows how precious and irreplaceable a grandmother can be. She is mourning the relationship she might have had with her <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Colombia</st1:place></st1:country> grandmother, if only she been given the chance to meet her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">When my mother was diagnosed with cancer earlier this year, my children were deeply affected. Their grandmother has been at the heart of their world for as long as they can remember and neither of them can imagine life without her. One day, shortly after she became ill, I took delivery of a beautiful bouquet of lilies. On the handwritten card accompanying them were the words: ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">To abuela’</i>. My children have always called their grandmother <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">abuela</i> (the Spanish word for grandmother) but the flowers were not from them – in fact, they were sent by a close friend of my daughter’s. My mother has become a sort of ‘honorary’ grandmother to this young girl and her words were a touching testimony to that fact. This caused me to reflect that she has assumed a grandmotherly role with several of my children’s friends, whom she has gradually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">adopted</i> over time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Consequently, they do not think of her as someone else’s grandmother - to them she is just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">abuela</i> - and for this reason, their attachment to her runs deep. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">So, those of us who have been lucky enough to know our grandmothers should give thanks: for we have been blessed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">It is as grandmothers that our mothers come into the fullness of their grace</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">.<br />-- Christopher Morley<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">If nothing is going well, call your grandmother</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt;">.<br />-- Italian Proverb<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small;"><b>Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2012</b></span></div>
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Claire-Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02553381473796133248noreply@blogger.com2