Monday, 26 February 2018

It's Not What you're looking at, it's what you see

Regular readers of my blog know that I love children and I'm lucky enough to have a quite a few lovely little people in my life. I never cease to wander at how much joy they give.
One of these delightful little people, a boy of six, is already everything you would like a man to be, he's affectionate, cuddly, his face lights up when he sees you, he blows enthusiastic kisses when he catches sight of you waiting for him outside school, he thrills you with his sense of adventure, his passion for life, his imagination, his bravery.  When he's around, the hand-held vacuum cleaner becomes a state of the art weapon for Star Wars, the flowers on a sheet used to make a den become the controls of a time machine, my mottled collection of jewelry is a pirate's treasure, a chocolate covered in gold foil discovered under the carpet is a medal for bravery.
We are both swept away into a fantasy world created by his imagination.

The other day I left him contemplating the old beads and necklaces, deciding on the magic that was contained in the stones, and rummaging in the bedroom, after a while he appeared draped in a leopard skin flimsy nightie. I had no time to express my astonishment before he totally disarmed me by telling me that he was a pre historic caveman off to capture a lion. A few days later I lent his dad a thermometer and he brought it back saying that his son was using it as a spaceship, the glass bit displaying the temperature was perfect as the spaceman's cockpit. 

Looking at the world through his eyes is an exciting adventure, superheroes like him are saving us all, loving, kind, funny, brave and macho all at the same time.

Best friends run in the same direction

Is this a leaf or a heart

Wednesday, 24 January 2018

To Market, to market

Market day on Thursday has been the highlight of my week for many years. It seems like a coppice in a wood. A pause in the week to enjoy the party atmosphere of the market. A moment to step into a parallel world.
The stall holders have been up since dawn, displaying their goods so they will appeal and attract attention.
My route to the market takes me over a river. The bridge over the river is called 'The bridge of Angels.'   the angel is on the top of a tall column, I always look up at her, up there guarding us.
I usually go to the market mid-morning so might meet friends and neighbours on the bridge, on their way home, carrying their bounty in colourful bags brimming over with vegetables and plants.
 After catching up on various bits of news and announcements I turn into the market square and it never ceases to lift my heart. The beautiful majestic buildings set against the bright blue sky, because of course I wouldn't go if it was raining, the hustle and bustle of the shoppers and the strong enticing aroma of coffee from the bars around the square.
Years ago, there would have been a crowd of old men from the country, greeting each other and talking about football and politics in the local dialect. Today there are mainly women, of many nationalities. Snippets of conversation are carried on the air, in Russian, Arabic, Romanian.
All the women are united in a quest, to find a bargain, a pretty dress for a small daughter, a hardwearing tracksuit for a boisterous little boy, a jacket for the new season, a handbag in a bright colour to cheer the winter days.
 Every so often there are splashes of vibrant colour from the flower stalls. A patchwork of dazzling hues of primulas, hyacinths, daffodils.
This is where I stop.
As soon as I show interest I  receive a smile and an invitation to buy.
 I am soon holding a bag full of primulas to scatter colour through the late winter days.. If I have arranged to meet a friend we will sit in the sun with our cappuccinos and show each other our purchases. I might be tempted to go and buy the same jumper or dress as my friend but in a different colour. The market is all about sharing.
The Thursday market is a joyful, harmonious meeting place for the women of the town. Shopping, browsing, chatting, drinking coffee, and not feeling guilty at all because after all it is only there on Thursday mornings.

Sunday, 21 January 2018

Why I want to write

When I was sixteen I took my O levels, now called GCSEs and then had to choose three subjects for A level.
 Up till then English had been my favourite subject, I loved reading and writing, I loved words, their meanings, their origins. I wanted to study English A level, along with History and Geography.
For some reason English didn't fit the timetable and I was advised to do French instead. After school I went on to Teachers Training, I couldn't do English though, not having the A level.
When I qualified as a teacher I came to Italy to marry, it was easy then to find a job teaching English as a Foreign Language.
 I have lived in Italy a long time now, I have a lovely big family that mean the world to me.

When my children left home I started writing them emails to keep in touch. I'd tell them funny episodes from my day, from my childhood. they enjoyed them so much that my daughter set me up on Blogger. I started writing my blog to please her and then found I couldn't stop. It all came pouring out, all in English. I found my way onto a Creative writing group. We all write just for pleasure, just for the joy of weaving words together to make a story.
I haven't got the skills though to be a writer. My English is poor.
I hope that by doing this course I will improve and get back in touch with the young girl who took the wrong A levels, the one that used to bounce home from school full of joy and enthusiasm and took great pleasure in words and phrases, poems and stories.