Doreen Etes Continues

Rising above it

2010-08-04T16:10:00.000-07:00

Given the choice, I think I preferred the trainers. At least their presence on my tree in my garden wasn`t a mindless drunken act of vandalism that pollutes the green and me, seemingly, whenever I walk on it.
I`ll have to ask Jensen what Jim would have thought about it?
Do even Jenn`s ghosts tut and shake their heads in disillusionment now? - After all - What romance and mystery can there be behind the lobbing of a bag of shit?

Only the now bereft trainer tree seems able to rise above it all!

In an English Country Ga -ah -ah den!!!!!!!!! (An update on Doreen`s garden)

2010-08-04T15:20:00.000-07:00

Mary Mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
With:-
Beer boxes
Whole empty glass bottles
Smashed against my end wall glass bottles
Lager cans
A discarded child`s bike
The odd bag of shit in a plastic bag!

ALL TOGETHER NOW CHILDREN!

I`m obviously not a professional - photographer that is!

2010-08-02T04:18:00.000-07:00

The only photo I didn`t take!

The One Minute Makeover

2010-07-27T02:59:00.000-07:00

Hi Elaine
I really really really really really love the new look!
You`ll have to tell me where you bought that wonderful transforming magic wand!
Thanks SO much!
xx

More project logo ideas

2010-07-24T09:59:00.000-07:00

Ideas for `Out On A Limb` project logo

2010-07-24T04:20:00.000-07:00

Fair comment? Oh Dear!

2010-07-06T03:34:00.000-07:00

James has left a new comment on your post "Pilgrimage to Mecca via the Mersey- completed vers...":

Whilst the contrast of different cultures is a legitimate literary device, there is a danger of this turning into a travelogue about Turkey!
There's also too much emphasis on the bladder!
Some nice phrases in this but try to avoid being too didactic. Readers like to be informed but not necessarily lectured!
It's your story, however metaphysical in style. Achieving the closest intimacy with your reader is always desirable but it doesn't include asking your reader questions!
That's bad form. Makes it appear you are running out of things to say. And if you are going to be a good writer that should never be the case. Very good descriptive prose though.
George.

A Sunday Drive Out or A Bad Landing in Istanbul

2010-06-29T16:25:00.000-07:00

After all I wrote about likening the creative process to landing and taking off blah blah blah, it seems ironic that I happened to come across these pictures that I took in Istanbul about 10 years ago.
If the plane had gone a hundred yards or so further, it would have hit the the overhead power lines above the railway and exploded.
Is somebody up there trying to tell me something?

Never let it be said that the Turks are not enterprising (if extremely laid back!)

Pilgrimage to Mecca via the Mersey- completed version (I think!)

2010-06-27T09:46:00.000-07:00

Have just spent about 2 hours trying to insert the photos where and how I want them. Gave up in the end-so frustrating!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thank god Elaine`s coming on Tuesday!!!!!!!!!!!!

The first time I went on the Mersey, I took my mother with me in my handbag.

We weren`t close, but at this present moment in time, we couldn`t be closer – me sitting on the wind and rain lashed deck – water dripping down my neck and cheeks – her resting quietly and protected on my lap. We didn`t often go out together so this was an unusual occurrence to start with.

We didn`t speak, and I didn`t know, and never knew, if our silences were ever companionable or just intervals of time that were necessary in order for the inexplicable and ever present resentments to flourish and grow.

Resentment – sadness – grief –deep loss –deep love – Mix them all up and what do you get? This, I suppose.

If she could speak to me now –what would she say? If I could speak to her now –would she hear me and what would I say?

So I sit here, hearing nothing except the sound of the mechanical choking of the ferry`s motor and the squawking protests of the low flying seagulls and breathing in the paradoxical peacefulness.

Although I`m not completely comfortable with what I`m about to do, I know for certain it`s what she wants. She said it so many times and it`s written in black and white.

She ends where she began but who notices her final tribute to the city she loved except me and the Liver Birds who stare indifferently out?

…………………………………….

Closing the door to Alex Taylor`s the undertaker behind me and stepping out onto the pavement, I can`t help but notice the rain has now started in earnest. I struggle in vain to open my reluctant umbrella, but then spot Macdonalds across the road and decide to make a dash for it.

Sitting there with a relieved bladder and a steaming cup of lousy coffee in front of me, I allow myself to relax and think about what happens next. My flight is booked. I`ll be returning to Turkey in four days. There are still a few loose ends to tie up, but when they are, I`ll probably leave Birkenhead and never return. Why would I? I`ve never lived here, learned here, worked here. It`s just a place I`ve been visiting for the last forty years. My reason for that is now gone. The connection is severed, I suppose, but it doesn`t feel that way and I don`t understand why.

I start thinking about yesterday on the ferry but it`s too painful. Enough time for that later. I gather up my bag and brolly. Places to go- people to see. I`ll start with the bank. They should have sorted things out by now, surely?

Once outside, my head involuntarily turns left and I look down the vista of the shopping precinct. I`ve no practical reason for going that way - in fact, the bank`s in the other direction, but it`s where my feet want to go, so I have to follow.

I look in the pound shop window on my left. It lets me know where I am for the moment, just in case I`m confused. There`s no mistaking that red cross on a white background. I`ve seen enough of those white crescents on a red background to know the difference! So many cheap bargains flew with me over the Channel and Europe to be given as gifts to unsuspecting in-laws who were so appreciative (especially when I lied excessively about the price).

The feet walk into Bon Marche. I look around and remember the countless times I would come in here and stock up on `school clothes` - smart skirts and blouses. Female teachers in Turkey are not allowed to wear trousers. I was always amazed at how cheap the clothes were compared to prices in Istanbul. I`d often buy a nightie or top as a surprise for my mother. Lilac was her favourite colour but she liked pink, too. She was never effusive with her thanks but I could tell from the softened expression she was pleased.

On, past Boots, where I`d bought the blood pressure machine which everyone took the mickey out of me for here in England, saying I was obsessive about the health of my family. How could they understand that the lack of a National Health System and having to pay for literally everything connected to medical treatment down to a simple cotton wool swab used before an injection, made the purchase a necessity rather than an indulgence?

When I was back in Birkenhead on visits, mum used to bring Kerem here as a toddler in his pushchair. They`d feed the pigeons and laugh ecstatically at the ensuing squawking and fluttering. Years later, he would wheel her down to this same place. He loved her and she loved him completely and unconditionally and I was so thankful for that.

Nothing much has changed, except now, you`re not allowed to feed the pigeons – and my mother died.

Looking at the statues in St Werburgh`s churchyard, I reflect. In England , they should comfort me – arms beseechingly uplifted to heaven to plea on my behalf for understanding, forgiveness and peace. In Turkey, they would be condemning me to eternal damnation. Any human form of religious effigies are forbidden and abhorrent to Muslims.

Will I never be able to explain to them back there why we, in England, `burn the bodies of our loved ones like rubbish`? Does it really all come down to `geography` in the end?

Back to reality. I was going to call it a day and nip into a taxi outside Beatties, but I need to pee and quickly. The nearest one I can think of is the one in front of the market.

With that familiar feeling of a relieved bladder, I decide that I`m hungry and realise I haven`t eaten anything all day, so, lured by the smell of fried onions coming from the snacks van outside the public toilets ( not the most suitable location), I buy a hotdog. Why do they always smell more appetising than they taste?

Seeing that the rain has stopped and the sun has actually come out, I decide to brave it and sit on one of the benches opposite, placing a carrier bag on it beforehand. After feeding most of the hotdog to the impatiently waiting pigeons, I tentatively look around, light up a cigarette and start to people watch. Funny how old habits die hard. In Turkey, it`s deemed `common` for women to smoke or eat in the street but perfectly alright for men. It`s also disrespectful for females to smoke in front of older male relatives in the house, but yay okay again for men. Imagine my confusion when I`d offer a woman a cigarette and she`d take it gratefully and the next time, she`d tut and shake her head disapprovingly saying she didn`t smoke. Mind you – that`s just the way it is, but I could have been forewarned, don`t you think?

Now that the hotdog`s gone, the pigeons start to desert me, flying off or scuttling jerkily and resentfully to the next bench in search of richer pickings. One, with a particular axe to grind, thinks it`s being clever and getting one over on me. It flies over and around me a few times, craps on my handbag, squawks and flies off. Eyes following it and seeing where it lands, I smile to myself. The offending bird had flown up into the air, veering right and settled on one of the arch shaped structures above the entrance to Mecca Bingo Hall for a few seconds before changing its mind and flying off into the distance, out of sight.

Mum always was one for questionable humorous jokes and gestures. She really believed that being crapped on by a bird brought good luck and if it happened on a day she was going to bingo, she`d win. I suppose she was the archtypical bingo addict. I remember she was in Turkey once on New Year`s Eve. She had a houseful of us playing bingo with those little paper cards and counters, insisting that they all had to shout `House!` in English if they won. She also tried to teach the gang of in-laws `Auld Lang Syne` which degenerated into a cross between `The Hokey Kokey` and a rugby scrum. What sticks in my mind most about that is there was so much laughter and not a drop of alcohol in sight and it was my mother who had created that laughter.

Taking off and landing

2010-06-26T03:37:00.000-07:00

Now I`m coming to the final stages of my story and focusing on how to conclude.
Sorting through old papers and having a clear out.
I`ve always found that the beginning and the end (in that order) are the most difficult parts of the process.- a bit like flying (which I`m PETRIFIED of even after all these years of doing it !) - the taking off and the landing.
-the only difference is that on a plane journey you don`t have a choice when the plane lands. You HAVE to get off or stay and go nowhere.- the more frightening option when writing, although it`s your own choice, is you get off where, when and how you want.
QUESTIONS YOU ASK YOUR SELF:-
1. Did I get off too early/too late?
2.Was the journey long enough- ie: Did I reach my desired destination?
3.Was it too long ?
4.Was there anyone, who knew I was coming ,there to meet me?
5.Did I look out the window and appreciate the views and know where I was at every stage of the journey or did I try to distract myself trying to read more than one page of book that I`d found really interesting before the journey or close the window blind, shutting my eyes, pretending to sleep and and just wanting to BE THERE!
6.Do I say `Never again!` or `That wasn`t as bad as I thought it would be! or` `I wouldn`t mind doing that again!`

(The pics are a record of the take off- that first taxi down the runway)

Haven`t yet worked out which is more important-where you`re going or how you get there.
I`ve taken off but still focusing on how to land. Wish me luck!

Story cont:2

2010-06-25T05:17:00.000-07:00

Time to move on. Not much further now.
Looking at the statues in St Werburgh`s churchyard, I reflect.
In England, they should comfort me; arms beseechingly upreached to Heaven pleading on my behalf for understanding, forgiveness and peace.
In Turkey, they would be condemning me to eternal damnation. Any human form of religious effigies are strictly forbidden and abhorrent to Muslims.
Will I never be able to explain to them back there why we `burn our loved ones bodies`(unquote) in England? Does it really all come down to geography in the end?

Change of title

2010-06-25T04:12:00.000-07:00

Am going to call my story:-
`Pilgrimage to Mecca via the Mersey`
That seems to be the way the story`s going!

Continuation of story

2010-06-25T03:44:00.000-07:00

Resting my aching legs on a bench in the square, I look at the solitary old lady opposite. What are her memories or is she already starting to forget? If I stayed in England, would I be her one day?
I look at the little boy scaring the pigeons and remember.
When I was back in Birkenhead on visits, mum used to bring Kerem here as a toddler in his pushchair. They`d feed the pigeons and he would laugh ecstatically at the ensuing squawking and fluttering.
Years later, he would wheel her down to the same place. He loved her. She loved him completely and unconditionally and I was so thankful for that.
Nothing much has changed since then, except now, you`re not allowed to feed the pigeons-and my mother died.

dolls houses

2010-06-20T02:55:00.001-07:00

Hi louise. Don`t know if you`re still looking for doll`s house icon. If you are- are these any good?
If you want to look at more examples, it`s dead easy:- When you open the internet to Google, before you write anything in the narrow white box, press on `Images`(Its in blue writing) and then write`dolls houses` in the box. Hundreds of pictures will come up.
How`s everything else going? I`ve come to a bit of a stand still. I`ve arranged for Elaine to come to me a week next Tuesday 29th June to show me how to upload photos and do a small video to put into my story. Now I`ll HAVE to finish it! I only seem to be motivated when I`m under pressure- same story when I was at school- Old habits die hard!
If you can manage to download the pictures, I`m sure Elaine can explain to you how to get them onto your blog. If I tried to explain I`d only confuse you- you know what I`m like with computers!
Hope you`re well
Happy writing!

Idea for icon

2010-06-06T03:51:00.000-07:00

Barbara
Just a thought-maybe you could use a question mark as your icon cos the reader is asking-----
1. What`s the significance of the prescription?
2. Who put it there?
3. Why wasn`t it ever used?
4. WHICH ENDING?
Here are a few images to give a rough idea.
Still haven`t finished my story- need inspiration or a kick up the b-m!
I particularly like the white man.

Icon I`ll be using

2010-05-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

Jenn
This is the icon I`ll be using for the project.
Hope all`s well with you!
p.s can`t get it any smaller. Is this ok?

Ferries East and West

2010-05-28T08:03:00.000-07:00

Ferry on the Bosphorus

Ferry on the Mersey

Both do tours up and down their stretch of water.
In Birkenhead, you`ll hear the tinny sound of Gerry and the Pacemakers if you listen carefully.
In Istanbul you`ll hear the haunting sound of the muezzin richly reverberating from each and every one of the thousands of mosques reminding you that God is great and it`s time to pray.

Istanbul

2010-05-28T07:39:00.000-07:00

"If one had but a single glance to give the world, one should gaze on Istanbul."

- Alphonse de Lamartine - Famous French poet and politician (1790-1869)

Towards Mecca via the Mersey

2010-05-27T06:33:00.000-07:00

View Towards Mecca via the Mersey Map in a larger map

Towards Mecca via the Mersey

2010-05-26T08:36:00.000-07:00

The first time I went on the ferry across the Mersey, I took my mother with me in my handbag.

We weren`t close, but at this present moment in time, we couldn`t be closer - me sitting on the wind and rain lashed deck - water dripping down my neck and cheeks - her resting quietly and protected on my lap. We didn`t often go out together so this was an unusual occurrence to start with.

We didn`t speak, and I didn`t know, and never knew, if our silences were companionable or just intervals of time that were necessary in order for the inexplicable and ever present resentments to flourish and grow.

Resentment - sadness - grief - deep loss - deep love - mix them all up and what do you get? This, I suppose.

If she could speak to me now - what would she say? If I could speak to her now - would she hear me and what would I say?

So I sit here, hearing nothing except the sound of the mechanical choking of the ferry`s motor and the squawking protests of the low flying seagulls, deeply breathing in this paradoxical peacefulness.

Although I`m not completely comfortable with what I`m about to do, I know for sure it`s what she wants. She said it so many times and it`s written in black and white.

She ends where she began but who notices her final tribute to the city she loved except me and the Liver Birds who stare indifferently out?

............................................

Closing the door to Alex Taylor`s the undertaker behind me and stepping out onto the pavement, I can`t help but notice the rain has now started again in earnest. I struggle in vain to open my reluctant umbrella, but then spot MacDonalds across the road and decide to make a dash for it.
Sitting there with a relieved bladder and a steaming cup of lousy coffee in front of me, I allow myself to relax and think about what happens next.
My flight is booked. I`ll be returning to Turkey in four days. There are still a few loose ends to tie up, but when they are, I`ll probably leave Birkenhead and never return. Why would I? - I`ve never lived here, learned here, loved here, worked here. It`s just a place I`ve been visiting for the last forty years. My reason for that no longer exists. The connection is gone, I suppose, but it doesn`t feel that way and I don`t understand why.
I start thinking about yesterday on the ferry, but it`s too painful - enough time for that later.
I gather up my bag and brolly. Places to go - people to see. I`ll start with the bank. They should have sorted things out by now, surely?

Once outside, my head involuntarily turns left and I look down the vista of the shopping precinct.
I`ve no practical reason for going that way: in fact, the bank`s in the other direction, but it`s where my feet want to go, so I have to follow.

I look in the pound shop window on my left. It lets me know where I am for the moment just in case I`m confused. There`s no mistaking that red cross on a white background. I`ve seen enough of those white crescents on a red background to know the difference!
So many cheap bargains flew with me over the Atlantic and Europe to be given as gifts to unsuspecting in-laws who were so appreciative (Especially when I lied excessively about the price.)

The feet walk into Bon Marche. I look around and remember the countless times I would come in here and stock up on `school clothes` - smart skirts and tops. Female teachers in Turkey are not allowed to wear trousers. I was always amazed at how cheap the clothes were compared to prices in Istanbul. I`d often buy a nightie or a top as a surprise for my mother. Lilac was her favourite colour, but she liked pink, too. She was never effusive with her thanks but I could tell from the softened expression , she was pleased.

On, past Boots where I`d bought the blood pressure machine which everyone took the mickey out of me for here in England, saying I was obsessive about the health of my family. How could they understand that the lack of a National Health System and having to pay for literally everything connected to medical treatment down to a simple cotton wool swab used before an injection, made the purchase a necessity rather than an indulgence?
(picture 4)

Links between the stories

2010-05-20T06:53:00.000-07:00

I listened to Rob's story today and noticed that it had some links with my story.

I also noticed Lou's story and mine have something in common: the problematic mother and daughter relationship.

Pyramids- East and West again

2010-05-19T03:59:00.000-07:00

The Pyramids Birkenhead

The Pyramids Egypt

Why do we choose such exotic and eastern sounding names for places that are so obviously English?
So incongruous!
In particular `Mecca Bingo` Who thought that one up and more importantly WHY? What did they see as the connection?

East and West (Differences and Similarities)

2010-05-13T15:56:00.000-07:00

A country that historically was once a Christian Empire

A country that historically was once an Islamic Empire

Turkish flag ( red and white crescent)

English flag (red and white cross)

Both flags proclaim their religion

Mecca in Birkenhead ( a nationwide gambling establishment visited by hundreds of thousands of people of all religions throughout the year)

Mecca in Saudi Arabia (a holy place of pilgrimage visited by millions of Muslims only)

mecca or Mecca
1. noun any place of outstanding importance or significance to a particular group of people, especially one they feel they have to visit.
2. Joint capital (with Riyadh) of Saudi Arabia: birthplace of Mohammad: the holiest city of Islam containing the Kaaba. Pop: 965697 (1992).

Hi Elaine
As you can see I`ve been playing around with imaged and ideas.
Thanks again for your time and patience today!

Flutterbies

2010-05-13T06:42:00.000-07:00

I Loved Duffy`s moment with the butterfly which Keith read out today.

Towards Mecca via the Mersey

2010-05-12T09:36:00.000-07:00

Closing the door to Alex Taylor`s the undertaker behind me and stepping out onto the pavement, I can`t help but notice the rain has now started again in earnest. I struggle in vain to open my reluctant umbrella, but then spot MacDonalds across the road and decide to make a dash for it.
Sitting there with a relieved bladder and a steaming cup of lousy coffee in front of me, I allow myself to relax and think about what happens next.
My flight is booked. I`ll be returning to Turkey in four days. There are still a few loose ends to tie up, but when they are, I`ll probably leave Birkenhead and never return. Why would I? - I`ve never lived here, learned here, loved here, worked here. It`s just a place I`ve been visiting for the last forty years. My reason for that is now gone. The connection is gone, I suppose, but it doesn`t feel that way and I don`t understand why.
I start thinking about yesterday on the ferry, but it`s too painful - enough time for that later.
I gather up my bag and brolly. Places to go - people to see. I`ll start with the bank. They should have sorted things out by now, surely?
(picture 1) Once outside, my head involuntarily turns left and I look down the vista of the shopping precinct.
I`ve no practical reason for going that way: in fact, the bank`s in the other direction, but it`s where my feet want to go, so I have to follow.
(picture 2)I look in the pound shop window on my left. It lets me know where I am for the moment just in case I`m confused. There`s no mistaking that red cross on a white background. I`ve seen enough of those white crescents on a red background to know the difference!
So many cheap bargains flew with me over the Atlantic and Europe to be given as gifts to unsuspecting in-laws who were so appreciative (Especially when I lied excessively about the price.)
(picture 3)The feet walk into Bon Marche. I look around and remember the countless times I would come in here and stock up on `school clothes` - smart skirts and tops. Female teachers in Turkey are not allowed to wear trousers. I was always amazed at how cheap the clothes were compared to prices in Istanbul. I`d often buy a nightie or a top as a surprise for my mother. Lilac was her favourite colour, but she liked pink, too. She was never effusive with her thanks but I could tell from the softened expression , she was pleased.
(picture 4)On, past Boots where I`d bought the blood pressure machine which everyone took the mickey out of me for here in England, saying I was obsessive about the health of my family. How could they understand that the lack of a National Health System and having to pay for literally everything connected to medical treatment down to a simple cotton wool swab used before an injection, made the purchase a necessity rather than an indulgence?
(picture 4)

Hi Jen
This is where I`m up to, but it`s far from finished! I`m going to include `Ferry across the Mersey`as the prelude and this will be the continuation. I`m getting my knickers in a twist worrying about the 1000 word limit and thus not writing it the way I want. I`m calling it a day for now . Lots to talk about tomorrow!

Story pics of shopping precinct

2010-05-08T14:32:00.001-07:00

BBC-MY STORY

2010-05-02T14:13:00.000-07:00

Extract from `Couch to Couch`

1978 February- I heard gunfire in the streets on my first night in Istanbul...

On my second night in Istanbul, I got married – I think.

1988 December- L held as a prisoner in Saddam`s Iraq for a month...

2003 November-20th-Massive bomb explosions at British Consulate itself and HSBC building ...

2005- Sitting safely in my semi-sheltered bungalow in Birkenhead, alone, free from the fear of being blown up or dying in an earthquake, I have my first panic attack!

My story on BBC-MY STORY...

Is Billy Jones actually dead? D`oh!

2010-04-29T06:17:00.000-07:00

Two steps forward - one step back today but that`s still progress isn`t it?!!
I once went on a computer course:-
`Beginning Computers- Part One`
Didn`t complete it- found it too confusing.If the tutor had been either Jenn or Elaine I`d be designing web pages now at the least.
Patience of saints doesn`t begin to describe them!

Final Tribute

2010-04-15T02:40:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone. Sorry I couldn`t be there today. Here`s my homework contribution. Would welcome comments. Hope you have an enjoyable day

The first time I went on the ferry across the Mersey, I took my mother with me in my handbag.

Resentment - sadness - grief - deep loss - deep love - mix them all up and what do you get? This, I suppose.

If she could speak to me now - what would she say? If I could speak to her now - would she hear me and what would I say?

Although I`m not completely comfortable with what I`m about to do, I know for sure it`s what she wants. She said it so many times and it`s written in black and white.

She ends where she began but who notices her final tribute to the city she loved except me and the Liver Birds who stare indifferently out?

The Shoe Tree

2010-04-08T06:38:00.000-07:00

The Shoe Tree came up in today's creative workshop because I started talking about my garden. Writing about gardens sounds boring, doesn't it? But not my garden. Oh no. Where do I start?

This is a picture of The Shoe Tree - not mine - mine looks like a normal tree now but it used to be covered in pairs of trainers. What surprised me was the good condition of the trainers!

What else have I harvested from my garden in Noctorum? Beer cans, crisp packets, used condoms, lump of suspicious smelling substances and even the odd rocket firework. All this inspired a story which I will blog about later.

We all started our own blogs last week - Margaret decided her first post would be a picture of David Morrisey, who she once met at New Brighton. It sounds like the start of a Mills and Boon novel...

2010-04-08T06:19:00.000-07:00

Looking through my window and seeing people outside is pretty normal and sometimes even reassuring you might say and I`d have to agree.
Don`t get me wrong - I`d say I was a people person, sociable and all that, but I am getting fed up at finding people in my garden.
When they walk past chatting, it`s ok. When the kids kick the ball in and come and ask for it, it`s ok. When the postman delivers something, it`s ok. When visitors call, it`s ok.
When I come back home and find kids playing football in my garden, it`s not ok. when I`m laying on my bed on a summers evening with the window open and ,up close, I hear the kids shouting, laughing and swearing, it`s not ok. When I hear footsteps on the roof late at night, it`s not ok.