All good intentions …

Just wanted to post a brief note to say that I had the best of intentions to start posting and picturing regularly again this new year. I know I let it go towards the end of last year – and I was truly touched by those fellow bloggers who asked after me when I went missing.

Trouble is, I’ve also had to make some stiff rules for the monster-child’s behaviour, and one of the consequences of bad behaviour is to remove the internet from the house. True to form, he hasn’t been behaving well, and the house has been internet-less for a while now.

I just popped into the library today to grab a few minutes on the computer, but, as aforementioned son has now lost the internet until he completes a full week of school without incident, I don’t foresee being able to post my own photos or snippets of literary mastery for the next millenium… or at least until I present him with a set of luggage for his 16th birthday!

But, for the record, it’s snowing here, so you’ll just have to imagine the magical macros of ice and the ethereal images of the silent wintery woods.

Best wishes to you all.
See you next time I hit the library

New Year’s Resolution …

Hold onto your pinnies, girls!

It’s time to roll up the sleeves, pull on the rubber gloves, shake out the feather duster, brush out the cobwebs, and regain a bit of floorspace from the rubble that was 2012.

Time to DECLUTTER!

 

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2013]

What do you do … ?

What do you do when the person you love tells you they can’t stand the sight of you anymore?

What do you do when they respond to you with screaming rage and foul language? When they order you to make their dinner, to wash their clothes, and to cater to their every need?

What do you do when they tell you you’re useless, you’re fat, and you’re ugly?

What do you do when they engage in risky behaviour, prefer their friends’ company, and tell you to mind your own business when you ask where they are going?

What do you do when they tell you they’re sick of you, that they don’t want to live in the same house as you anymore, and they want to move out?

What do you do when they prevent you from sleeping, demand that you get out of bed, and order you to go sleep in the living room because they own the beds and the house?

What do you do when they physically prevent you from leaving, dare you to put your hands on them, and mock you when you break down into tears?

What do you do when this continues day after day after day, until the very thought of going home and being in their company fills you with dread and sadness?

 

What do you do when the person you love is your twelve-year-old son?

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2012]

Weekly writing challenge: Stylish imitation

I thought I’d join the writing challenge this week, because I have been reading a lot of Jacqueline Wilson books to my son lately. She predominantly writes from the perspective of a child or young person, often with illustrations and “handwritten” diary entries. I have been trying to write some of my own life scenarios, but I often become stuck, frustrated, or bored when trying to describe them from my own viewpoint. Instead, I took a little snippet of an evening, and imagined it from my son’s perspective – obviously changing names to protect the not-so-innocent

*****

Dear Diary. Guess what Mum bought me? Yep. One of those Onesie lounge suits. It’s just like the ones babies wear, but they’ve got them for 11 year olds now. It’s dead warm and soft and even has feet. I’ve been wanting one since Sadie got a bright Pink one. I didn’t think a pink one would really suit me, so I never got one then. But Mum said they’ve started selling them again in Frescos. She got one for her with stars on it. Mine looks like a Union Jack and I would live in it if I could. It’s really comfy for gaming, although it’s a bit of a pain when I want a wee cos I have to take it all off.  Charlie’s gonna laugh his head off when he sees it.

*****

“Oh, for goodness sake, Ben!” Mum yelled as she snatched up my empty dinner plate off my bed.

“Sorry,” I said, as I did a 360 jump off the tower and fired a perfect head shot as I went. Yessss!

Mum made this weird, strangley type squeal and launched down towards the carpet at the end of my bed. She held up a scrunched up tissue and a plastic straw wrapper in her fist and shook it in my face.

“Rubbish!” she yelled, “On the floor!”

“Sorry,” I said, trying to sound more like I meant it this time. I crouched down and crept into the airport waiting room. Boom! Ten-kill streak! I’m on fire!

“You think I was put on this Earth to pick up after you?” Mum snapped.

I didn’t know if I was supposed to answer or not. Sometimes when I answer questions when Mum’s mad, it makes her madder. But while I was still thinking about it, she moved round to the side of my bed and leaned over.

“Oh look,” she said, sounding a bit calmer. “Fancy finding your clothes …. In a heap …. On the floor.”

Then she held up my trackies and T-shirt between her thumb and finger and just stood there, looking at me. I thought she looked a bit like I’m a Little Teapot, but I didn’t say it.

“Sorry,” I said.

Mum puffed out a loud sigh as she walked out and dumped my clothes in the washing basket on the landing. I planted a Claiborne on my way out to the plane sitting outside the terminal. Scallywag6 ran passed me and crouched down behind the luggage trolley, while I snuck up the steps onto the plane.

Mum stomped down the stairs to the kitchen. “Same old nonsense … every night.”

An enemy soldier made me jump as he came out of the aeroplane exit. We almost bumped into each other, but I was quick and whipped out my Bowie knife. Zip! Another one down.

Mum was still talking to herself. “Thanks, Mum. You’re the greatest! Oh, that’s OK, darling, don’t mind me. Just you carry on playing your very important game while I cater to your every need!”

The shadow in the cockpit was another enemy soldier. I could tell, because the writing over his head was red not green. Steady, Ben. Take your time. I crawled along the aisle until I had a good shot at him. He was picking up a care package, but I put a stop to that. Bam! Another head shot! Twelve-kill streak! Just one more for the Helicopter, and then it’s game over.

Mum came back in the room and leant over me. She spoke quietly now and kissed me on the head. “I’m going to bed now. Don’t stay up all night.” She looked at me laying on top of the bed in my Union Jack lounge suit. ”Don’t you want to get under the covers?”

“No, my onesie’s really warm.”

“Well. I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“I love you, Mum.”

“I love you too, babe.”

She crossed the landing and shut her bedroom door behind her. I ran down the front steps of the plane onto the tarmac. Aaarghhh! Shot in the back! The Kill-cam showed my assassin was some wimp who’d been camping out in the control tower. This means War!

*****

“Ben! Charlie’s here!” Mum yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

I kind of heard her, but her voice drifted off back into my dream and I fell back to sleep.

“Ben!”

This time, Mum was in the room. I know she pulled the curtains open, because the colour behind my eyelids turned from black to light brown. I scrunched up my eyes and looked out. Mum was standing over me.

“Come on, Ben. Charlie’s here. It’s halfway through the afternoon already.”

Charlie stood behind my Mum, grinning. He waited until Mum went back downstairs.

“Nice pyjamas, mate,” he said.

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2012]

They DO exist! Wee beasties #61 – Grasshopper

I have not seen a Grasshopper for years! Their absence has been noted on more than one occasion around my local area, and to be honest, I haven’t seen one since I was a child. They used to be seemingly everywhere when I was young – often heard before they were seen – and something to chase through the field until disappearing into a bunch of stinging nettles. (I can still feel the blisters as I think about it).

I have memories of them being a common sight when I was a younger girl. Granted, I haven’t spent a lot of time in England during my adulthood, but I have been around for the last ten years, and I haven’t spotted a single one. Is it a Yorkshire thing? Or are they dwindling in numbers in other areas too? I’ve actually wondered, more than once, if they were becoming extinct.

Until today! I just stumbled across this rather crusty looking character while I was on blackberry-picking expedition. He’s not the sleek green version I remember from days of yore, and he looks like he’s had a pretty tough paper round . . .

but a Grasshopper is a Grasshopper.

At last!

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2012]

You never know ….

(Picture borrowed from http://www.theminimalists.com/helping/)

Most people of a certain age in England will remember having to study J.B. Priestley’s play “An Inspector Calls” in English class.

In short, the play is a three-act drama that focuses on a well-to-do Victorian family, and their response to a visit from a Police Inspector during the course of a single night. The Inspector is investigating the suicide of a young, working-class woman after she drank strong disinfectant. Over the course of the play, it becomes apparent that each and every member of the family had some experience with the young woman. The Inspector’s interrogation leads the audience to believe she had been fired from jobs without reason, she had been used as a mistress and rejected when she became pregnant, and she had been turned away when she had asked for help.  Each of these interactions in isolation could have been managed, but instead, each negative experience increased her feelings of rejection, humiliation, and ostracism, and caused her to eventually take her own life.

Today, as I learned only a few hours ago, is World Suicide Prevention Day , co-sponsored by the International Association for Suicide Prevention and the World Health Organisation.

An extract from the IASP website notes: . . . approximately one million people worldwide die by suicide each year. This corresponds to one death by suicide every 40 seconds. The number of lives lost each year through suicide exceeds the number of deaths due to homicide and war combined. Suicide attempts and suicidal ideation are far more common; for example, the number of suicide attempts may be up to 20 times the number of deaths by suicide. It is estimated that about 5% of persons attempt suicide at least once in their life . . .

Some of you will know that I’ve been on the brink myself (I wrote about it here and here . . . oh, and I felt a bit like it here too).  Some of you will also know that I have undergone struggles with my mental health. But don’t be fooled into thinking that people with recognised mental health difficulties have the monopoly on suicidal ideation. Stressors are everywhere, and they can affect anyone of any age in any country. How we respond to those stressors and our ability to cope in stressful situations plays a large part in whether the stresses of life will eventually get the better of us.

Speaking only for myself, on the days when I have been closest to the brink, there has generally been a series of events that led to my eventual meltdown. Granted, there was probably some underlying, seemingly massive issue – financial problems and relationship struggles mainly. But it was the little, poxy, throwaway incidents that sent me over the edge . . . The ”friend” who needed to “catch the [24-hour!] supermarket before it closes” for a loaf of bread, when I started to tell her how I was feeling; the cashier who wouldn’t look up at me when he handed me my change; the woman on the bus who put her bag on the seat next to her to stop me from sitting there; the mental health worker who would have been happy to talk to me, but she was on a lunch break; the shopper who grabbed all four reduced-price pizzas as I reached for one of them; and the bus driver who drove off without me, despite me banging on the door as he pulled away.

I’m not suggesting for a minute that any one of those people would have been directly responsible for my death had I subsequently succeeded in achieving it later that day. But I am suggesting that any one of them could have acted more kindly and, in the process, I may have been able to waylay the build-up of angst that was slowly spiralling out of control.

Today, I made a point of saying hello to anyone who met my gaze. It took a couple of seconds at most, and very little effort, but it was worth it to seeing the softening of an elderly lady’s face when she gave me a rather surprised smile in the cloudy dampness of the morning rush hour.

Priestley’s play brings to light the fact that each individual family member is partially responsibly for the young woman’s suicide, and the family as a collective is completely responsible for her death. And while Priestley’s primary intent was to espouse socialist objections to the inequalities of the British social class system, his message, as relayed by the Inspector is universal: “We don’t live alone. We are members of one body. We are responsible for each other.”

So when you are out and about, consider your actions towards others:

Offer a smile, lend a helping hand, give up five minutes of your time, ask the unusually quiet person if they are OK, and take a moment to listen to their answer.

Be responsible.

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2012]

WPC: Near and far

Finding pictures for this challenge was not as easy as I initially thought it would be. For the most part, when incoporating two elements on different planes, the tendency is for one to be in focus and the other to be a bit blurry.

Like the first of these:

But I did find a couple or three that do fit the bill a bit more closely.

All of them, I might add, were taken on the rockpooly, sandy beaches around Dumfries and Galloway in Scotland – a most excellent place to visit.

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2012]

Jakesprinter’s Sunday Post: Reflection

Jake’s set another challenge for the week.

This time it’s about Reflections.

As it happens, I took a lot of pictures in that disused building that was featured in the “Urban” challenge. The building was an old two storey factory (I think) from the days when this village, and those around us, had a thriving coal-mining industry. However, the roof has collapsed in many areas -although the obvious structural dangers don’t seem to deter the local artists from entering and leaving their mark on the place.

We have had a LOT of rain in the North of England this “Summer” (cough!), and standing water is a common feature in most areas, including this building. And with water comes reflections …

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2012]

Ohhh … go on then … Capture the Colour!

I had read about the “Capture the Colour” competition a little while ago from a couple of blogs that had dabbled. But I decided not to enter myself, mainly because it is run by Travel Supermarket, and it appears to be looking for travel-based photographs. Sadly, I do very little travelling these days. My previous life of wanderlust has taken a back seat to single motherhood, and finances rarely offer the opportunity to get much further than a Sun holiday to Skegness.

Ironically, I have loads of photos from way back when I lived by my wits and walked the world on very itchy feet … but they were taken on film cameras and I haven’t a clue how to convert them to the computer.  Since the advent of the digital age, my portfolio consists of wedding, nature, and macro photos … so I was quite happy to sit on the fence for this one.

And then, Vladimir from “Wind against current” went and nominated me to take part!

Oh good grief! I hate it when someone gives me a challenge. Something inside me just keeps niggling away, and I have to give it a go.

I thought I may be resigned to presenting five pictures of colourful bugs … HOWEVER! After a bit of trawling, I came up with a few shots that may actually fit the bill. The purpose of the competition is to present five pictures, each of which represents one of the following colours: Blue, Green, Yellow, White, and Red. So here goes … (click on the images for more clarity):

BLUE.

I have only ever crossed the border from England into Scotland once, when I travelled with my son to a tiny village called Creetown in Dumfries and Galloway. It was one of those places that had zero crime, and nobody seemed to worry about anything. There are few residents and fewer tourists – despite its cult claim to fame that Britt Ekland filmed her infamous dance scene from the original “Wicker Man” film there.  We stayed at a local pub, and we were welcomed by extremely friendly locals. One couple invited us to go out sea fishing on their small boat with them one day. While we were out there, my son, aged seven at the time, caught thirteen Mackerel(s?) using one of those multi-hook lines. It didn’t take this seagull long to figure out that there is such a thing as a free lunch, and it hung around the boat for much of the afternoon:

GREEN:

As many of you already know, my idea of perfect, peaceful break away from the rat race involves some level of immersion in nature. I love to walk through the woods, take a picnic to a country meadow, and generally just lose track of time among the wee beasties and the wildlife. This picture was taken during one such excursion through the woods around Cusworth Hall in Yorkshire. I was lucky enough to spot a large dragonfly resting on a twig. Like the rest of us, he was happy to just take things easy and gave me time to take a couple of remarkably close-up shots before disappearing into the sunset.

YELLOW:

I went on a weekend holiday to Rhyl in North Wales a few weeks ago, accompanied by two very energetic boys. We stayed in a caravan park, but, as you could expect, there was little opportunity to relax. The beach was quite rocky during the day, because the tide was very far out, and the kids scratched themselves quite badly when they ventured into the sea. However, the tide returned to shore in the evening, and while the boys were being entertained by the site’s party staff, I had a chance to sit on the rocks and watch the sun go down over the waves. Despite being very cloudy during the day, I was rewarded with two evenings of beautiful sunsets. But before the sun really began to ”set” beyond the horizon, and the colours deepened to remarkable shades of orange and, eventually, purple, there were a few minutes when the whole scene was bathed in a shower of golden yellow.

WHITE

This picture was taken on a very eerie, foggy morning, as I was passing Conisbrough Castle in Yorkshire while walking my dog. It looked as if a cosy, soft blanket of cotton wool had been draped over the castle, yet within another ten or fifteen minutes, the sun had warmed up and the whole mystical scenario had evaporated away.

RED

Flying home from America, we took the “red-eye” flight which began in the early evening and landed the next morning. As we were heading east, the time zones were jumping forward, and the sunset and night seemed to happen in fast-forward speed. At the time I had a “cheap” point and shoot camera, and took a chance by pointing it directly at the sun as it set. The result was some remarkable colours and visual effects that can be seen if you change the angle that you look at the picture (easiest to illustrate the illusion by tipping the laptop screen back and forth).

 

 

So, there you have it!

The other part of the contest is to nominate five other bloggers to take part. I appreciate time is short, as the contest finishes tomorrow … but then, I was only nominated yesterday, and I’ve managed to dig out some pics – so give it a go!

Mondrak

suburbanferndaleark

kap10bob

Veronika Hjorth

Hamburg und Mee(h)r

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2012]

Weekly photo challenge: Urban

I hate the city. I hate the fast pace, the expanse, the crowds, the hiked up prices, the greyness, the intensity, the impersonal feel to it. I have never lived in a large city – despite having lived in many, many places in several countries over the years. Many of my family live in the London area – I could never live there. People don’t acknowledge each other in the city. They don’t smile or say good morning when they stand at bus stops. They are always in a hurry – and travelling on the underground trains is a claustrophobic, physical nightmare. I couldn’t go to the city to take “urban” pictures, because I would be anxious to have my camera out in public.

People who live in the cities will probably argue that all of the above statements are purely speculative and stereotypical … but hey,  it’s just the way I feel.

So this is the closest thing to “urban” I could find in a small pit village in the North of England – an old, disused factory, given a little colour by local artists.

(Click on the pictures for more clarity)

 

 

 

 

© Alice through the Macro Lens [2012]

Weekly challenge