Slippery

He looks like a slippery character I thought as I watched him saunter up to my front door and ring the bell. He had sales person written all over him.

I was right.

Yes? I barked as I stuck my head out of the window in response to his ring. I gave him the once over as I waited for him to begin his spiel taking in his dark suit, his too dazzling smile, his slight swagger

I see your guttering is looking like it needs to be replaced, he began, is it something you would want doing? We will be in the area next week and we could do yours while we are here. Your name and telephone number? All this was said in one breath while he whipped out a notepad from the top pocket of his coat.

Cheeky blighter, I fumed inwardly, did he really think I was going to fall for that line?

Not interested, I said sharply and drew my head in shutting the window firmly.

Unfortunately my neighbour fell for it and had his guttering changed the following week – for a £800 fee of course. Two days later, the guttering was leaking (he complained to my husband) as the two work men who had been sent out to do the job had botched it. Our neighbour had been unable to reach the slippery salesperson despite his numerous attempts to do so, surprise surprise. Plus he couldn’t claim on his insurance because the company that the salesperson represented was not registered!!

So the poor man had to call in another company to fix it. They had to rip it all off and replace it with their own guttering – for an eye watering £1,800!! So in all, our neighbour was out of pocket by £2,600 all because of a slippery salesperson.

In the News

It must have struck you how there is hardly ever any good news in the news. It’s been like that for years I suspect but in the last 15 years even more so. Death, destruction and mayhem rule the day. Sensational headlines are what sells but what angers me the most though is watching z-list ‘celebrities’ being paraded across our screens and newspapers touting their own brand of so called success or partaking of yet another trashy reality TV show – and this from people I struggle to understand what exactly they are famous for!

Won’t it be nice to have a newspaper or just one, ONE is all I ask, TV channel dedicated to good news only? But that’s hardly going to happen, is it? Won’t appeal to the advertisers or the vast majority of the public who rely on a daily dose of bad news to keep them going.

So if what’s in the news gets you down, do like I do and switch that TV off.

In the Kitchen

The majority of my time is spent in the kitchen. (Funny how this seems to be the lot of many women).

The time is mostly spent doing the mediocre chores: loading and unloading the dishwasher and/or washing machine, cleaning out the fridge, clearing out the cupboards, picking up my daughters magnetic alphabets off the floor for the umpteenth time, putting away groceries and of course cooking – an activity I spend the bulk of my time on (too much time if you ask me). As I don’t ever buy ready made microwaveable meals (I like to know what goes into my food) I tend to cook everything from scratch, and I mean everything and believe me, this takes a lot of time. But I get the satisfaction of knowing that my family gets a wholesome, healthy meal with no additives.

Then there are the times when the kitchen stops being the place where I perform mediocre tasks and becomes a place that offers quite a different attraction for me. It becomes a room I can unwind in – a sanctuary of sorts. This is where I sit and read the Sunday paper over a steaming mug of tea, or scribble in my journal, or sneak into to have a quiet phone call with a good friend. It’s the place where, during the summer, I sit on the back step leading into the garden and soak up the sun and watch my flowers grow. Above all, it is the one place where I am allowed to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes – listening to the radio.

In a corner of the kitchen counter on a pile of cook books sits my cute little pale pink DAB satellite radio which was a Christmas present from my husband and the first thing I do when I walk into the kitchen is turn it on. And although I don’t always pay attention to the programme that’s on, the low background murmur of the moderators’ voice has a very comforting and soothing effect on me. Strange but true.

And that’s how I spend my time in the kitchen.

Dream Journey

My dream journey is quite simple and it's ...

To go away somewhere
On my own
No husband
No child
Nobody
Just me
Alone

Superstition

Me?
Superstitious?
Nah!
I only walked around that ladder because there was a puddle of water right underneath it.

Me?
Superstitious?
Of course not!
I got some salt on my fingers when the salt cellar spilt and that’s what you saw me dusting off over my left shoulder.

Me?
Superstitious?
Don’t be silly!
I didn’t have much to do on Friday the 13th that’s why I stayed at home all day.

Me?
Superstitious?
How absurd!
I only crossed the road to get to the ATM not because I saw a black cat coming my way.

Me?
Superstitious?
Whatever gave you that idea?

Puzzled

How can he say

That he loves her

Always has

Always will do

But still leave her

For another woman

I don't understand

I'm puzzled

So is she

Yummy

20 Things I find really yummy

Spooning with my hubby The sound of my daughter’s laughter My Ralph Lauren driving shoes Jeans that actually fit Strolling in Paris SNOW Strawberries and cream Curling up with a good book A hot shower on a cold evening Journals Pretty coloured paper Bookshops Feeling baby KICK inside me My PDA Seeing my spring bulbs sprout Summer time Hot chocolate Me Time The smell of coffee Finding an unbelievable bargain

Goodbye

I have said many goodbyes in my time.

I have had happy goodbyes and sad goodbyes.
I have had goodbyes where I just wanted to break out in a little jig at the freedom this particular parting would bring and I have goodbyes that have broken my heart.

I have said goodbye to friends, foes, family and lovers.
I have said goodbye to homes, cities, jobs, countries and possessions.
I have said goodbye to dreams, hopes, plans, the person I used to be.
Yes, I have said good bye to many things.

There have also been the silent goodbyes where the word was never really spoken but we knew deep inside that we will never see that person again. Like a lover moving thousands of miles away. The phone calls eventually stop being made and the letters dry up. Goodbye.

I don’t like goodbyes, never have. They always leave me in tears- either of joy or sadness. There is a finality about the word that drains me emotionally so I’d rather say ‘See You Soon’ that way, there is the possibility that we might meet again someday. And that possibility is so much nicer.

Good bye: A Haiku

I force a bright smile
And hug you tightly to me
My heart breaks inside

One last kiss goodbye
Then we turn to hide our pain
A chapter closes

Chronicle {of my first labour}

Warning! This is a long read.

February 16, 2003 – 11ish O’clock at night

I am lying in bed when I hear this audible ‘pop’ and a sharp pain in the lower region of my belly. Thinking it is a bad case of gas, I lie and wait for the ‘emission’. After 2 minutes nothing has happened so I turn to settle into a more comfortable position when – wait, what’s that wet trickling between my legs? I reach down and feel gingerly – yes! It’s definitely wet, getting wetter by the second and showing no signs of slowing down either. I switch the lights on pronto and shake hubby awake saying at the same time ‘my waters have broken; I think my waters have broken’.
‘What waters?’ is the sleepy response.

The light finally dawns and he leaps out of bed – fairly calm- grabs his mobile phone and calls, after a bit of fumbling about with the numbers, our friend Boo and my Midwife. She asks if I am in any pain (yes), what time the waters broke (about 10 minutes ago), was I bleeding (yes, a little), how is the flow (heavy, I am lying in bed with a towel between my legs!). Fine sounds good she says (could have fooled me!!).

She tells hubby to tell me to go and have a shower and clean up, get ready and then go straight to the hospital. I do all this and shortly after Boo arrives and off we go.

Feburary 17, 2003 Midnight-ish – 3am

Arrive at the Hospital a little after midnight. I am put in one of the labour rooms and asked to change (would you like the hospital gown or did you bring something along?) into something ‘more comfortable’. So I change into my La Senza night shirt and a pair of warm socks and climb onto the bed where I am put in a ½ lying ½ sitting position, and hooked up to a machine which monitors my baby’s heart beat, my heartbeat and pulse rate, via two straps which are put around my belly and a finger clamp on my index finger. My blood pressure is also checked. The midwife palpates my belly (quite roughly) and examines me internally (even more roughly!!) and tells us that I am 3cm dilated. She would leave me on the monitor and come back and check on me in 30 minutes. She drapes me with a hospital blanket and leaves. I am still cold in spite of the blanket.

By this time the contractions are coming hard and I am in pain and hanging onto hubby’s hand for dear life and muttering ‘mummy, mummy’ (huh????). I keep telling him how much it hurts and he keeps stroking my head and saying ‘I know, I know sweetie’.

The midwife returns 30 minutes later, takes the straps off and inquires after the sort of pain relief I would like. Hubby and I look at each other for a second and opt for Gas and Air - with an epidural as a last resort.

She hooks up the Gas and Air machine and shows me how to use the inhaler bit and then hands it to me. I put it into my mouth and breathe deeply… nothing and then it hits. All I can say is this must be how drug addicts feel when they take their first hit. It is a very strange feeling. It doesn’t take the pain away but boy, does it make you feel high. I felt like I was floating and the pain was sort of in the background – like it was happening to someone else, not me. You hallucinate and just zonk out basically. The effect doesn’t last long though and wears off a few minutes after you stop inhaling. However, we become inseparable friends that inhaler and I.

About an hour (or more) later the midwife suggests that maybe I would like a warm bath as this would help relax me and ease the pain a bit. I gladly agree (anything to ease the pain) and off we go to the bathroom with hubby supporting me. The water is lovely and warm and does help the pain a little but not much. In between the breaks of pain, I chat with hubby but when the pain hits it is numbing and all I can do is moan.

It is at this point that my main midwife, D, arrives. She asks after my contractions, the pain and some other stuff which I cannot now remember. She also goes off to get my Gas and Air and soon I am high again. After about 30 minutes in the bath, I decide I have had enough and I am helped out, dried and dressed up again. I also decide that I need to wee – an attempt which takes absolutely ages. D leaves the tap running to help me along. Finally I do and we set off to the labour room, which D had swapped in the meantime for a smaller and much warmer one. She asks if I would prefer to lie on the bed or use ‘the chair’. Now, this chair is no ordinary chair. I will call it a birthing chair. It reclines and is soft and comfortable and just heaven. I settle in, clutching my inhaler for dear life and wait for the rest of the drama to unfold. I am so totally spaced out.

7:00am – 12:48pm

At 7:52 am, D examines me again. I am 7cm dilated. From experience, she explains, a woman dilates at the rate of approximately 1.5cm every hour and thinks that by 10:00am I should be having my baby. She then orders hubby off to go and have some breakfast in the hospital canteen.

At 10:00am D checks me again and this time I am fully dilated (10cm) and from this point forward it is action stations. Every contraction now is important and I am required to push with each one. I push and I push and I push …. By 12 noon still no baby. My contractions were are now happening further and further apart and I am getting higher and higher on my G & A and in la-la land.

By this time, the Consultant arrives and gives D a deadline of 1 hour to deliver me if not , she (the consultant) will give me a forceps delivery which D assured me in no uncertain terms, was a road I wouldn’t want to go down. So adamant was she that I wasn’t going to have a forceps delivery that she wouldn’t allow the consultant examine me and practically kicked her out of the delivery room.

By this time D had reached her limit with me. She put a catheter into my bladder to drain it ( in case this was one of the contributory factors for the baby not coming), turned me onto my side to encourage the contractions and see if I would be more willing to push – I wasn’t as the pain in this position was just unbelievable. Finally, with hubbys help, they both hurled me out of my comfortable chair because D said I had become too comfortable and lazy in that position and took away my G & A – this was the killer for me. I was put onto the bed with my legs in stirrups and given an ultimatum (in fact several)

1. If you don’t push with each contraction, you will be put on a drip which induces them; however, they will become 10 times more painful.
2. You can have your G & A back BUT you will have to lie on your side.
3. You cannot avoid the pain, so you can push hard now and deliver your baby. I believe you can do it.

I opt for number three.

The pain was horrendous!!! I pushed like I had never pushed before and suddenly I could hear hubby say ‘I can see the head. It has crowned’.

By now both D and hubby were yelling at me to PUUUUSSSSHHHHHHH PUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSHHHHHH YOU ARE ALMOST THERE – which I did and then D tells me to stop and just pant (the head was half way out by now) and then the head was out at 12:46pm. I was told not to push. A couple more pushes later and our darling daughter was born at 12:48pm. Hubby did the honours of cutting the umbilical cord. She was put on my chest straight away – gook and all – before being taken away to be cleaned.

About ½ hr later, I had a warm bath and was wheeled away to my recovery room.

****************************************************************************

And to think I will be doing this all over again come June!!

Fantasy

I have to confess straight away that I am not a big fan of fantasy – never have been. I have not watched nor read Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, Harry Potter or been captivated by science fiction. There is no real explanation for my total lack of interest in these particular genres of writing or film except to say that perhaps I am a little bit too realistic when it comes to (my) life in general and so tend to prefer to live in the now of things.

Having said that I will admit that I do fantasize about changing my life sometimes. Doing something different, living someplace else – I especially fantasize about moving out of the city and living in the country or somewhere quiet by the beach where I will grow my own vegetables, raise my own fowl, not worry about finances, live in a world without TV, iPods and the internet (perhaps living without the internet is stretching it a bit, but it can be done) and have my children grow up in the great outdoors. And the main reason I like this particular fantasy of mine is because it can easily (well almost) become reality.

Idea

I used to have a pretty good idea of how I wanted my life to turn out.

I wanted to be married by the age of 21, a millionaire, naturally, at the age of 25, have the most perfect kids on the planet, live by the beach somewhere in a house with hard wood floors.

I was 16 at the time and did I happen to mention a realistic sixteen year old at that?

Anyway, let’s just say, erm, life didn’t quite pan out according to plan idea.

I did get married albeit nine years later than I had anticipated. I am still waiting for the millions and the house by the beach. Still, one out of three ain’t bad… is it?

Now at almost 37, my concept of a good idea is simply being content to see the sun rise every morning.

Kissing

My first kiss ever was an absolute disaster. It was wet, it was sloppy it was … just horrible. Could it perhaps have been down to the fact that we were both barely fourteen years old and didn’t know what the heck we were doing?

Many moons and kisses on, I have overcome the trauma of that first kiss and now kissing has become quite a pleasurable pastime. I have even heard it said that kissing is sometimes more intimate than sex and I have to say that a very big part of me agrees with this.

In the early days, my husband and I were ardent kissers. It was something we could just sit (or lie) and do for ages and we both enjoyed it immensely. My favourite sorts of kisses were the quick stolen ones just before a parent walked into the room or in the kitchen while friends who were over for dinner waited at the dinning table for their food to be served. They always reduced me to a red faced, flustered and breathless wench. These were hot passionate kisses laden with promises of other things to come.

Sadly our kisses have changed now. Marriage and Parenthood has taken its toll on the passion and our kisses are mostly mechanical, now reduced to a Goodbye Peck when we go to work and Hello Peck when we return. What used to be a passion rousing activity has now become a brief pressing together of pursed lips for a nanosecond and then it’s all over.

There are times though when a glimmer of the hot kiss reappears and it always takes me pleasantly by surprise. Hmm I think, we haven’t quite lost it yet and lose myself in the moment.

Destination

I am sure I have heard it said somewhere, and I quote very loosely, that ‘…it is not in the destination, it is in the journey.’ I couldn’t agree more.

The word destination has a finality about it and to reach ones destination - either of a goal, a dream, an aspiration or a long nursed hope – suggests that you have reached the end, there is no place left to go. This frightens me – the thought of having no place left to go, no more options open to me. Fini, Ende, Period.

Ah, but a journey – the word alone suggests wonder, discovery, experimentation, exploration, venturing into the unknown. It signifies growth, learning, change.

I realise now that I never want to reach a destination. Sure I want to work towards something, but I never want that something to come to an end. I want my life to be one endless journey – going down mysterious roads, falling over, picking myself up, trying out new things, making changes, realizing those changes don’t work, then making new changes.

And for this reason, I have determined that for 2007 I shall not be making any resolutions. Resolutions are all about reaching destinations – lose 30lbs by March, quit my job by August and so on, but imagine making 2007 one long journey of (self) discovery. So instead of saying lose 30lbs by March, you say try a new fruit, walk in the park more often, give olive oil a try and so forth. All new things to try but which, hopefully will lead you to your goal but in a creative, exploratory and fun way. Think about it.

May 2007 be YOUR year of exploration, discovery and wonder. May you never reach a destination.

Journey well…

Happy New Year everybody.

Change

It was really uncanny when I saw this weeks’ prompt because on Thursday morning as I stood underneath the shower I made a promise to myself. In 2007, I promised, I shall not make any resolutions rather; it will be my year of Change. I will not have a long list of things which I tick off along the way instead, I shall effect small but important changes which will have a significant impact on and in my life over the next 12 months.

You see, I never quite fulfill my resolutions, and on the 31st of each year they stare at me accusingly from off the page on which I had written them 365days prior. I feel guilty, I feel annoyed, I feel like I have failed… yet again. I am tired of feeling like this every years end.

The one question I ask myself as 2007 looms is - Which habits do I need to change to move me one step further to where I want to be?

I shall not resolve to lose 10kg before the end of March but I will change my eating habits by taking one less bread roll or walking to the grocery store instead of hopping into the car for the 2 minute drive.

I shall not resolve to read the Bible in a year but I will change the way I read it – reading one chapter only a day and if it takes me 3 years to finish it, then I would have accomplished my mission.

You see, my life does not need resolutions, it need Change. A Change in my habits, a Change in the way I view life (no, the universe is not out to get me), a Change in the way I perceive myself and my abilities, a Change in the way I deal with people, a Change in my personal relationships and my relationship with God, a Change in my thinking.

And these changes cannot be achieved in one year – which (mainly) is the deadline for the achievement of resolutions. Change takes time. It’s taken almost 37 years to make me what I am today, so what makes me think I can undo the person I have become in just one year?

So I raise my glass to change and echo the words of Oprah who says

Making a different choice gives you the opportunity to live a different life.

Happy New Year in advance everyone!

Morning

I open my eyes and find its early morning
I can see the first rays of light
Coming through the windows
I lower my eyes and watch you sleeping
You look so beautiful and at peace
Sleeping there beside me
And my heart almost bursts with my love for you
This is the picture of you
I carry with me always
My beautiful lover asleep in my bed

And I pretend that when you awake
You’ll hold me in your arms
And tell me how much I mean to you
And how you’ll never let me go
And I in turn will promise you
My everlasting love
And then we’ll make slow sweet love
And lay in each other’s arms
Till the evening comes
But all this happens in my mind only

In reality…
I open my eyes and find its early morning
Because I can see the rays of light
Coming through the windows
I lie stiffly beside you
Fearing I would wake you if I turn
But I need not worry
You awake presently with a little grunt
Then you turn and look at me
And ask why I’m staring at you in such a funny way
I lower my eyes and give no reason
No time will ever be right
To tell you how much I love you
So I don’t even bother to try

You switch on the radio
And drift in and out of light sleep
Suddenly with a start you sit up
Drawing the covers around your body
The same body which you let me
Look upon so freely the night before
Now I in turn feel embarrassed at my nakedness
But I understand
That was last night
And this is early morning
You have ceased to belong to me

You search for your watch or ask me the time
I tell you its half past eight
With a muttered curse and one quick movement
You’re out of bed and climbing into your jeans
You’re pulling on your shirt
And grabbing my toothbrush
In less than seven minutes
You’re dressed and ready to go
I give you a bright smile
And pretend I don’t care
With not a goodbye kiss
But a carefree ‘I’ll see you sometime’
You open my door and you’re gone

I have no right to ask
If I’ll see you later or tomorrow
You ceased to give me that privilege a long time ago
I’m left empty and confused
All I know is that sometime next week
There’ll be a knock on my door
And there you’ll be
Smiling brightly at me
You’re arrived for our weekly coupling
And we’ll go through the same cycle
When early morning comes

This poem, which I entitled 'Early Morning', was written some 15 years ago but I think it fits in nicely with this weeks' prompt.

Good

It was good, he said, for them to get together
He was the high school heartthrob
She was the high school beauty
Together they would make a great team

It was good, he said, to cut class once in a while
The world was passing them by
While they sat stuck in a classroom
At their age it was all about freedom not books

It was good, he said, for them to have sex
They would make music together
They would fit perfectly
After all everyone was doing it

It was good, he said, to get rid of it
At seventeen who wants to be lumbered with a baby
Their lives stretched ahead of them
Why ruin it because of one mistake

It was good, he said, to go to the party
Never mind if her parents didn’t consent
Sneak out when everyone is fast asleep
And meet me at the corner by the willow tree

It was good, he said, to be bad once in a while
To borrow dads car with out permission
Without a licence
That’s what life is about, taking risks, living on the edge

It was good, he said, to have a little drink
To take a little pill
To get a little high
To get a little wild

It was all good, he said, he wasn’t drunk
Get in the car, turn the music up
Wind the windows down
Feel the speed, the wind in your hair

They were found an hour later
Wrapped around a tree
A violent end to two young lives
And that wasn’t so good after all.

If I could stop time...

If I could stop time, I would have stopped it in my early twenties. This was the age at which I was foot loose and fancy free and the word ‘Responsibility’ didn’t feature in my dictionary. But above all else, this was the age at which I could put anything through my lips and not live in mortal fear of seeing the consequences of my unhealthy choices reflected back at me in the mirror the next day.

Let’s just say my body has changed since then. For one thing it has gradually become very unforgiving when I make bad lifestyle choices (too much butter and I have spots the next day, too little sleep and I can’t function past 12 noon) and for another, its metabolic rate is just not what it used to be. Now the thing is, my head grasps this little fact but my mind refuses to acknowledge it which leaves me in a very precarious position as most of the time I tend to listen to my mind.

You see, my mind still believes that a slice of cheese cake or a hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream will soon work its way out of my system. And when my head tries to butt in, my mind tells me Nah! Don’t worry; go ahead you’ll be fine. And I actually listen to it!

My body has rebelled you see. The only place the consumption of such treats (alas, at this stage of my life they have become treats, in my twenties they were called Staple Diet) work their way to is my hips, bum and thighs. I used to be a svelte size 8 (US 4) but now I’m a … well, lets just say I have moved a few notches up into double figures and whenever my husband dares to comment on my now curvy figure I quickly remind him that this body has carried a baby for nine months, gone through 10 hours of labour and has breast fed for 3 months so I can be excused if it’s looking a little worse for wear.

But the good news it that although I do miss my slimmer days sometimes, I don’t obsess about it. I love what I’ve got and I’m learning to live with it. So there!!

And the super power I would grab out of the bag? WILL POWER.

Skin

At the age of 36, I am only just becoming comfortable in my own skin. I am discovering what works for me – what sort of books I really enjoy reading, the clothes and colours that suit me, what friends to keep and which ones to do away with (only in the literary sense of course), what foods to avoid and which ones to consume in copious amounts and how to treat my Self with respect and gentleness. In other words, I am discovering myself as I never did in my teens and twenties.


In my twenties, I engaged in a few disastrous relationships that in hindsight I should have avoided like the plague. I conformed to the wants of the other person and so was never really myself. They liked to party then so did I, they skived off lectures then so did I, they loved fast motor bikes then so did I – you get the picture? It was always about the other person. I moulded myself to what they wanted because I wanted to be a part of something – a relationship – no matter how unhealthy it was. But there you go. I am sure this is a familiar pattern with many of you as well. I sort of darted through those years directionless and unsure of who I was and what I really wanted out of life and quite frankly, I didn’t give it much thought – life was too fun.

My twenties also spelt lots, and I mean LOTS, of fashion bloops. I was the type of girl who hung onto every word the glossies would tell you about what was in and what was out. I would wear those built in shoulder pads that planes could taxi off even if it killed me! Oh, how I cringe when I see photos of myself from the 80’s and the early 90’s. HOW COULD I EVER HAVE WORN THOSE CLOTHES?? Somebody shoot me!! I would destroy them all if I had my way, but I have to keep something for my daughter to laugh about in the years to come.

I think I really started to try my own skin on for size when I relocated to live in England. At 30, I was all alone for the first time – far away from my comfort zones which were family and my then estranged boyfriend (now husband). I had no choice but to discover the stuff I was made of. It was either accept defeat and return home with my tail between my legs or accept the challenge and embrace the next chapter in my life with abandon. I chose to embrace. And between the ages of 30 and 32 I grew so much – not in terms of size, but in terms of discovering myself, my strengths, my abilities, my likes and dislikes, and navigating, on my own, in my way, the stepping stones that will lead me to where I wanted to be.

And now fast approaching my thirty seventh birthday, there is no more pretence. Being a mum and most especially a wife gives you no other option but to be yourself. If you’re not then you are faced with being someone else for the rest of your life and your family will never have the joy or misfortune (as the case sometimes is) of experiencing the genuine you.


So I am myself now. Not anyone else. I am far more confident now than I was in my twenties. I speak up for myself and if I don’t like something I don’t hesitate to say so, diplomatically of course. I don’t follow the crowd and neither do I live a life that has been deemed the ‘right’ one to live by the experts. I wear my own skin, and I wear it well. It has the odd wrinkle here and a few stretch marks there – but I think they suit me. They are the battle scars of life that say Been There and Done That. I look forward to stretching my skin a bit more in the years ahead – new challenges, lifestyle changes and if all goes well, another baby perhaps.

And after all is said and done, I know I would much rather wear my own skin than anyone else’s.

Instructions

I don’t know where this little set of instructions originated from but I love them

Instructions for Sowing and Reaping

Sow a Thought
Reap a Word

Sow a Word
Reap an Action

Sow an Action
Reap a Habit

Sow a Habit
Reap a Character

Sow a Character
Reap a Destiny

I Would Never Write...

I thought I would never be able to write a post for this prompt.
I was right…