Speechless

"Speechless, Speechless

Thats how you make me feel.

When I`m with you I am lost for words

Nothing is for real.

Speechless!"

Brave Hayley

I want to dedicate this post to a very brave little girl by the name of Hayley Okines, after seeing a truly touching documentary on television this evening.
  Hayley is a twelve year old British girl who suffers from the debilitating and life-threatening disease called Progeria.  There is only one more child in Britain who suffers from the same disease and an estimated one in eight million chance of anyone being born with it.  Please read on to learn more about this incredible girl and be inspired by her bravery.

"Her parents from Bexhill, East Sussex, were horribly aware that the average lifespan for a child with progeria is only 13 years old and Hayley was devastated when she lost her best friend to the disease in 2006.

Hayley is one of the first progeria children to try a new class of drug called FTIs (farnesyltransferase inhibitors). These were found to reverse an abnormality in progeria cells in the laboratory and also prevented symptoms developing in progeria mice.


The family were well aware of the risks involved so early on in the trial. However Kerry, 36, said: 'At the end of the day we have got nothing to lose."


Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-1286481/Progeria-schoolgirl-Hayley-Okines-body-96-year-old-refuses-let-rapid-aging-disease-win.html?ITO=1490#ixzz0qrehPLwP

More information on Hayley can be seen on her page http://www.hayleyspage.com/ or www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=25772240351

World Cup 2010

International Football involving England is definitely not for the weak hearted.  Oh, the game started reasonably well, we even managed a goal in the fourth minute.  A stunner from our own captain, no less; then the game took on the familiar pattern of Englishmen abroad.  The commentator described it brilliantly when he called it a "rollercoaster" game. 

I sat in my daughter`s lounge willing our team to do well.  When Gerrards` shot hit the back of the net, myself my son and my son-in-law cheered loudly and sprang to our feet.  The baby screamed in shock and my daughter yelled in annoyance as we three grabbed our horns and blew them loudly in celebration.  We just couldnt contain our excitement at the prospect of winning this first game of the championship. 

Our celebration was short-lived as we returned to our seats to continue watching the game.   Exasperation led to annoyance as each opportunity to score again was scuppered  by a misskick, a failed attempt at passing the ball accurately to another team member, or sloppy footwork. 

Half time was only five minutes away when disaster struck.  Our goalie fluffed what appeared to be an easy attempt at scoring by the Americans, and the ball rolled agonisingly slowly across the line behind him.  Again we yelled - this time in total dismay and disbelief.  Again the baby cried.

We kidded ourselves that the second half would produce more goals from our lads in South Africa, but it was not to be and the truth and reality of our swift demise was soon evident.  We willed our players to score again, offering advice at the television as if we were football managers ourselves, but to no avail.  By the end of the match our previously high spirits were broken, our hopes in tatters.

The red and white wig my son had proudly worn for most of the day was ripped off his head and unceremoniously dumped behind him on the sofa. He was so disappointed.  The horns we had blown so loudly and energetically stood untouched on the dining table.  I seriously considered removing the St George flag from my car as we left to go home, such was our dismay.

"See you on Friday for the next match" called my daughter as I opened the car door.  My eyes rolled skyward.  "Okay Honey", I replied. "Dont forget the horns!".  Well, we can only live in hope!

I Have a Plan

I have an idea that I am really excited about.  I cannot divulge exactly what it is, suffice to say it will be thrilling to do and well worth the effort needed to make it successful.  I am however allowing myself to say that it has to do with writing. 

I have been writing my autobiography for some time now and need to knuckle down more and focus on completing it.  I never realised how difficult and emotionally draining it would be but am determined one day to be satisfied that it is complete and as perfect as it is possible to be.  I want to make sure all the pieces of my life puzzle are in place and the overall picture is as true to life as it should be. 

Creatively I have hit the proverbial wall recently and have struggled in most areas of my creativity.  Although it can indeed be cathartic, by its nature and because of my own expectations, it has to be as good and fresh as it can be, using the best words, choosing the best colours, producing the best I can achieve.

  With art, the paint needs to flow, the sketching needs to create the image I have in my mind; the photograph as stunning, or even stronger than the original vision.  With writing, the words also need to flow, to make sense and be as coherently correct in their meaning and comprehension.  It`s a hard task that can be undertaken and developed into something special if attempted and executed at the right time. 

My best work has always been achieved when I feel unchallenged by lack of ideas, be it songwriting, writing, poetry or producing artwork.  Struggling for the next part,  next word or next line,  hinders my creativity, stemming my natural flow.  It`s almost as if my mindset says if it doesn`t come naturally it wont feel right, so dont do it.  Strange how our unconscious thoughts govern and determine our emotions and self assurance. 

His Father

He called today to say he wanted to pick our son up on Friday at 9am.  I hurriedly rushed him off the phone not wanting to listen to his pathetic, futile excuses for not arriving the previous weekend.  There was a time when I would have refused him the pleasure of spending time with my precious ten year old, but  my son wants to see his father and who am I to revoke that?  My son deserves a father whether he be a good or bad example.  Only time will show my boy the kind of father he really is and by then he will have built a resilient wall for his thoughtlessness and constant disappointments.  He knows his father has a "problem" but I have been careful not to use the word alcoholic in his presence because I also feel it is something he needs to work out for himself, and I dont want him to feel I am stigmatizing and labelling his father.

So Friday will come and off they will go to the shops; my son knowing that anything he wants he will have bought for him by his father. 

Friday

The phone rang at 8.50am. My son answered it, I hadnt heard it. It was his father telling him he was caught up at work and would phone him as soon as he had finished.
My son went back to watching his programmes, phone by his side. 
Today is Saturday and we have heard nothing.
By 1pm I knew he would not be phoning or indeed visiting. His phone was switched off unable to receive my texts or phone calls.
This man was present at the birth of his son, one of the first to cradle him and swore to be a great father.
This man cried at our wedding supposedly incapable of controlling his emotions of joy.
Where are his emotions now?

No doubt at the bottom of a pint glass.

Divorced and Free

Last Monday I received the letter I had been waiting for; my divorce absolute certificate.  I received it with a mixture of emotions, none of which were regret or sadness.  I wasn`t euphorically happy, I wasn`t overwhelmingly sad;  I was emotionally settled and accepting. 

 My marriage was akin to going on a long arduous hike - the start was pleasant and my hopes were high of reaching the destination in one piece.  I knew there would be struggles, potholes and times when I would feel completely lost and hopeless, but I believed that the journey would be worth it and and that we would walk the path together avoiding obstacles, strengthening our relationship. Sometimes as we walked on level ground I believed things were going to be okay, and then, from nowhere, would appear a hill for us to climb.  Gradually I realised I was climbing the hill alone, he was happy to stay at the bottom, in the gravel and the mud and when I reached the top, there was no-one there to celebrate with, no-one to to share my achievement.  I guess I am a sentimentalist and romanticist and by the end of the journey, these traits were stretched to breaking point and eventually splintered and shattered along with any dreams of happiness and contentment.  

I wept too many tears within the marriage to weep again at its closure.  I wanted and needed the closure as the alternative was too painful and destructive to consider.  The continuing over-powering sadness, frustrations and despair I experienced whilst I fought to save my non-functioning relationship totally drained me both psychologically and emotionally, leaving scars deeper than the deepest crater. 

I suppose the over-riding emotion I now feel is one of relief that I have infact survived.  I thank God for giving me the strength to do what I had to do and rewarding me with my sanity.

Nearly Christmas

Things aren`t great at the moment.  But then, it`s nearly Christmas. 
My car is sick, keeps overheating, so I am driving constantly aware and fearful of the little black needle on the dashboard sliding over to the right - to the red zone!  Its frightening how quickly the car heats up and how little time I have to rectify the situation.  I have no time - I must pull over before steam seeps out of the bonnet, escaping into the cold winter air, indicating disaster. 

My ex has decided to play Santa to our son after an absence of months!

The credit crunch has hold of me in a very tight grip!

.......and just to make my misery complete, my crown has once again dislodged itself from my tooth socket and is in need of immediate attention!

And - it`s nearly Christmas!