Languid – definition: slow, lacking vigor or force, weak
Today’s word perfectly describes how I am feeling. My vacation in England was fantastic although exhausting as we tried to squeeze in as much as possible into two short weeks. The weather was hot (unusual to say the least but very welcome). Visits with family, to a wildlife park and a stately home as well as a short few days in Wales. A beach day and trips down memory lane. I will cherish this trip for a long time.
Back at my writing desk and work place, I realize I will need a few more days to get back to normal. I tried to figure out how long a day I actually stayed awake for on Monday. We woke up at 4.30 am in the UK – flew for 9 hours and arrived back in Canada at 11.30 am local time. I was then awake until 8 pm! Mind boggling to say the least, going through different time zones. It was well worth it though, travelling so far.
My vacation has given me a wealth of experiences to savor and utilize in my writing at some point as well as hundreds of photographs to enjoy.
Have you used a vacation as inspiration for a story?
With spring in full flow here on the prairie’s, the trees have burst forth with waxy new leaves, the bird’s are busy building nests and evening’s can be spent on the deck. From my writing desk I can view through the front and back of the house onto the acreage so I am surrounded by nature – perfect. Gone are the stark grey and black birch tree trunks of the winter months. Squirrels scamper about, woodpeckers are busy drumming, and butterflies flutter. There are flashes of bushy tails and vibrant wings against the green foliage. The air is full of bird song and croaking frogs with an evening chorus from the coyotes. Life is abundant.
So my happy place is either at my desk with the windows open or on the deck or walking (although the walking has been curbed somewhat with my back problems of late).
As a young child, one of my happy places was actually a small graveyard – bizarre I know, what can I say I was a strange child! I would sit in the quiet stillness underneath a willow tree beside a child’s gravestone. I cannot really explain why I felt so peaceful there but I did. Most of the time I was playing with numerous friends on bicycles, go-karts, building camps in the forest or generally hanging out but sometimes I just needed that peaceful place. Maybe it was because I was the oldest child of four and I wanted some space? Whatever the reason I felt re-charged and calm after visiting my special place.
Now-a-days, I can ‘escape’ into my creative world just as easily and find happiness there but experiencing life is always fun.
Amble – definition : to walk at a slow, easy pace : stroll : saunter
After nearly a month of back problems, I am on the mend at long last. I feel upset that I could not participate in the 30X30 Challenge in May, but sitting let alone walking was much too painful. Maybe next year!
I can manage short walks (very short) and hopefully as I continue with my wonderful chiropractor, Dr. Kris, I will be enjoying long walks again shortly. We have a Bostin Terrier staying with us for a couple of weeks from Saturday and I really want to be able to go out with her. I really miss being outside and seeing the flora and fauna as spring flourishes.
As a child I grew up in a village called Upper Bucklebury and yes it is part of the collection of hamlet’s called Bucklebury, where the Duchess of Cambridge lived. The house we moved into was in a new development and I can remember playing in the construction sites (not something children do now a days!) as the other homes were being built. Eventually young families moved in, giving us lots of friends to play with. With a forestry commission tree planation at the bottom of the road and common land to play in, which was not far on our bikes, we were very happy. This beautiful church was actually in Bucklebury village down the hill from where I lived.
This pub was along the road from my old house. I have visited the village in recent years unfortunately it has been built up with fancy houses, which is a real shame. I will always picture the village as it was in my childhood though. Hours playing in the woods and racing bikes and go-carts down the hill.
Before coming to Canada I lived in another delightful village called Vernham Dean. With a small village school, a pub and a small shop we were surrounded by fields. The school had a massive upgrade, which was sorely needed. Here are a couple of photos.
The oldest part of the village was along the valley road. Here are some of the cottages along it. The middle one is the pub.
My new surroundings and country has different aspects and terrain. I am gradually becoming accustomed to it. Including the snow fall…!
But once summer arrives :
No Sunday Snippets from me today but please pop over to the other writers sites.
Please enjoy everyone’s snippets – here is the list.
Bog – definition: a wet spongy marsh; a poorly drained acid area in which dead plant matter accumulates and sphagnum usually grows in abundance.
This word took me immediately back to an event that happened to me when I was about nine years old. We were on vacation in a quaint cottage beside an estuary. Wellies (rubber boots) over bare feet, wearing T-shirts and shorts, my younger brother and I went fishing for crabs. The tide was slowly ebbing out exposing a muddy riverbed. We happily poked around catching small crabs and fish to put into our bucket for a while. Then I spied it, a huge crab near the center of the expanse of mud. I stepped slowly hoping not to frightened it away.
Just as the crab was in touching distance I sunk. Mud oozed over the top of my boots and dribbled around my ankles and in between my toes. My brother starting laughing as did I, until that is I tried to extricate my boots out of the mud. I was stuck fast. No matter how hard I tried I could not get out. Panic set in and my brother could see it. I screamed for him to get my Dad. Thoughts of the tide coming back in and my drowning filled my mind as I waited. It felt like hours of course but was probably only a matter of minutes before my Dad appeared. He laughed at first but when he saw my face, told me not to worry. He strode towards me, grabbed me under the arms and pick me out of my wellies. I protested about leaving them but he told me they were lost, he would get me a new pair.
This sort of experience can be artfully used in our writing. Personal events and their emotional effect can assist us in describing a characters situation. Maybe one of my characters is stuck – I can remember that feeling and expand it to suit the scene I am creating. Small details make such a difference. I can still remember how that cold mud felt between my toes and how it smelt. Depth in a scene draws our readers in – go deeper into your self to find those golden nuggets, the ones that make your writing superb.
Have you used a personal experience or memory to help with a scene? Care to share?