A bits ‘n’ pieces post for you today.
Lead and Gold character classes were designed from American frontier archetypes. (Photo credit: Wikipedia) That’s me, second right
The Hub managed to be in my good and bad books at the same time yesterday. He told me I’d have made a great frontierswoman, getting stuck in and getting on with surviving. The kind of woman he likes.
For someone who hates cooking, housework, needlework and any job considered ‘female’ back then, it was a rare compliment indeed. Then he said, ‘You’d have been great; but you’d have complained a lot.’
I should have told him that, in my imaginary past life as a Woman Out West (WOW), I married the wealthy rancher and let other women do the female work, with him as the mop.
That’s what I call surviving.
I met the woman who connected me to the man who organised for me to read at Walthew House in church yesterday.
Discussing how the poetry reading had gone, she told me that on that particular Tuesday, the Deaf and Hard of Hearing Clinic was running and the queue had spilled into the hall, as it sometimes does.
So they weren’t carers being rude; they were people who couldn’t hear me and presumably didn’t know they were talking over me.
I feel better now I have revised my earlier position. Perhaps I should send them the book.
I ran two writing workshops on Saturday, at the church fun day. If I add the total number of participants at the start of each workshop to the total number of those who came in late, it adds up to a total of Big Fat Zero.
I had a sign outside my gazebo:
Signwriting must be one of them thar femin-ine skills, ‘cos it ain’t one o’ mine
I watched as people walked towards me, began to read the sign, got as far as WRITERS/WORKSHOPS and then veered rapidly off at an angle before I could collar them. Not one person in four hours expressed an interest in writing or workshops.
It went from exasperating to embarrassing to I couldn’t stop laughing about it.
Five children wandered in at different times; all went away happy with their free notebook and pen; three also left with poems they’d just written. It was worth being there for that alone. I also chattered to a lady who caught me as I was leaving (covered in shame). She knew about Stockport Writers but had never joined us; I hope I convinced her to come along to our next meeting.
Your faith in me is flattering but, I surmise on this evidence, unjustified. I thank you anyway. As a reward, have the smile that Stockport’s non-writers didn’t want:
It’s been another busy week at Tilly Bud Towers so, of course, it was the blog wot give (something had to).
I promise to try and put aside tomorrow to reply to your comments and return your visits.
Sorry. Again. I mean it. No, really; I do.
There’s a lion loose in Stockport!
My friend Pam and I came across it while out on a walk with the dogs.
Pam was brave enough to stop and take a photograph: