Tag Archives: People

Weekly Photo Challenge: Unique

3 Feb
Korea and a World Population of 7 Billion

Korea and a World Population of 7 Billion (Photo credit: United Nations Photo)

I didn’t take this photo, but it occurred to me that, though there are seven billion people in the world, we are all unique.  Which is directly opposite to the claim that we are all the same, which I also believe.  

We are unique in our alikeness and alike in our uniqueness.  Some of us are weird (according to my husband); some of us are allegedly normal.  Some of us have an over-developed sense of humour; others have an over-developed pituitary gland.  Some of us consider chocolate to be the missing food group; some of us will live longer than those of us who consider chocolate to be the missing food group; some of us will enjoy life more than those of us who don’t have a missing food group.

My point is: hello friend; you are different to me.  I love that.  

You love it, too?  We are so alike!    How weird is that?




‘Thank You’ Doesn’t Even Begin To Cover It

27 Feb
English: Cover banner styles clipped from imag...

Image via Wikipedia

I had a bit of a moan on Saturday.  I wasn’t looking for help.  You guys are amazing, though: help you offered, in the form of advice, moral support and cash.

In fact, several people offered cash.  Thank you.  Such ordinary words don’t express the depth of my gratitude, so here are some extraordinary words:


You know who you are.  I’d like to tell everyone who you are but you offered it privately, so I will respect that.

I am going to share the name of one person, however.  I asked her permission and she granted it only because she wanted to tell the story of why she made the offer.  It is a story worth reading, and I hope you will extend your generosity by going on over to take a look.  Tell her Tilly sent you.

The donor is Kiwidutch.  She reads my blog from time to time, but rarely comments.  That’s okay: all lurkers are welcome here (I’ll take my stats however I can get them).

On Saturday, she sent me an email, some of which I reproduce here:

Dear Tilly,  I read your post about Spud’s school trip and would like to pay the down-payment he needs.  Why?…Please see Number 46 on my 101 tasks 🙂  … it’s about walking the walk and not just talking the talk.  🙂  […] … payment for me would be for him to get busy immediately with fundraising plans […] and for him to remember to “pay it forward” one day whenever he can.

I was taken aback.  Here is what amounts to a stranger, offering my child the help he needs.  My instinct was to say ‘no’, if I’m honest, because I wasn’t asking for help in my post and it didn’t seem right to accept.  Then I realised that it wasn’t up to me: Kiwidutch was offering to help Spud, so he had to decide.  He asked for time to sleep on it; he doesn’t rush into things.  He likes to weigh up the pros and cons before making a decision.

He decided not to accept the offer.  Once the initial obstacle of no choice was removed by Kiwidutch, he looked at what it would really mean: a great trip, doing some good, learning about himself and the world, against GCSEs in summer, all his spare time spent in preparation and fundraising.  As much as he wants the trip, he wants a future more.  He has been privileged to receive an excellent education; the only way he can repay that is to do his absolute best in the exams, to show that it was not wasted on him.

Oh, and he doesn’t want to have to stop buying PS3 games (let poor children build their own walls; COD 17 will be out soon).

While I was astounded at Kiwidutch’s offer, what appealed to me was her request that Spud pay it forward.  Over the years we have told him that we expect him to donate to his school when he is earning, so that other children like him will be helped.  What Kiwidutch really offered Spud was not money, but options: more than money, we want him to pay that forward.

Thank you, Kiwidutch and all of you.  Not just for the offers, the advice and the support; but for showing me that the world is a better place than I believed it to be. 

The Crying Housewife

1 Aug
Little House on the Prairie book - original cover

Image via Wikipedia

It is unpleasant to learn that the image you have of yourself is false: like the time I discovered I am two inches taller than I am, or that I wasn’t as slim in my actuality as I was in my mind.  Yesterday, I learned another unpleasant home truth: my hard exterior does not hide a hard interior at all; I am, in fact, a soppy ball of mush.


You may have watched The Little House On The Prairie as a child, like me, and, like me, forgotten everything you ever saw except for the bit in the titles where the girls run down the hill amongst the plastic flowers (it’s true; I read it on the internet).  You may also have a friend who would now be your ex-friend if it wasn’t for the fact that she teases you the best of all your friends but left a comment on a previous post accidentally giving away the juicy bits.

For that reason, I warn you that some of the plot of TLHotP is about to be revealed. 

The Hub and I watched the end of series 4 last night…the episode where Mary went blind.  I sobbed like a baby.  At the most dramatic moment – the part where Charles tells Mary what’s happening to her, the ex-Hub said, ‘I bet she didn’t see that coming.’

All the way through the drama I kept thinking of Tinman.  Don’t be concerned (I’m talking to you, Tinman): the Hub is not about to be left (not for another man, anyway; though possibly for cracking a joke when the wife is crying her icicle-covered heart out).  I kept thinking of a comment he left on my blog last time I wrote about TLHotP.  I’m going to share it here because it is worthy of another showing:

Years ago Ireland were playing soccer in some tiny Eastern European country who didn’t have floodlights, so the game kicked off at around one pm.

As we all gathered in the pub the Little House episode where Mary went blind was on the TV. About five minutes before kick-off we asked for the football to be put on and a choking voice said “No, wait a minute, this is just over.”

We looked around and one of the old guys who drank at the bar was in floods of tears watching it.

If an old Irish guy can weep over something that happened 140 years ago, then so can I.  If it transpires that I am sentimental under my frost, the Hub is just going to have to get used to it.  He needn’t worry, though: I’m not going to be mushy about him; this isn’t The Little House On The Prairie.

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