Reasons to be cheerful

About seven weeks ago, I wrote a piece for my column in the oldest woman's weekly magazine in the world, The People's Friend.

It came from the heart. But my writing speciality is light, uplifting prose, sprinkled with humour, and based on a love of the countryside and a strong sense of place. I like to take a sideways look at life and focus on characters, detail and quirky situations. It's sometimes thoughtful and reflective, but never gloomy.

What I wrote was never published because it didn't fit my style. But I'm publishing it on The World from My Window now because today I have reasons to be cheerful. When I wrote it, I had been referred by a specialist for an MRI scan. I am pleased to say that, although I still have the health issue that led to me having the brain scan in the first place, it was clear. There were no nasties up there causing my sudden hearing loss.

What a relief. 

It wasn't a big thing compared with problems some people have but it's been a worry, nonetheless.

So let's have a collective hug for anyone undergoing bad stuff right now. Talking about it is good, bottling it up is not. You are not alone.

That's about it.

Love Maddie x

No place like home

I’m a little down in the dumps this week.

It’s unlike me. I’m always the first to tell people there is no point in worrying. It’s just wasted energy and not good for the soul.

I have a health problem that needs sorting. It’s not necessarily a life or death situation but it’s still preying on my mind. And then there are a few problems on the domestic and work front that are getting me down.

It’s a dull, windy day and I’m stuck indoors in front of the computer in between two quick walks for Arty. The dog cheers me up, especially when she nudges me from behind with one of her soft toys as I sit at my desk trying to find inspiration in the blank screen staring me in the face.

She wants to play. Of course she wants to play. She’s a dog and not prone to worrying. So I gently prise open those jaws and take the toy – a wild boar bought in France last year as we made our way back from Greece – and hurl it across the room.

Arty scampers off and is back in an instant, with the toy in her mouth and wanting to do it all over again. So we do that about five of six times and then I think, blow this, I’m going to go out for a walk with her before it gets dark.

So we walk briskly along the road, her new collar flashing neon green in the dusk, and the trees swaying in the breeze as we head down the lane to a muddy field. That’s the trouble with this time of year, there is mud everywhere, particularly in Dorset. And it feels like a storm is brewing.

We have a whale of a time in that field, Arty and me, until she finds something that looks like a dead rabbit which she tosses around in the same way a killer whale treats a seal. It’s not a pretty sight. So I blow the whistle and get her to come back to me. I can’t tell her off because she’s just responded to a command and that will be confusing for her. And none of us likes mixed messages.

We head home and when I touch the keyboard on my computer, the ‘bubbles’ screensaver disappears but the Word document I left earlier is still blank. I had a faint hope that some divine being might have intervened while I was away and scribbled out a bestseller just for me. Now there’s a thought.

Arty’s drying off in her bed now and I just don’t feel myself. It’s as if the weight of the world is on my shoulders. So I leave Mr Grigg a note and head off in the car. I’m not sure where I’m going, I just need to have some time away from the house and time to myself. Time to myself, that’s it.

I head down to the Bay to look at the waves and think. I get as far as the harbour because it’s too windy to go on the beach. The Jurassic Coast bus goes past me and I think of getting on it and going to Weymouth for the evening and then dismiss the idea as rather reckless.

I’m tuned into a radio station and the inane presenter is driving me to distraction. And then he plays a song with the lyrics Wasting away again in Margaritaville and I think the DJ might have a ESP and can see me in my car because the Greeks called me Margarita when Mr Grigg and I were there last year.

I dismiss the thought from my mind and then see a boat on the side of the harbour, its name written on the side as if it’s telling me something. The vessel is called Home and it’s where I need to be. So I turn on the engine and head back to Lush Places.