A View From My Summerhouse

A Storm, Stourhead and a Faraday Cage

Posted on October 21, 2013 by Sherri Matthews

Side Entrance to The Spread Eagle Pub at Stourhead
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews

“Let’s escape!” I said to Hubby on Sunday afternoon. “I’ve got to get out of the house and breathe in some release from this October air.”

“I know just the place!” he replied and off we went.

One hour later, there we sat in the car park at Stourhead in Wiltshire, having paid two pounds for the pleasure (they didn’t used to charge for parking), as thunder boomed from above and shards of lightening sliced through a very ominous-looking sky from which torrential rain hammered down upon the roof of our car. This was not the escape I had envisioned.

Incredibly, the car park was full to overflowing.

This the thing about us Brits. If we didn’t do anything because of a few raindrops then we wouldn’t do anything at all. What’s a raging storm to us?

So there we sat, Hubby and me, watching as families with young children dressed in spotted rain coats and brightly coloured wellies ran hurriedly by, hand-in-hand, in a effort to make their own escape from the downpour. We sat there, he and I, inside our car eating cheese and Marmite sandwiches and a bag of crisps, one for each of us.

This is what Hubby did for me. He knows what to do. He knows that packing a picnic and taking me somewhere into the green of this pleasant land always helps dispel my malaise. Sometimes there is nothing so good as my husband’s cheese and Marmite sandwiches.

More lightning struck, more thunder boomed.

“Are we safe in a car with lightning all around?” I wondered out loud, just a little concerned.

“Absolutely, a car is the perfect Faraday cage!” Hubby assured me. Something to do with the car’s metal, he went on to explain.

He is an engineer in the aerospace industry. He knows about these things.

So there we sat, eating our sandwiches, in our Faraday cage. Safe against the storm raging all around us, getting our money’s worth out of the car park fee. We played ‘I spy’, we wiped down the steamed up windows (steady on) and we waited optimistically, hoping for that moment when we might be lucky enough to see enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers.

Not a smidgen of blue appeared, but a call of nature meant we had no choice but to leave our little cage and take a short walk across the car park to the toilets. After that, since we had already braved the rain, we thought we may as well go for broke and take that walk come hell or high water. In this case, I think that high water was going to happen first.

Stourhead house and gardens were owned by the Hoare family since the early 1700s until it was taken over by the National Trust in 1946. The gardens were designed by Henry Hoare II between 1741 and 1780. The lake was artificially created and as you walk around it you come across various stone buildings which were designed as copies of Greek temples.

As it turned out, being quite shocked at the admission fee of £8.50 each (we are no longer National Trust members, otherwise it would have been free) and since we have walked around the lake many times before, we decided to give it a miss and walk around the grounds of nearby St Peter’s Church instead and then afterwards we could head back the other way as far as we could go up to Stourhead house.

A beautiful place to breathe in that release and shake off the blues if ever there was one.

St Peter’s Church, Stourhead
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

View from St Peter’s Church grounds of the Bridge and the Pantheon in the gardens at Stourhead
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Bristol High Cross near the entrance to Stourhead Gardens.
A monumental market cross erected in 1373 in the centre of Bristol & moved to Stourhead in 1780.
The Bridge & Pantheon in the background.
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews

Wall in front of Bristol High Cross
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Stone Cross, St Peter’s Church Stourhead
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

St Peter’s Church cemetery Stourhead
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

We had a little look inside the church and were shocked to see this sign:

Someone stole the lead roof in April. We could already see evidence of watermarks coming through from inside the church.

After we left the church we took a walk up to the house which gave us lovely pastoral views of the fields off to the right hand side of the path:

Stourhead Estate
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

However, we were warned not to attempt to walk across the fields!

Warning! Bull with Cows and Calves!
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Then at last the house itself:

Stourhead House
Built 1720 – 24 for the Hoare family
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Then a miracle! As we turned around to walk back along the path, the sun came out and shone it’s gleaming face upon us!

Entrance to Stourhead House from the main road
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Gate Keeper's Lodge Stourhead (c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Gate Keeper’s Lodge Stourhead. Notice the smoke coming from the chimney!
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Back of the gardens of Stourhead House
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Stourhead Entrance
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

There was one more discovery to be made; my eyes, ever close to the ground as I kicked through the myriad of fallen leaves, caught sight of a reminder of a distant past, a buried treasure full of memories:

Chestnuts, Conkers…anyone?
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Remember those days when we used to make conkers out of these brown, shiny beauties by threading a piece of string through a hole pierced in the middle and take them to school? What playground fun we had as we attempted to break someone’s conker by bashing them with ours, never minding how many times we got whacked on the wrist when someone missed. It hurt, and it was all part of the fun. No longer allowed.

So ended my escape into the October air as the dark rain gave way to that conspiring sun even as the storm had rumbled all around. On the way home and lost in thought I wondered, how many times before had I sat inside a Faraday cage, kept safe from so many lightning strikes, and never knew it? I don’t think I will ever know the answer.

‘Few people know how to take a walk. The qualifications are endurance, plain clothes, old shoes, an eye for nature, good humor, vast curiosity, good speech, good silence and nothing too much.’ – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Posted in Childhood Memories, Family Life, Musings, Nature & Wildlife, Photos | Tagged Autumn, Childhood memories, Church, conkers, England, English Countryside, Family Life, Faraday cage, Greek Mythology, husbands, lightening, Musings, National Trust, nature, October, Picnic, Stourhead, Thunderstorms, Walking, wildlife | 47 Comments

Lyme Disease Verdict and my Cat Article Published!

Posted on October 15, 2013 by Sherri Matthews

You can always talk to me…
(Eldest son & Bonnie 1984)
(c) Sherri Matthews 2013

This post was planned for yesterday, but as is so often the case my plans went slightly awry. No point explaining why, I will just say that sometimes we mums all know what it’s like when our time is needed to provide a listening ear even as our fingers are twitching desperately to get back on to the keyboard…at those times I have to remember what is most important…

So, back to business, which is to say I have some good news you will be pleased to know.

On Saturday I had the pleasure of receiving my flu jab (this is good news? Read on…)

I am entitled to this on the NHS because I am my daughter’s official carer (this always seems so strange to me since I am her mum so automatically I care for her but being recognised in this official capacity for the purposes of ‘carer’s rights’, I am entitled to a few things, the flu jab being one of them.)

However, I was not able to receive the jab until this tricky little business of the question of Lyme Disease was cleared up. Some of you will remember ‘Tickgate’, coming as it did fast and furiously on the heels of ‘Spamgate’ but for those who don’t know what the heck I’m talking about, click here and you can read all about it to bring you up to speed.

For those of you who may remember this unfortunate incident and my decision not to take antibiotics at the time, I should let you know that my GP recently sent me for blood tests. I couldn’t get the flu jab if my tests came back positive for fear of a reaction and I had to wait for the results.

So there I was, on Saturday morning at my doctor’s surgery, standing in a long line with people coughing and sneezing all around me (how long does it take for the vaccination to kick in??) and at last it came to my turn. I mentioned this little matter of Lyme Disease to the nurse since I had not heard back from the doctor and she confirmed that the results were negative and all was clear. Wonderful!

Now you understand why getting the flu jab is good news (aside from the glaringly obvious reason of being protected from getting the flu, one hopes).

The nasty red lump on my upper right arm that felt quite sore for a couple of days afterwards was nothing compared to what things could have been like if I had tested positive for the dreaded Lyme Disease. I took my chances, it paid off and I am very, very thankful.

The other piece of good news I would like to share with you all has absolutely nothing to do with medical matters but everything to do with writing.

Your Cat Magazine, BPG Media Ltd. November 2013 Edition

I submitted my article to Your Cat magazine last December. I was thrilled when the editor contacted me to say she liked it and wanted to publish it but that I should be prepared for a long wait.

Dear readers, I was patient, very patient, and now my patience has been rewarded! The November edition of Your Cat magazine is out today and you can find my article ‘Our Happy Reunion’ on page 56!

I am delighted to see this in print at last. The story is about our cats Maisy and Willow’s journey across the sea from America to the UK when we moved back ‘home’ and how important this was to our family – hence, ‘Our Happy Reunion’!

To celebrate, I took this photo of Maisy to share with you. This was taken shortly after I told her the great news that she is famous at last with her photograph appearing in a national cat magazine.

Maisy looking regal
(c) Sherri Matthews 2013

I think it may have gone to her head. But then she is entitled. Were it not for her, and dearly departed Willow (not forgetting the boy Eddie of course) there would have been no article in the first place.

All in all, I do feel quite happy today 🙂

Your Cat Magazine, BGP Media Ltd, can be purchased at WH Smith, Pets at Home and larger supermarkets in the UK for £3.25

Posted in Current Affairs, Family Life, Writing, Writing Updates | Tagged article, Article Acceptance, Carer's Rights, Carers, cat photos, cats, Conditions and Diseases, Current Affairs, Editor, Family Life, Flu Jab, Health, Lyme disease, Mums, NHS, Publication, Tick-borne disease, writing, Writing Updates, Your Cat Magazine | 45 Comments

Write Your Dream but Don’t Kill the Creativity

Posted on October 10, 2013 by Sherri Matthews

Do you have a dream? Has your dream been with you for just a little while or, as in my case, most of your life? Does this dream consume you, or is it something you pick up once in a while when not otherwise distracted with this thing called ‘Life’?

I’m California Dreaming!
Moonstone Beach California
(c) Sherri Matthews 2013

My dream has always been to be a published author. But like so many of you busy raising a family and working, trying to find the time to write proved darn near impossible.

I never seemed to be able to get my writing off the ground; I take my hat off to all you writing mums of young children out there. I don’t know how you do it.

Years ago, I dabbled in a couple of writing courses just to ‘test the waters’ and see if I was up to the task. The first one I attempted was a children’s literature course. I started it at the same time that I fell pregnant with my third child, my daughter. Unfortunately, five months of severe morning sickness put an end to that. I never went back to it but the dream never went away.

Now, 20 years later, I still can’t believe that I’ve had a few articles and a short story published in magazines. Along the way, I somehow managed to gain that illusive self-belief that I could at long last write the book which I’ve wanted to write for over 30 years.

It’s not an easy story to tell, a memoir of a painful time in my life, but I’ve started it, I keep telling everyone that I’m writing it, and I know exactly what I need to write.

But something has gone wrong.

Every morning when I wake up, I’m assailed by some dark force that hangs over me, trying to steal my dream. It tells me this: “You can’t write this book so give up now. Nobody will want to read your crappy book. Who cares about your story? Publishers aren’t interested in books like yours.”

This is not uncommon, I know that. All part of the process, I do understand that too. I also know we must swallow a healthy dose of self-belief and that ultimately we have to write what we feel led to write. But what if fear of failure and rejection hangs over you like a lead weight, threatening to steal your creativity, to sabotage your dream? What if we start to believe the lie?

Allow me, if you will, to tell you a little story about my son.

My younger son was determined to become a guitarist. When he was sixteen, I helped him buy his first second-hand electric guitar from a school friend. From that moment on and for the next few years, also while studying for his GCSEs and then A Levels, he spent hours up in his room, night after night, practising as he taught himself to play.

He had learnt piano as a boy but had never played the guitar before.

By the time he finished his A Levels, he wanted to apply to Brighton Institute of Modern Music (BIMM), an acclaimed music college in the UK. It’s all he wanted to do. He had a dream.

He was accepted on audition, despite the fact that he had never had one single guitar lesson.

My son chasing the dream in his school days
(c) Sherri Matthews

He completed his Professional Musicianship degree, but something wasn’t right.

He told me that the course killed his creativity, because he couldn’t pursue the music style he wanted: he was compelled to play music that held absolutely no interest for him.

As a result, after he graduated, he stopped playing his guitar for a while, but he did eventually go back to it.

He still has his music dreams and practises and writes his music, jamming with friends, but he hasn’t given up the day job. Part of him wishes he had never gone to BIMM.

Is it the same with writing I wonder?

Can you start off fired up, knowing what it is you want to say, to write, with your own way of writing it, only to suddenly start to doubt that way of writing and fear that you will never fit the mold?

We all know that we need to study magazines to apply market analysis so that we can write for the market. Is it the same for books? Is it possible to write in our own unique style and still be a successful author these days? After all, nobody wants to end up on the slush pile.

Stripping all this away, I’ve realised that we are left with the simple fact that when we feel like this, we need to just get back to basics. Back to remembering what our dream was in the first place.

My son’s dream was to play electric guitar and write music to share with others. I want to write a book that will touch the souls of those reading it. Does my son hope to be in a successful band one day? Of course. Do I want to be a successful, published author? Absolutely.

But if we lose sight of our reasons for pursuing these goals in the first place, then surely we are on a sure-fire path to disaster?

What I do know is this:

Once the idea for the story is conceived, it grows every day, getting bigger and bigger until at last it reaches bursting point. You’ve waited all this time, nurturing it, caring for it lovingly, excitedly awaiting the moment that you can at long last deliver it.

Except now you say that you can’t face the hell of birthing this monster, the pain of what you must go through to get to this point. Yelling, “I can’t take it anymore!” is too late. You have no choice in the matter.

Face it: this baby is coming, like it or not.

Much like when I was in labour with my daughter. It was stop-start, stop-start. My obstetrician was due to leave that day for his holiday in Hawaii. I didn’t get to the hospital until early evening, and things had slowed down by then for some reason.

At about eight o’clock that night, the doctor casually sauntered into my room wearing a Hawiian shirt, sunglasses and carrying a suitcase. Well, maybe not the suitcase, but you get the gist…

The baby is born, here with her brothers
(c) Sherri Matthews 2013

He wanted to send me home since things ‘weren’t progressing’. I said, “Not bloody likely, I’m not leaving until I have this baby!”

As I held my daughter in my arms shortly after, the pain of only minutes before disappeared like a vapour, forgotten as of no consequence. I knew that it was her time to be born that night.

Perhaps I need to remember this when it comes to writing my book. There will be an outcome, when the time is right. I have no choice, it is simply a process that I have to go through.

Am I scared of failure? You bet. Scared of rejection? You better believe it. Dreading the pain? Yep. Any time you feel this you have to take courage and face it head on. This is what I tell myself all the time.

So next time I am assailed with thoughts of giving up, I will square off in front of those wicked thoughts, rise up and tell them in no uncertain terms,

“Not bloody likely!”

It’s all about staying power. People, we can do this.

‘No sooner is your dream conceived then your mind is suddenly filled with all the reasons that it may not work. In spite of this, you must forge ahead and dream, otherwise you will spend the rest of your life fulfilling the dreams of others’. UCB

Doubt, Fear, False Alarms & “Giving Birth” To Our Dreams (warriorwriters.wordpress.com)

Posted in Music, Writing | Tagged Articles, Childbirth, Creative writing, Dreams, Electric Guitar, Failure, fear, Flash fiction, Magazines, Market Analysis, Memoir, music, Pregnancy, Publishing, Rejection, Sabotage, Short story, Slush Pile, writing, Writing a book, Writing Advice, Writing fears | 73 Comments

Listen to Your October

Posted on October 7, 2013 by Sherri Matthews

There’s a stillness in the air, hanging lightly like a whisper, as it sits on the fence between late afternoon and early evening. The last vestiges of a warm, October day give way to the cool of an autumn evening, as if on the verge of a cold, starlit night.

A strange malaise, a nostalgic longing pushes against the beat of my heart. A sense that at this time of year I belong somewhere else, in another time, in a life once lived. It is a place where parents take their children to farms where carts groan with the weight of pumpkins in every size to be hand-picked and taken home, later to be carved as Jack-o-lanterns.

Jack Skellington Jack-o-lantern carved by Aspie Daughter
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Apple cider is served in paper cups and bags of popcorn in red-stripped paper bags. Children clamber on haystacks and build up enough courage to creep inside dark, spooky ghost houses where plastic spiders, moaning ghosts and glow-in-the-dark Frankenstein monsters lurk about in dark corners, all conspiring to scare the living daylights out of them. For fun.

My children at the Pumpkin Farm, California
(c) Sherri Matthews 2013

This place that I imagine even now is where I would wait to collect my children from school in the afternoon hours. The early morning chill which had given need of a jacket had broken into another warm day, as if the heat just didn’t want to quit entirely, not just yet. Their red apple cheeks gave more than a hint of this as they came running out of their classrooms, loaded down with discarded jackets, backpacks stuffed with goodness-knows-what, their hands clutching at important teacher’s notes and homework sheets and lunch boxes filled with the healthy food that they hadn’t wanted to eat that day.

Driving home, never mind talking about what they did at school that day. The most important thing would be what outfits they would be wearing for their upcoming Halloween parties and trick or treating.

Scarecrows squat on front porches of clapboard houses, surrounded by pumpkins, gourds and sheaves of corn. Homes are decorated with autumn displays and wreaths of sunflowers adorn front doors. This wasn’t something we did growing up in England. This was a new tradition I embraced in this land of nostalgia. My own children grew up with it in America and these are just some of the traditions which we shared.

Getting ready for Halloween (c) Sherri Matthews

I miss those days. I miss picking up my children from school and talking about their day. Things seemed more simple back then, but of course they weren’t. They never are. We like to think that things were better in the ‘good old days’ because we blot out the daily struggles we contended with and consign them to the rubbish heap of ‘not to be remembered’.

These memories I share are the good, strong memories. I don’t want to remember the times when I was distracted and didn’t really listen when my children were talking to me and those moments when I had on my ‘listening face’. You know the one where you are hearing their voices and you are nodding and saying, “Uh hu” but you are thinking about the something or that someone who had really pissed you off that day instead. They know you aren’t really listening but they don’t hold it against you.

In the quietness of this early evening, then, I will listen. I will listen to the distant voices of my young children from another time and another place and I will remember our Octobers.

Then, I will listen to the now, to the present. To the words spoken softly to my heart at this precise moment which tell me gently and simply to live in this October, to enjoy every moment for what it is. To remember what it was that I missed so much. I don’t have to now, because I am right where I belong, right here, at home, in England.

Flatford Mill, Suffolk, England in October
(c) Sherri Matthews 2013

“October is the fallen leaf, but it is also a wider horizon more clearly seen. It is the distant hills once more in sight and the enduring constellations above them once again.” – Hal Borland

Posted in Childhood Memories, Family Life, Family Traditions, Musings, My California | Tagged America, Childhood memories, Children, England, Family Life, Family Traditions, Flatford Mill, Halloween, Holiday, Jack Skellington, Jack-O-Lantern, Listening, Musings, My California, Pumpkin, School, Suffolk, United States | 33 Comments

A Little Boy’s Hand in Mine

Posted on October 4, 2013 by Sherri Matthews

Once upon a time, many years ago, a three-year old boy not long to be four put his little hand into his mother’s and smiled up at her. She smiled back with reassurance and promised him that she would keep him safe and never leave his side and then she led him across the shining sea to a new life in a distant land. He said goodbye to his beloved grandmother and family in England and said hello to his new grandparents in America.

A new life for my son
California 1986
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

The little boy’s father had gone ahead of them but had to work away so he rented an apartment for him and his mother and that is where they lived, just the two of them, for a little while. They didn’t know anyone else other than the grandparents, who both worked. It could have been a lonely existence for them both, but they had each other and so it was that they began their new life, together.

They spotted a small grocery store across the road from their apartment although this road was nothing like the roads the little boy was used to in England. This road was a boulevard and it was huge and wide and full of huge and wide cars, all zooming past on the wrong side. His mother made sure to hold the little boy’s hand extra tight as they waited patiently for the crossing light to turn green.

At the shop, they bought orange juice and milk and they discovered Lucky Charms cereal. Every morning, the little boy and his mother would sit together on the sofa bed and watch Dukes of Hazzard, I Dream of Jeannie and Gumby on their small box-of-a-television while eating their Lucky Charms.

In the afternoons, the little boy’s mother liked to take him out for a walk as she had done every day when they lived in England. She quickly learnt that they were the only ones who did this because everyone else drove their cars. They lived in Glendale, California and a walk along the boulevard and its vast sidewalks was nothing like walking along the small pavements of an English village.

Yes, it was very different, but this is where they lived now and so, she decided, they must embrace it.

That is how the little boy would find himself of an afternoon, still clutching his mother’s hand as the two of them walked the length and breadth of Glendale Boulevard in that Californian late-summer heat but that little boy never once complained. He never asked to be picked up. He just kept hold of his mother’s hand.

During their mammoth walking expeditions they enjoyed finding new places where they could stop, sit down and get a cold drink and take in the sights. They discovered a library, a huge shopping mall and a cinema. They even came across a Pioneer Chicken stand where the little boy’s mother, much to his delight, would buy a chicken dinner for two now and then as a special treat.

So it was, that together, they explored their new life.

Then one day something extraordinary happened. As the little boy and his mother were ambling along, as usual, they passed the cinema as they had done many times before but this time they noticed the poster board just outside the entrance advertising a new film and it looked like this:

Flight of the Navigator

The little boy was so excited and his mother could tell that he wanted so badly to see this new film, his first big film at the cinema. She didn’t have much cash on her that day, but she counted out what she did have and quickly realised, to both their relief and great excitement, that she had not only just enough to pay for their admission but also for a drink of coke and a small popcorn! To share.

Such were the days.

The little boy was so entranced by the film that he made up another name for it when telling his grandparents all about it later that evening – he called it ‘The Flight of the Alligator’. How his grandparents laughed and laughed, how we all laughed. What joy did the little boy bring to their lives, to all our lives.

Son at the beach, tide out, California 'What new sea treasures can I find here?' (c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

My son at the Beach, tide out, California
What new sea treasures can I find here?
(c) Sherri Matthews 2013

So then, as time marched on and the little boy and his mother were reunited with his father, they moved to a small town by the sea, far away from the big, smoggy city. The little boy kept hold of his mother’s hand as she led him through new adventures and towards making new friends at pre-school and then to kindergarten and beyond.

They walked along the beach and collected shells and bits of driftwood, always the little boy handing them to his mother whose coat pockets became filled to the brim with these sea-treasures, only to be rediscovered years later, buried deep within those pockets.

They learnt together the fun of dressing up for Halloween, the joys of visiting pumpkin farms and carving Jack-0-lanterns. The best thing for the little boy was that he always knew that when he first caught sight of the pumpkins waving out from their fields, full and plump and burnished orange, ready to be picked, it meant that his birthday was never too far away.

My Boys at the Pumpkin Patch, California
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

When the little boy’s parents bought their first VCR they thought they had made it. When his grandparents gave him Pinocchio, his first video, he watched it over and over and he made up his own words to his favourite song, ‘When You Wish Upon a Star’.

Me and my little boy
One year before we moved
(c) Sherri Matthews 2013

The little boy grew taller each year and he found his own way in his life in America.

With each passing year, he held his mother’s hand just a little less, as is natural and good and proper. Then one day, he didn’t need to hold his mother’s hand any longer.

She had led him to the place where he needed to be, where he could let go and be confident and sure-footed and secure.

Such is a mother’s job.

Now that little boy is a grown man. He has come a long way and his mother couldn’t be prouder. The love she holds in her heart for her son is as unbreakable as it is endless.

He is a man but she will never forget the feel of his tiny hand in hers as they crossed that shining sea together so long ago.

Birthday Boy
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Happy Birthday darling boy of mine! With lots of love from Mom xxx

Posted in Childhood Memories, Family Life, Mothers & Sons, My California, Writing | Tagged America, beach, Childhood memories, Children, England, Family Life, Flight of the Navigator, Glendale, Grandparents, Growing Up, Halloween, Happy Birthday, joy, Los Angeles, love, mother's hand, Mothers & Sons, My California, Reminiscing, Sherri Matthews, travel, writing | 38 Comments

New Writing Competition – October

Posted on October 4, 2013 by Sherri Matthews

Posted in Reblogs, Uncategorized | 4 Comments

The Votes are Tallied – and I’m Home ‘Free’!

Posted on October 2, 2013 by Sherri Matthews

Woo Hoo! The votes have been tallied and Elizabeth has announced the winner of September’s mini-writing competition. Yes, the title says it all – I am the winner, or should I say my flash fiction story ‘Free’ is the winner! Woo-Hoo-Hoo-Hoo-Hoo!!! (sorry, I sounded like an owl there for a minute!)

I am so excited and delighted to bring you all this happy news. I was quite nervous about entering the competition considering the high standard of all the other entries (I particularly liked ‘Zephyr’) and, as you well know, I was even more nervous about asking for help from you all. Now, I’m so glad that I did both!

This has taught me two very important things about being a writer:

We must always answer the call to write, no matter what; and
We must never be afraid of asking for the support, encouragement and feedback of our dear readers (all of you, in my case!)

As I said to Elizabeth in thanking her so much for this wonderful opportunity, this has given me more confidence in my writing and in my self-belief that I can just go for it and have a bash at flash fiction (which I am enjoying more and more). I can only write what I feel and what is in my heart.

The greatest joy for me is knowing that those of you who read ‘Free’ felt ‘something’ when you read it. That is what moves and thills me, this is what gives back to me that incredible sense of having written something meaningful, albeit it in less than 500 words!

All that remains now is for me to say a massive ‘Thank You’ to all of you who took the time to read ‘Free’ and vote for me. Not only that, but for all your amazing words of encouragement and support and for all the kindness shown me. I have been truly overwhelmed by the response received from you all and, (sorry, I know I’m a bit gushing at times, it’s just the way I am!) but please know that you really all do mean so much to me. This wouldn’t have been possible without you.

Now I just have to come up with a prompt for October’s competition 🙂

“It ain’t whatcha write, it’s the way atcha write it.”
—Jack Kerouac, WD

Posted in Blogging, Writing, Writing Competitions, Writing Updates | Tagged Blogging, Flash fiction, Online Writing, Short story, thank you, writing, Writing Competition, Writing Updates | 47 Comments

A Cat Show for an Aspie Daughter

Posted on September 30, 2013 by Sherri Matthews

Good Afternoon, dear readers. I hope you all had a lovely weekend. Taking a break from all things ‘chore’ wise, we took Aspie Daughter to a cat show. This might seem like a strange event to take somebody with Asperger’s to, held as it is in a huge, echoey, glaringly lit room (thanks to overhead flourescent lighting) in a leisure centre with constant noise emanating from both humans and cats as it bounces off the walls and rude people pushing past you never minding to say excuse me.

You would think that Aspie Daughter would go into sensory overload and have a complete meltdown, what with her social anxiety issues and hatred of crowds and clanging sounds. You would think that I would! I wouldn’t blame you for thinking that this could have been a recipe for a disastrous afternoon out.

So why do it? All I can say is that her love of cats helps her override all this. However, we have to do things in a certain way.

This is how we do a cat show with Aspie daughter:

We go in, walk up and down every single isle making sure to stop, very briefly, at every single cat.
When we see one we particularly like, we stop and ooh and ahh and this time, when the owner comes over (which they usually do as cat owners are very proud indeed of their kitties and want to talk about them) we ask if we can take a photo.
I keep talking to the owner, Aspie Daughter is ready to move on.
We keep going, I see her running out of steam. It doesn’t take long.
She looks over at me and I notice the very slight, first signs of exhaustion beginning to creep across her face which means it’s time to leave the room and go and get a drink. Right now.

We leave and go to the café, have a drink (and a piece of cake) and then go back inside just to see the overall winners of the show in their posh cages proudly displaying their ribbons. By that time, we are both so hot and completely overloaded (and I don’t mean with cake) that, as much as we all love cats, we can’t take anymore. It is at that point that Aspie Daughter looks across at me and I see clearly in her eyes, a sort of flat, exhausted and desperate look that screams out:

“Get me the hell out of here!”

I agree. We leave. Simple. That’s how you do it. All in all, a really lovely time had by all.

Here are some photos of a few of our favourites from the show (all taken with their owner’s permission of course!) I should also say that where I can’t remember the proper pedigree name (shame on me, if I were a journalist, I would be fired) I have made up a name, as you will see:

Adorable 4 month old Tabby Kitten – want to take him home!
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Gorgeous Bengal Kitty – Want One of these too!!
(c) Sherri Matthews 2013

Beautiful Bengal Kitty proudly admiring his award ribbons
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Apricot Tortie Siamese (c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Seal Point Siamese (c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Very Handsome Seal Point Siamese called Samson!
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

Our favourite - a fluffly white cloud called Olivia

Our favourite – Darling Fluffy White Cloud called Olivia
(c) copyright Sherri Matthews 2013

We all agreed that these cats are obviously very well trained from day one to get used to travelling in a car, being kept in a cage for the duration of a show and are all incredibly good-natured. We also think that our cats would have easily won the show. The only problem is that Eddie, our black moggie, absolutely hates going in his cat box and also in the car. I dread taking him to the vet as he always poops in his box, so it’s probably for the best that we don’t enter him.

When I was quite young, my mother used to breed Siamese cats and show them. I can remember going to one or two shows with her in London but mostly I remember when she would be gone all day, leaving me and my brother with my dad. It was great fun and here’s why:

Firstly, Dad would have a lie in and ~~bribe us~~ offer us extra pocket-money to clean out the cat runs and sheds (my parents ran a cattery business from home, and that is another post of its own).
Next, after Dad decided to get up, we would have a quick breakfast and he would take us into town to buy us some sweets from the pic ‘n’ mix at Woolies.
Lunch would follow which was always fish and chips, in newspaper, which we would bring home and eat in front of the television
Dad would then watch sports (football, wrestling or boxing, or maybe even cricket depending on the season) all afternoon and eventually fall asleep while we ~~did whatever we wanted~~ played.
Tea-time and Dad would always make boiled eggs. He would bring them into us on a tray, complete with felt Noddy & Big Ears egg warming ‘hats’ perched on top. There we would sit, allowed to watch a cowboy film on television while eating our eggs, and not forgetting the bread and butter soldiers for dipping.

Those were the days. Now you can see why we love cat shows so much 🙂

Posted in Asperger's Syndrome, CATalogue, Childhood Memories, Family Life, Humour | Tagged Asperger syndrome, Aspie Daughter, Cat Show, cats, Cattery, Childhood memories, Family Life, Humour, meltdown, Photos of Cats, Sensory overload, Siamese | 36 Comments

Time to Vote – If You Like What You Read!

Posted on September 26, 2013 by Sherri Matthews

Dear readers,

What, another post I hear you ask? I don’t know what has come over me this week. Once again, this post was not planned! Keep reading and all will be revealed (and the massive favour I’m asking of you!)

This is not something I’ve done before and I do feel really, really awkward about doing it as it involves a little self-promotion. Well, actually, it is more like this:

I recently discovered the lovely Elizabeth’s blog elizabethfrattoroli, only to discover that she runs monthly writing competitions. I noticed that she was running one for September which required writing either a flash fiction story or a poem based on the theme ‘partings’.

By the time I first visited her blog, I was quite close to the cut-off date (24th September) for the competition and I honestly didn’t think that I would be able to get my entry in. In the end I did manage to by writing a flash fiction story called ‘Free’ which, if you would like to, can be read here.

How the competition works is this: Now that all the entries are in and the competition is closed, Elizabeth has asked that everybody casts their votes for their favourite entry, which brings me, at last, to the reason for this post.

I just took a quick peak and guess what, I don’t have any votes yet 😦 Although I did get 3 likes for my story on Elizabeth’s blog, yay 🙂

If you do read my story and decide you like it so much that you want to vote for it, click here and you will be taken to the voting poll. Elizabeth has asked that friends, family and supporters all vote, and also of course you can take a good look at her blog while you are about it! Of course, I do also realise that you might very well like some of the other entries better than mine and vote for them instead, but I’m willing to take that risk – after all, if you don’t ask and all that 😉

This is just a bit of fun and as I said before, I’ve never done anything like this before, and I hope you don’t mind me asking this of you. Thank you all so much for your support, and may the best man/woman win 🙂

Oh, and one more thing, you have until the 30th to vote. The winner gets to choose the theme for October’s competition!

Love Sherri x

Posted in Writing, Writing Competitions | Tagged Creative writing, Flash fiction, Online Writing, Short story, Votes, Writing Competition | 47 Comments

It’s All About the Money

Posted on September 25, 2013 by Sherri Matthews

My dear readers, you know me well enough by now to know that reading this blog is a bit like opening that proverbial box of chocolates in the movie ‘Forrest Gump‘ – you never know what you’re gonna get. Well, I’ve got one up on you because guess what? I don’t know either!

This wasn’t planned, but today you are going to get a rant.

You may remember me sharing at the end of June that my daughter suffered a very bad crisis and in the craziness of that hour and in helping her (she is so much better now) I was left a bit of a wreck. My GP recommended some counselling to help ‘tide me over’ and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

It did help at first, only because she knew about Asperger’s and was able to understand my situation but we often ended up talking about how my insurance company was going to pay for the sessions and I was starting to feel just a bit uncomfortable about it.

Waiting for confirmation of another appointment, I hadn’t heard anything in two weeks so I texted the counsellor yesterday and she confirmed that yes, I had an appointment this morning. So I drove across town. Waited. Sat down to start the session.

Except there was no session. She proceeded to tell me that she hadn’t been paid for all the sessions, that my insurance would only pay half, she couldn’t do a session today and that I needed to sort it out. However, if I got it all sorted out I could always come back at 2pm for another appointment.

So that’s alright then. I’ve got all day.

Aren’t counsellors supposed to help with stress? I hauled across town for that? She has been paid, I don’t understand what the problem is. How can I go back to a counsellor who is more worried about her payment than my welfare?

I returned home feeling more depressed and close to tears and wondered how wrong it is to pay someone to help you only for them to make you feel worse.

All over money.

Money. I hate it. Yet we need it. Funny how it’s only the people who have money who say money doesn’t matter. We need money, of course, but these days it seems we can’t turn around without spending it. It’s wrong to say that money is the root of evil. The Bible actually says that it’s ‘the love of money that is the root of all evil’ (1 Timothy 6:10)

So, having already spent the entire morning wasting my precious time on all this I also had to call a plumber about a leaky tap in the kitchen. Hubbie doesn’t touch plumbing jobs (phew).

“It just needs a new washer,” I said confidently.

“They don’t have washers these days,” he said, “they have cartridges which you will have to get from the manufacturer.”

Well that’s just great. Do you think I can find the paperwork for this tap? No chance, despite hunting for it high and low. We got if off the internet, of course, I can’t find the manufacturer’s details or the receipt or anything.

So the tap still leaks and I want to swear but I won’t. Yet.

Instead, I shall tell you what I did. I grabbed my iPod (which, thanks to the new iPod dock my lovely boys gave me for my birthday is now constantly charged and ready to go), cranked up The Foo Fighters and pounded the pavement up to the park where I walked and walked and walked.

Now this, my friend, is therapy.

My plan (that old chestnut, again) was to stop off on the way home at our local handy-dandy mini-mart (is that an American saying, I forget?) and buy a paper and a few things. Like chocolate. With that in mind I took a ten pound note with me, pressed into my hot little hand against my iPod. I like to travel light.

Then horrors of horrors! Later on I noticed that I was no longer holding my ten pound note. I had adjusted my headphones at one point and I realised that I must have dropped it then. Certain that it was a goner, assuming that the nice lady pushing the baby stroller who had walked past me in the opposite direction would have seen it, grabbed it and hightailed it (I’m so cynical, sorry!), I retraced my steps anyway, just on the off-chance.

About to give up and thinking ~~God bless whoever finds it, they probably need it more than me~~ fat chance, I saw a lovely elderly gentleman walking towards me. I asked him if he had happened to notice a ten pound note lying about on the ground and he did give me a rather strange look.

Then we had a lovely chat about all the different places where we had lost money over the years and do you know, by the time we parted company, he made me feel happy again. He had that lovely twinkle in his eyes and he really lifted my spirits.

Forget about the money. What money. What money? I walked on and not 20 yards from where I had been chatting to my lovely gentleman, there, lying on the path was my neatly folded ten pound note. Who would have thought it?

What does this tell you? It tells me that when I left the house I was not in a good place but I had hold of my money. Then I lost my money and I was cross but ready to let it go. ‘Oh well, what’s a tenner when it’s at home?’ Then I found my money and I was elated because it felt like I had been given a present. Something that hadn’t belonged to me in the first place, if you see what I mean.

It got me thinking about this counsellor, and her constant flapping about being paid. How our sessions became all about the money.

It also got me thinking about counselling in general. I was at my own personal tipping point, yes, I did need some help and she did help me I believe in those first few visits, and while I know that many people have been helped tremendously by counselling, for me, it became tainted. Maybe it’s just me.

My husband doesn’t call me ‘Grand Complications’ for nothing (by the way, isn’t that the name of a fancy French watch?)

Sometimes all we need is a friend’s shoulder to cry on, somebody to rant to, somebody who will stop and listen. Sometimes all we need is to be able to write a blog post where we can share our troubles and know that we can feel safe doing so.

For me, my therapy ended up being a long walk around the park and a chat with a lovely, elderly gentleman. Then finding my ten pound note. Then ~~screeching~~ singing along to The Foo Fighters and never minding who could hear me. Then telling you all about it.

Still, after the day I’ve had, I’m ready to wind down now. I’m going to copy Forrest Gump once more and take a run – straight to the fridge to pour myself a very large glass of wine and then settle down to watch the X Factor. Nothing like watching something shallow and vacuous to empty a troubled mind, don’t you think?

Thanks so much for listening. This session has now ended.