100 Happy Days…

I’m late to the party on this one, I know. If you’ve read my last blog you’ll have an inkling why. But thanks to one of my Facebook friends I am now aware of the #100happydays challenge. Before that it had not crossed my radar.

When I first saw her pictures and captions coming through on my newsfeed I thought ‘hey, that’s a great idea,’ but gave it little more thought than that. Then the days have continued and the feed has kept coming and the idea has nagged at me until today I checked out the website to see what it was all about.

‘Don’t have time’ was the first thing that came into my mind. How right they are. But perhaps, for my own health and wellbeing, I should make time to focus on something positive, even if it is just for a short time each day. I think it will do me good to remember that things could be far worse than they are. It may also be a way to try and put me back in touch with the world that has so disappointed me of late.

So the next thing I knew I was signing up. It begins today: my challenge to find something good in life for 100 days in a row. Gods know, given the way the last few months have been, I need this. So, let the challenge commence!

Friends, followers, forgive the upcoming daily photographic assault, but you never know, there may be some good ones in the mix. Let’s hope so.

Elloise Hopkins.

Crayola Colour Mood…

Much as I wish it wasn’t, my current Crayola Colour Mood is… Grey. Just Grey. Plain. Dull. Bleak. Quiet. No fancy name on this one, friends. A blunt name for a blunt colour.

It’s been a hard few months. A hard few months which have left me feeling deflated, grey, less than my usual self. A hard few months in which I have seen more hurts and disappointments than I can bear to think of. A hard few months which continue, despite my best efforts to leave them behind. A bad day became a bad week, a bad week became bad weeks, bad weeks have blurred into one seemingly endless, grey stream.

This week saw the death of another friend (friend, partner, parent, person), less than a month after diagnosis, leaving those of us in close proximity little time to try and understand what was happening, let alone prepare ourselves for it. Another loss. Another absence. Another one who will never make it to 40. As I grow older I realise more and more how tenuous all of our grips are on this life and how easily it can be snuffed out, without our consent or acceptance.

Life is hard. Its pathways are paved with grey. No matter how they twist and turn, that grey tinge that mars so many of our days and nights is never fully left behind. It is through small outbursts like this that my writer’s mind can try to process everything that is happening. So forgive my grey words and my recent silence.

Yet as I write this, I realise grey is not always bad and bleak. Think of a pavement, grey and smooth, when the last rain has fallen and the cloud ebbs away to allow a glimpse of sunlight through. What was dark, dingy grey becomes a twinkling, shining grey, and suddenly, there is hope.

Elloise Hopkins.

The unfriendliness of newspaper...

I have issues with newspapers. I really do. I’m not talking about content here, although I have issues with that too. You would be hard pressed to get me voluntarily into a discussion that had anything to do with news, politics or this modern day celebrity obsession or the other countless day to day items that upset me. I’m talking about the actual, physical qualities of newspapers.

First of all I have issues with the size and total logistical impracticality of them. I mean, yes, there is a lot of content there, and I’m sure originally there was a very good reason for them being so huge. But is it really necessary? There is nothing worse on a long train journey during a busy commute than being constantly elbowed by someone reading a newspaper next to you and having the flapping corners drifting over to block the view of your own sensible-sized reading material.

And secondly I can’t stand the texture. Bizarre I know for someone that reads multiple novels a week. But have you ever picked up a wooden spoon when it is slightly damp and felt that uncomfortable and unnatural cringing sensation rush over your body? Well the same principle applies to newspaper. Try touching newspaper when it has become damp by rain or if you have wet hands or even when your hands are bone dry, and I suspect you will feel as disgusted as I do by it. There must be a modern solution!

Yes, ok so this is just a commentary, a rant, a moan. Call it what you like, depending on your own thoughts on newspapers. Today it is newspapers that are taking the brunt of my groaning. Bah.

Elloise Hopkins.