tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61629096831713872632012-01-31T15:57:38.968-08:00musings, insights, comments,observations, questions,interpretations, wonderings... about lifeMarthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.comBlogger301100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-23174474493622470262012-01-19T17:05:00.000-08:002012-01-28T07:47:33.143-08:00

It really didn't dawn on me- the real reason my figure has remained as is for the last twenty years. I thought it was just my good fortune that while all about me were starting to look their age, I have stayed slim, quite slim and extremely slim! A lady I used to teach some ten years ago was in my house the other day- after us bumping into each other after almost four years. "I've never

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-70186268599777119402012-01-07T16:05:00.000-08:002012-01-07T16:12:37.174-08:00

All I can do is send love and light to the family of Stephen Lawrence. I am  overwhelmed with compassion when I see them  speaking on TV.  Especially with  Mr  Lawrence. He is so softly spoken. He's so composed  and hurt and humble. I received an email that said 96 boys have been murdered since Steven. I hope it isn't true. Then imagine another eighteen years of fighting for justice on top of

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-11191888700478491122012-01-02T16:41:00.000-08:002012-01-02T16:41:56.002-08:00

Today has been the first time in a long time I have deliberately not brought tobacco!! A whole complete day! I did have a few yearnings and must say I was on the brink of going to the shop, especially when my friend was going on about something to smoke. On the verge I was! Then I thought, "no, that's your craving not mine. Am gonna stay with myself and see what I come up with." And that's what

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-58824465046873207182012-01-01T12:44:00.000-08:002012-01-02T16:22:37.743-08:00

Happy New Year to all of us. I hope this is a year of love health and prosperity:For our dreams to come true in all areas of our lives. 2011 was a good year for me. I have been happier than in a long while and accredit that feeling to the laying down of old baggage and stepping into my Higher Self - a much better place to live ones life! Each year suggests a new start for me, but this year is

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-64240052842338609112011-12-29T08:53:00.000-08:002012-01-01T12:55:49.165-08:00

What exactly does it mean when you don't do Christmas? That's what the man at the check out at Tescos asked me when i gave him that tert reply after doing just a regular shop on Christmas Eve."It means I don't buy into the hype." I said. "Ohh,"  He looked at me the same way I imagine married people look at single people at weddings. As I walked up the hill towards home, pleased with my shop

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-58060730277105293672011-02-12T13:42:00.000-08:002011-02-18T11:09:53.869-08:00

I  have the wonderful task of buying for books for a local youth hostel! I have a small budget so it is with sheer delightful I meander around the musty crammed shelves of second hand book shops as I hunt for treasures. plus there's that £2 book shop in Greenwich that have some wonderful, brand new books for a fraction of the cost. Wonderful. I purchased; Dreams and what they mean Everything

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-64270106975356845872011-01-30T04:59:00.000-08:002011-02-01T13:00:12.776-08:00

Last week I found an old poem that an ex-student had written. It was about an angry, educated kid, whose head was caught between street and smart. I must have said I liked to write, so this guy, James, bought some of his writing to show me.It was all this rhyming, effortless, angry poetry from this young guy. It was so good.           I showed the poem to my sixteen year old son. "Mm,mm, that's

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-11210477154237538612010-12-15T17:02:00.000-08:002010-12-15T17:42:03.613-08:00

Can I quickly say before this gets read- I know I have not posted for a while, most of my stuff has stayed in 'draft' mode, but I swear- it is not because I have been practising these techniques!!) Ten Ways to Create a Delinquent 1. Be sure not to show your son or daughter any affection.This will leave them unable to do so in later life. 2. Remind them on a regular basis just how usless they

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-57810098666746628522010-08-31T05:54:00.000-07:002011-12-31T13:18:37.027-08:00

Sleep evades me like an errant child. And not one that goes quietly either. She would slam the door behind her, stamp her feet and shout; "I never want to see you again!" and run off at 4 and 5 in the morning. I would be left with the sound of a small congregation singing "Ha....lle....uayah...." in the church just across the way, and a preacher preaching through a microphone as though it were

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-69644546454818627412010-08-26T16:57:00.000-07:002011-12-31T13:19:52.202-08:00

Day two and I've yet to erase the memory of the horrible flight and horrendous Death Ride from my mind. This morning, however, I have a distraction. We have been introduced but this is the first time I get to have a proper conversation with him. Jacob, our house boy.  House boys and girls are the norm here. Someone who fetches and carries, cleans up and looks after you and mends or reports

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-56292792421468262302010-08-26T10:40:00.000-07:002010-08-29T10:46:13.156-07:00

To wake up three times a night is insane once you’ve stopped dancing (OK, make it babies when you know you couldn't/don't want to handle it!!(Me!) Any time before that  makes sence!!)!!-)

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-72470186256112163622010-08-02T12:56:00.000-07:002010-08-29T13:42:10.238-07:00

We call it the Death Ride The first drive in this country was from the airport to where we are staying in a place called Koforidua. We travel in what the locals call a 'tro tro'. We pile in with our bags and suitcases; four volunteer teachers, a doctor, the project organiser, the driver and his two nephews. The driver takes us on a journey up long winding roads. There's hardly any traffic as it's

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-12048252795138420432010-07-28T11:30:00.000-07:002010-08-26T10:27:07.505-07:00

I spy with my Little Eye Am sat in an Internet cafe in Koforidua, Ghana and all I can do is thank my lucky stars. This is the second African country I have visited, and- for the second time- I feel right at home. I walked about fifteen minutes from the where I'm staying to get here. Sand and dust fill my sandals and my fellow travellers Akuoswa, Eve and I have had to step over a few open sewages,

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-30561496530299763532010-04-04T14:07:00.000-07:002010-04-04T14:46:04.039-07:00

April is my favourite month. Since my body clock is tuned into the academic year, April marks being settled, being established into what one is doing. Not only that but the sun tends to sneak out at this time of year with whispered promises that have people like me thinking about spending the afternoon dozing with a good book in the park. But for the first time in over ten years I am not getting

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-73437341171364424732010-03-19T19:25:00.000-07:002010-04-03T13:56:45.666-07:00

Dear Diary, It's been nearly a week since I last wrote- but never mind! Sheba our puppy (we changed it's name cos it's a girl) may have to go away.I don't want it to as it's really sweet. Jenny Morgan's gonna ask her dad if she can have it. I hope he says 'yes' then I can go and see it. By the way Jenny's had her hair cut. It looks OK. It makes her look older! I simply must mention- There's a

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-91985448623041672092010-02-09T07:26:00.000-08:002010-03-18T13:57:41.924-07:00

Everyone knows how fond I am of the students I teach. I still maintain contact with students I taught many moons ago and I still enjoy them calling me, telling me about their progress: "I'm working now Miss". "I'm engaged Miss". "I've got my own place now Miss." "I got into Uni Miss"(That's one of my favourites!) They tell me as they know the encouragement will still be forthcoming although they

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-12163543851494327042010-02-04T04:38:00.001-08:002010-02-08T13:24:48.868-08:00

Yesterday evening I took my son to a group called ORIGIN; A Rites of Passage Program for young men of African decent. We waded through the rush hour traffic on train and tube and at 6.50 we entered a building right at the end of Willington Road. He didn't want to go, my son. He would rather spend his evenings moving from kitchen to lounge to kitchen to bedroom. From Ps3 to msn to PS bleeding 3.

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-89373843830155801702010-01-24T18:19:00.000-08:002010-01-26T01:26:36.130-08:00

My good friend's daughter just recently had a baby girl. Gorgeous little thing she is- both of them actually; Sweet smelling, petit and soft. We were invited to watch a video of the baby's birth as we'd heard she was a real trooper, so now we had the chance to see for ourselves.        "But so soon Teesh?" I inquired. "Aren't you still on fire?" I know I was squeezing, squashing and folding my

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-27420318458307274682010-01-15T09:23:00.000-08:002011-01-27T09:23:30.919-08:00

I found an old diary of mine!! Here's an entry from twenty seven years ago!! Dear Diary, It's been a long time since I've written in here. Not that the days have been boring, not at all. I just didn't find the time. Anyway, the week has been alright. On Thursday MM and the World Famous Supreme Team were on Top Of The Pops! It was the best song. On Sunday church was alright. We went back extra

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-64385324043664075572010-01-07T15:02:00.000-08:002010-01-26T01:11:59.502-08:00

In my parent’s house I obey the sign that says: NO SHOES NO EXUSES before mounting the stairs. There’s a smell of apple crumble, my favorite, coming from the kitchen; Sweet cinnamon, brown sugar, nutmeg even; and although these aren’t the stairs I used to climb back then, I am thrown into childhood. Then, all of my Sundays were dominated by Sunday- School first, Sunday dinner next and the

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-30267230942309542472010-01-02T07:17:00.000-08:002010-01-03T11:31:12.198-08:00

In the run up to the new year, instead of thinking about Sales and Food and Nights out, I have been thinking about FLASH FICTION. At a recent writers retreat the fabulous author Kate Clanchy introduced a group of us to the concept: Ten word and one hundred word stories. When it should be sleep I am counting words! It's a true test on the concise use of language, especially with the ten word

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-55939214663444780992009-12-30T16:07:00.000-08:002009-12-30T18:04:05.777-08:00

i'm starting again. again another new year another whole decade to turn full circle again

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-50625848630512040962009-12-22T11:33:00.000-08:002010-01-26T01:24:56.394-08:00

I lift the knocker and drop it on next door. Mine is left open. It's about a minute before Verna answers. "Hi. I just brought my washing round." She pushes up her mouth like she's giving a reluctant kiss and says nothing when I'd seen her most of this week and that's all that she's said; You going to bring it? Day 1. Don't go to the laundry girl. I'm just next door, Day 2. Bring it nuh!! Day 3.

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-82933328967935246782009-12-17T15:12:00.000-08:002010-01-26T01:22:36.017-08:00

My good friend would bound into a room, fragrance first. Eyes would immediately be drawn to the low cut and expansive rise of high bust. A skirt would touch just above her knees, bare legs always, smooth skin with either long boots or boys-come-get-me heels. Her hair was dyed brown a while ago now. Sometimes she needed to pick out white fluff before she left the house from locks that had been the

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-53770705541712445602009-11-02T16:08:00.000-08:002010-01-26T01:08:38.397-08:00

I have had a great year! I ditched work after nine years and attempted to go back to Uni. I lasted a week! I won't mention the name of the ghetto university in which I enrolled, but I knew it just wasn't me. If I am going to pay ten thousand pounds for a degree that essentially I don't need- it has to be at a place more organised, cosmopolitan and prestious. I may as well learn from the best

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-77686130352604700102009-06-09T06:51:00.000-07:002010-01-26T01:06:01.971-08:00

I bump into a local guy from time to time and we end up in conversation. He is about to go to Uni to do a Masters as he wants to teach. I am on the verge of leaving teaching after a vast number of years to go back to Uni as I want to write. Our conversations go something like this; enthusiastic (him) burnt out (me) enthusiastic (him) burnt out (me) Theory theory jargon theory (him) Oh God

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-91451524592646537152009-05-27T16:40:00.000-07:002010-01-24T16:50:18.337-08:00

I got to thinking about flow and this writing malarkey. If I want to have flow in my writing there needs to be flow in my life. There has to be clarity. If it's a struggle something is missing. Life wasn't meant to be a struggle. I can't say that I am struuugling per say. I have the usual ups and downs, nothing too dramatic. It's the energy I'm talking about. The flow. How come writing is the

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-73904130828905878092009-05-21T02:16:00.000-07:002011-02-01T03:46:01.893-08:00

I was organising my paperwork and found a set of old photos. In it was a picture taken of me as a little girl. There I was frozen in black and white in the middle of Trafalgar Square somewhere in the 1970s. I was holding hands with my mum on one side and my aunt on the other. My mum looked all glam in what I know was a Burgundy suede coat and a short brown wig. She wore lipstick back then. She

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-63471193878177206012009-05-19T09:52:00.000-07:002010-01-26T01:21:25.279-08:00

I hated seeing him so broken. That was not how it was meant to be. He still stood firm tho. Arms wrapped across brown leather jacket, legs wide in faded Amarni jeans. Long white converse underneath. His hair was thinner now. Worry around his eyes that hadn't been visible before. It's not that I want there to be a me and him. Of course I've thought about it, especially since his break up, but I

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6162909683171387263.post-80650187050291044552009-05-19T07:37:00.001-07:002010-01-26T01:04:55.674-08:00

It's so dreary having a dream and not daring to follow. Life becomes so dull. It's like having your essence removed. How can a star not shine I ask you? It just gets looong. This blog is me reconstituting myself as a writer so I HEREBY PLEDGE....to take myself on. This is me embracing my writer child, my inner writer- call it what you will. I read somewhere that "The strongest winds blow around

Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10641728347491758144noreply@blogger.com3