Fred and Ginger have *nothing* to worry about (except maybe getting knocked over...)

well, it's Valentines Day.

not being Catholic, nor a pawns of the greetings card industry, we don't "do" VD.  what we did do, however, was go to a Valentines dance.  yep, that's right - last night was our first proper dance, six weeks or so after beginning to learn how to do it properly.  well...  depending on the occasion, of course.  i've been shaking my booty on dancefloors for many a year but, as you know, we've been learning the more formal version.  specificaly the quickstep and the waltz, so far.  foxtrot lessons start tomorrow.  :)

N.B. hubby's a little apprehensive about this, but i'm looking forward to it.  just the name of it makes me smile, imagining woodland creatures galloping up and down kicking leaf litter about...

aaanyway, our ballroom class instructors run a lesson and dance on sunday nights at the Rolls Royce Pavillion in Derby, and we decided to amble on along, to see what it was like.  last night was themed along the lines of VD, of course, but i got the impression that it wasn't much different from what normally goes on. 

 this is the sight that greeted us as we walked in.  a little early, rather than to everyone canoodling under the tables, as someone on Twitter suggested (i'm looking at you, @twiteryeanot).  as we sat there looking around, hubby and i had the same thought.  my mum and dad and, indeed, my much-missed nana and grandad, would perhaps have had the same view, once upon a time.  about half of my immediate family, being almost solely from Derby, were employed by Rolls Royce at one time or another.  mum and dad met there, when mum was 15 and dad was 19. 

as it turns out, they wouldn't have had quite this view, since the building we were in had been built long after they had both left for pastures new (or South Africa as it's more usually known - they emigrated for three years not long after they were married, but that's another story)

nontheless, the sense of family and history was quite tangible, and sort of comforthing.

the evening started with a slight departure from the norm.  usually, there'll be, as i mentioned, a regular lesson for an hour, and then the dancefloor is opened up for dancing and practicing.  in honour of VD, however, last night's lesson was in how to smooch decorously.  it was interesting, and entertaining.  i had no idea there was so much involved in dancing on the spot... *grin*

 hubby had a haircut especially for the occasion.  it's shorter than i've ever seen it, but it suits him rather well, i think.  and it will be more of a shaggy mop by the time we go to france.  that's his plan, anyway...

following the lesson, we retired to the sidelines to watch as those braver / more experienced souls present began to strut their stuff.  and i disappeared to the ladies' to ensure i was still gorgeous....

...yep...  ;)

so we sat around for a while, marvelling at the skill of some of those present.  seriously - i wish i'd taken video of one particular couple (i didn't as it seemed impolite, somehow).  they were astonishing!  every single dance, no matter what it was, they kicked. its. ass.  and my gods, were they having a good time doing it!  

eventually, however, i persuaded hubby that since we were here, it might be nice to have a dance.  i was raring to go, but he was a little reluctant.  understandable, really.  having done it for most of my life, i'm somewhat better at making a fool of myself.

it was a waltz.

it was a disaster.

we were both a little flustered, and either one or the other would add an extra step, or forget one (i freely admit it was mostly my fault, BTW).  not long after i tripped over the stage (!), the instructor (who was playing DJ for the night), jumped in, and danced a figure or two with me, reminding me to stamp my feet to keep time.

it didn't work too well, i have to say.  fortunately, the song ended not long after, and we beat a hasty retreat.

i made another trip to the loo, and got lost in the warren of corridors and little rooms in the building.  i happened upon a teenyweeny little dancefloor in a deserted side room, and quickly went and grabbed hubby for a private practice to restore our confidence.

it worked.

the second dance we stood up for, a quickstep, went much, much better.  we still cocked it up, of course, but this time, we didn't really mind, and there was a fair bit of laughter.  this evening, hubby remarked that it's much easier to dance in public when it's more structured, since everyone who's ever learned to dance like this is aware that one has to learn, and one will make mistakes (or "variations", as our instructor calls them...)  when one's dancing freestyle, as in a club, etc, it's much easier to look a tit, because everyone knows that everything comes from you and you alone - there is no outside structure imposed - and any mistakes or idiocies are entirely one's own.

it was lovely.

i was at a dance, and my man was whisking me around the dance floor, and  i was happy and in love.  :)

the rest of the evening passed in relaxed good humour, and i am so very, very proud of both of us.

i can't wait to go again!  :)

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christmas and drabbles and droubbles

so christmas is over.  all of the rushing around is done, the presents have been given and received, too much food has been consumed, and life is beginning to show signs of returning to normal.
thank the gods for that! 
it was a quiet day in the end - just me and hubby at my aunty's, along with my parents and great uncle.  it was slow and lovely.  as was the food. *happy sigh*

the following two days (today and yesterday) have been somewhat more trying though.
i have three grown-up stepchildren (aged from 17 to 21).  eldest stepson and partner have an eight-month-old.  they all have very long legs.  and there is only seating for five adults in our front room.  given that the main activity when they come round tends to be computer games, and we have one less seat than we need, i have spent most of the last two days in the kitchen, wandering around on the internet, and doing little of use.  i tried to edit Cirque Du Seul, but the kitchen chairs are not the most cofortable in the world, and i just couldn't get into it.

tonight, they left, and the peace is bliss.  i think Literary Kitteh was happy to see them go, too.  the minute the front door shut behind them, he was happily curled up on the settee, snoozing as only a kitteh can.  and i have been writing a little.

anyone who saw the last couple of posts will perhaps have seen comments and some excellent drabbles from Liz. this evening, she asked me for some different source words so, with an evil laugh, i gave her "ennui", "squamous", and "shriven".  she then announced that she was upping the word limit to 250.
now ok - i'll admit that this bothered me a little.  in art, conventions and rules can be bent and broken with gay abandon by whosoever should wish to do so - that's one of the glorious things about it. sometimes it produces genius, sometimes a big steaming pile of...  well, never mind.  you get the idea, i'm sure.  but personally? i rather like artistic conventions.  i find they give me structure and purpose when i would otherwise be flailing around and in steaming territory.  clear parameters are something i find i need more than i would have thought possible.  still in the playpen, you see. 

anyway, i went and had a dip in wikipedia, and found that the definition of a drabble has become somewhat more loose than i initially thought.  however, i still rather like the pushing and wriggling of trying to fit into the 100 word constraint.  it's an interesting challenge.  but there is, apparently, such a thing as a "droubble" or a double drabble (see the end of the article).  exactly 200 words.  so i put this to Liz, and she agreed.  she suggested, though, that since this is double the word limit, we should have double the source words.  fine by me.  i'd actually already started writing my droubble by this point, but that's fine - it's a further challenge to see if i can crowbar the words into what i had in mind.  but she has not, as yet, got back to me with those three extra source words, so i have finished the one i was writing, and await the arrival of the new words.  when they arrive, i may, indeed, try and crowbar them in, or i may just (which is also more likely) write a whole new one.  here's the droubble wot i wrote, anyway - along with a couple of drabbles that also happened this evening:

droubble

ennui/squamous/shriven

He had done everything. He had swum with dolphins, playing with them in the crystalline waters of the Caribbean. He had jumped from a high bridge attached to a piece of elastic cord. He had witnessed a sunrise from space, and a sunset from the top of a mountain. He had travelled through deserts and jungles and cities and tundra, drinking in all that was on offer from the landscape around him.
And then ennui had set in. Surely his odyssey had shown him all that this shrunken planet had to offer. After all, he had flown the length and breadth of the planet more times than he could count. What could there be that he had not already seen? He returned to his vast mansion set in its endless acres and gloomily flipped through his electronic photo library, looking for details that he may have missed. And then it hit him. Staring at an accidental picture of his shoe, his squamous eyes opened, and he felt shriven of the soul- weariness plaguing him. Rushing to his vast wardrobe, he grabbed the first pair of walking boots he could find, and set off into the world.
This time, on foot.


drabbles

effortless / doubt / propensity

She envied others' art. The seemingly effortless melding of incidents and accidents that produced things of great terror and beauty filled her with longing. The propensity to doubt her own abilities led her to dismiss those who told her she had talent, and to seek darker avenues to improve her own art.
Trading with demons in dark alleys, she swapped a piece of her soul for each new ability. At last, she had what she thought she needed. Exhibiting her works to the world, she proudly waited for reviews to flood in. A tide of comments containing one word:
"Soulless."


dissolve / books / revolution
The revolution had come and gone. It left in its wake a vague feeling of "Meet the new boss - same as the old boss". And one other difference. There were no more books. The glorious republic had decided that books were antiquated, had outlived their time. But no matter. There was all the new technology that still allowed storytelling without all of that cumbersome paper getting in the way. Now there was only the sharp clarity of electrical impulses speaking to each other. But without the feel, sight and smell of books, the culture began slowly, imperceptibly, to dissolve.


still waiting for those words, Liz...  ;o)

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(edit - added after comments posted)

so as you can see in the comments, i got my three extra words, and made this:

ennui/squamous/shriven/sniffle/evocative/muse


The ennui had passed.
The slithering, squamous creatures that haunted his dreams had ceased their vile hissing whispers. He'd laboured in darkness for seeming aeons, hacking and scratching with rusty pen and clotted ink at damp, spongy paper. Not an evocative word in sight. The moist chill in the air making him sniffle interminably, he'd pushed his way through the thorny vines of writer's block, wondering if his torment would ever end. He knew he'd brought it on himself. By allowing himself to become distracted by the worst dregs of popular culture, he'd alienated his sensitive and capricious muse, and she'd left. Her punishment was harsh. Unrelenting. He'd toiled for weeks on end to make amends - eschewing television, newspaper, magazine and radio, just to create sufficient space for her. He decorated the space with strange blooms, sumptuous fabrics, elegant sweetmeats and champagne. He carried it in his head as he hacked through the stinking, half-rotted vegetation of z-list celebrity and tabloid journalism, cradling it carefully and keeping it inviolate.
Eventually, a ray of golden inspiration hit him full in the face and, as he felt her pour into the space he'd so carefully created, he knew he was shriven.


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three stories and an introduction.

once upon a time, there was a little boy who lived with his grandparents.
one day, when he was playing outside, he met a stray cat.  he played with this cat, and they liked each other very much.  when the boy was called in for his tea, he excitedly told his grandparents about this lovely little black and white cat he'd met, and how she had no home to go to and pleasepleaseplease could he keep her? 
his grandad considered this, looking at his grandson's hopeful face and said: "all right - if you can go outside and find this cat, you can keep it."
the boy was thrilled, and rushed outside to find the little black and white cat.  he searched and he searched, high and low, but he couldn't find the little cat anywhere.  eventually, it got dark, and his grandma called him inside.  he walked inside slowly, his shoulders drooping with dejection.  he met his grandad in the living room.
"did you find the cat, then?"
the boy's shoulders sagged a little more. "no, i didn't" 
"well never mind" replied his grandad, kindly.   "go on upstairs and get ready for bed, lad"
the boy walked slowly and sadly into the hall, to the foot of the stairs.
where the little black and white cat was waiting for him.
it was only many years later, when he was telling his future wife the story of the little black and white cat, that he realised how the cat had got to the foot of those stairs.

---

once upon a time, there was a little girl who already had two cats.
it was a very bad winter.  it was very cold, and the snow lay thick on the ground.  she began to hear her mum and dad talking about "that bloody black thing" that, she gathered, was another cat that had taken to sneaking in through the cat flap at night, and sleeping on the kitchen table with the other two cats.  her dad kept throwing his slipper at it, but "that bloody black thing" was very persistent and, eventually, the family gave in and adopted the cat.
she was, actually, a beautiful longhaired tortoishell, and turned out to have the sweetest, most loving nature of any cat the little girl had ever, or (she suspects) would ever, encounter.  it was easy to tell when the cat was asleep, since that was the only time she ever stopped purring.
the little girl grew up with that cat, and they were very, very firm friends.
when the little girl was twenty, the beautiful cat died, and she was heartbroken.  a dozen years later, she still missed her and, very occasionally, dreamed about her.  when this happened, she would wake up crying, missing her friend terribly, wishing only to bury her face into that soft, sweet-smelling fur, and hear that thunderous, throbbing purr once more.

---

once upon a time, the little boy with the black and white cat grew up to have a son.  one day, whilst the (now) man and his (now) wife were visiting the son, his girlfriend and their son, in their new house, the man and his wife went outside for a smoke (so they wouldn't damage the health of the man's grandson).  whilst they were outside (along with the man's son and his other son, who was staying with his brother and family for a while), a big black and white cat jumped up on to the fence beside them and, with thunderous purrs and imperious and insistent headbutts, demanded as much fuss as they were prepared to give him.  delighted with this amazingly sweet natured animal, the man and his wife questioned the young men about this cat.  they were horrified to learn that the previous tennants had left the cat behind when they moved, and he was living in the garden of the abandoned house next door.  the brothers had been feeding him, but that was as far as it went, as they were all on a very low income, and couldn't afford to do any more than that.  and besides, living outside, the poor animal, of course, had fleas, and they didn't want the fleas in the house (especially with the baby) if they could help it, and couldn't afford to treat them properly.
the man and his wife's hearts melted.
they were on holiday that week, and were going away.  they decided, however, that as soon as they returned, they would adopt this sweet and abandoned animal, and give him the loving home that he deserved.

---

ladies and gentlemen, i take great pleasure in introducing you to Max The Cat. 

i never thought i would ever again meet a cat as sweet-natured and chilled out as my beloved and much-missed tortoishell.

but i think he comes pretty close.

this is the view i've had for much of the weekend, at least when i've sat still for more than five minutes, since he comes and lies contentedly on my chest:

accompanied with affectionate headbutts to the chin, and a purr like the throb of an engine.

i think i'm in love.

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about as intellectual as i get

there's been a thought washing around in my head this week, and it's this:  i wonder if those ancient greek dudes were really on to something...?  believe it or not, this was prompted by my having my lip pierced.

look, in Squeaky's World, this makes perfect sense, i promise.

it was Plato (....um...i think...) who came up with the "Theory of Form", which basically, as far as my limited brain can understand it (following a distant reading of Sophie's World and a quick reference to Wikipedia), states that everything we experience through our senses is an echo of a perfect form that exists on some other plane somewhere. ....or something along those lines...

and i have begun to wonder, in an idle sort of way, if we are not all shadows on the wall.

bear with me on this.

so - at the age of sixteen, the embryonic Squeaky had her nose pierced. and she was so very proud of this. she loooooved her nose piercing. it gave her a little bubble of joy every time she looked into the mirror. it just felt so right - like it was meant to be. and she still loves her pierced nose, seventeen years later. (omg - i had my nose pierced more than half of my life ago! *momentarily feels old*)

then, a couple of years ago, having had blonde hair to her waist for most of he life, she had it all cut off, and dyed it purple. again - bubbles of joy nearly every time she looked into the mirror. like it was meant to be.

a week ago yesterday, she had her lip pierced. and she loves it.

now, the day after she had her lip pierced, she went to see her parents, who live on a boat near Hull, wondering what their response would be. her father, she was sure, would hate it, but that's just Dad. he hated the nose ring, too but, being Dad, said little or nothing about that, since he's so laid back, he's practically horizontal, and tends not to get aerated about things he realises he can do nothing about. her mother, she was not sure about. she had, after all, encouraged and paid for the nose-piercing (and the moment it went in, with Mum looking on proudly, is still a surprisingly vivid memory, by the way).

so she waited for their reaction to her new adornment.

and waited, and waited.

in the end, wondering if they were just being polite in not mentioning it, as they both hated it, she asked what they thought.

they looked mildly surprised when attention was drawn to a new piece of metal in their daughter's face and, individually, their reaction was much he same: "Well, i thought it was new, but i wasn't sure, as it seems like the sort of thing that you'd do, anyway"

....er....ok....

i'm 33. most people, i think, tend to get this sort of thing done when they're in their teens, or early twenties. but maybe that's just my prejudices showing. in western society, putting bits of metal into your face, or any part of your body other than your ears, has always struck me as a mildly rebellious act, since it's not really in our culture.

...um...i would like to stress, at this point, neither the nose or the lip were a consciously rebellious act on my part - more in the nature of decoration (though i must admit that it has been tremendous fun winding up a colleague who thinks that tattos and piercings are a revolting perversion)

anyway - back to the point.

i had very much the same reaction from colleagues. these are people i see every day, in an environment where facial piercings are pretty uncommon, though certainly not villified (except for by the colleague i mentioned earlier). and nobody noticed! not a single one! when it was pointed out, they said they hadn't really noticed, but that they thought it was very "me".

....hang on, a minute...

very "me"? what does that mean? now, i choose to believe that they think it suits me. but more than that, and here's where those ancient greek dudes come in. it almost seems like the nose, and the hair, and the lip, and various other things, were things that were always there in potentia, as it were. that Squeaky, as a person, exists in her whole and complete form somewhere beyond Plato's Cave, and she's coming into focus in the sensual world bit by bit. and that applies to her mind, too. and that's why every time i become aware of that thing that's changed, it feels right. because, somehow, that's how it was meant to be...

or i could, in fact, be talking complete bollocks, as usual. *grin*

***

in other news:

 we have a new addition to our family of vehicles.

because the adorable Talulah is such an expensive old girl to run, we have acquired a tiny little Fiesta van, who has been named Little V. (little van - geddit? :D)  and she, too, though battered, is adorable!  dirt cheap to run and lovely to drive, she's taking the pressure off poor old Talulah, and will save quite a bit of money in running and maintenence costs.  and we have found somewhere off the road to park Talulah - so she's not subject to the indignities of passing traffic hurling stones and road shit at her beautiful paintwork.

yesterday, we went climbing, for the first time in months.  it wasn't long - just a couple of hours, but it was good!  we went indoors, to our local climbing centre, Alter-Rock.  it was good to be back.  since we were last there (in January!), they have added a large fin in the middle of the area, with loads of new climbs and textures/techniques.  as well as a traverse wall.  And. It. Rocks!  there was soooo much to do, and all very interesting.  loads of corners and aretes and overhangs and roofs to tackle.  great fun, and i did really well - having not climbed for months, i actually managed a couple of 6A rated climbs! and i even screwed up my courage to lead a 4!!! *pride*

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spring, new life and shooting stuff

good afternoon, dear reader.

wait...afternoon?...surely that can't be right?...isn't it tuesday?...

well, yes it is.  but i'm on holiday, so ner.

weeellll...i say holiday, but really it's just leave.  can't really go on holiday, since poor Isobel is STILL in the paint shop! *grumblegrumblegrumble*. 

oh, look - never mind that now - i'm in a bit of a fragile mood today (yup - hormones strike again - expect a four AM post any day now...), and very likely to get cross or burst into tears at the drop of a mouse, so i will stick to the happy stuff, shall i?  my keyboard is, after all, not waterproof.

soooo...happy stuff.

well, spring is here.  definitely, this time.  thank the gods.  the wind is still chilly, but the flowers are coming out, there's a haze of acid green over half of the deciduous trees, the rest are budding, and some even have blossom on them. *sighs with relief*  sad bugger that i am, i was playing "Spring I-Spy" from the car on Sunday - vegetation (particularly of the flowering kind) only.  here's some of what i saw:

blackthorn blossom
cherry blossom
broom in bloom
daffodils
big, fat magnolia buds
heather
tulips
budding and blooming willow trees (of various kinds)
acid green hawthorn leaves
gorse
flowering currant
laurel buds
almond blossom
dandelions
and, most excitingly for me - daisies. my favourite flower.  i don't know what it is about these tiny, perfect little things, but i absolutely adore them.  they gladden my heart every day.  the common Day's Eye is a tiny little personification of bliss for me.  each and every one of them, no matter where they are.  i can't even make daisy chains, any more - haven't been able to for years, in fact.  i just can't bear to see them wither.  in fact i have, for about seven or eight years, worn a tiny little silver daisy on a hoop in my ear.  it's kind of a part of me....

anyway - the reason i was playing Spring I-Spy in the car is because it was a beaitifully dry, sunny day, and we were off to visit my shiny new step-grandson.

yup, you heard right, dear reader. i am a grandma.  at thirty-three years old.  sheesh!  thanks, guys - way to go! *headsmack*

i should, perhaps, explain.  hubby is 11 years older than me, and his eldest son is 20.  which, whilst it seems a ridiculously young and stupid age to me to have children...well...look - this is another of those things i'm not going to get into.  rant-avoidance techniques activated.

but...oh, he's soooo sweet! look!...

This is Finley.

look, i know - all right?  i tried to get them to spell it properly, but they wouldn't have it.... *eyeroll*

aaanyway - here we have three generations:

Stepson, Hubby, and Stepgrandson.

actually, to give him credit, stepson does seem utterly in love with the little 'un (as well as slightly zombified by lack of sleep - cue evil laughter and cries of "Revenge, at last!!!" from his parents...  hee hee hee!).  his girlfriend was just too tired to do or say anything much.  she seemed to be coping ok, though...

and that was most of Sunday taken care of.

exciting, huh?  wait till we get to Monday!!! (actually, you'll have to...)

-

teamaking intermission

-

actually, not a great deal happened on monday.  well - not outwardly, anyway.

inwardly, i appear to have a novel growing...  now how the bloody hell did that happen?!  i asked for a short story, goddamnit!!!  *sigh*  actually, i'm not complaining.  not really.  i know i said not long ago that i was going to write short stories for a bit, and that was how this one started off, actually.  but then it grew.  and grew.  and then it grew a bit more.  it seems to be generic romantic fantasy-flavoured, but i don't really care.  i like that stuff!  and i'm not ashamed to admit it! *stands tall and proud*  at the moment, in my head, it tastes a bit like one of my very favourite books, called "Spirit Fox".  it's by...noooo...not Neil Gaiman, (for a change!) two ladies.  one of whos name i can't remember.  the other is Mickey Zucker Reichert.  and i confess i only remember that lady's name because it's soooo...well...interesting.  but i love this book.  it's generic, yes.  but it's a perfectly shining gem of a book, too - the story is beautifully told, and the romance is romantic without making me want to cringe/throw up (allllways a bonus!)

of course, mine won't be nearly up to that standard, but at least i have a high water mark to aim for.  i'm beginning to think ouroburos was a fluke...

and, once i've got this one out of my system, maybe i can go for comedy? or horror?  or both?  yeah!!!

...ahem...sorry...quite excited... *blush*

and so to today.

today, we did archery, for the first time since...um...probably early october (gets a bit cold after that to be standing around twanging stuff).  we were supposed to do climbing, but since i spent the first hour or so of today sobbing my eyes out for no good reason other than i was sad and hormonal and tired, hubby suggested we go shoot some arrows, or take a walk in the woods.  between us, we couldn't make our minds up, so we decided to combine the two and shoot some arrows in the woods.  a splendid idea, as it turned out.  it's beautiful in Shining Cliff Woods.  peaceful, spacious, and just lovely.  and there's a little lake in the middle beside which we got handfasted.

our surroundings looked like this:

today we were up on the top of the shining cliffs themselves (and they really do sparkle in the sunlight, by the way - it's just magical to see), since it's nice and flat, and not too many people go up there.  the arrows are real, and can really kill.  i know, because not only did i kill the target, i killed a tree - at least twice - and a rock.  i'm not kidding - i took a chunk out of a rock with an arrow! 0.o

when hubby and i shoot arrows, we make it a competition.  otherwise, what's the point? (other than the incredibly satisfying sound of a well-shot arrow going "thwap" or "thud" as it hits the butt, that is...)

so, the rules are:

1 point per ring, starting at 1 for the outer white ring, and 10 for the last gold ring, 15 for the bullseye.

six arrows per person per turn.

flip a coin for the choice of first or second to shoot on the first round, winner goes first thereafter.

first one to five wins the round

best of three rounds wins the match.

and, in pictures:

Robin Hubby 

hubby searching for the first of today's lost arrows.  we lost four in the end, but managed to retrieve two, so not tooo bad... :oS

 

Robina In Da (campervan) Hoody

the scores were:

5 -0 to me

5 - 3 to me

2 - 5 to hubby.

i won!!! *triumphant happydance* this has only happened once before.  but best of all, my shooting was better and more consistent than when we started last summer.

here is my winning score:

check out the two together! *pride*

needless to say, i felt a little better after that.

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