Category: Family

International Women’s Day

Are we Idealists or realists? We are women, we are fighters and survivors. If we have support each other and stand together, we can achieve anything!

Photo – authors own – A house of women…. Supporting & advocating for one another……

How do we empower. How do we motivate. How do we succeed in being equal?

We first of all must observe. Then we must teach, then we must learn. Women can learn from other women not just from the inequality from men.

The teaching, observing and learning must start in the home. If we have great mentors, advocates, ambassadors within the home, to build us up, make us strong, motivate us, be a role model for us, then we are off to a good start.

Even if, in the home, we see something we do not like, do not agree with, think is not right, we must learn from it,challenge it and take that ‘education’ of it outside of the home.

Take our knowledge, our beliefs our motivations, our voice and strength with us, into the world, and use it as our toolkit. We can keep adding to the toolkit, each time we feel inequality and injustice, is staring us in the face. We must reach into our bag of tools, stare right back at inequality and challenge it.

Seek out like minded people. Seek out your tribe. Help each other out. Build each other up and most of all, be there in the wings, having each others back whenever we get knocked down. Then get up again, build again, stand firm again.

The only way to succeed at anything, is to keep on trying.

From the oldest to the youngest and the youngest to the oldest a flow of ideas, ideals, experiences  and perspectives will surface. From female to female, female to male and male to female, there will of course be differences of opinion, power struggles, ideas and idealism. However, the key to be heard, is not power, but persuasion, respect, open mindedness and fairness. It is only then, that we strive for parity.

Happy International women’s day…keep on going… 

FATHER CHRISTMAS

No, not ready,  not this Christmas  day, give me a place to hide away.  Christmas,  its roots carved out of religion, with family at the heart  and etched in tradition

From childhood memories of excitement and wonder, tipping downstairs, skipping steps with my brothers..

‘He’s been, he’s been’, we’d exclaim with such joy, unwrapping and passing the games and new toys.

And mum would be there, a smile on her face, excited for us as we danced and embraced, eachother, our gifts,  scalextrix and dolls and dad would come in and join in the fun 

The house, it was happy on each Christmas  morn,  and father Christmas so brilliant for bringing such fun.

And mum would be busy preparing our feast, the kitchen awash with all sorts of treats…. the turkey the stuffing, she’d make it from scratch, the tastes and the flavours could never be matched.

We’d sit round the table, a family of 5…grateful and thankful what the lord had provided.  

The choir hymns  still ringing from the midnight  mass, and i’d sit in pure wonder at all that we had

For santa, he was, the father of christmas for sure, bringing peace and good will to our family’s door.

Back then we were ignorant to the true full facts, that Christmas wouldnt happen without mum and dad.

What happiness they brought with sacrifices made and now how I’ll miss  them on this Christmas day

So no, not now, not ready just yet, I’ll leave santa to the chrildren, so they wont forget, the joy and the treasure and the gift of it all the christmas, the magic, so they can recall

How special and awesome their own mothers are, allowing father christmas to capture their their sweet precious hearts.

For the mothers and fathers gone home to the lord, we’ll love you and miss you on this christmas morn…..

Every Picture…..

When does the virtual world cross paths with our real world,? I think, more often than we care to think.

At my mother’s house, I came across some old photos, of me, my brothers, mum, dad and many other family members.

As I flicked through them, it brought back so many memories. Good ones, sad ones, fun ones and cringe ones and plenty in between.

It occurred to me though, as I looked at some of the old ones of me, and some of the most recent ones, that my smile was not reflective of how I was actually feeling at the time that the snap was taken.

In the world of social media which we now live in, we often give out about people living in a virtual reality, only posting positive photos, lifestyles etc. I am one of those people.

I post my life on social media…… well, in the main, the perception of my positive life. I mainly post my photos because I once had my camera stolen with 5 weeks worth of holiday snaps on it, of my children and I. I was heartbroken, so from then on, I upload to facebook, to preserve the moment!

The thing is, we are all probably guilty of living or portraying a virtual reality ,pre and post social media.

In the collage of me above, at different ages and stages of my life, my smile seems almost the same giving the impression that I am happy, yet my reality of when some of the pictures were taken, couldn’t be further from the truth.

There was loss, significant loss in some of the photo’s, a miscarriage, a marital separation and the most recent being taken 11 days after my mother died.

Every day we go about our business, we smile and we say we are ‘doing fine’. For the most part I know I can pretend that I am fine for my ‘outside face’ but that is because it is important to have a break from it, from the sadness, the pain, hurt, grief or whatever it is that makes us ‘not fine’. We need distraction…well I do. That is how I cope.

I allow all my feelings to live in me, sometimes they consume me, they niggle at me, and I push them back and sometimes I let them break free. I do not or try not to let them define me, because each day, they are different, more intense, less intense, more manageable, more tolerable, less tolerable etc and as the days, weeks and months pass, we learn to live with our pain, our loss, our hurt and our wounds.

It is important to feel all the emotions, just as it is important to try to escape them, be distracted from them, and talk about them, even when we think we can’t, and when we can’t talk, we need to find a place, a person a friend, who we can trust enough, love enough, that we can sit in our silence or our turbulence and they will allow us to just sit…. and sit with us.

So, yes every picture really does tell a story, but it is really only the subject person, in the picture, that knows the whole story….. the rest is just a virtual reality.

“One can be the master of what one does, but never of what one feels”

Gustave Flaubert

Wisdom…..

What do you think gets better with age?

Some are born with more than others, but I feel, as we age we grow more wise.

A poem I wrote a while back for young girls/women is, I think, an example of wisdom.

This Body…

Don’t be fooled by this body
so slim and so lean
Caressing the contours
Having boys wet dreams
These arms are so strong
Though feeble they look
And the breasts are more
Worthy, than for you just to suck
These legs are so shapely, smooth and long
But will only be open for who I say, belong

Do not assume that it’s yours for the taking
This body of mine, took years in the making
It stretched and it grew, filled out and amazed
the strength that it carried in the blood and the veins
This body of mine one day will grow old
The breasts you desire will sag I am told
The legs long and shapely, may fill more with fat
I cannot be fairer or clearer than that

So do not be fooled by this body of mine
Instead you must love what is there in my mind
For there you will find the truth, I confess
The sexy, the funny, the intelligent prowess
My mind is the thing you must first desire
For my body will only, set yours on fire
And too, one day yours will fail to perform
So for me I make sure, it is you I adore
The body is nothing but bones and mere flesh
But the mind you see is where we become enmeshed
A wondrous source of beauty and wit
It’s here where the fire of desire should be lit
For it will grow sharper and lead us the way
To a future together in all that we say
The body of course, will bring pleasure and joy
But do not be fooled or distracted, dear boy
If you’re up for the challenge, then of course let’s begin
Soon we will know which one shall win
The pressure is on, you must decide
But do not no fear, there is no place to hide

©️ Caroline S. T

Humble pie…

What’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten?

The most delicious thing I have ever eaten was a variety of tastes from all the members of my family, that was sat around the table, each vying for attention, giving their opinions and each throwing in their two penneth worth and showing me how to eat my humble pie, listen, apologise and learn from my own mistakes….

This is when I knew for sure that they knew they had freedom to express their feelings and views…. Mother is not always right, even if her heart is in the right place….

Author: itsjustnoteasy

The Foreigners….

Do you ever notice how we behave in any given situation. How treat, react and respond to people and things. How, at times, we have a sense of entitlement and ownership and will do whatever is necessary to get what we want, no matter how big or small, or who we may trample on. Even the silly things, can turn us into competitive monsters!

authors own…

The shuffling, the whispers, eyes flitting, one way then the other. Hushed voices. Observing each other with the suspicion of a Russian spy, and with such curiosity that it could well lead to what happened to the cat!

Contemplation of their own moves, their own tactics. I can hear the cogs turning in their minds, even my own, guessing which one will succeed. Some look up, heavenward, some look away, trying to be nonchalant, undeterred, unaffected.

They pretend they are not playing the game, but i’ve been watching them closely. It’s easy when you’re on the other side of the fence.

Human behaviour…. Sure don’t we think we are civilised, superior, dignified and righteous? At times we are. Just see how we meet and greet our neighbour, the local shop keeper, the milkman, the priest. Look at the great deeds some do for others. So caring, so selfless, so civilised.

But, put us amongst the different nations, put us in a different country, a hot country. A hot country with a pool! Well, civilisation is at it’s finest….There, early in the morning the queue forms. People waiting anxiously for the man with the key. They are beginning to twitch and sweat under the heat of the sun and the weight of their towels, their many, many, many towels, which they are going to relieve themselves of when they lay claim to THEIR sun loungers, poolside, shade side, sunny side.

Just where the hell is the man with the key to the door, the door to paradise, the key to the sacred sun lounger area beside the pool?

Ahhhh, here he comes, eyeing the growing crowd, he slows his step and looks at them with confusion, fear, horror! They inch even closer to the gate, muttering and mumbling, elbows at the ready to nudge their neighbour out of the way, trample on them if they must, in the stampede that is about to erupt…

But, key man, the keeper of their focus and desire stands there bemused, confused, belwidered, not knowing what to do next. The energy is electric, the tension is palpable but like any brave solder, he ploughs through the malevolent crowd, makes his way to the front, unscathed and watches, in jubilent amazement and wonder at the idiotic, half-witted behaviour of the foreigners……

Photo by Pavel Danilyuk on Pexels.com

The Long Sleep

Sad times can evoke and trigger such good times through memories. I count myself lucky that I have so many happy memories of a life lived and shared with loved ones…..

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

It was strange passing by the doorway

Knowing you no longer occupied the room

The first time I went in, after you died

I cried

I looked around at the remnants of you

The hospital bag, clean pyjamas, slippers and

Unwrapped sweets

Wurthers originals, your favourite,

The same initials as your name W. O

William O’Reilly

all I could do was stare at it all

The picture on the bedside cabinet of padre pio

Your ‘pal’, sure didn’t he always look after you

Your holy medals, always kept in your breast pocket

Next to your heart, to keep you safe

and your easy start, the ‘inhaler’ has given you  

your Last breath, its last puff

and now all this stuff in this 10 ft. sq. room

will no longer will be touched by you

But you cannot be wiped clean from them

You are engrained and sustained in it all

and the holy Medals, in the palm of my hand

will still withstand life and death and I will never forget

your laugh, your smile, your funny ways, you.

They come with me on my journey

And I keep them safe and they keep me safe

Knowing you are at the heart of them

The smell of cigarettes filled the air and the stub in box

Of your cardigan pocket, a lasting legacy of your last

Kiss, where your lips wrapped around its filter

And you drew in the nectar of your addiction

No contrition or remorse or feeling bad

They were your comfort, your solace, and I get that

I loved them too, before I finally gave them up.

Now, more than two months on since you passed

as I stand in your room

No sign of you, no sight nor smell,

the paint and paste swallowed it up

but my mind can recall it all

the ghosts of this room

once my own, spent teenage years in a new life,

a new house, a new bedroom, and yours

was down the hall then

almost 40 years have passed since

I last slept in there

I remember it so well

Me and Jackie, giggling and talking

All night, until morning broke

when sleep finally muffled our chatter

and found us

So much joy and laughter contained

Within the walls

Yet so much sorrow, but

Now, as I slip in between the sheets

And darkness falls on the room

I remember the ghosts of both you and her

I drift and dream of great times

Good and happy memories

and as the long sleep takes me

on a sea of peace and calm

happily, I sail away with the

ghosts in my heart

Father’s Day

There’s a first time for everything. Sometimes its very difficult, other times, not so bad. It is inevitable that special occasions, also have a 1st time, with or without….

Soon it will be father’s day and it keeps popping into my mind.  It is only 6 days away now and usually by now I would be looking in the shops, looking at the cards, carefully choosing which one to buy.

I don’t like one that is too sloppy, or ones with a picture of golf clubs or racing cars on them.  My dad was never into golf or racing cars.

Choosing a card is often very difficult when you are choosing it for someone you love, because you ‘know’ them.  Their likes, their dislikes, their little idiosyncratic ways, so getting the right card, must reflect that, right?

Sometimes the right picture has the wrong verse and sometimes the right verse has the wrong picture, but still, I keep looking, if not in that shop then another and another until, I get the one that is ‘just right’.  Like goldilocks with the porridge and the bed.  It has to feel right.

The gift, was always easy….. Smokes, fags, ciggies, cigarettes; and money inside the card to buy more cigarettes, or scratch cards, where the excitement would be mighty if he only won 2 euro to get yet another scratch card and say ‘ah I might win the big one on that one’ and he would laugh.  

The kids would usually give him scratch cards, but I would give him the ‘few bob’ to go buy more ciggies.  Sure he’d been smoking most of his life, since he was 5 he said.  Picking up his parent’s butts off the hearth and drawing in the toxic smoke, deep into his lungs till he coughed and spluttered and coughed some more.  It wasn’t a deterrent, he kept going, till he got himself rightly hooked.

At 29 he collapsed with pneumonia and was taken to hospital.  I was about 7 years old then.  Gosh, that is 50 years ago!  ‘’If you don’t quit smoking, you won’t see 40” the doctor had told him, but what did he know?

Ah, he tried quitting a few times, that I remember.  He tried the pipe.  The smell was nice, I remember that, it was a bit like smelling food cooking on a bar b q, you want to eat it and the smell of the pipe, would make me want to ‘taste’ it.   I thought he looked funny, like Sherlock Holmes, puffing away on it.  It didn’t last, gave him headaches he said.  Back to the cigarettes it was then.

The doctor was wrong.  He did see 40, and 50 and 60, 70, 80…… but at 81, I guess it was his time to go.  He died 9 weeks ago, unexpectedly.  He had got pneumonia again, like he did last year also and the year before.   This time though, it was his heart that gave up on him while he was in hospital.  We were expecting him to come home again, after being pumped with antibiotics and steroids for the pneumonia and make another full recovery, but it wasn’t to be.  For him I am glad it was quick.  He always said he’d like a nice quick ‘belt in the chest’ when it was his time, and so his wish was granted.

As I type this, a photograph of him, smiling at me, I will wish him peace and blessings and tell him, that I miss him, and that I am glad the doctor got it wrong when he was 29. 

So this year, there will be no browsing or buying a father’s day card.  No cigarettes or money to be given.  No scratch cards to excitedly scratch in anticipation of ‘the big one’.   So instead of cigarettes, I’ll light a candle for him and watch the smoke as it flickers up to the heavens…….