Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Comments on the question : What are your most memorable winter moments ?

February 2, 2017

Laurie Hanslin Says:

Hi, my name is Laurie. I live in central New Hampshire in a small town called Grantham. The month of January was special to me because I became “Hestia, goddess of the hearth”. I had to stay home to feed the wood stove all day while my son was in school, so it would be warm when he came home. It gave me a sense of purpose, doing something so simple. But what a wonder it is to come home to a bright fire in the woodstove and a warm home. So, my life became simple in January. Now that it’s warming up, Hestia can go out more often and the house stays warm enough. Pretty soon, Hestia will have hardly anything to do at home and will be tootling all over town.

Sona McCullough Says:

This winter has been special in so many ways.

Firstly, I have begun to realise that our family of four (five including our cocker spaniel puppy!) are going to put down roots. We are renting at present and when we moved to Norfolk, England last summer it was my 8th move in 9 years. My husband and our young daughters are all settling into work and school and we live in an area of such beauty, surrounded by open farmland and the sea. Nearby is one of the oldest Marian shrines in Europe which in medieval times was mentioned alongside Jerusalem, Rome and Santiago de Compostela and now is hidden and humble, with a tangible presence of Our Lady.

(Of course the downside to putting down roots, is trying to motivate myself to do postal redirections, when we hope to buy a house and move for the 9th time in 10 years!!)

Secondly, my new year’s resolution was to do something creative each month. And for January that meant going on a bread making day course: I had no idea that my body would dance to the rhythm of the dough as it was kneaded and that I would find myself breathing more deeply. A wonderful experience for all five senses.

Thirdly, (as three feels a more complete number!), this winter has been a special time of letting go: not pushing myself so much, not having others’ expectations as my benchmark, not worrying about all my unanswered emails. I don’t feel so ruled by a daily to-do list and in the world’s eyes haven’t achieved so much but know something more of me will emerge at the appointed time.

Thank you Catharine for the question 

Laurie Says:

Hi. This is Laurie from New Hampshire again. It’s mid March and still very much winter time. We have run out of wood for our woodstove and we are not the only ones. It’s become quite a talk around town, how people have used up their firewood and winter still goes on. …

The maple buckets are already out on some trees, but it’s still cold enough to need the woodstove going. This will be a winter I will remember. It’s the first time we’ve run out of wood before the snow even starts to melt.
Isabella McCullough Says:

Hello! I am Isabella. I am 6 years old. I live in Norfolk. I go to a school called Greshams and I am in Red house; it’s my favourite school in the world!

Here’s a poem about why this winter was memorable:

Winter

In winter my dog arrived,
He is called Jack.
Mummy gave me a game of charades
and we played it having supper.
My uncle came to visit,
Uncle Richard is his name.
Christmas we spent with my Nana and Grandpa.
We did not get any snow and I was
hoping to go sledging. .
But now it is springtime and the daffodils are blooming!

THE END!!!

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Writing conversation

April 22, 2014

Even in Portsmouth
by
John McKenty

Part two

It would be the summer of 1960 that the Harold Harvey Arena was constructed at 42 Church Street, directly across from where my family lived. Being close at hand, it wasn’t long before my two brothers and I became “rink-rats” at the venerable old arena which began life as an open-air affair, before eventually being closed in.

As rink rats our job was to sign the teams in and out and collect their rental fee and then at the end of the day to clear the ice of snow and put on a fresh flood for the next day’s activities. When there was public skating, we were to don the official rink sweaters and go out on the ice in a bid to impress the girls and to discourage the boys from playing tag.

In exchange for our meagre efforts we were given free ice time and a bit of money. With the money I made, I saved up to buy my first set of CCM “Tacks”, the skate of the pros, the skate of my dreams. Unfortunately, the price of my dreams was always greater than the size of my savings and, as a result, my first pair of “Tacks” turned out to be a used set. They were beat-up and far too small, but it didn’t matter. They were “Tacks” and I was going to cram my feet into them no matter what.

Back in those days, everyone in Portsmouth had their skates sharpened at Baiden’s Hardware, a retail operation overseen by Henry Baiden and his younger brother Bill. The only problem, according to the villagers, was that Bill knew how to sharpen skates correctly, but Henry, on the hand, didn’t. Thus, before anyone took their skates in to be done, they peered cautiously around the corner of the store’s front window to ensure that Henry was busy, while Bill wasn’t.

It was a ritual I followed faithfully for I didn’t want just anyone messing around with my “Tacks.” That’s the way it was back then. Little did I know back then that my infatuation with my skates would eventually lead me to write a history of the CCM company. But life can be like that. You just never know what will happen when you follow your passion. Even in Portsmouth.

 

The writing conversation: a poem

Every Tuesday we try to put something on the blog about writing. This week we have a poem from Ireland.

Poem by Briege Maguire Ederney Co. Fermanagh
Aged 10

NIGHT= TIME
the sun will go down
While everyone is laid to rest
It is night
Sleep tight.

First published on May 21, 2013

AN ARTICLE THAT INSPIRED A FILM

February 1, 2014

Writing conversation

When I was working for Pace magazine I scanned half a dozen newspapers nearly every day looking for stories. There was a short article in the LA Times that a 16 year old was about to set sail around the world. By the time I got down to the port he had left, but someone kindly gave me the address of his aunt. She put me in touch with his parents, who were avocado farmers.

Robin’s father was a enthusiastic sailor himself and had taken the whole family sailing on many occasions. He figured out a way for me to correspond with Robin who would drop in various islands, such as Fiji, on his way to pick up his homework. You can imagine the excitement at Pace magazine when the first letter from out at sea arrived. One of the senior editors at Pace, Frank McGee, helped me polish the story for the next edition of the magazine.

To be continued.