Flawed, yet perfect.

One of the things I've battled with for most of my life is thinking that I needed to be perfect before people would accept and like me. Apart from being exhausting, not to mention impossible, all it did was stop me from letting anyone get too close. Over the past few years, I've actually been able to gradually stop feeling this way. I don't know if it is a feature of growing older or not, because as Johnny Depp puts it so eloquently, 'I don't know how to act my age, I've never been this old before.' Whatever the reason, it has certainly made life a lot easier.


But we don't live our lives in a vacuum, and we can't help but be affected by the actions of others. 

I recently had lunch with a friend who had been hurt by someone close to her. As we talked about the situation, she said that, 'Once a vase has been broken, it is never the same again.' While I agree with this statement, it doesn't mean that it has to be a negative thing. I believe that certain situations that seem to 'break us', can make us stronger and even better people because of it.This is something that I think is at least worth striving for.

I came across the following story on Facebook. I probably couldn't tell it any better myself, so I won't try. Besides it's not really my story to tell. But I really wanted to share it as I feel it contains a very important message.

An elderly Chinese man had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which he carried across his neck.

One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the man bringing home only one and a half pots of water.

Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do. After 2 years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the man one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house."

The old man smiled, "Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?" "That's because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them." "For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house."

Each of us has our own unique flaw. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. You've just got to take each person for what they are and look for the good in them.

So, to all of my crackpot friends, have a great day and remember to smell the flowers on your side of the path! (Leo Petrik 2016. )

What a lovely story. I thought of my friend as I was reading it. But I do believe there's a time and place for things to happen. Sometimes, we need the distance of time, to be able look at a situation and realise that we can move on and be all the stronger for it. Life is complicated and sometimes we don't see the wider picture. We don't see the flowers by the wayside because we are so pre-occupied by our cracks. 

I also was struck by the arrogance of the 'perfect' pot, not an attractive quality.  

It's a serious subject, but I thought I'd end by sharing this cartoon. None of us are perfect, But I do believe that there can be situations which we're just perfect for, just like the cracked pot. We need to learn to embrace our flaws. As the caption says, none of us are perfect. But we each have our part to play.

Something to think about perhaps?

Johnny Depp photo courtesy of:- 

http://ow.ly/Ygk6q

Cracked water jar story can be found at:- http://ow.ly/YghUz

No one is perfect:- 

http://ow.ly/YgmIB 

Stranger than fiction.

I've been a bit quiet of late. There's a few reasons why, but I'm not going to go into that. Suffice to say, it's left me with a kind of writer's block. I did wonder if it was because I'd not had any adventures recently, but then I realised that Life is an adventure, so that couldn't be it.

Step in my old friend Facebook. When I first started writing my blog, way back when, a lot of my posts were inspired by pictures or sayings that friends were posting. Quite often I'd look at one of them and it would inspire me to write about it. A few days ago, another aspiring author, who unlike myself, is seriously working on her book at the moment, posted a link to her blog to a post that was a short story about an Amazon green parrot called Myrtyle. I absolutely loved it and when I commented as much to my friend, I found out that it was based on a true story.

Now this got me thinking. I thought about how sometimes life can be stranger than fiction, and reminded me of an incident that happened about 10 years ago. So I decided that I'd write about it.

The story is a bit longer than my usual blog posts, but I hope you enjoy it.

Stranger Than Fiction

One Saturday morning, my husband decided that he needed to go to B&Q, a local DIY superstore. As this seemed to be his second home at the time, I decided to go with him so we could spend some time together. Just as we stepped out the front door, he decided that he needed his measuring tape and disappeared back into the house.

 As I waited for him, I heard a faint sound. At first I thought it was a baby crying, but as I looked along the road, I couldn’t see anyone at all, let alone someone with a child. Both of my neighbours were elderly, so I knew it couldn’t be coming from either of their houses.

I strained my ears and realised that it was the mewing sound of a cat and it seemed to be coming from one of the trees that lined the opposite side of the road. Curious, I crossed the road and as I did so the mewing became louder. After a few minutes of straining both my eyes and my neck, I spotted a tiny black kitten quite high up in the branches of a plum tree. Although the tree wasn’t very tall, the poor little kitten was a bit too high up for me to reach, and anyway, my days of climbing trees were long gone.

As I stood there, wondering what to do, my husband emerged from the house.

‘There’s a kitten stuck up the tree.’ I called to him.

He crossed the road and started to climb the tree in the direction that I was pointing. But, the higher up the tree he climbed, the further up the tree the kitten retreated.

‘This is hopeless. I’ll need a ladder.’ He said, ‘you stay here and watch.’

Watch! Watch why? I wasn’t exactly sure what I could do, short of trying to catch it if it decided to jump.

While I stood there, still straining my neck, a woman stopped and lifted her eyes in the direction of mine.

‘There’s a little black kitten stuck up the tree.’ I said, not wanting her to think that I was just some crazy tree lover.

‘I can hear it. Has it been there long?’ she replied.

‘I’m not sure. But my husband has gone to fetch a ladder.’

We continued to stand, both with our eyes fixed on the little ball of fluff in the tree, willing it to not do anything until my husband came back with the ladder. As we stood there we talked about what a dangerous road this was for cats. I’d lost one black and white cat already, and as we waited, I told her about the night it happened.

My husband and I were sitting watching television late one Saturday night, when the phone rang. Our eldest son was out with his friends, and his younger brother was tucked up in bed. My husband answered the phone, and as I listened I realised that there had been some sort of accident. I immediately thought it was my son and when I heard my husband ask if he was breathing, my heart froze.

My husband hung up after telling the person on the other end that he would be right there. I demanded to know what had happened and asked if my son was OK. My husband took me by the hand and gently explained that it wasn’t anything to do with our son, but that our cat had been hit by a car. Unfortunately the cat hadn’t made it, but I was so relieved that it hadn’t been my son.

As I finished telling the woman this story, my husband returned with a ladder. But as he placed the ladder under the tree, the little kitten jumped down and ran away. We all laughed and joked about cats and their nine lives. Then the woman went on her way and my husband and I got into his car and set off for B&Q.

Well as interesting as this might be, you may well be thinking that this isn’t really that strange, and you’d be right.

Earlier that same morning, we had given our youngest son his first mobile phone. He was about 15 at the time, but unlike most kids his age, he hadn’t really wanted one. But we insisted that he had one in case of an emergency. I’d inputted both mine and my husband’s mobile numbers and left him in his room while we went off to B&Q.

I can’t even remember what it was we had gone there for. But eventually we paid for our purchases and headed home.

Meanwhile, our son had phoned one of his friends and arranged to meet him in town. To get there, he had to walk across a common, crossing two small bridges. Then turn right and follow the river before coming to a zebra crossing which crossed the road and took him into one of the town’s main car parks. A journey he’d done many times before.

By this time we were about halfway home and as we approached a mini roundabout, my mobile started ringing in my handbag. I picked it up and saw that it was my son calling. I smiled and made some remark to my husband about how it hadn’t taken him long to use it. But as I listened to the call, my heart, just as on the night our cat was hit by a car, froze. Instead of my son’s voice, I heard a man telling me that he was a policeman and that I wasn’t to panic, but my son had been hit by a car. I couldn’t believe it. We weren’t very far from where it had happened, so turning right instead of left we were soon there. It must have taken us about 3 minutes, but it felt like a lifetime. All we could both think about was that we couldn’t lose him.

As we arrived at the zebra crossing where it had happened, we could see 2 police cars, stopping the traffic, 2 ambulances and a paramedic’s motorbike. A small, green car, its window screen shattered, lay abandoned, its front doors lying wide open. A woman was being comforted on the pavement, her eyes red from crying. But the most vivid memory of it all is of my son lying on the ground, an oxygen mask on his face. But he was conscious. A couple pf paramedics were attending to him and as I rushed over to him, having barely waited for the car to stop before jumping out of it, they very firmly, but gently, asked me to step back and let them attend to him. I stood on the pavement watching helplessly as they placed him on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance.

Fortunately I was able to ride with him in the ambulance, my husband following on in the car. Despite having been thrown about 16 feet, he only had a few scrapes and bruises. He’d had his headphones on and had been listening to music and hadn’t heard the car approaching. As a result he hadn’t tensed before the impact and apparently that had saved him from more serious damage.

We were so relieved. But we just couldn’t believe it. Only about an hour after I’d told this woman about the night we received a phone when I thought it was my son that had been hit by a car, but it turned out to be the cat, I got a phone call telling me my other son had been hit by a car. Not only that, but our son had only just been given a mobile phone in case of emergency.

We can laugh about it now, but at the time it wasn’t so funny. Although there was the incident 3 days later when in our local Blockbusters I was asked if I had heard about the accident on the zebra crossing. I was told that the person had died, that someone they knew had seen the body being placed in the ambulance. I was able to assure them that this wasn’t the case as it had been my son and that he was alive and well and playing with his games console back home. Chinese whispers at their best.

He was very lucky. But even now, 10 years on, my heart still does a flip whenever I have to use that zebra crossing. I don’t know about you, but I think this might well qualify as an instance where fact was stranger than fiction. At the very least I think it was a very strange set of coincidences.

Isabel Johnstone 2016 ©

p.s. here's the link to my friend's story about Myrtyle the Amazon green parrot.

https://gladysfriday52.wordpress.com/2016/01/18/myrtle/

Just believe that good things are on their way.

I have a question. Where has 2015 gone to? It seems like only yesterday that I was thinking back on 2014.

It's been a bit of a funny old year. We started the year knowing that my brother-in-law was terminally ill, and I'll be starting 2016 by going to a funeral of a friend who passed away before Christmas. My brother-in-law passed away not long after his 60th birthday  my friend had also not long celebrated his 60th birthday. A sobering thought, especially as in 2016 I'll be celebrating my 60th.

Once again I've been reminded of just how short life is and the importance of making the most of every day. 

I'm still determined to have as many adventures as possible and try not to let things get to me, but I'm realising just how hard that can be at times. I'm also aware that it's up to me how I choose to react when life throws me one of its many curve balls.

Scratch Messiah at Royal Albert Hall

I've got a couple of adventures planned and I'm also eagerly awaiting to hear what WOAPA will have in store for us. We might be entering the Chipping Norton Musical Festival competition again, and who knows, we might even get an outstanding award this year. There's also a strong possibility that, once again, we'll be taking part in the Scratch Messiah in the Royal Albert Hall.

There also may be an adventure involving flying.

One of the reasons this year has gone so fast is there's been a lot going on, and as I have already said, not all of it good. But I'm feeling grateful that at the end of 2015, my family and I are safe and healthy. We've been fortunate enough not to be affected by the terrible flooding that has spoilt so many people's Christmas and New Year. Both my sons have overcome their health scares and I didn't get pneumonia.

All in all, I've got a lot to be grateful for, and I am. 

Who knows what 2016 has in store for me and mine? All I know is that whatever it is, good or bad, I'm ready. I'm still determined to be a vase mended with 'Golden Seams',  On my facebook page I share inspirational quotes and funny or cute photos to make people smile. If I can help someone to feel better, even if only for a moment, then that makes me happy.

2016 is almost upon us. I don't make resolutions, why set myself up to fail? I'll just keep on trying my best. I wish all who are reading this, happiness, health and the strength to cope if life gets difficult. Find joy in the little things. After all, that's what most of our lives are made up of; the little things. Most importantly: Remember to believe that good things are on their way.

Remember quote courtesy of :- https://www.facebook.com/powerofpositivity/?fref=photo

http://isabelj327.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/golden-seams_15.html

Like my facebook page on: https://www.facebook.com/Isabel-Johnstone-152927471569774/

Isabel Johnstone 2015 ©

The Scratch Messiah, my adventures continue.

A couple of weeks ago I was excited because my singing group had just performed in the great Hall at Blenheim Palace. It was an amazing experience to be able to sing in such a beautiful setting. What could possibly top that?

This time last year I was in the process of recovering from a bout of pneumonia. It was particularly frustrating for me as I fell ill only a few days before I was due to take part in the Scratch Messiah, in the Royal Albert Hall. Instead I was stuck in hospital, having intravenous antibiotics and feeling a little sorry for myself. Months of screeching around the house trying to learn the alto part had all been for nothing. I was so disappointed that I couldn't even bring myself to listen to a recording of the Hallelujah Chorus that was uploaded to youtube.

Alto section

For those who have never heard of the Scratch Messiah, every year, for the past 41 years, singers from all around the world have gathered in the Royal Albert Hall to perform Handel's Messiah. This is known as the Scratch Messiah as everyone who takes part is expected to rehearse it and then turn up on the night and sing, with no final rehearsal beforehand.

A year late, but, finally I got my chance to take part.

It's almost impossible to describe to anyone who's never been inside the Albert Hall, just how stunningly beautiful it is. I'll let the photographs speak for themselves. Around 3,500 singers, either individuals or choirs, had gathered from all around the UK, Europe, Canada and Bermuda. The altos had to wear something red, the sopranos, blue and the tenors and basses dark suits. There were singers seated on every level of the hall, and even up in the gods you could see blocks of red and blue. It was an incredible sight.

Louise and Tracy from WOAPA

Before the performance, the hall buzzed with the sound of excited, if nervous, chatter. People milled around taking selfies or group photographs as a reminder of a special evening. When the members of the orchestra began to arrive, the noise briefly increased as we all hurried to find our seats. Finally, the conductor and soloists arrived and an expectant hush fell on the building.

At a flick of the hand of the conductor, the hauntingly beautiful notes of the introduction began to fill the hall. I expected to feel nervous, but having been worried right up until I boarded the coach, that something might yet prevent me from going, I felt like I was in a dream and would wake up at any moment.

Brian Kay, the conductor

After the introduction, the first soloist sand a couple of short recitatives and then conductor indicated that we should all stand. This was it. Again it's hard to describe the sound of 3,500 voices singing. A friend who was in the audience said, " When everyone started to sing, it was like a wave of sound had washed over us and enveloped us."  She also said that when we sang the Hallelujah Chorus, "It felt as if the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and it made me feel very emotional." I can safely say that this also describes the way I felt throughout the performance.

At the end of the performance, we were given a standing ovation which seemed to go on for ever. The conductor and soloists left the stage to more rapturous applause, before leaving the hall, clutching a large bouquet of flowers each.

Me waiting for the performance to begin.

When I was in my late teens/early twenties, I was part of a gospel choir and we performed in many large venues, including the Usher Hall in Edinburgh. But performing Handel's Messiah in the Royal Albert Hall, with around 3,500 other people, has got to be the most thrilling performance I've ever participated in. Many of my fellow choir members, who'd taken part last year, said that they were less nervous this time, but they would never forget their 'first time'. Brian has already asked if anyone would be interested in taking part again next year, and I've said a resounding,YES.



We weren't allowed to make any recordings, but I've found the recording of the Hallelujah Chorus from last year's Scratch Messiah. I'm sure it sounded just as great this year. Enjoy.

Photos courtesy of WOAPA, Diane Iverson Mullinger and Isabel's own.

Isabel Johnstone. 2015 ©

Never give up.

Three years ago I embarked on a creative writing course with the Open University. I must admit that this was the hardest, most challenging thing that I've ever done. I was used to being assessed and marked on my academic writing, but when it came to my creative writing, I didn't find it so easy. I was really demoralised by the mark I got for my final assignment. The most cutting comment was that the storyline was ' poor'. It's based on a true story of a man I met on a plane a few years ago, who had been in the north tower when the planes hit in 9/11, but the woman is a complete fiction.

For a couple of years I let this get to me and apart from writing my blog, I stopped writing anything else.

Then last year I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself and do something about it. So after a few changes, an author never thinks their work is completely finished anyway, I submitted the story in a Writer's Magazine writing competition. I wasn't placed, but I was given some really encouraging feedback that led me to believe that, with a few more changes, I might stand a chance if I resubmitted it. 

So, armed with a renewed feeling of optimism, I did just that. This was the result.

A Twist of Fate

Thanks for entering the Writers’ Forum competition.

Presentation: Manuscript layout is good. When someone is addressed in dialogue there should be a comma before and/or after the name.

Title: Apt for the story on more than one level.

Opening: This is good scene setting, introduces the main character, and contains a hook to grab the reader’s attention, giving us a reason to read on.

Dialogue: Good – the dialogue aids characterisation and helps to drive the story onwards.

Characterisation: The characters are well drawn and credible.

Overall: You have a lovely style and I enjoyed reading your work very much indeed. I’m short-listing this – congratulations! Should the story move forward to the top three, someone will be in touch to let you know.

Shortlisted

No one did get in touch with me, so I didn't make the top three. but I didn't really mind. As far as I was concerned I'd done what I set out to do and changed it from being a 'poor idea' a story was that was highly commended. This was confirmed when in the March edition of the magazine,  was listed as having been shortlisted and highly commended. 

This has done so much for me on so many levels. It's restored my confidence for one thing. Unfortunately, I'm a bit too busy with my Open University degree to do much writing at the moment, but I fully intend to take it up again when I finish, hopefully in May 2018.

I'm a bit annoyed with myself that I let myself be affected by this in the first place, but I'm proud of myself for picking myself up and turning it around. 

Here's a link to the story, if you want to read it. https://isabelj327.blogspot.co.uk/2017/03/a-twist-of-fate.html

Photo's Isabel's own, apart from: don't stop believin' found at:-
http://ow.ly/yvPD30aknp2

Isabel Johnstone 2017 ©

WOAPA at Blenheim Palace.

Since becoming a part of WOAPA Adult Singing Group, my life has become quite exciting at times. So far we've performed at music festivals, made a couple of Cd's and videos, including the Diggy, Diggy Hole video for Oxfam, and helped raise a lot of money for charity. We've even been awarded a couple of distinctions at the Chipping Norton music festival and, this year had the honour of being asked to close the festival.

A few weeks ago, Brian announced that we had been asked to sing in the Great Hall at Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire, as part of their run up to Christmas celebrations. Normally I'm not a great fan of singing Christmas songs before December, but I was very happy to make an exception in this instance.

Great Hall at Blenheim Palace.

On Saturday, 14th November, around 12.30pm, I, along with around 70 others of the WOAPA Adult Singing Group, began to gather in the Great Hall for the first of two performances. The hall had been decorated for Christmas and it took my breath away when I entered and saw the two Christmas trees, each standing about 40 feet tall, that flanked the area where we would be performing. Any nerves I had grew even more intense at the sight, and I'm sure that I wasn't the only one.

WOAPA Adult Singing Group

At 12.50pm, we began to take our places ready for the first performance. There was a lot of shuffling and murmuring, but finally Louise signalled us that it was time to begin and we gave her our full attention. We started with a Jingle Bell Rock/White Christmas medley. The acoustics in the Great Hall are amazing and the sound of the choir singing resonated along the corridors and up into the rafters. One of the palace staff who was working in an office along the corridor told us that she could even hear us in there. When we finished singing, we were enthusiastically applauded by the crowd that had gathered to listen.

Feelimg a bit less nervous , we waited for the intro to the next song to begin. It should have been, Somewhere Only We Know. Instead the unmistakable opening chords of Let It Go started to play. There then followed a lot of frantic page turning, as we all tried to find the right song. Fortunately, it's one we're all familiar with and we managed to sing it without a hitch. Being a bit unnerved by this, we waited with bated breath to see what song would come next. It turned out that the ipod had inadvertently been put on shuffle and instead of playing the songs in the order that we'd rehearsed, the rest of the songs appeared at random. But, being the consummate professionals we are, we managed to complete the rest of the performance, without any further mishap, It was quite a challenge trying to identify which song was coming next, and find the words in time to start singing. I was very thankful that I knew most of the songs by heart. But I don't think it affected our performance too much. The audience still seemed to enjoy it.

The ipod having been taken off shuffle, the second performance went according to plan,  I had goosebumps at times, especially when we sang, Real Love, and Somewhere Only We Know, and at the end of Let It Go, I observed one lady with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, with tears in her eyes and a huge smile on her face. After we'd finished, a couple of ladies asked me at what time we'd be singing again. They were very disappointed to find out that we wouldn't be. I would quite happily have done it all again.

After the performances, I decided to have a wander around the palace, and quite a few people stopped me to say how much they'd enjoyed our singing. One German gentleman, actually stopped my friend and said, "You have a beautiful voice." then in typical German soldier fashion, clicked his heels together, bowed and said,'Perfect singing'. Says it all really.

WOAPA afternoon school

The next day it was the turn of the WOAPA school children. I decided to go along and support them. They were also performing twice but what I hadn't realised was, they were splitting into two, with the morning school singing at 1pm and the afternoon school at 2pm and I only managed to catch the second performance.

The children were actually better behaved than the the adults. They sat quietly on the floor until Sian, their tutor, signalled them to stand up and didn't talk between songs. They started by singing a couple of songs that the adults had sung the day before, including Let It Go, although they sang a different arrangement of the songs. The children were amazing. They put on a very polished performance and someone remarked to me that they sounded like angels. Looking around at the crowd I saw a sea of smiling faces and proud parents.

Sian.

The only little hiccough was when one of the youngster's passed out towards the end of the second last song. But Sian acted quickly and managed to catch him before he hit the floor. The others again showed their professionalism by going on to sing the final song, as if nothing untoward had happened. The youngster soon recovered and Louise said to the audience that this had happened to her in the past. One of the joys of show business.

It was a wonderful experience.We couldn't have asked for a more stunning setting and, as I've already mentioned, the acoustics were fantastic, which enhanced the sound of our singing. I'm eternally thankful that I found WOAPA and really appreciate all the hard work put into by Brian, Louise and the WOAPA tutors, making it the success it has become. Who knows what WOAPA will be asked to do next. but it'll have to be pretty special to top this.

Here are a couple of video clips:

 Photographs courtesey of Isabel and Diane Iverson Mullinger.

Photograph of Sian courtesey of WOAPA.

Videos Isabel's own.

Where is your escape?

Where is your escape? Do you have somewhere either real or imagined that you can go when you need some Isabel-time?

This is a blog challenge I was set by a fellow Open University student quite a while ago. I've had a couple of attempts at answering this question, but gave up as I didn't really know what to say.

The real answer to this question is the bath. I love to pour myself a deep, bubble-filled bath and either, lie there with my eyes closed and just relax, or alternatively read. The bath seems to be the only place where I seem able to switch my mind off completely from my studies and other activities. But who wants to read a blog about someone having a bath?

Over the past couple of months life has been a bit stressful for me and my family. Both my sons had health issues, one concerning his heart and the other his lung. At the same time my hubby was going through a difficult time at work and was very stressed about it. I've reached a point in my life where I'm realising that worry is a waste of time and energy and doesn't actually change the outcome of anything, so I try not to do it. But when it comes to my children, as any parents reading this will know, that's easier said than done.

But it was during this period that I discovered that I do have a place, a real place, where I can go to escape, and it's on my doorstep.

Manor house from cafe courtyard

Those who've read some of my previous blogs will know that I'm a volunteer at Cogges Manor Farm in Witney. For those not familiar with this place, it's a heritage site consisting of a manor house and grounds. The house is stunning and is beautifully set off by the walled garden and lawns surrounding it. There's an orchard, with a variety of apple trees and fields where some sheep and a couple of Shetland ponies graze. Down in the woodland area you can still see the the double moated area that surrounded the original Cogges Castle that was built there in the eleventh century. It's now the site of a castle themed adventure playground and is often ringing to the sound of children of all ages, enjoying themselves. you can even build your own den.

Timmy, Louis and Jonathan, Cogges' goats

There are a variety of small animals, including pygmy goats, pigs, rabbits, guinea pigs plus a variety of chickens and ducks. Three rescued cats have made their home on the farm and one of my jobs is to pop in almost every day and feed them.

Most of my time is spent in the house on my own, either writing or studying and, as you may well imagine, that wasn't really very helpful during this worrying time. I've always known how special Cogges is to me. But over the past couple of months I've come to realise just how special it is. There is a peace and tranquillity about the place that is hard to describe. No matter how bad I'm feeling, a visit to Cogges always has the power to lift my spirits.

I feel very privileged to have this special place on my doorstep, it takes me less than five minutes to walk there. Even just writing about it makes me feel good.

Cogges farmyard.

Life has settled down for the moment and I've got one or two special occasions coming up that I'm sure I'll be writing about. But it's good to know that Cogges is there to weave its magic spell whenever I need it.

Where is your escape? Do you have somewhere either real or imagined that you can go when you need some you-time? 



Photos Isabel's own apart from the kitty one. I downloaded it from Facebook but can't remember the original post. 

Isabel Johnstone 2015 ©