Another adventure.

Liberty Lykia

Ten years ago we went on holiday as a family to Lykia world in Olu Deniz, Turkey. At the time I was still suffering from depression, but was beginning to see a glimmer of light. One of the activities offered in the resort was the opportunity to go paragliding. Every day I would watch as different people gently glided down form the dizzy heights of Mount Babadag, a 1,700 metre high mountain not too far inland from Olu Deniz. I watched in fascination as one by one they landed on a very small area of the beach. Everyone of them had a look of sheer joy and exhilaration on their faces. I envied them, but would never have had the courage to do it then. Ten years on and all that has changed.

View from our balcony

I recently went back to Lykia World, or Liberty Lykia as it is now called. Before we went I announced to my hubby my intention to go paragliding. To my surprise he said that he would join me. In the week leading up to our departure he daily bombarded me with the statistics of how many people had been injured or even killed paragliding in the area: one of the downsides of Google. But it didn't put me off. I'd made up my mind and I can be quite determined when I want to be. Besides, Escape, the company who does the paragliding from Lykia World, had a 100% safety record. After dinner on our second night in the resort, no doubt emboldened by the wine consumed with the meal, my hubby announced that we should go and sign up to do it.

Me waiting to board the dolmus

I had to stifle a laugh when the gentleman who was taking our booking said to my hubby that he can tell by looking those that are definitely going to go through with it. Even at this point I could tell that my hubby was still not sure. We made the booking for three days time, Friday 13th, choosing to do the early evening slot as we were advised that this would be the most romantic time. The plan was that we would glide down side by side in order that we could experience it together. Well you know what they say about the best laid plans?

Watching a para glider from my sun lounger.

The day of the para glide dawned and all day I could hardly contain my excitement.My hubby not so much! I did assure him that he didn't have to go through with it, but he can be as stubborn as me.  From my position on a sun lounger by the pool, I watched as a steady stream of gliders landed on the beach. At 17.20 we made our way to the meeting point where along with another 6 people, including a young Egyptian boy and his mother, we piled into the minibus that would drive us up to take off point on the mountain.

Arriving at take off point.

 The dolmus, was packed Turkish style with one of the pilots lying on the floor, jammed between two parachutes. As we ascended the mountain I was amazed as I watched the tree line get smaller and smaller as we twisted our way up the steep narrow winding road. At one point we had a close encounter with a car on its way down the mountain. The driver of the bus and a couple of the pilots thought that this was hilarious and for the first time I questioned the wisdom of what I was about to do. My feelings of wonder and awe at the beauty of the landscape were replaced by sheer terror. But only for a moment. I had wanted to do this for ten years and I was determined to go through with it. Besides, the thought of driving back down the mountain was even more terrifying.

Take off point.

At last we reached the take off point. We'd been told that we would be given a fifteen minute training briefing. Instead, almost as soon as I stepped of the bus, I was introduced to Ozzie, my pilot, and less than five minutes later I was strapped up and standing a few feet from the 1,700 metre drop. My training consisted of being told that when he said go I was to start running and keep running until we were in the air. I had the dubious honour of being the first to take off.

After only two steps I was up in the air and soaring over the valley below. What can I say? It was the most surreal and amazing experience of my life to date and possibly ever. All my nervousness evaporated as I settled in to enjoy the views over the mountain and the Aegean sea below. It was really quiet and peaceful, the only sound coming from the rustling of the wind in the parachute. People appeared as ants and Lykia World looked like a tiny, toy town. I couldn't stop grinning. We were gliding through the air like the birds of prey you see circling their target. We glided over the stunning vista of the Blue Lagoon and out over the clear blue water of the Aegean. When we were about halfway down Ozzie asked if I was up for doing some tricks and suddenly we were spinning around in circles, the skin on my face being pulled back by the G-force. It was awesome.

Just after take off.

All too soon it was almost time to land and the second part of my training began. Ozzie told me that when he said 'stand up', I was to do just that and once again start running. I will confess to a little nervousness at this point. but I put my trust in his experience and relaxed. A couple of minutes later we swooped down towards the landing area and on cue I stood up and ran. Two young men were waiting and as we landed they rushed forward and grabbed me and  it was over. I felt amazing. Given the chance I would've gone straight back up and done it all over again. Here's a little video of someone else landing.

Picture of Hubby's knees and the Blue Lagoon.m

What about my hubby? Did he go through with it? He certainly did. I'm so proud of him. It was easy for me as I really wanted to do it, but he wasn't so sure. He took off about ten minutes after me, so he had longer to think about what he was just about to do. Did he enjoy it? Yes. would he do it again? I don't think so. For most of the way down I wasn't holding on but was busy talking and waving my arms about. He kept a firm grip of the handles at all times. Bless him. I'm so proud of him.

My profile states that I'm on a mission to prove that life can still be an adventure and this definitely was up there as one of the most amazing ones to date. Maybe next I'll do the tandem parachute jump I've always talked about. Watch this space.

Here's a video clip if you're interested.

All photos and videos are Isabel's own.

Little Red Riding Hood.

Well at last my Creative Writing module is done. It's been a bit of an emotional rolller coaster for me. It's one thing to have an academic essay subjected to a tutor's marks, but a totally different experience when it's a story/poem that has come from your heart. But I think that I've learned a lot and hopefully my writing has improved. I have four months off now, but we have a Creative writing Facebook page. At the moment we are sharing daily writing prompts as a bit of fun. Today's prompt was to write a poem based on either a nursery rhyme or a fairytale. I wrote this based on Little Red Riding Hood. Hope you like it. 

Little Red Riding Hood.

A wolf in Gran's clothing was lying in bed

When Little Red Riding hood called.

His snores rocked the rafters and rattled the roof

But she never noticed at all.

Cause grandma had whiskers on her wrinkled  face

And also a problem with wind

And bad halitosis and incontinence

And drool dribbled all down her chin.

So Red pulled back the covers to see if her gran

Was in need of a change of her pad.

She covered her nose at the terrible stench

Crying 'Gran, that is really quite bad.'

She pulled up the nightie and gasped in surprise

'Oh Gran what a state you are in.

Your toe nails need clipping and as for your legs

I just don't know where to begin.'

The wolf grabbed the nightie and pulled it back down

Confusion all over his face.

But Red was still ranting and as was her wont

Was going quite red in the face.

'Now Gran you must stop all this fussing around

And let me get on with my job.

The smell is disgusting and just tell me when

Did you turn in to such a big slob?'

The wolf had enough now and leapt off the bed

And ran double quick for the door.

Red stared in confusion and shaking her head

Said ‘ Cor blimey and she’s 94.'

Picture courtesy of: https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=free+images+little+red+riding+hood&tbm=isch&imgil=Huh-7g0odoAarM%253A%253Bhttps%253A%252F%252Fe

Finding inspiration in an unexpected place.

Almost a year ago I wrote a blog, A day in the 'glamorous' life of an author

 It was a tongue in cheek tale about a book launch I'd attended. My friend and mentor, Lisa Cherry, otherwise known as 'the lovely Lisa', had just published her second book, 'The Brightness of Stars' and this was the first book launch I'd attended. My little allegorical story, 'TheFluffy Dandelion' was included as an appendix, which made me even more excited to be there. To say that it wasn't the 'glamorous experience I'd expected would indeed be an understatement. But it was fun!

Lisa has now published another book, 'Steering the Mothership', about 'the complexities of mothering' i.e. when it doesn't work. It was held in the Ley Community, a rehabilitation facility near Oxford which is quite unique! Here all the residents and staff work together to help people to beat their addictions and learn to live life, instead of leading a lifestyle which is killing them. Again any preconceptions I had about a glamorous book launch weren't fulfilled!

It was much better!

Instead I listened as one young mother told her heartbreaking story of how her beautiful 15 year-old daughter had died suddenly after taking half a gram of MDMA or ecstasy, and how she was using her grief to reach out to try to help others. She's also written a book, '5,742 days' by Anne-Marie Cockburn. The title is the number of days that she had with her daughter. But on the night she was able to tell us the exact number of hours and minutes also. The only sound that could be heard in the room, was the rustle of tissues or the discrete blowing of a nose as this brave young woman told us her story. She's a small ,slight woman who looks extremely fragile. But she has a strength about her that is truly inspiring.


One of the reasons that Lisa chose to hold her book launch here, was that she recently became re-acquainted with a guy that she was in care with. When they left the home, he went down a path of self destruction taking drugs and living a life of crime to pay for it. He was also at the book launch and he spoke about how the Ley community have helped him to turn his life completely around. More than that really! They've helped him to learn how to live!

He was followed by the director of the community, herself a former addict, who talked about the community and the work they do there. She told us that they use something called the Onion Concept. The onion concept is a tool that helps people to begin to see and work through layers to discover what has influenced them. It helps them to understand who they are in order to help them break their cycle of addiction. Some layers can be more painful than others to look at and this is where being part of a community comes in. Just like a family, they help and support each other through the process.They don't use any drugs, such as antidepressants, they have to go cold turkey. But with a success rate of 84%, it shows that it works.

I think that the Onion Concept is something that would work in helping any of us to deal with any of our issues. Some people believe in ripping the plaster off! But sometimes that can open the wound up again, especially if the wound goes very deep. But by gently peeling the layers away, it gives us time to prepare ourselves for what we might find is the centre of our problem.

Lisa is currently fund raising as next year she wants to walk a section of the Great Wall of China to raise money for the Ley Community. She fully expected her friend to be dead by now, and she is extremely grateful to them for all they've done for him and others like him.

No, the book launch wasn't a champagne reception; although they did provide some yummy canapes. But it was an uplifting and inspirational evening that I felt privileged to be a part of!

http://www.justgiving.com/The-Lisa-Cherry

Photos Isabel's own, apart from Anne-Marie's book cover photo.

Isabel Johnstone 2014 ©

What a difference a year makes!

I can't believe how much my life has changed since I decided to 'get off my butt' and start living. I used to have a house which although not immaculate, at least had a good going over once a week. Now I'd much rather be writing than dusting. Even my leisure time has changed. Everywhere I go I'm constantly thinking of new story lines. Even a simple trip to the supermarket has the potential to be the setting for a disaster of some sort in my fevered imagination.
Take a family day out recently, for instance.

We love going to visit stately homes and we're fortunate in that we live very close to Blenheim Palace, the birth place of Winston Churchill. To mark the centenary of the start of World War 1, the palace has an exhibition about the involvement of the Duke of Marlborough, his family and those employed on the estate at the time, in the war. My husband and son wanted to see the exhibition, but as I'm not really interested in anything to do with war, I took a notebook with me intending to sit in the warmth of this lovely Spring afternoon and make some notes for my next short story.

However, when we arrived I decided that I might as well have a look. I arranged a place to meet up with my family should I finish looking round before they did, a distinct possibility I thought! What I didn't expect was that I would end up taking notes about the stories shared in the exhibition or that I would end up conducting an interview with one of the characters!

Dotted around the stables in among all the uniforms, weapons and model aeroplanes, were pictures and stories of some of the estate workers and what they did during the war. I was fascinated by some of the stories and thought that they would make for great plots for a short story or, dare I say it, even a book! I got out my notebook and pen and began to make notes. At one end of the room, there was a display about the involvement of women especially as nurses or VADs, women who weren't trained as nurses, but who helped out in the field hospitals. Standing beside this display was a young woman dressed in the uniform of a WW1 VAD.
            'Oh! You're making notes! Let me introduce myself, I'm Nellie Hozier, sister Of Clementine, Winston Churchill's wife.' she said.
I explained that it was actually her that I was making notes about. So she offered to tell me her story in person.

Young woman dressed as Nellie Hozier.

Nellie was 47 at the outbreak of the war and was accepted as a VAD, which was unusual because of her age. She was posted to Mons, in Belgium. She hadn't been there very long when the Germans attacked and she was taken prisoner. Along with all the other prisoners of war, she was taken to Marne in France and kept in a house there. They were well treated, but as winter approached she was very cold as she was still in her summer uniform. After three months she was released and came home. she didn't return to the front, instead she carried out voluntary work back in Britain.

I found this quite interesting, but I didn't think that it compared to some of the stories of the estate workers, such as Arthur Hine a Clerk, who became a dispatch worker. In October 1914 he came across a young girl, a toddler, outside a burning house in Antwerp. There was no sign of her parents, so Arthur put the child on his motorbike intending to leave her at the next safe place he came too. Instead, he ended up bringing the child back to Blenheim where she was looked after by his family. The story continued that as of the present, they don't know what happened to the girl after the war. A mystery to be investigated or perhaps a story to be written! Did she return to Belgium after the war? Did her parents survive and come looking for her? Or did she perhaps marry one of the sons of the Scroggs family, who also lived and worked on the estate at the time? See! Fevered imagination!

 One of the stories that really captured my imagination was that of Lady Alexandra Phyllis Hamilton, the cousin of the 9th duke of Marlborough. Her story goes that on the 11th October 1918, she was on the Irish Steamer RMS Leinster when it was hit by a German UB-128 submarine, when sailing out of Dublin Bay. She drowned, along with two of her servant's, Martha Bridges and Eleanor Strachan. The ship's captain, William Birch, later reported that when he went down to the saloon to check on the passengers after they'd been hit she said to him; 'We are alright, not a bit excited.' He then heard her say; 'I'm a strong swimmer,' as she handed her life belt to another of her servants. Heartbreaking! All the more poignant as it was so near the end of the war.

The day I'm writing this blog, we're planning a trip in the afternoon to Kelmscott Manor, the home of William Morris, of the Arts and Craft's Movement. Who knows what deep, dark secrets or potential story lines I'll uncover there? :)

Photo's of notebook and pen and 'Nellie Hozier', Isabel's own.

Photo of RMS Leinster courtesey of http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://www.rmsleinster.com/images/leinster-colour.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.rmsleinster.com/&h=154&w=327&tbnid=HNa6A60BbchnHM:&zoom=1&tbnh=154&tbnw=327&usg=__PyXiAY5HU16PA14tVhJMl1f_2ig=&docid=ULarhvYQVNVY9M&itg=1&sa=X&ei=ESpSU6OhKIyCPdb-gMAE&ved=0CHsQ_B0wEA

Isn't life funny!

In my last blog I shared the three poems I'd written for my recent Open University assignment. What I didn't mention was that I wasn't very happy with the mark I received! The course book and Cd's tell you that you must write a poem then keep on coming back to it and changing it time and time again. The funny thing is that the poem the tutor seemed to like best was the last one 'A Silent Place' which I was inspired to write from a prompt and I didn't change a word from my first draft!. Even more ironic then that, at a recent day school I ended up writing a poem that my tutor said was a 'keeper'. I guess all the studying  must be working then!

Let me explain.

During the course of the day we were given twenty minutes to write about an event in our past that was 'raw' and emotional. But we had to write about it without emotion, yet using our description of the setting to try and convey what was happening. After we'd written the story, we were then asked to 'pare' it down as a way of transforming the prose into poetry. The tutor wanted us to do this exercise as for our next assignment, which is to be a piece of Life Writing, we can write poems instead of prose. Something I'll not be doing I hasten to add!

Here is the story and poem which resulted. Can you guess what it's about?

The white cotton sheets felt soothing to my sweat soaked body.The subdued lighting in the room created a womb-like atmosphere. I looked at the white plastic clock on the wall in front of me. How much longer? Then I glanced over to my right to the dark head of my husband resting on the tan plastic chair. His eyes were closed and his chest moved slowly up and down as he slept. Dark shadows under his eyes.

 'Are you OK?' I looked to my left at the midwife who'd entered the room. Her starched, white uniform making the walls of the room appear grey in comparison. Gently, she took a hold of my wrist to check my pulse. A scream echoed from a room down the corridor. 'I just need to examine you to see how things are progressing. Is that ok?' I nodded, then pulled aside the thin sheet covering me. Closing my eyes I slid down the bed. At the sound of the midwife's voice, my husband woke with a start. ''What's happening? Is it time?' I shook my head, unable to speak. Leaning forward, he took my hand, careful not to disturb the drip attached. Another scream sounded from down the hall. This time it was the cat-like cry of a new born. Gently he squeezed my hand. 'It's going to be OK! We're going to be OK!'

Poem

White cotton sheets soothe
Sweat soaked skin.
Subdued lighting;
Grey walls;
Ticking clock;
A grey womb.

Dark head resting on
Tan plastic chair
Chest moving slowly
Up and down.
Dark shadows shade
My husband's eyes.

Silently she enters,
The white clad nurse.
A soothing presence.
'Are you OK?'

A scream.

Not mine.

Not mine.

He wakes, concern on his face.
'Is it time?'
I shake my head.

How far?

How long?

So tired.

Isabel Johnstone 2014 ©

More poetic efforts.

Just thought that I'd share my latest poetic attempts which I produced for my latest Open University assignment. This one was quite a challenge for me as we had to write 2-3 poems, totaling 40 lines, using different techniques. I found it quite hard to write in this almost calculated way, but I'm sure that it's been good for me. This course is definitely stretching me and is more difficult than I anticipated. But with my new motto courtesy of Bitstrips and Maya Angelou I'll get there. 

I hope you enjoy my efforts. 

Christmas cheer!

When Christmas comes we the hit the shops once more,

To find the perfect gift that will enthrall.

We trudge our weary way from store to store,

We blindly weave our way through every mall.

We walk past people sleeping on the streets

Ignoring outstretched hands and rattling tins.

Our minds intent on bringing Christmas treats

To those already blessed with everything.

And hospices where people go to rest!

Their families distraught, hearts full of pain.

A lonely man decides it’s for the best

If, tomorrow he does not wake up again.

And so the season of good will transcends

The peace on earth and goodwill towards men. (14 lines)

Isabel Johnstone 2014 ©

Secret self

No one really knows me!

Not the real me, the secret me.

Hidden deep within, in a safe

and only I have the key.

I have a doppelganger

who, turns up every day,

wears my clothes, walks in my shoes,

drives my car.

My friends all think it’s me,

the real me, but if I dared

to let the real me out,

would they stay?

A Pandora’s Box full of

my deepest, darkest secrets

that, must not be allowed

to break free.

It’s a heavy burden!

I think I’d rather

have a picture,

hidden in the attic. (20 lines)

Isabel Johnstone 2014 ©

A Silent Place

The mist swirls silently around me seeping into my bones.

I stop and listen, but silence surrounds me like an invisible cloak.

I shudder as the seclusion and solitude sinks in.

I have never wanted to be alone, adrift in the sea of my own thoughts,

with time to think on things that I’d rather forget.

Yet, here I am in this silent place, unsure of how I arrived. (6 lines).

Isabel Johnstone 2014 ©

I'm in the poetry zone!

Hi guys,

My latest assignment for my OU course has been a poetry assignment. As part of the course I've had to write some poems. Here are a couple. The first one was my attempt at writing about an animal, real or mythical. Of course I wrote about the Invisible Dragon! The second was a result of an online tutorial where we had to write a poem after listening to a piece of music. I listened to Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto no. 1.

The invisible dragon

She penned her wish upon a page

A candle lit to cast the spell

She slept, she dreamed and she awoke

On her invisible dragon.

A longing deep within her soul

For life’s adventure to begin

Now sprang to life before her eyes

On her invisible dragon.

She dreamt of love and far flung climes

As life it’self just passed her by

Was she at last upon the way

On her invisible dragon?

All through the night she swooped and swirled

The cold night air upon her face

She laughed and shouted at the sky

On her invisible dragon.

Then morning came and cold, wet dew,

Or so she thought, was on her cheeks.

But tears were all that she had left

Of her invisible dragon.

Isabel Johnstone © 2014.

http://isabelj327.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/my-invisible-dragon-adventures-part-5.html

Flow!

I dreamed of children playing:

Kiss chase around trees,

pretending to be

a flotilla of sailing ships, or

a pair of swans gliding along a river

their wings outstretched, ready

to soar high above a waterfall

that boils and bubbles before dropping

into the rapids below. Then,

bored now, they break into a sword fight.

Isabel Johnstone © 2014

More to come when I've had my assignment marked, we can't publish them online until then.

I hope you enjoy this snippet! 

Poetry photo courtesy of :-http://blogs.thenews.com.pk/blogs/2012/03/interrupted-by-poetry/