Monday, November 8, 2010

* Free Lunch for Veterans *



I suppose there does exist a free lunch after all!
Until now I have never noticed this form of gratitude shown toward our war veterans but what a lovely way to say Thank You . 
Although Vets do have their get together after the memorial service at their local Legion Hall it is a nice invitation for them to have another little treat as well as offering an opportunity to the public in meeting their freedom fighters and giving their personal thank you.
And so when I came upon this sign posted by the local Marlborough Pub and Eatery in North Gower, I just had to write about it and hoped in doing so that maybe some of you Veteran folks would get wind of it and venture out to the Pub for your special day treat :)

It would be lovely to see more businesses offer the same …it's a great way to thank our War Veterans.



Thank You






Friday, November 5, 2010

* Love Prevailed the War *

A few years back I met a fellow from England , Norman, that posted the story of a soldier from World War 1 and I was so touched by the history of this couple that I was inspired to write about them and create the mosaics. It is far too beautiful a story to forget and though some of you have read it and seen the pictures before now I'm sure looking upon them once again gives you reason to believe that Love prevails all, even War.


A Soldier of World War One 1914 -1918








Thanks for the story and photos Shipcompass!
This mosaic is to the memory of Tom Wiltshire and his 6th Battalion of the Gloucestershire Regiment and of the many like him in the First World War and Second World War and others.
Lest We Forget
Original First World War Photos & Ephemera by Shipcompass
"Your Loving Son - Tom". Note on his shoulder "Gloucester" / " T" for Territorial / "6" for 6th Battalion
Tom joined the Gloucestershire Regiment in Bristol on the 8th September 1914 age 24 from the Territorials where he was No. 3121 and served throughout the Great War in the 1/6th Battalion. Posted to France on the 31st March 1915, Tom saw active service in France, Flanders and Italy serving as Private 265783. What follows is a selection of the cards etc sent to his young wife Lilian living in the Windmill Hill, Bedminster district of Bristol, the whole collection is now in the "Soldiers of Gloucestershire Museum", Gloucester. Tom died in 1962 age 72.
Visit the Museum at:








Once again Thank you Norman {Shipcompass} for the history and memorable Literature.
In this pale moment of time
I am blinded in the deafened tunnels
Of this Great War
And have not heard from you yet!
Deadening hands…bitter cold from rain and snow
Unworkable to write down my avowals of love for you…
I feel as if I’ve reached the world’s end
Do you not care for me any more???
War desensitizes many
Yet not I … maybe a little… subconsciously!
I know I sense the loss and bear the wounds
As I watch the damp cold earth devour the young
Like it’s in the race for liberty
But only God‘s arms are ever near
And so I have the fortitude against the fear!
Ah, yes! The dreams; if not for the dreams!
My succor of my mortal being
To transport me away from this darkening hell!
My one and only solace is …
I breathe the perfume of the windblown flowers
And feel the glowing warmth of the summer sun
And think of the day I’ll be back home
Of seeing you once more!
The other night I dreamt a dream
A dream of you
I held you strongly in my arms my dearest Lill
With happy thoughts together in Windmill Hill
My mind held you darling Lill… held you captive in my heart!
Till we meet again………
Heaps of kisses for my darling Lill xxxxxx
Love Tom
p.s. Do write…
Just an illusory poem to Lill from Tom
~Annabelle






Sunday, October 31, 2010

* Halloween * Flora and The Ghost Ball




Congratulations ....Kiki...Your name was picked by Cat Karson for the miniature SeaShell Bottle; this year's Halloween prize.


 Thanks to everyone for participating ~^..^~










Good Evening......And Now..... A poem and  story to keep you amused.




* Flora *

Moss covered trees; they lined the path to either side of me
With limbs outstretched, they touched and formed
An endless canopy in hues of velvet greens
This vacant road, so tenderly adored by these grand oaks
Led me in finding silence sleeping deeply in serenity

Look around; what do I see - flowers strewn and flowers dead
A sea of white on white, grey on grey and black to dark
Of body turned to stone, their words are now half spoken
Craved onto the surface of their sculptured ghostly effigies

Their shadows hide by day, by night they come
If it were night it wouldn’t feel right
But since its day I think its right
For I do see the peacefulness that’s here

Around a bend, some English daisies make my acquaintance
They rise in lively spirit from the dark depths of their grassy bed
This lonely cradle, long forgotten, has cared for them
And they in turn have called upon the sun onto its sunken crest
To warm and kiss its lovely breast

This stone is not alike the rest
It does not bear the name who lies in there
For what sits above the daisy covered knoll
Is but a open book with pages torn adorned in roses pink

To make of what it tells
Is hard when earth and wind and rain
Have washed away its mark, but still I try
For there was once a time
This place was truly theirs’

I bowed down to the earth and took a better look
I read and thought; is this, what’s left?
I could have sworn the words began to speak in whispers on the breeze
I may have thought or did I hear it say “I was”?

I looked away from the book made out of stone
And saw a vision sitting there- afar- with flowers in her hands
I knew the voice I’d heard had come from her
A long time past, she walked the earth
And loved the flowers, that now grow above her tomb

The moss she had treasured so
Now softly dressed the written pages of the book
The years that read were few, her youth cut short
Above the blue faint sky I heard the dawn bird’s song
Ethereal swirls of melodic notes played a choral symphony

A moment passed, the child like girl I’d seen, had gone
The intense beauty of the woodland music now had ended
The bird’s keen senses knew, now dark took over light,
Its ghostly shadow for a moment brushed the mossy tomb
A silence fell and then I heard large rain drops fall unto the granite stone
And like a hidden message written in unseen ink -revealed –
I saw my name, on the wet stone visibly appear.




        * The Ghost Ball *




Walking along the undulating winding path, tall oaks stood on both sides of me. Their limbs touching but barren of their leaves made a dark brown lacey lattice against the cold October sky. The sun barely visible tried to peek through the blank canvas hardly keeping the earth warm. The air was still not a sound could be heard except for the shuffle of the oaks’ dead leafs underfoot and then the silence broke…. Overhead; a group of geese flew towards a warmer home.

Moments earlier I had visited my grandmother’s grave and had left her a posy of flowers for her birthday. Now in peaceful reflection I walked among the solid stones of marble and granite all bearing messages of love lost. I loved coming here. It was a sanctuary for me whenever I came. I could spend hours reading about the dearly departed and found inspiration in the decorative embellishments and inscribed messages of their tombs that told more than just their sad farewells.

A weeping willow on a grave; its branches covered in moss as if in full spring splendour silently shed the tears of loved ones left behind. A heart entwined in ivy; a testament of a strong and binding love. And then I saw a few small graves; one adorned with a little lamb and the other with an angel and puppy dog; they belonged to little children who had left this earth much too soon.

The day was cold and damp and I particularly wanted nothing more than to continue with the nostalgic memories but the cold became uncomforting and I was too cold and miserable to relinquish in this beautiful desolate place yet it was most appropriate for today was Hallows Eve. I hurried my pace still entranced by the scatterings of ghostly white tombs against the stark grey horizon. Suddenly the sun’s pale light touched upon the stone of an opened book, its pages torn; one last faded rose that had dropped from its branch that had hugged the tomb, now lay on the books’ leaf. Beneath the bush upon the torn page corner of the book; a glint of purple green twinkled through. I knelt down and touched the sparkle on the stone book revealing a violet purple amethyst covered in mossy greens. I grabbed the moisten jewel within my hand and quickly hurried back home.

The hearth felt good; my hands numb from the bitter cold and of the wet mossy jewel. I carefully laid the purple stone onto the mantle. It was round and rose shaped like you see in a church window. At a closer glance I noticed it had eight individual petals but they were scarcely noticeable from the moss that filled their voids. At each strut a rhinestone lay. It was truly a beautiful ornament from long, long ago; whom it belonged to, would be a mystery.

With the entire hullabaloo that ensued I had completely forgotten that I had to create a witches hat for the ghost ball. Mom had kindly bought a witches hat ahead of time but I had dally too long to decorate it like I had wanted to and now I was in dire need to finish it on time. I gathered up the choice adornments and quickly adding the black spider brooch, the old rhinestone buckle, the large black velvet rose and the garland of small roses; their petals sprinkled with tear drops. Finally I added a touch of black tulle to create a filmy mysterious looking witches hat. There, I was done but something was not quite right. Yes, that’s what it was, a large gapping hole inside the buckle stared right back at me. I needed something for the buckle to frame.

Out of the blue the purple stone flashed a wink across the room. It would be perfect to adorn the witches’ hat with and especially beautiful inside the old rhinestone frame. I clumsily and eagerly tried pinning the flowered stone onto the hat. So stirred in seeing the end results that I pinned myself like I had become a pin cushion. After all the fuss was over, the hat was finally complete. A witch’s gothic hat dream had come true. I loved the look. I was all set for the ball.

Time was flying swiftly and so would this witch if she was to attend the Halloween Ball. I gathered all my costume attire, the cat, cape, boots, broom and bat and got dressed. I was the picture perfect gothic witch right out of the eighteen century. All that was left to do was to crown the costume with the witches’ hat that I had so proudly made. I entered the room which now had a glowing fire burning. The hat, has I had left it was still perched on the candelabra.

Approaching closer to the hearth, the purple stone of the jewel had fused together with the flames of the fire. Now the two were one and a dazzling sparkle danced across the room bouncing fragments of colorful purples and embers onto the crystal vases and glass of the room. The room spinned into a magical realm of a strange and different world distant and unknown to me; and then my eye caught something very strange indeed. Inside the fire in the embers of the flames a book lay open with pages written in old English. As I began to read the words penned in black ink a familiar music erringly faded in. I remembered the piece; it was “The Dance of the Mist”.

Upon the pages of the book was written “I hope to meet with thee again on Hallows Eve one time so I may alight in the “Ghostly Ball”. If you wear the hat and stone upon your head, I will be your companion for just this Hallows Eve and will return once a year upon the same night unless you desire to not make my company.”
Was it all just a dream; too tried and had probably fallen asleep? Wake up, wake up Leathor ; this can’t be real……only it was!
I had no fear but was only both intrigued and in disbelief of the whole affair that just had transpired. I wanted to believe!!!! So I put the witches’ hat upon my head…….

Beyond my glasses stood a young girl with fairies wings. I agitatedly took my glasses off and wiped the film from the lenses. I place them back unto the bridge of my nose and glanced towards where the young girl had stood. There she was, standing quietly and studying me; I now clearly saw she was only just a little girl of no more than twelve years old dressed in a costume of the most beautiful translucent yellow/white gossamer and chiffon gown. Her head crowned in daisies. Her whole attire in a sprinkling of fairy’s’ dust and her wings twinkled repeatedly with every flutter.

“Will be my friend to accompany to the Ghostly Ball?” My name is Flora and I know who you are she said in a faintly voice. You’re Leathor; I’ve watched you visiting at the Mount. The purple stone belongs to me and I have wished for centuries for someone to find it and pin it on a witch’s hat so that I may have another Ghostly Ball on Hallows Eve with all my dear and darling friends. Please say you’ll come.”

And so the little witch that wished to be a fairy for Hallows eve and I, a witch who truly could make magic went off to the Ghostly Ball. 







Hope you enjoyed the stories and now for the real master of Suspense...My favourite British Fellow of Haunting Ghost Stories....Alfred Hitchcock...Enjoy!


NB: Pause playlist to listen to video or watch on youtube.


Happy Halloween ~ ^..^ ~







Saturday, October 30, 2010

* A Witchs Hearth *

A quick post showing my fireplace for this Halloween. 
I used hubby's  Canon Power Shot SX 100 IS.

I think my camera Canon 40 D will accommodate me in taking the better night pictures I'm looking for. I hope it'll work. 




*A Witchs Hearth * ~ never planned, it just evolved into a Witchs Hearth, something you'd find in a Witches home possibly...I think I still had Practical Magic and The Good Witches Garden in my head. Oh and that reminds me,
3rd instalment OF GWG Coming this November, can't wait!Thanks M for informing me on this!




Poe's Poems A Little Blue Book #32 






* Books of Spells * not really Spell Books but I think from the outside they could pass as some and the little stained glass bat is M's first attempt at the craft



*......Book and Candle *......Missing the Bell...haha...oh and the cat!




*All a Mesh in Oddity * ~ Have no idea how this came about
but I sort of like it


Well that's it for now , will return later with better ones I hope. Determined to learn in taking better photographs and understanding the functions of my camera.















































































































































































Thursday, October 28, 2010

* The Spider's Moving Day *

Photobucket


The Spider and the Shed

Out at yard sales on a rainy day
In the entrance to a shed
We watched as a spider dandled down
Looking to be fed

We stood outside in the pouring rain
Just me and Emma Peel
She looked my way and said to me
I’m not a spider meal

It was raining hard, we were getting wet
There were treasures inside for sure
I would check for bargains once inside
But only after her

Then suddenly without a word
We stood and did not care
As the woman that had just walked out
Had the spider in her hair

The way was clear, it was alright now
We could find our deals inside
We could have told the lady who cleared the way
But to hell with foolish pride

She knew that she was on her own
She knew the price to pay
It’s everybody for themselves
For this was garage sale day



~ Stan Belanger

On a garage sale jaunt last year in Merrickville,
my husband and daughter had witnessed the spider’s moving day and this is what inspired my hubby to write the poem.
I guess this one garage sale we will never forget…haha!
Merrickville ; a purrfect place for inspiration.



 * My Usual Halloween Treats  ~^..^~ 









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