The yellow balloon


Faith had a yellow balloon. It was her favourite balloon because it was yellow. Everywhere she went, she carried her yellow balloon.

She took it to the shops with Mummy. When she went to Granny and Grandpa, along came her yellow balloon. When she went for a walk with Penny the dog, she carried her yellow balloon. Faith could not remember when she got it, and it felt like she had always had her yellow balloon.

One day, Faith and Daddy took Penny for a walk to the park. Faith brought her yellow balloon of course.
It got windier and windier and even windier. Penny ran off after a squirrel, and Daddy chased her. Faith was swept up by a gust of wind, still holding tight to her yellow balloon.


The wind lifted her up, up, up. She floated over Daddy. She swooped over the houses in town.

She soared over the sea. Faith and her yellow balloon flew all the way to the moon! It was beautiful up in space, and the Earth looked tiny.

“Wow! This is the greatest adventure ever, isn’t it, yellow balloon?”

After a while she got scared and wanted to go back home.

The yellow balloon carried her back down to the park safely. When she landed, Daddy was still there with Penny, looking for her.


“Where were you, Faith?” Asked Daddy. “I was looking for you everywhere!”
Daddy was upset because he thought that Faith had got lost.


“I was ok Daddy. My yellow balloon flew me all the way to the moon.” 


Daddy looked at her and laughed.
“Ok darling, but please don’t run away again. I was very worried that you were lost or hurt.”


“Sorry Daddy.” Faith replied.


She took Daddy’s hand and they walked back home. Penny walked beside them, and the yellow balloon was in her other hand.
Suddenly another gust of wind swept the string out of Faith’s hand, and before she knew what was happening, the yellow balloon went flying off. She tried to chase after it, but she couldn’t fly. It flew over the road, over the houses and far away.


“No! Come back!” Faith shouted. 


But the yellow balloon did not come back.
Faith cried and cried. She had never been so sad in her life. 


“I want my yellow balloon back!” She cried, all the way home.


“I want my yellow balloon back now!” She sobbed in the back garden while Penny looked at her sadly.


“Why doesn’t my yellow balloon come back?” She asked Mummy at dinner time.


‘I’m so sorry, darling. The balloon has gone away now. We can’t ever get it back again.”


“That’s not fair!” Shouted Faith.


Faith went to bed very sad that night. She missed her yellow balloon. Things did not feel right without it. She was still the same Faith, but just a bit sadder. 
That night, she could not sleep. It was very late. She looked out of her bedroom window. The moon  was big and bright. Then, Faith saw her yellow balloon! It was on the moon. She could just make it out, a tiny yellow dot ever so far away. She had excellent eyesight.


“So that’s where you went.” She whispered into the night sky. 
“I miss you yellow balloon.” 


Faith climbed back into to bed. She knew that her yellow balloon would never come back now. But, she just knew that it was safe, up on the moon. 
She yawned and fell asleep. In her dream, her visited the moon and her yellow balloon, and that made her feel happy. 


The next morning, Faith woke up and looked around her room for her yellow balloon. Then she remembered that it was gone forever. She felt sad all over again.


“I feel sad Mummy, I miss yellow balloon.” She told her mum at breakfast.


“I know Faith   I’m sorry. I know what, why don’t I buy you another yellow balloon? Will that help?” Asked Mummy.


“No thanks, I want my yellow balloon, not another one.” Sighed Faith as she ate her toast.


Daddy drank his cup of tea and thought.Penny looked at Faith’s toast and wished that she could have some.


“Why don’t you draw a picture of you holding your yellow balloon?” He asked. “I know that you love drawing.”


Faith chewed her toast and had a drink of orange juice. 
“Ok Daddy, I will.”


After breakfast, Faith went and sat in the garden with her crayons and some paper. Penny came too, and lay down next to her feet.
She drew a picture of her and yellow balloon standing on the moon, because that is where they had their greatest adventure. Penny had a nap and dreamed of squirrels.
When she had finished her drawing, Faith showed Mummy and Daddy. 


“Oh, that’s beautiful darling, well done.” Smiled Daddy.


“What an artist!” Agreed Mummy. “Would you like to put it up in your room?”
“Yes please.” Replied Faith.


So Mummy put the drawing of Faith and her yellow balloon up in her room. Whenever she felt sad, Faith would look at it and remember her greatest adventure with her beautiful yellow balloon.

Dedicated to my niece Lara, who loves yellow balloons.

And my baby son Samuel, who is my little yellow balloon in Heaven. ❤

The beach ball

The rainbow striped beach ball,

Suddenly free from the

Dusty garage, is kicked

Playfully by the breeze.
Round the garden he rolls.
Tumbling over the lawn,
Kissing the daffodils,
Bumping over decking.
Smiling at the sun.
But he misses the child.
He remembers how they
Played, last year at the beach.
The child and he.
“Where is the child?” He asks.
“Inside, watching TV.”
Replies his friend the breeze.
“Ok  I will wait for her here.”
“You don’t need her.” Says breeze.
“But I like her.” He smiles.
The breeze sends him soaring
Into a tree. He falls
Out, bouncing merrily.
“I am ready for the child.
Whenever she needs me.”
Ball and breeze for poem drawing

Week two of Covid 19 lockdown

So how was this past week for you? Can you even remember?

I planned to write one Covid journal entry per week, but, as everything feels like too much work at the moment, and I barely know what month it is, they will probably get more infrequent.

 

This week, my (paid) work stepped up, so I was surprisingly busy. I didn’t mind at all, in fact it felt affirming to be needed. I did spend less time focused on homeschooling; but as my kids’ teachers are so good with sending regular work through, that didn’t really matter.

 

Connor and Bethany still have great attitudes to self-directed learning, but as the isolation weeks drag on, we are all struggling to get up and ready in the morning. Not that it matters.

 

Highlights include the kids spending hours digging and getting a patch of soil ready for planting (they have planted radishes, and I hope to get some dwarf French beans and spinach to grow too); letting the guinea-pigs have a run and as much fresh grass as they can eat; and painting pebbles rainbow colours, to say thank you to NHS and key workers. Mike shaved all of his hair off, to stop having to cut it so often. It’s already growing back.

 

In the news, the PM Boris Johnson is still in hospital with the virus; Matt Hancock threatens us with a ban on any outdoor exercise (please, no!); and the Queen delivers a kind and wise speech, thereby uniting the nation while confusing us all as to why it’s so warm and there aren’t any mince pies.

 

Bethany often sees an old dog on our daily walks: we have done for months (on warm/ dry days), but seeing a regular friendly face outside the home feels special during this current unprecedented national event. The poor old girl always wags her tail and loves our attention (the dog, not Bethany), but most of the time she is too tired to stand and greet us.

 

It is my 5th cancerversary next week, on the 15th. Usually it is a big date in my calendar  but so much has happened in our lives since then, that it doesn’t feel that huge now. Still, it’s important for me to mark the date. My world tilted on its axis when got the diagnosis, and it has never gone back to the way things were beforehand. It’s fabulous that I am here to mark the occasion, but of course there are no guarantees that I will be here for the 10th anniversary.

 

Many people will find that after this virus has finally gone: they won’t be the same as they were. Something has changed forever for all of us now. Many will feel more resilient, many weaker, some broken. Some will want to forget and move swiftly on, others will never forget.

 

I think that the best thing we can do is to be kind: to ourselves and others. If you have an elderly or vulnerable friend or family member, please call or write to them regularly so that they don’t feel forgotten. It’s such a simple thing to do.

 

It’s the Easter holidays now, so there is no whiff of a routine. We will do an Easter egg hunt though. Some things are too important to forget about.

PS: why are people still buying so much flour?

 

Bet with friendly dog

 

 

 

We are all artists

Like many kids, I loved drawing. I would do it a lot: mostly portraits of my cats sleeping, and also making picture books. Once I made a little book called ‘The Woodland Folke’; it was about squirrels and other British animals in a very British setting, which is odd as I didn’t go anywhere near the UK or even Europe until I was 16.

I did art as a teenager too, but slowly grew out of it as I grew older. Nothing unusual there, sadly. As someone once said, every child is an artist, so why are so few adults? It’s so sad, because creativity is brilliant for stress relief and escaping the noise and screens of life.

As a 33 year-old cancer patient, my life suddenly got strangely quiet. Yes, I still had my family and kids and numerous hospital appointments, but there was a lot I couldn’t do. I had chemo fatigue, I was hugely restricted on socialising, and I was house-bound for much of the time. What I could easily do, without leaving the house or being subject to germs, was draw.

I found #shapechallenge (run by @StudioTeabreak )on Twitter, and started to draw small and umimpressive doodles most days. It didn’t tire me out, let me be creative, and gave me a sense that at least I had done something ‘useful’ that day. It also offered a sense of community which had suddenly slowed to a trickle once my treatment started.

It was wonderful.

Now, 3 years later, I can draw so much better, and still love the artistic community and support on Twitter. Now I regularly take part on #PortraitChallenge which I never thought I would be good enough to do. Novices, book illustators and all sorts of creative types take part, and it’s great.

I also do drawings just for the sheer pleasure, and as gifts for friends. I have also contributed to the #breastcancerart project, which recognises the theraputic value of art for those living with or after cancer.

I realised that every time I draw, I feel happier. Some of the chaos of life is silenced and I have a little more peace. If something causes so much joy and isn’t illegal or bad for me, I would be crazy not to do it!

I believe that we are all made to be creative, but adult life squeezes it out of us until we are fooled into thinking that we can’t make or do anything beautiful. For some it’s visual art, others music, others baking, writing, carpentry or dance, but I believe that there is an artist in all of us, desperate to get out there.

Sometimes, I think that my drawing isn’t good enough to share, or that because I’m not using paint that it’s not ‘real’ art, or that people will judge me for showing off; but I know that those are lies and I will never be fully the person who I am made to be if I allow myself to be silenced.

And actually, what other people think of my art isn’t important (although of course I want it to be liked); because drawing makes me happy, and therefore is of great value. What could be simpler that that? 😊

Go to

http://www.jabberworks.co.uk/virtual-studio/

For more info on #shapechallenge and #portraitchallenge

For more about the breast cancer art project, go to

https://breastcancerartproject.wordpress.com

 

 

 

When breath becomes air

Paul Kalanithi was a man who spent his life trying to find Truth. First he searched for it in literature, then in neurosurgery and neuroscience. He studied at Stanford, Cambridge and Yale.

He wanted to understand the difference between brain and mind; between the physical and metaphysical. He was always acutely aware of his mortality, and was never afraid to face it.

‘When breath becomes air’ is a beautifully written autobiography of a man who had to make the difficult transition from a doctor who saved lives to a lung-cancer patient who knew that his would not be saved.

He continued to work as a surgeon despite aggressive treatment, and never gave up on his search for Truth.

This is an intelligent, thought-provoking and emotional story, and I would wager probably the best written book that I will read this year.

 

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Paul talks about how even when we live, we are dying.

Often our search for beauty, truth, for why we are here, sits in the tension between life and death. We feel immortal, cannot grasp not exising; yet are faced with the inescapable truth that one day we will die.

Beauty is often found in the physical representation of our mortality: a flower that will soon wither; a sunset whose light will suddenly fade; a short-lived rainbow. Their very mortality makes their beauty even more sweet.

If we choose not to avoid our mortality, but instead stare it in the face, I believe that our search for Truth will be enabled. The pretence that if we don’t think about death then it will never find us, just blurs our vision.

Paul Kalanithi was a man with his eyes wide open. It’s stunningly refreshing.