I’m not a photographer, by any stretch of the imagination!

I adore taking pictures, in fact, it’s a complete compulsion! Some things are just begging to be snapped, and so many moments need to be captured. I have the ability to make time stand still at my finger tips, what could be better than that?!

Many, many years ago, I studied photography as part of my art course, at university. I even learnt how to develop ‘real’ photographs, from actual film, in a darkroom. But those fleeting skills have long since been forgotten.

These days, most of the pictures I take are snapped on my trusty (never far from reach) iPhone. Grab, point, shoot, et voilà!

The one thing I wish I did more of, is getting my photos printed. I long to be able to pore over albums for hours, taking it all in! I suspect I’d have to sell a small child to cover the cost….

So, my favourite phone photo? Well quite frankly I have far too many, so here is just one of thousands! My boy, on the beach in Felixstowe, on an unseasonally warm mid November day. Lovely memories….

When someone dies all we have left are our memories, and the few fleeting clues to their true personality that they leave behind.

On Monday we had the unenviable task of sorting out my Nana’s belongings. It’s been 5½ weeks since she passed away, and it was time to empty the wardrobes of all the clothes that will never be worn by her again.

It was a task I had been dreading and, in the preceding days, I had been wracked with guilt, feeling like I was somehow wiping her existence away. That by bundling her dresses and shoes into bags, and donating them to her favourite charity I was being cold hearted and emotionless.

As I walked in to my Grandad’s living room on Monday morning, he held out his hand and said, “Eleanor, would you like this?”

I reached out, expecting him to give me a couple of coins for the children’s money boxes, but instead in my hand he placed my Nana’s locket. A locket that before her had belonged to her mum, and inside carries a picture of my Mum and I, along with a lock of my Mum’s hair. She’d been holding my Mum physically as close to her heart as she could all those years.

There is comfort in continuity. Comfort in knowing, that although in monetary terms the locket is worthless, to me it is utterly, irreplaceably priceless. In that one moment the guilt melted away, and I felt that at least I had this little piece of my Nana, and my mum safely encased in this vintage trinket.

“I know”, I enthused to the husband, “when we go to Center Parcs let’s do that Tree Trekking thing!”

“The what?” asked the husband.

“You know”, I said, “that thing where you climb across obstacles high up between massive trees. It’ll be ace fun!”

“Oh yeah, okay”, he replied nonchalantly, “whatever.”

Gulp….

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For more posts from The Gallery visit Tara at Sticky Fingers. This week’s theme is ‘Trees’.

There’s nothing so nice as coming home from a long day tottering about in ridiculous heels and slipping your tired, aching feet into a comfy pair of soft, warm slippers.

Pure bliss! It’s the simple things….

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For more posts from The Gallery visit Tara at Sticky Fingers.

Cupcake Therapy

Soft and sweet,
Decadent treat,
Creamy and gooey and yum!

Naughty but nice,
I’ve eaten one, thrice!
Delectable cupcakey bun!

{By Ellie, aged 35½}

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This post was written for The Gallery at Sticky Fingers, for the theme ‘Food’.

One, two, three…

She counts. Every foot fall leads her on her semi-conscious journey to one hundred. Leading her along The Wall, that little bit closer to ‘home’.

Hills, like a natural roller coaster, ripple before her. Steep stone steps stretch skyward. Deep breaths at the top, then down the other side. Each tiny motion jarring bones and exacerbating aches and pains.

Again, and again and again.

Until one summit reveals a small oasis. In the gap at the bottom, nestled between two hills, stands a lone sycamore tree.

Her weary body picks up some pace and she races to the bottom to rest under the tree. Its canopy providing some much needed shade from the unforgiving afternoon sun. A magical movie set in the midst of an amazing landscape.

Then, onwards. Again.

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Written for The Gallery, and walked for the Joseph Salmon Trust.

I’m not a pet owner. It’s not that I don’t like animals, I just get too attached to them and have been known to sob over gold fish.

Seriously. Imagine the scene; Me, the Dearly Departed and the toilet bowl. Flush, bye bye fishy, sob sob sob.

We get our animal fix elsewhere, usually at Chester Zoo. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea to see animals in captivity, but it’s the only way that we’ll ever be able to appreciate these animals close up.

I’m fascinated by the ‘big’ animals. I marvel over the giraffes, am transfixed by the zebras, but most of all I cannot get enough of the elephants.

Giant, and yet oddly graceful, to me they are beautiful creatures.

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This post was written for The Gallery at Sticky Fingers. Why not pop over and find out what it’s all about?

As a motherless mother I sometimes struggle with motherhood.

With that precious maternal love missing from my own life since I was just 5 years old, I often question my ability to simply be a mum. It can be hard to know how to be a mother when you can’t remember how you yourself were mothered.

There’s no mum on the end of the phone with advice, no memories to recall of how your mum would’ve reacted or handled a situation. You have to put your trust in good old ‘maternal instinct’, follow your gut and pray that you’re doing it ‘the right way’.

My biggest fear is that one day I might leave my children behind to live their lives without me. That they might have to figure out the world without a mother too, and find themselves scouring for clues in old photographs and second hand memories as to if they bear any resemblance to me. It makes me sick to my stomach with worry, even though I’m here and well and very much alive.

So all I can do is my best, and be proud that these two beautiful, happy, funny, occasionally challenging and above all, loving children are mine, now and forever.

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This post was written for The Gallery at Sticky Fingers. Both these photographs were taken by my lovely long suffering husband.

These are my shells.

Collected from a beach in France when I was the tender age of just sixteen.

Perfect minuscule specimens.

Time standing still. Saved from being ground into sand by the ebb and flow of the past 19 years of tide.

Sitting on my mantle piece, reminding me of times long gone.

Trapped inside an inch square prison of glass until time and tide takes them once more.

Flashes of memories in a glass jar.

These are my shells.

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This post was written and photographed for The Gallery at Sticky Fingers.

This week’s Gallery theme is ‘self portrait’. Hmmmmm.

What excuses can I come up with not to post a picture of myself?

Errmmmmm, the cat ate my camera!

No?

The husband confiscated the laptop!

Hardly likely if he knows which side his bread’s buttered.

I was suddenly inundated with visitors trampling down my front door and didn’t have a single spare millisecond!

Not likely when we are in chicken poxy quarantine….sob sob sob.

So, no more pathetic excuses, here’s me:

Phew, that wasn’t so bad…….was it?

These are the men in my life.

Each one important in their own way. Each one bringing richness and balance to my life, challenging my opinions and inspiring me to strive for more.

My Dad. The man who brought me up, for a time as a single parent after my mum passed away. A man who has overcome great adversity but never let in beat him. A man always aspiring to achieve something more than the humdrum. In his youth was an actor on stage and TV which gave him a love for scriptwriting in his spare time. He’s a hardworking psychiatric nurse, a book lover with a collection of probably thousands, but above all he’s a great father and grandfather.

My eldest brother. The chalk to my cheese. We may argue for argument’s sake but never fall out. Labelled as a ‘problem child’ at school, for no good reason other than our family background, he gave up trying to flog the pre-judging dead horse, left school and became one of the hardest working people I know. He may not be a high flyer, but he has dreams of one day breaking into the comedy scene, and I’m sure he will. Never afraid to speak his mind and always makes me question my own beliefs. Uncle extraordinaire!

My youngest brother. The boy with a dream. As a teenager he was given a video camera and decided he wanted to make films. He studied hard, gained a first class honours degree in Film & Media Production, and is now the co-owner of his own production company. He’s made a short film, which he’s raising funds to finish editing and one day he’ll win awards! Driven, knowledgeable and strong willed but also eccentric, soft centered and a brilliant Uncle.

My husband. The man who fell in love with me and I with him quicker than we could have anticipated. A gentle giant with a heart of pure gold. The hardest working man I know, both at work and for his family. Generous to a fault, self deprecating and full of potential, if only he’d believe it!

The man who’s shared all my ups and downs for the last 12 years, and I his. The one person who puts up with every aspect of me and sticks around for more. The ying to my yang and the best Dad in the world.

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This post was written for The Gallery at Sticky Fingers, come and join the fun!

This is what happens when you let a 3 year old loose with your iPhone and ask him to take pictures of his ‘world’.

Aren’t they fab? I think so anyway, but then I’m biased!

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This post was written for The Gallery at Sticky Fingers.

When you’re 3 years old the world is a place full of magic and adventure.

The lines between fantasy and reality are still happily blurred, and the day is for playing and playing some more.

There are no complications, no grown-up worries, no phone calls to make, bills to pay, or appointments to be on time for.

There is only fun to be had. If you want to wear four odd socks on your hands and feet the bound about pretending to be a rabbit, then you can.

Fancy creating an imaginary world with your Duplo and trains? No problem, go right ahead.

Want to giggle, dance, shout, scream and generally cause mayhem? It’s part of the job description.

But, oh my! It’s tiring being 3 years old.

Sometimes you just need to sit down and relax and take the weight off those hopping, dancing, running, climbing feet and contemplate what fun to have next.

Some days I wish I was 3 years old too.

This post was written for The Gallery over at ‘Sticky Fingers’. Why not pop on over and join in?

Many moons ago, in a place that seems a lifetime away from the existence I now lead, I was an art student.

As a child of 9 years old I remember being asked to draw a portrait of the form tutor, one wet afternoon, and was shocked at the praise I received for my efforts. Apparently it was a very good likeness.

I’d never been told I was ‘good’ at something before, so I ran with it. Art quickly became my favourite subject. For Christmas and birthdays I was given paints, pencils, drawing pads and pastels, and as much as someone so young can, I immersed myself in the subject. Art homework was always a pleasure to complete.

When the time came to make ‘serious’ decisions about GCSE and A-Level subjects ‘Art and Design’ was the first box to be ticked. At 16, pouring over pages and pages of course information from Universities all over the UK, I knew all I wanted was to study art.

There was absolutely nothing else I could imagine myself doing.

At 18, when I arrived at university, all fresh faced and innocent, I was one of the youngest on the course. It soon became clear that naivety was not considered an endearing or workable quality by the art department. They were trying to develop a slightly dark, edgy and abstract art school style and I certainly didn’t fit their ideal.

I stuck to my guns and carried on working and challenging myself in my own way. After all, to me art was about what was inside me and not about being forced in any direction just to please others.  I was branded a ‘Sunday Afternoon Painter’ by one of the tutors, and accused, wrongly, of copying by another.

I felt alienated and small. I struggled to feel any passion or pride in the work I’d done because I knew it’d never be ‘good’ enough for the people who graded it. In the end, for one reason or another, I never completed my final year and was 180 course credits short of my receiving my degree so left with a DipHE instead.

My pride in my work and ability was bruised. I no longer believed I had any talent, or that anyone would ever appreciate my work. For many years my portfolio stayed unopened in the back of a wardrobe.

It wasn’t until a few years ago, when a picture frame on our wall broke, that I felt able to display my work. In the space left by the broken picture I put up a canvas I had painted with acrylics, back in my university days. At first I was embarrassed to have it on the wall. My lack of confidence in my ability made it hard to look at something I had painted on a daily basis without feeling embarrassed.

But now, as the years have passed and I’ve become comfortable with it’s existence, I’d even dare to say these days that I feel a sense of pride that the art displayed on my living room wall is something I created. Even with all its flaws and imperfections, I’m proud that I created it.

Now all I need is the confidence (and time) to pick up those old familiar paints and pencils again and remember how to love the craft I once believed was my calling.

This post was written for The Gallery at Sticky Fingers. Pop over and join in the fun!

It’s Wednesday already, which means it’s time for this week’s entry in The Gallery.

With the theme ‘Joy’ I knew exactly which photograph I was going to post.

It’s a picture I took on my iPhone last week using the Hipstamatic App. It was taken while we were having lunch out in our local Costa and Big E was full of sunshine and smiles.

To me, this picture looks like the joy, light and exuberance that comes with preschoolerdom are just oozing out of every pore in his body. It is just the epitome of him at his best!

That gorgeous boy makes me so full of love and pride!

If you’d like to take part in ‘The Gallery’, take a trip on over to ‘Sticky Fingers‘ and find out what it’s all about.

I seriously struggled with the theme for this week’s Gallery. When I read the theme was ‘Ugly‘ I knew it was going to be a challenge.

You see, I’ve always tried to see the beauty in anything and everything. If I’m going to point my camera at something and shoot it, I’m more than likely to have seen a flicker of beauty in it, no matter how obscure or mundane the subject.

So, I decided to cheat, because no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t find anything ‘ugly’ enough.

Instead I bring you The Ugly Duckling:

So, she’s not exactly ugly, but everyone knows the tale of the Ugly Duckling who turned into a beautiful swan. You’re singing the song now aren’t you?

If you’d like to take part in The Gallery, hop on over to Sticky Fingers to find out what all the fuss is about.

Our terraced house isn’t grand.

It was built in a bygone era when the only vehicle using the road outside would’ve been a horse and cart delivering coal. The distance between the houses is short which means natural light isn’t plentiful.

The only views we have are into the neighbours houses, unless we look out the back, from Big E’s bedroom. Over the roof tops of the houses on the next street down, in the distance, if we squint, we can just about see on to the moors, swathed in purple heather.

In the winter the rooftops, when covered with snow, are Christmas card perfect. The snow muffles the noise of the surrounding streets and creates a perfect silent winter world.

It’s not a perfect view, and not always pretty, but it’s the comforting, familiar world just outside our front door.

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This post was written for The Gallery at Sticky Fingers.

Who do you think I am?

That’s what the prompt ‘Me’ for this week’s ‘Gallery’ got me thinking.

Mostly you will hear me talking about being a Mum and all that comes with it. But what is there beneath that layer?

For starters I’m a bossy boots, a total control freak, I drive people mad with my constant singing, I cannot sit still no matter how hard I try, and I’m actually a bit of a geek. I never quite fit in or ‘get it right’.

Speaking of not quite getting it right….

Take, for instance, the time I went to a fancy dress party as a Footballer’s Wife/WAG/Incognito Starlet. I went out and bought myself and oh so stylish cobalt blue velour tracksuit, gigantic gold hoop earrings, and chunky fake gold accessories. I donned an extra long fake curly hair piece, wore shades in the dark and even shoved a fake pet dog in my hand bag.

How did I not get it right?

Well, the problem was that I was perhaps a little too convincing, and rather than pulling off the character hilariously, people thought I’d just come along as me! I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or flattered!

Here is the photograpic evidence taken by my husband:

After a few Cranberry Breezers (What? I was keeping in character!) I began to quite like the tracksuit and the hair piece….

If you’d like to take part in ‘The Gallery’ hop on over to Tara at ‘Sticky Finger’s’ place and join the ride!

What springs to mind when you hear the word ‘colour’? Do you imagine a technicolour rainbow? A single block of your favourite shade? The colour of your or someone else’s skin? The contents of your knicker drawer? The possibilities are endless.

Colour is everywhere.

When I heard the theme for week 3 of ‘The Gallery’ was ‘Colour‘ I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

I occasionally treat myself to a bunch of flowers to enhance my mood and brighten the living room. I always choose them for their colour and the scent is simply and added bonus.

When I spotted these beautiful, long stem, pale cream roses I knew they just had to be mine.

So soft and perfect. The colour just oozes serenity and composure, both traits for which I am longing for right now!

Wonder if I could persuade my husband that I need a bunch of these beauties every week?

If you want to take part in the The Gallery pop on over to Sticky Fingers to find out what it’s all about.

Week two of  ‘The Gallery’ is here already with the theme ‘a number‘.

I spent quite a bit of time pondering over my entry this week. The theme was left wide open to interpretation. After uploading some pictures I took in the last couple of weeks I knew I wanted to choose the number nine.

This is my beautiful Little Lady E. She was nine months safe and warm in my belly and is now nine months out.

Nine months passed so fast I’ve hardly had a chance to breathe.

Nine months of change and growth and love.

Nine incredible months with my wonderful nine month old girl.

If you want to take part in The Gallery or just fancy checking out everyone elses interpretation of this week’s theme, pop over to Sticky Fingers and get stuck in!

The word ‘beauty’ can conjure up a thousand connotations. From the wonder of nature to the perfection of a newborn baby’s feet, the eye of the beholder is certainly a powerful tool.

So, for the theme ‘Beauty’ in Tara Cain’s  new weekly amateur photography showcase ‘The Gallery’, you might think I’d choose something natural and ethereal……ermmm, no. Apparently not.

The picture I’ve chosen was taken in a boat yard, it’s not classically beautiful. But look at those colours, and lines. All those now redundant items of what now appear to be junk but were once shiny and new, now juxtaposed against each other creating a wonderful abstract image.

It may not be conventional, but beauty, as Madonna sang, is where you find it.

Why not pop on over to The Gallery at Sticky Fingers to find out what it’s all about.