I used to write have three parts of novels in a box, but haven't been able to collect them from my old home yet. I sew, knit and crochet too, I always have several things on the go, things I can pick up when dad is sleeping! I also paint, watercolours mostly but have been dabbling in other media recently. I love gardening as well, but I hate mowing the lawn, we have one front and back I want to get rid of them, less work for me. All of this is a kind of therapy for me as I am the sole carer and not managed to arrange any help yet, I have to fit them all around the caring.
I am just idling away while it is quiet and before I start tea prep. I found this which reminding me of something some 35 yrs ago. We were having a sudden move re. Work. I knew it was a right thing to do although it meant giving up a lot, and outwardly it seemed foolish. The first few lines of this poem came into my mind, It haunted me, I looked through my books, asked a friend who taught, to no avail, A few days later we arrive into temporary accommodation and hooked behind the door was a poster with that very poem. It gave me the sense of not being alone and although I could not see it there was a plan!Mary_16121 wrote: ↑Thu Jul 27, 2017 9:57 pmOne could paraphrase this but why not just alter the last line - it's a great and inspirational poem
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a CARER, my son!
Source: A Choice of Kipling's Verse (1943)