On reflection.

Several dead and over one hundred people injured in a series of explosions at the Boston Marathon.

I have spent the past few hours pouring over amateur footage of the tragic events. Video phones portraying an elated carnival atmosphere torn to pieces by deadly blasts, runners sprinting for their lives, emergency teams risking everything by darting headfirst into the ensuing chaos. Graphic images showing the true extent of terrorism. Early reports suggest that an eight-year-old child is amongst the dead; an innocent youngster without even a thought or opinion on the fabricated religious farce that drives this kind of act.

Terrorism saddens me. It breaks my heart to the point that I can no longer stand it. My mind becomes confused, tangled beyond comprehension and I cry. I cry for humans - both victims and perpetrators as, in their own ways, both are lost within the twisted world in which we live.

It belittles me and consumes me with guilt. How dare I sit and quibble over the fact that my day has not gone quite to plan; that the minutiae of my daily routine didn't quite tesselate to my complete satisfaction. My day in which no-one was hurt, no-one was maliciously targeted and, above all, no-one died.

Perspective is a personal concept and these old minds of ours find it a hard concept to conquer. Trust me, I refuse to give up. Though I may not claim to be the next Sigmund Freud (heaven help us if I am) but I do firmly believe that healthy perspective is the key to inner peace and finding it is one of the greatest ambitions any human can have.

An absolution that we can only pray this world some day finds.

Oh Sunday.

I've had the ultimate relaxing Sunday; slept until late morning, enjoyed a full-english breakfast and basked in the sunshine of the garden. Adam's mum is looking after Skye this weekend, so I had the ideal opportunity to have the ferrets in the sun lounge for a much needed runaround. They really are the most adorable little creatures, dooking and jumping through their tubes - it's just a shame that Skye doesn't really share the same opinion.

We made the spur of the moment decision to drive over to Sainsbury's yesterday evening to buy some cocktail equipment and a basket load of spirits. I'm not 100% sure where the incentive came from but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with an old Desperate Housewives re-run that happened to be on TV at some point. Needless to say, we now have the urge to build ourselves a minibar though I haven't the faintest idea where we could put one. Adam will find somewhere, he always does. He turns this house into Mary Poppins' bag - give him an hour of rearranging and I reckon he could find room for a small African republic upstairs. Having said that, I'm dubious as to what lurks underneath each of the spare beds.

And now Sunday, the day of rest is almost over. I'm contemplating prizing myself from the sofa, ready to navigate the stairs to bed but part of me despairs at the idea of wasting the final precious moments of the weekend. I'm a nightmare that way. I've always been a night owl, absolutely detesting the idea of going to bed - unfortunately for me, this often results in too many late nights and I'm one of the most loathsome of humans first thing in the morning. I've noticed that my work colleagues have started giving me a wide birth when I first walk in at 9am. To be honest, I've tried convincing myself that it's down to how busy everyone is. I know I'm wrong, but a little self-delusion never did anyone any harm, did it?

Mustering.

Despite the sun's sudden emergence from what seems like an eternal hibernation, the air has remained bitterly cold over the past few days. English weather is a trickster; it tries it's damn hardest to dupe you into throwing on jeans and a t-shirt, only to find yourself cutting glass the minute you step outside the front door. It can be both depressing and amusing.

I took advantage of the beautiful sunset and took Skye for a woodland walk yesterday. It was so nice amongst the trees; waves of golden light flooding through the bare branches, spring draughts whistling through the undergrowth. I managed to snap a few photographs before becoming genuinely concerned by Skye's persistant attempts to hang herself from various boughs. Suicidal hound.

I've found myself rattling around the house on my lonesome quite a lot lately due to Adam constantly being at work. I'm 9 to 5 and he works shifts; unfortunately, his shifts are awkward times meaning that I am either at work or in bed by the time he finishes. I'm often banging on about how I love my 'me' time but, like all human beings, I'm also inclined to moan when it swings completely the other way. I guess you just can't win in these little old minds of ours. I suppose I also resent (a little) the fact that I am always left with the dog to look after despite being reassured by Adam that he would ensure he would undertake the majority of her care. Yes, I was the one that wasn't too keen on getting a dog - not because I don't love them but I've grown up with them and know just how much attention a young dog needs. Suffice to say, I gave in to Adam's constant badgering and now he is almost always at work.

Oh well, Skye is happy enough - I'm sure I can push my selfish needs aside for the time being. We were thinking of taking her to the beach on Saturday. No doubt you'll see us on some news report; found frozen to death in some northern cove. We should question our mental sanity really but I'm sure she'll enjoy it.

In the grand scheme of things, life is good. During a week of crazy news involving parents murdering their own children in house fires and countries attempting to provoke war, all we can do is take a breath and muster the strength to soldier on, enjoying everything we are blessed to have.

After all, it really isn't too much to muster.

A not so egg-citing Easter.

I made Moroccan lamb for tea tonight. Adam is working late shifts all week so it's a good time to practice my cooking and try things that I normally wouldn't get to try - he isn't exactly the most adventurous of people when it comes to food. It was nice but I'd probably substitue the cut of lamb for something a bit more tender if I was to do it again.

The bitterly cold wind and snow has finally subsided after what feels like the longest winter of all time. I almost died of shock when I stepped out into the sun this morning and actually felt warmth - I pinched myself several times to make sure I had woken up.

Work is quiet this week, deathly quiet in fact due to the schools being off for Easter. Having said that, there is still lots of stuff to organise and I believe that Gloucestershire go back early next week so the tranquility will be short lived. I can't grumble though, I was relived to go back to the office after a few days off over Easter - I've decided that I really am one of these people that just cannot cope with doing nothing. I was home alone for the entire four day weekend and the one day that Adam was off work, he stayed in bed for 22 hours (yes, 22 hours) complaining of some kind of stomach flu. Don't get me wrong, I can be sympathetic when I need to be but I struggle when it comes to nursing others for the simple reason that I don't think I have ever suffered from an ailment bad enough to warrant total bed confinement. I'm the opposite when I'm ill - I suddenly find a million and one things to do in order to convince myself that I'm okay. Jeez, dare I say it; I'm starting to sound like my Father.

I cleaned the house, tended to the dog, changed the sheets, sorted out the reading room ready to decorate (when I finally decide on the theme), caught up on all my TV shows and finally got around to restocking the pantry. Obviously I paraphrased when asked the dreaded 'How was your weekend?' question as I walked into the office this morning. I wouldn't want anyone thinking I was one of those people.

So that was my Easter and I didn't even have the pleasure of receiving an abundance of chocolate eggs due to the minor issue of disliking most forms of cocoa. Poor old me ay? I hope you guys experienced a somewhat more colourful weekend.

P.S - Though my iPhone does a fine job of capturing most of my daily musings, I'm finally thinking of investing in a decent SLR. It has always been an interest of mine but I just don't know where to begin. I know a couple of budding David Baileys may read this so any advice on a good first SLR and lens would be much appreciated! 

Finality.

It has been bitterly cold as of late; unbearably so for this time of year. The thought of coming home from work and braving the frosty air with the dog makes my heart sink. Luckily, it's the ideal climate for Huskies - Skye is in her element. Literally.

Work is busy, busy, busy. We have far too much to achieve with so few experienced staff members and the hunt has been on to find some new ones. Whether it is testament to my character or, as I prefer to think, Sod's law; I've managed to lose three of the newbies in just over a week. I was under the impression that jobs were few and far between due to the current economic crisis but it appears that people still have the luxury of being able to be picky. Go figure. Maybe it's a true reflection of the current unemployment problem - I'm willing to put money on it.

Dad has finally decided to place the family home on the market. He informed me this evening via text message - sensitivity has never been his forte. I've always known the day would come. Ever since mum died and he met his new partner Shirley, I've known that one day they would want to settle down together, to live out their old age together. I'm happy for him, truly I am as I would never want my father to grow old alone - especially after all he has been through but I can't help the niggling sadness in my heart, knowing that this is the end of yet another era. The house I grew up in that holds so many memories; all of my memories. The house that has seen us at both our highest and our lowest. The house that has shared 21 of my birthdays and 22 of my Christmases. It really is true what they say, if only walls could talk. That house is the only place on this earth that I still feel my mother's presence and though I know that moving on is long overdue, it makes me feel sick to my stomach to think that it will be sold to someone else, someone who knows nothing of those times or even cares. Of course I'll just suck it up, let him know how happy I am for him (not that it would be a lie) and try to forget about it.

For such an outwardly emotionless person, there is something about finality that really affects me. The thought that everything finally comes to an end whether it be life, work or merely our everyday experiences saddens me. It takes my breath away to think about and chokes me up so much that, on certain days, you may even see the appearance of a tear. I have to remind myself constantly that no matter how much it depresses me and weighs on my heart, this is merely a way in which beauty forces it's way through to the world and reminds us that it exists. To love is to feel and to feel is to love and if you are lucky enough to recognise this, then beauty is doing it's job.

For so long now, I have lived in the shadow of my childhood - each time I visit my father, I am transported straight back to my 16 year old self. It is a weight around my neck, knowing that I have found it impossible to move on but strangely, I find it comforting. Those weekends at home in my familiar surroundings comforts me, despite the negative energy that radiates from that place. People have described me in many ways over the years; emotionless, unfazed, tough. I'm none of those things. I am conditioned - so used to abnormal occurrences, situations that many are lucky enough to never have to experience, that I find it normal to find myself in unsettling circumstances.

For both myself and my dear father, that chapter must end and maybe this is the universe's way of recognising this. As with all of life's challenges, I'll grab my surfboard and ride the wave. You never know, I may end up washed up on some tropical island somewhere?

That would be no hardship.

Not at all.