Ichabod's Day

This weekend I took a long-planned for Road Trip down memory Lane with my sister (who is older than me by almost 5 years). As children we moved around a lot - on average every 2 years until I was 7 and my sister 12 which has meant that our formative memories are of many different houses, schools and areas. The older I get the more important it seems for me to have a clearer picture of my memories. Snippets of events I remember but they merge into each other, whereas my sister has a clearer memory of where things happened. I suppose you might say that I wanted the timeline of my early life to be in order! (Being such a control freak!). At times I often wondered if such things were memories that I had of things that really happened or whether over the years I had either dreamt them or just got a feel from old photographs and conversations of others. I have memories gong back to when I was 2 or 3 - and my sister, using me as a play thing, made me jump from a chair - in the process sma

(Attributed to the Maori) The sky may be clouded, but ever the sun,  Will sweep on its course till the cycle is run. and when into chaos the system is hurled,  Again shall the Builder, rebuild a new world. Your path may be clouded, uncertain your goal,  Move on, for your orbit is fixed to your soul. And though may it lead you through darkness of night,  The torch of the Builder shall give it new light. You were, you will be,  Know this while you are,  Your spirit has travelled both long and afar, It rose from the source, to the Source it returns,  The spark which was lighted eternally burns. It slept in a jewel, it leapt in a wave,  It roamed in a forest, it rose from the grave. It took on strange garbs for long eons of years,  And now in the soul of yourself it appears. From body to body your spirit speeds on,  It seeks a new form when the old one has gone. And the form that it finds is the fabric you wrought,  On the loom of th

As I embrace my half century I do so with a mixture of reflection, indifference, excitement and a need somehow to both wear the badge of maturity and prove that I am still not too old. Too old for what? I've no idea.  I have waited for this birthday for a while, preparing with a clear focus denied many of my other 'milestone' birthdays. I have stopped colouring my hair, I seem to have spent many occasions stating - "I'm nearly 50" in a tone clearly explaining that I am too old for this (whatever 'this' may be). I was quite looking forward to being old. As a teen - 50 was very old. I thought being 50 meant: a) I am nearer retirement than a new starter (although with the pension situation this may soon not be the case!) b) I was over half way through my life (I don't intend to live to being over 100) c) I could be left alone to "wear purple and eat sausages" as the poem  by Jenny Joseph suggests d) I thought I would be a

"The continuing adventures of Angela and Sarah..." Some of you will no doubt be aware of my trip last weekend to Belfast to visit the Titanic Museum recently opened - I particularly apologise to my Facebook friends who by now must be feeling bombarded with photos and links - but hey - here's some more!! The trip was organised in a very last minute way - feeling overly burdened with work over the last semester, my good friend Sarah and I decided that we needed a break. Initial thoughts turned to Ragdale Hall, visions of pampering, spa-ing and all round glowing filled our minds - then we saw the prices - ahem! we thought again!! On the news the previous evening I had seen a report about the Titanic Museum opening (it being the centenary of the launch and sinking of this memorable ship) and decided that I must go and see it. I have had a fascination with the Titanic since being a child and some of my latent excitement was released at the thought of 100 years commemor