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This Place I Know – knitting a poem

22 Thursday Nov 2018

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I’ve had a quiet year.  This was a conscious choice, as my cancer treatment and management have nudged far more than I would like into my diary space, and I took a retreat to really enjoy the process of writing poetry for my MA in Creative Writing with the Open University.  It provided the most wonderful escape from the world of hospitals.  Now it’s beginning to bear fruit.  I’ve submitted my final portfolio for the MA (awaiting results in December!) and am hoping that this will become a published collection of poems in early 2019.

 

In the meantime I have also had poems selected for Speakeasy Magazine and a new anthology of Cumbrian Poetry, This Place I Know published by Liz Nuttall at Handstand Press in Dent, and edited by Liz, Kerry Darbishire and Kim Moore.  There have been several launch events, and I was able to attend the one at the Kendal Mountain Literature Festival on Saturday 17th November.  And what a wonderful event it was, with varied readings from poets new and well known and some interesting questions and discussion points including ‘What makes a Cumbrian poet?’.  There are certainly a lot of us – 92 in the anthology, and many more round and about.  It’s a good county to be writing poetry in with lots of events such as the recent Kendal Poetry Festival (September 2018) and many different writing groups on the go.

 

I feel a bit lucky to be included, as I’m not quite sure if I deserve the label ‘Cumbrian poet’.  I have lived and worked here for 37 years and have walked almost every fell top and every valley, and I love every aspect of it.  I feel privileged to live here.  And yet my roots are in Scotland, and that is where I return, and where many of my poems are set.  Looking through my notebook of poetry drafts, I found several that captured Cumbria in some way, and I decided to develop a poem scribbled in the cafe at Sizergh Castle.  This is a special place to me; over my three years of living with ovarian cancer, Iain and I have come here to ‘centre ourselves’.  The coffee is good, the scones are the best in the area, you can look out on some beautiful trees through the changes of the seasons, and there is a huge variety of walks of varying length which have helped me maintain my fitness during some of the tougher phases.  Sometimes my walks are long, sometimes they are short.  But I can gain some height, look out at the Lakeland Fells from Helsington, for example, and feel good about myself.

 

If you ever go to the National Trust’s Sizergh Castle Cafe on Fridays, you’ll see an enthusiastic ‘knit and natter’ group.  They became the focus of my poem.  I wondered what the women (because it is exclusively women!) talked about.  As I wrote, I became aware that poetry is really very like knitting – we cast on, cast off, stitch together, make patterns and shapes.  There is rhythm to both poetry and knitting, and a sense of something handed down through generations.  A few years ago my mother-in-law, who is now approaching her 103rd birthday, gave me a Vogue Knitting magazine ‘in case I might like to try some of the patterns’.  I think it was bought when she moved to Kendal in the late 1940s.

 

VogueKnittingCover2

I didn’t try any of the patterns, but I entered a different and exclusively female world where women with the trimmest of waists posed in front of large country houses modelling dolman cardigans, two-tone flecks, giant cables and diamond designs.  There are even patterns for a ‘blouse with box pleats’ , ‘evening wraps’, ‘golliwog twinsets’ and of course ‘sturdy knitwear for men’.  I am old enough to have been a knitter – my mother was, and I knitted too in my teens and early twenties.  And there was that rite of passage when we knitted a pullover for the first man in our lives – I remember that mine came out too big, and I was dedicated enough to rip it all down and start again.  He wore it for years!

 

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My poem in ‘This Place I Know’, entitled ‘In Over Through Off’ explores the whole notion of ‘knit and natter’ in this lovely place, and knits in some ‘found poetry’ from the musical language of the Vogue Knitting advertisements.

 

The editors have knitted together a fantastic anthology.  This Place I Know is available from bookshops or can be ordered online   A great Christmas present for those who love the Lakes.

 

And with that I’ll cast off for today. But there might be more poems coming about knitting.  No actual knitting though ….
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The Poetry Cure

12 Saturday Aug 2017

Posted by in Blogging on, Cancer challenge, Writing News

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July was a month of mixed emotions. I learned that I had passed the first year of my MA in Creative Writing with merit.  I also learned that my ovarian cancer had bubbled up again in some small peritoneal deposits, necessitating the start of a new course of chemotherapy, which I began on 20th July.  All things considered, I have enjoyed an amazing quality of life since my diagnosis in November 2015, which was followed by 6 cycles of chemotherapy and a further year on the maintenance drug Avastin; I went from not being able to climb the stairs in November 2015 to skiing on the Kitzsteinhorn glacier, Kaprun (3000 metres) in January 2017.  Since completing my Avastin in February, I have been on ‘watch and wait’, having been told that recurrence is almost a certainty with my type and stage of cancer, but that they could keep retreating me again if required. The CT scanner found it in June, although I had no symptoms.   On with the ‘treats’, then…
 
I suppose this officially puts me into ‘battling’ territory.  Those who know me also know that I hate this term.  The phrase ‘lost their battle with cancer’ is trotted out unthinkingly; I don’t like to think of ever losing.  I am living with cancer, as are many people, just getting on with the things you enjoy and maximising the moments when you feel you will live forever.  It is the same as for any chronic condition, like heart disease or diabetes; you carry a cloud with you, but you live for when it floats off.  There are times when it’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, and there are times when you are so distracted by nature, music or any kind of creative work that it disappears completely. In the words of Winnie the Pooh, ‘every little cloud always sings aloud’, and my singing and harp playing have offered me these special moments, as have the many hours spent with friends and family, my local walks and walking holidays and a perfect skiing trip to Zell am See that I never thought I’d have. I’ve played the harp in the grounds of Levens Hall, I’ve walked Scottish beaches and posed with Robert Burns at the Birks of Aberfeldy.  And I’ve climbed my 200th Wainwright top in the Lake District, the wonderfully named Great Cockup.
The first course of treatment had enabled me to reclaim my life, and news of the recurrence meant some grieving had to happen. So far, the chemotherapy has been manageable, and I won’t lose my hair this time, but it has been a shock to go to it from feeling well, and there are some days when I feel very fatigued; at times it seems as if I am operating at altitude. Yesterday I felt slightly drunk in charge of a shopping trolley.  I don’t feel ill, and on many days I can operate as normal, go out walking and meet the friends who cheer me up.  But there is a need for more rest and quiet time.  Everyone says I am very positive, but inevitably dark thoughts also have to be processed.
 
The cancer treatment world is very surreal.  I have seen the very best of the NHS, have chatted to many ‘brave’ and ‘positive’ patients and have recognised how much I owe to the chemotherapy drugs, but I can never get over the fact that this clear liquid dripping into my veins, which comes with so many health warnings and arrives personalised for me in a yellow carrier labelled ‘cytocoxic’, is the thing that is needed to ‘help me to live well’ – this is the slogan on my chemotherapy record booklet, and it’s a good one (much better than battling!).  Even after 25 visits to the oncology unit, I am still pinching myself wondering if it’s all a dream.  From talking to other patients, we’re all like this. It’s not me in here, is it?
 
Good as the NHS treatment has been, I realised at an early stage that I needed more than cytotoxic drugs to get me through it. In July 2016 I attended a course run by the charity Penny Brohn UK ‘Living with the impact of cancer’ – their emphasis on healthy eating, exercise, meditation, mindfulness and taking control of your own health and wellbeing perfectly complemented the conventional treatment I received.  Once again, I met many inspirational people and enjoyed the exchange of thoughts on how we deal with a new way of life that has been forced on us. The course principles all involve very simple things – and indeed turning attention to how you can live better and more mindfully is common sense, whether you have cancer or not.  
 
So what of my writing?  In the past year it has been very much about writing for myself and not about sharing and tweeting that I’ve written something.  It’s been part of my mental processing to be a bit more private.  Also, if I publish work here, I can’t enter it for competitions. When I opted to start the Open University’s new MA in Creative Writing in October 2016 (module A802), I decided to pick poetry as my first genre with fiction second, as I felt I had more to learn about poetry and that it would offer me greater variety.  Also, I have met poets locally at workshops and readings, and it is more sociable than trying to churn out a plot and redraft a novel!  The OU course is all distance-learning, and work is shared with your tutor group via an online forum.  Our tutor, Wayne Holloway-Smith, dropped in from time to time with mainly encouraging comments and some remarks to make us think, and gave us very full feedback on our assignments.  We all started off writing about waves breaking on the shore and sunrises, but his key comment was ‘Why should the reader be interested?’.  I have carried that thought with me all through this year, and if you are still reading this blog post then I’ve succeeded in addressing this question.  
 
Of course, it’s a disadvantage that you never meet the people on the course or know what their voices sound like, but on the other hand you can choose just how much of yourself to reveal, and the drip-feed of information about people and their backgrounds that came out in the poetry generated throughout our year together was fascinating.  We all got quite good at giving each other feedback. Our ages ranged from 20+ to 60+, with more, I have to say, in the older category, full of life experience and inevitably touched by sadness as well as joy.  I did not set out with the purpose of writing about my cancer, and indeed I enjoyed keeping it quiet in the first term.  After Christmas we encountered Confessional Poetry, and it was finally time for me to write about the chemotherapy room.  The readers were interested; I had followed another tutor tip and exposed vulnerability.  The news was out and, in the end, my poetry sequence for my end of year assignment reflected on illness and mortality.  I was inspired by Jo Shapcott’s collection ‘Of Mutability’ and the way she described her experience of cancer in a very understated way, without even mentioning the word.  The title of my sequence ‘The Pavement Rippled Under My Shoes’ is a quotation from her poem ‘La Serenessima’.  Since then, I have discovered other poets who ‘write their cancer’ and have been reading Anthony Wilson’s wonderful collection ‘Riddance’ about his diagnosis and treatment for lymphoma. He writes here about Jo Shapcott’s ‘Of Mutability’ https://anthonywilsonpoetry.com/2011/03/02/book-review-of-mutability-by-jo-shapcott-2/
 
Recently, I picked up an anthology ‘The Poetry Cure’ edited by Julia Darling and Cynthia Fuller, which I took into the chemo room last week. Julia Darling, a poet and Fellow in Literature and Health at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne, was involved in many projects seeking to improve communication between doctors and patients.  She died from cancer in 2005 shortly after completing her work on this book, which she wanted to be available in hospital waiting rooms.  She writes in her introduction:
‘I work with doctors and patients, and run workshops for the growing numbers of people who are interested in the healing powers of poetry.  I got involved in this kind of work through my own experience.  I have advanced breast cancer, and poetry is what keeps me afloat.  Without writing and reading poems my journey through chemotherapy and radiotherapy and the general ups and downs of illness would have been unthinkable ….  I think one of the hardest things about being unwell is feeling disempowered and out of control.  Writing poetry can make you feel in charge again.’
 
I had better sign up for the second year of the MA course.  But before I do, I conclude with two of my poems from ‘The Pavement Rippled Under My Shoes’.

Sword Dance 1

 

X marked the spot in the hall behind

the Burnett Arms, where our class danced

on Thursdays over crossed swords

to bagpipes skirling Ghillie Callum,

 

a seventy-eight on the Dansette.

The turntable turned, and so did we,

twenty kilts fanning out like accordions

swung up like tartan wings behind us

 

and our black laced pumps

pranced plump pas de basque

up and down, round and round,

always widdershins.

 

Whirling high with bonny smiles

we had no thought of edges

sharp as Sheffield knives

under our feet.

Later I learned

 that to touch

the blades

meant

mis

for

tune

 

Sword Dance 2

 

Nurses

 in flat, black shoes

and sky-blue suits

dispense clear liquids that drip, drip

from innocent plastic bags, incinerated after use.

Do not talk to me of battles.

Let me dance through the door with nothing

but numbness of neuropathy

in my toes,

hear

birdsong

tingle

in

bare

branches.

Ways of meeting

16 Thursday Feb 2017

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Where did that blog go?  Things have been looking a bit quiet on Harping On, as I’ve been busy with the OU’s new MA in Creative Writing.  Writing about writing has therefore taken a back seat.  Along with that has come a little bit of a desire to do less in the way of social media – it’s good to create a bit of space sometimes.

In the meantime, the German version of my story ‘Ships that Pass’ has been published in the anthology ‘Vierertreffen’, which means a Meeting of Four.  I haven’t met the other three authors in real life, but perhaps I will some day.  Two of us are from Scotland, two of us are from Ireland – hello to Brian McNeill, Rita Kelly and Micheál Ó Conghaile – and many thanks to Karin Braun and Gabriele Haefs for compiling this volume of four ‘long short stories’.

http://edition-narrenflug.com/vierertreffen-schottland-irland-erzaehlungen/

I’m half way through the first year of the MA course, where I’m studying Poetry as my primary genre and Fiction as my secondary.  This is the opposite way round from what I originally intended – I just thought it would be more interesting to develop the poetry side, as I felt I had a lot to learn about doing it better.  So far, the course material has been stimulating and people are contributing some interesting stuff in the online tutor group.   I’ve been challenged, pushed in a few new directions and received some home truths about improving my focus.  The downside is that it is all online – you don’t meet the tutor or participants, and there is an awful lot of screen work and clicking, which has given me some RSI problems … another reason for being a bit quiet on the blog.

In the pursuit of more poetry-sharing with real people in the real world, I’ll be co-leading a poetry workshop with local poet Geraldine Green on 25th February.  This workshop is one in Geraldine’s ‘Write on the Farm’ series which I’ve been attending for a year or two.  When someone discovered I had a harp they wanted me to bring it to the party, and this workshop is the result!  We’ll be looking at the origins of the instrument, talking about lyric poetry and writing in response to harp music.  Time in the outdoors is always a part of Geraldine’s workshop, as is some quiet writing time in the afternoon.  It is already fully booked!

https://geraldinegreensaltroad.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/write-on-farm-dates-for-2017.html

The lay of the land

20 Tuesday Sep 2016

Posted by in Blogging on, Musical notes, Writing News

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I’ve needed a summer break – a chance to reflect on the ups and down of the last year since my cancer diagnosis, and to consider new projects.  I feel very well and apparently look great on my treatment, but I’m constantly monitored and checked, which inevitably makes me edgy. However, I’ve worked out the best way forward is to Keep Calm and Be Normal.  Going out and doing stuff with others and having a project or two helps me forget for increasingly long periods what happened.  Onwards!

Sometimes a special time comes along and all your interests and ideas converge, and this past weekend has been just like that.  Geraldine Green, Writer in Residence at Brantwood, Coniston, who also runs writers’ workshops at a local Cumbrian farmhouse, says it is ‘full moon magic’.  On the day after the full moon, the sun shone for us  for the above the Lune valley, lighting up this year’s particularly prolific rowan berries and plump blackberries in the hedgerows.

rowan

photo by Jane Moss-Luffrum

Among other things, we wrote to prompts on memories and fruit using Marsha de la O’s ‘UnderThe Lemon Tree’.  In the afternoon we wandered out with ‘The Earth is a Living thing’ by Lucille Clifton; the path took us on to the hills overlooking the Lune Valley to pause, contemplate and write.

writing

Photo by Jane Moss-Luffrum

There were more riches for me the following day at a Harps North West workshop.  Over the past year our composer in residence, Karen Marshalsay, has been working with us on a suite of music specially written for Harps North West – all ability levels will be able to join in, and the idea is that the music will reflect who we are and the landscape in which we live.  We have had two workshops in February and June where Karen has tried out her ideas for melodies and taught us some interesting techniques such as bee’s plaits, finger plaits, shoogly finger and gurgly two handed variations.  We now have the finished piece.

karenIt has been fascinating to share in the creative process over a long period and to see that it is very much like writing a poem – the ideas and themes, the refrains, the motifs.  And then there’s the putting away of a work and letting it bubble and marinate, the taking it out and reshaping until it finds its final form.  Karen’s finished suite is entitled ‘The lay of the land’ and her opening section ‘Approaching Lune Gorge’ is about that landscape in which the poets walked on Saturday.

walking

Photo by Jane Moss-Luffrum

Karen said that getting to know the landscape over the year and in different seasons helped her round the finished piece.

scoreThe lay of the land for me is somewhat different from what it was a year ago.  During the year of my illness and recovery, copies of ‘Shifting Sands’, my book of short stories, have sold well, and I’d like to thank everyone for all the positive comments I’ve received.  I’m delighted to say you can now even buy it on the shops on CalMac Ferries, so check it out over a CalMac cooked breakfast the next time you are sailing to the Hebrides.

janetshiftingsandsBut now it’s time for a new challenge.  I’ve been offered a place on the Open University’s new MA in Creative Writing, and I’m excited to be starting soon.  Initially I thought I would major in fiction, but lately I’ve been pulled in more by poetry and its connection with music, and this past weekend has underlined that choosing poetry as my main genre will be my way forward.  I have some new ideas, and among other things I will be doing a workshop with Geraldine in February on connections between harp and poetry.

Thanks go to Geraldine and all who contributed to the poetry day, particularly Jane Moss-Luffrum for letting me use her wonderful photographs on the blog.  Thanks also go to Karen and all at Harps North West for all the fine music we make together.

layers

Poets in the landscape – Jane Moss-Luffrum

Race for life

30 Wednesday Mar 2016

Posted by in Blogging on, Cancer challenge

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I have awarded myself a medal!  I just happened to have three kicking around the house, from when I did the ‘Race for Life’ in aid of Cancer Research UK in 2004, 2005 and 2007 in memory of my mother and a university friend who both died of cancer.  So when I completed my sixth chemotherapy on 10th March there was a small reward ceremony to mark the end of this stage of treatment.  Of course, I never imagined when I ran those 5 Km races that the funds raised would help to save my own life.  Very appropriately, I finished my chemotherapy treatment in Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month, and I encourage anyone who is not sure of the symptoms of this disease to check out the websites at either Target Ovarian Cancer or Ovacome.

http://www.targetovariancancer.org.uk/

http://www.ovacome.org.uk/

DSC00438As I’ve discovered, treatments have come a long way since my mother was diagnosed with cancer in 2001.  My initial horror at the thought of having to undergo chemotherapy for ovarian cancer was based on fear and ignorance; the reality is that my chemotherapy drugs zapped my disease effectively and, most surprisingly, allowed me to enjoy a reasonably good quality of life during treatment.  There were other things that helped too, and I list them here in the hope of encouraging others who find themselves on the same path.

WALKING.  Nothing has helped me more than daily exercise and nature.  It didn’t matter that I wasn’t climbing the mountains I used to climb – in fact, I like the new walking routes which look very much like this:

DSC00429Which leads me on to FOOD AND DRINK. Coffee, scones, pub lunches – all have fortified me on my way, and we’ve bumped into lots of friends and had a pleasantly social time.

CHOCOLATE:  It deserves an entry of its own.  Thank you to all who took note of its therapeutic effects and supplied me!

TALKING.  I have kept on talking – to my family, my friends, my chemo nurses, the other patients.  It’s been good to be open and to give and receive support.  I feel truly blessed to have such a great social network – thank you!

LIVING AS NORMALLY AS POSSIBLE.  Yes, there are times when you are tired and will have to cancel things.  You have to listen to your body.  But, for a lot of the time, just doing normal things and being treated as normal is the best way to get on with something as big and scary as this.

AVOIDING CANCER GOOGLING.  A little goes a long way. Trust me, googling symptoms and survival rates will NOT make you feel better.  Forums are good if you read good things; they are bad if you read bad things.

ACCEPTING AND ENJOYING COMPLIMENTS.  Nod, smile and feel good when people compliment you on your new ‘hairstyle’, your slim figure and new clothes.  Some compliments are quite unexpected – recent praise of my ‘excellent veins’ from a nurse made me feel good for the rest of the day.

MAKING AN EFFORT WITH YOUR APPEARANCE.  Aim to try with your appearance and clothes even when you’re feeling a bit rough.

INDULGING IN THE OCCASIONAL REWARD CEREMONY.  Celebrate each milestone, and yes, you can mix a little Prosecco with your chemo.  I had a rule not to do alcohol in the week after treatment, but after that a little was ok.

prosecco2So now the journey continues.  It’s a bit like doing a course at the big University of Cancer.  After a bit of post-chemo ‘scanxiety’ I was told that my response had been excellent, better than expected  – 9/10!  My cancer hated that stuff and went running. But there is a risk of recurrence.  Continued work is needed to keep it at bay, so I will be having a little infusion of Avastin every 3 weeks until next January.

It’s been a harder few weeks since my last chemo – I’ve taken longer to get over the tiredness this time.  My eyebrows, which held on through five treatments, now need more artwork to make them look realistic, and even though I’m grateful for the help of Miss Wiggy I can’t wait to ditch her before the hot days of summer.  The baldness thing gets you after a while, although it’s a small price to pay.  Oh, and a bit of rethinking is required as I devise my ‘new normal’ – cutting out some of the things I used to do, concentrating on what’s important and learning to pace myself, enjoying the moment, looking at diet and lifestyle, booking myself on to a ‘Living well with cancer’ course with Penny Brohn UK.  http://www.pennybrohn.org.uk/

The recovery jargon tells you to set some meaningful goals now, so I hope to play my harp in a concert in June, go to a wedding in Germany in August and … oh yes … I have 17 Wainwright tops in the Lake District still to climb.  Onwards and upwards.

Some of you have asked if I’m writing about the cancer experience.  And at this point I’d just like to thank everyone who has bought and read ‘Shifting Sands: Tales of Transience and Transformation’ and said good things about it.  There are some lovely reviews on Amazon!  Over the winter it’s been too difficult to write something new; my own story has been too big.  I have stuff in my notebook, and I may write about cancer sometime, but now doesn’t seem the time; in a way I want to put it behind me.  I’ve been working on some poetry prompts in a small online group run by Helena Sanderson who studied with me on the OU course, and this has kept my brain in gear through the months of treatment.  Thank you, Helena!  The prompts took me in lots of directions and have given me things to work on for the future.  Only two were about the cancer experience, and I finish off with one here – it’s a ‘shape’ poem written for fun during one of my chemotherapy sessions.

shape poem_cr

From now on, expect my blog posts to less about cancer and more about life.

Thinking Smart

02 Tuesday Feb 2016

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I have finally gone down the road of the smartphone. After years of thinking my 2006 Nokia was small, neat and just what I needed (all I do is text, isn’t it?), I finally decided a girl on chemotherapy deserves better. The tingling in my finger tips which is a side-effect of chemo made the tiny buttons hard to manage and I couldn’t read all the cheerful, quirky emoticons people were sending me. The final nudge came from a (younger) friend who looked at the Nokia and remarked that she never thought I’d have a phone like that. I explained that I used a tablet at home and didn’t want to be welded to a smartphone on the street like the rest of the population. But then I thought again, and decided it was treat time.

Three phone shops later I was well served in O2. They had seats, for example, and an assistant who didn’t look as if he was dressed like someone from the planet Zog. He didn’t talk from a pre-learned script, and explained the twenty or so different tarrifs without being in the least condescending. I came out with a sleek new phone and have now moved on from ‘Pay as you Go.’

So I took my smartphone along to my fourth chemotherapy session last Thursday and stayed in touch with the world as the smart drips went in that are giving me my life back. Back in October and November I couldn’t have contemplated going into a phone shop at all; I led a life on the sofa watching ‘Homes under the Hammer’ and surviving on small bowls of soup. Ovarian cancer bloats you, and you can’t eat much. The treatment changed all that. A week after my first chemotherapy, I went into a supermarket after a six week break and actually selected food I wanted to eat. By Christmas, the days of yogurt and retro Sixties jelly with mandarins were over, and I enjoyed a full Christmas dinner with a sneaky glass of wine. The beginnings of hair loss and attacks of tiredness were a small price to pay. By January I was going out to meet friends again, driving, extending the length of my daily walks and even, by the end of the month, going back to my Pilates class. I received compliments about my slim look and new ‘haircut’, which gave me my confidence back. And on 20th January Miss Wiggy and I climbed The Helm, a small hill near Kendal, and admired the snowy Lakeland Fells; I never thought I’d do that on chemotherapy, but that’s what smart drugs do for you.

In three months I have come from planning my funeral to planning my future. I have learned what all cancer patients learn – think smart. ‘Keep up your PMA,’ the nurse said. I wondered if this was some sort of blood count, but no – it’s Positive Mental Attitude. When I was diagnosed in October I could hardly walk into the hospital. I knew the news wasn’t going to be great, but nothing prepares you for hearing the word ‘cancer’ spoken out loud and applied to you, followed by intimations of a long haul ahead. ‘Can I get through this?’ I gabbled, my mouth dry as the Sahara Desert.   ‘Yes,’ the consultant said. I realise now he couldn’t have said anything other than this; to sow the seeds of hope was perhaps the most important part of our interchange that day. All along the way it’s been more than the drugs that have helped; the chat and laughter with the chemo nurses do a lot of healing.

My scan after three treatments showed an impressive response, so they are continuing with chemo rather than going down the surgery route originally planned; some cancer cells are in a tricky place, apparently, so they need to do more smart zapping, adding in another drug. This change of plan was a bit of a blip for me, but I was encouraged to look at the advantage of not having a major operation. When I feel down, I look at this card given to me by some dear friends.

I can think of no better advice. And there are positives. Recently a friend whose husband is being treated for a brain tumour wrote that they were so moved by the love they experienced – and through these weeks our lives have indeed been enriched by your visits, emails and messages, kind thoughts, prayers, gifts and offers of help. My husband Iain has been a star, caring for me, taking me to hospital appointments and making our kitchen the absolute ultimate in organised spick-and-span. I’ve spent more time with family and friends than ever before and have really been able to concentrate on what’s important to me.

And who knows, maybe some day there will be bigger things? My friends Hugh and Pauline Symonds have spent their retirement going on long cycle trips, most famously spending a year cycling from Sedbergh to Kazakhstan and returning in time for market day. Their lives were put on hold when Hugh was diagnosed with bladder cancer and had to spend a year going through treatment. But this January they set off to cycle from Cancun to Colorado. What an excellent example of PMA! You can read about it at http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/HandPinMexicoandUSA

One step at a time. I just have to remember I still get tired and need to put myself on charge every day too. Like the smartphone.

Living with the unexpected

06 Sunday Dec 2015

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In January 2015 I could see the year stretching ahead of me.  I thought of the trips we’d planned to France and the Scottish Islands and the Llangollen Canal, I thought of all my musical activities and my writing, and I wondered if I’d finally get my collection of short stories published.  The good news about the stories is that I did get my act together, and that ‘Shifting Sands: Tales of Transience and Transformation’ is now available to order from http://lumphananpress.co.uk/product/shifting-sands/   And the ebook is available from Amazon http://www.amazon.co.uk/Shifting-Sands-Tales-Transience-Transformation-ebook/dp/B0187MJUL2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1449399217&sr=8-1&keywords=christine+cochrane+shifting+sands

And then something unexpected happened.  Something that wasn’t good.  Something that disrupted everything I took for granted.  ‘You can’t have cancer!’ a friend said.  ‘You’re too young, too healthy, too active!’  But I did.  In October I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  This is a cancer that can remain silent for a long time before the symptoms of bloating, tiredness and digestive problems make themselves felt.   I urge any woman to make herself aware of the symptoms, because these are not symptoms that immediately make you think the cells in your ovary might be misbehaving.  I thought that I couldn’t finish my meals because restaurants were serving bigger portions, and that I was slow going uphill just because I was a little bit older – but no, these are symptoms of the illness. You can read all about it on http://www.targetovariancancer.com

So I faced my three biggest fears – hospitals, cancer and chemotherapy.  As with most things, the reality has not been as bad as the anticipation.  I have a fantastic medical team supporting me and the care I have received in hospital has been first class.  I’ve had some dark moments, but I’ve also learned the power of positive thinking, and sometimes the nurses have said just the right thing at the right time to keep me going.  There’s been a bit of humour and a bit of banter, and it’s all helped.  A week ago I had my first round of chemotherapy, and after a few days of tiredness and other symptoms I am finally feeling just a little bit better than I have done for the past two months.  So the magic potions must be working.  After three rounds I will be reviewed for surgery, which could take place at the end of January if all goes well.  And after the surgery there will be three more rounds of chemotherapy.

I now feel surprisingly content, even with Storm Desmond rattling the windows and the rain hammering on the roof.  I am ill, but I have had two months of cherishing my relationships with others, of enjoying people’s visits, emails and Facebook messages, of experiencing great kindness and many offers of help.  I’d like to thank everyone who has been there for me through this difficult time, as well as all those of you who have supported me on the long journey to the publication of the book.

I capture the island

24 Sunday May 2015

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Poetry seems to be my thing this year. Short and snappy, it enables me to focus on one theme and get something written at one sitting. Then there is endless pleasure in returning, tweaking, playing with language, shaping and polishing. The process never ends. So when the sun shone and the opportunity arose to go to a poetry workshop with local poet Geraldine Green on Piel Island at Barrow-in-Furness, I took the opportunity.

Barrow is one of these nearby places I rarely visit ; at the end of a peninsula on the road to nowhere except the sea, there isn’t often a reason. But the poetry workshop spurred me on, as did reading up about this unique island which has its own castle, king and knights as well as a pub that serves good chips. It guards the southern entrance to the channel between Walney Island and Barrow, the bulk of its castle visible for miles across the sands. You access the island by ferry from Roa Island, which is reached by causeway from the mainland.  We arrived at low tide. They’ve just built a new pier, but unfortunately they didn’t build it long enough. This meant that our 10.30 departure didn’t leave till the waves started lapping the pier end at 11.15. However, this was no hardship as we just turned to the sun and took in the enticing views of our destination.

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Once ashore we went camera-mad – the wild flowers, seaweed, ramparts, stones and views through arches were all too enticing.

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Then Geraldine sent us off with notebooks, and a series of apposite prompts – walk, make notes, take it in with your sense, write something …. and  return in an hour. I tried not to feel pressured. The prompt to include the line ‘they capture the island with the cameras’ leapt out at me.  I circled the island and wrote. Once I got home the poem found its own shape, and here’s the result.  It probably needs a bit more tweaking, but this is how it is today.

Island Circles

They grasp the island with their cameras,
teeter from the ferry, slipping on seaweed,
shutters clicking.

I click my rucksack closed, camera asleep inside,
take pictures with my notebook, turn to the
salt air.

I circle the island, ramparts of wind-blown sand
now still, brown as art pastel paper awaiting
brush strokes.

I turn to rocky shore, garlanded with sea campion,
white on white stone, feet crunching mussel shells,
denim blue.

The looping path sings with grasses, indigo speedwell,
a rare patch of bluebells, rough, windblown,
out of place.

My way encircles houses, heads for the keep where
ramparts stand red, enclosing lawns, and children play,
king of their castle.

And at the island’s centre the pond, mysterious,
dark as treacle, moat for an inner, secret island where
no-one goes.

I grasp the island with my notebook, circle like a bird
on the May breeze, upload it to memory and
relive its song.

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You can find out about Piel Island at http://www.pielisland.co.uk/  There is accommodation at the pub, and you can camp if you like that sort of thing.

The castle, as the photograph indicates, is open at ‘any reasonable time’.

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A month of poetry

22 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by in Blogging on, NaPoWriMo 30 Poems for April 2015

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As you might have noticed, I’ve been exploring poetry this month, doing the daily prompts for NaPoWriMo and posting my work online.  I’d just like to say thanks to everyone who’s dropped by, read and commented – it’s been great to connect!  My poems have taken me from South Georgia to North Uist.  I’ve been inspired by famous paintings, social media, my hairdresser and my harp.  And perhaps the most interesting aspect has been exploring various forms – I’ve dabbled in saphhics, an aubade, a palinode, a ‘fourteener’, a landay, a visual poem or calligram and abecedarian poetry, something which I’d never have done without these prompts.  I’ve also taken a couple of my poems out to a local reading and had a favourable response – so, who knows, there may be more!  I’m now going to have a holiday, but I’ll try to fit in the remaining poem prompts when time allows, even if it goes into May.

One thing at a time …

31 Tuesday Mar 2015

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It’s been a quiet month on the blog, mainly because I’ve been out and about doing too many things! And this has all been very stimulating, as I’ve been travelling up and down the country. We’ve visited friends, walked woods with a hint of spring near Polesden Lacey, and tested the bubbly at a Surrey vineyard.

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We’ve spotted crocuses and butterflies at the RHS at Wisley, been to a play in London, the National Gallery, and the site of Roman Silchester in Hampshire.

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We’ve been to Chester and taken a photo of the solar eclipse from the platform of Warrington Bank Quay station. We’ve been on a train that terminated at Carlisle again (see February 2014), this time because of a broken down freight train at Lockerbie. However, the line was cleared quickly enough to allow our day trip to Glasgow to proceed, giving us a few enjoyable hours at Scotland Street Museum and the National Trust’s Tenement House and, I hope, some ideas for my writer’s notebook.  And lovely as our country is in the early spring, we have noticed on our travels that motorways and railway lines seem to have become the country’s litter bins.  How sad …

Back at home I’ve been singing, harp playing and writing and not really doing any of them well because I’ve spread myself too thinly.  So the new rule for April is ‘one thing at a time’ and, as it happens to be National Poetry Writing Month, let’s have a go at this!

http://www.napowrimo.net/

NaPoWriMo

For the month of April expect to see responses to daily poetry prompts on my blog!  I’ll try and keep up …