Lie down and listen to the crabgrass grow.                                                                        - Marya Mannes   






When I was a kid growing up in England the saying "there are fairies at the bottom of our garden" was well known to young and old alike.  I actually believed it. The blades of grass moving here and there was only the little people running across the garden and flowers budding was a sign of their activity as they got ready for Spring.


Back then it wasn't unusual to see a neighbors yard active with the daily wash hanging on the line and all sorts of odd garments and underwear being displayed for anyone who wanted to see it.  You could tell a neighbor's personality by the way they displayed their lines....
....haphazard display was the person in a hurry.
....adults in the middle with younger folk on the ends was a statement of 'who's in charge'.
....all undies together, shirts and pants plus socks together was one orderly home.
The way the props were slotted into the line to force up the wash into the air to strategically get the wind sailing them in the right direction was another sign. And what about the pegs...oh dear yes, the pegs...cant be unmatched, like one wooden old one next to a new one, no they had to match....such was the art of hanging clothes back then.  Monday was always wash day. Then once dried, taken down and folded came the bed sheets and we must see how high we can get the sails going on them.....
Yes you could sit back as a small child and see the predictability of this ancient art of hanging out ones freshly washed garments for the world to see. Each washer had their statement....even my mother.
She was the haphazard type.  Just get it on the line no matter what and who cares if a towel or two is separating the colors from the whites. Let it hang and try not to forget the prop to keep them off the ground especially the sheets from soiling. Oh and she was the hell with Monday, I wash on Saturday since I work all week and I must plan it before I head on out to the local pub.


So if it wasn't dad taking the last load off the line it went from oldest to youngest, so if sister wasn't around it went to me. There actually is a fine art in folding a sheet while still on the line. There is, I've seen it performed quite often by other neighbors but not in our garden. Pull it down and throw in the basket and ask the closest human you can find to help you fold it.


So how do fairies come into this picture?  Simple actually.


"Mind the flowers when you're in the garden luv"
"Stay away from the crockery garden your dad worked hard on that"
"Don't forget the Night Scented Stock bloom at night and look like weeds during the day so don't be picking them thinking they are weeds"


"But mum if fairies live at the bottom of our garden why don't they take care of all this flower stuff...?


Long pause in the answer coming back......


"Oh, they're too busy playing and dancing all day..."


"Well, who invited them here anyway? And someone needs to tell them life is not all fun and games"


"Don't worry yourself over them. Now off with ya, time to play before we settle in for the  night...."

as I start my morning walk

“Laughter is sunshine, it chases winter from the human face.” 
― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables




I was one of the fortunate souls that had parents who knew what laughter was all about and was born in a city that produced the most comedians .....Liverpool. But to get more in tune with this genre was actually Bootle that received a larger part of Hitler's wrath than the great old city of London did.


I reflect back to my beginnings with a great smile and a belly laugh.....I came just after the war and heard the stories.  Many a hero was your next door neighbor, so said my dad. He called them the unsung heroes.  Mum said they kept the pubs open after closing time with heavy coverings on the windows to hide the light inside...the light from lamps and also the laughter. Mum said it kept them all sane.


The laughter was born from fear, not knowing if tomorrow would come.  I heard those lyrics last night at a local theater here in Winter Haven Florida. The production of Les Miserables sung with local talent bellowed across the stage reaching the last row of seats and it perfumed the air with a mixture of emotions. My mind raced back to my memories of a war that touched the local folk and how they dealt with it.


Born of fear, yes that's a good description I came up with in my musings as I was reflecting back in time.


Laughter.....it is contagious.


Victor Hugo wrote about the sufferings he saw as did Charles Dickens. They took their musings and put it to ink and paper.  I thank the authors past, present and future for sharing their mental writings with us. We all do the mental writings, that chalk board or diary in our minds but we don't all set it to paper or canvas.


I am sharing my musings with you, dear reader.  This is just the beginning of a memorable journey if you so choose to stay and walk with me.  We will pause along the way maybe to pick a flower that reminds us of something we need to share or just sit on a bench and pluck a bubble containing a memory and watching it burst forth producing words of colors falling on a pallet.......