on stopping

Things have been busy round here. The last few weeks have been action packed as our charity coordinated public meetings and gathered a written response to the draft NI Rare Disease Implementation Plan. I was talking and writing and listening and learning. I imagined a blog post about a learning curve that was more of a right angle, but I hadn’t the brain power to write it. I wrote a paper on empowerment of people affected by rare disease. I gave a talk on ‘Patient leadership; tapping into a wider resource’. I wondered about a tweet wall for a conference. (Apparently an AV company will wave a magic wand and make us very impressive.) I ran a tweet chat and then got involved in a discussion about a website and other resources to support patient ‘involvement’ in NI.

And then I stopped. I ran away from the laptop. I told my fellow volunteers that I wasn’t going to be able to help over the weekend. I went away. I brought no documents with me and my family refused to let me have one of the household tablet gadgets.

I went off to Scotland, to play with the Brother, Arty Lady, Little Miss Awfully Grown Up and Space Warrior. I got a Lightsaber and I wasn’t afraid to use it. There were tickling games and lying down pretending to sleep games. There were car games with lovely little people and a card game for horrible people. I got to walk on the beach and spend time at a spa spot in beautiful Edinburgh. I slept in the afternoons. I got to eat yummy new recipes as part of Arty Lady’s healthy project.


Eat, sleep, play. Repeat.

Simply stopping. It’s a great thing. Just don’t try cycling on the beach…


the sea and the sky

We’re all at it. Across the northern hemisphere, bloggy buddies are stocking up on seaside time. Schools are reopening; we’re thinking about buying sturdy shoes. Lights are going on earlier, teenagers are getting exam results and packing for the move away from home. Autumn is becoming visible, but we’re holding on tight to the dreams of summer.

Tinman and Emma are going swimming, each with clothing dilemmas. Debra is looking at surf and sunsets, Lynda found herself again, e.e. cummings style. The regular reader knows I need no excuse to burble on about the restorative power of beaches, so, in a radical move, I’ll hush.

Oh, how I love a beach.