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Christmas Escape Room...

Martian Tom

Happy Christmas, everyone!  I hope your day goes as well as can be expected.

Stop by when you nip off for a break.  Shoot the breeze (not the relatives!)

How's it going?  I know it's a tough time for some of us.  Share if you feel like it.

I've just had a breakfast of grilled veggie sausages and tomatoes, with fried mushrooms and a fried slice.  Fresh coffee with cream.  Feeling a little sick now.

My only gifts were from my niece.  Seems she knows the way to my heart!  I opened the whisky last night and had some, so no... I haven't been at it already at this time of the morning!

Won't be long, though...

Take good care everyone. xxx

Parents Reply Children
  • in reply to .

    I always try to.  You hold onto them, too.

  • in reply to Martian Tom

    Hold onto those last two lines in particular Mr T. When you no longer think there is an open door, seek something or someone to light the way

  • in reply to Martian Tom

    And here's one of mine, Ellie... written 20 years ago, when I was emerging from a very dark period of my life...

    On the Downs

    Life was made for such days.

    Sun enough to soften the grass.

    A breeze so light it brushes

    like a kiss from someone

    barely known, though

    coming familiar - brushes

     

    like the wing-tips

    of the gulls, skimming the

    skin of water, raising no

    ripple in their wake. 

     

    Ships pass at a blue distance.

    The sound only of dogs -

    heard as at night, across

    valleys, in old dreams.

     

    I take the steps to the

    sea wall, kicking pebbles

    off the edge as I head along,

    thinking of little except

    a line of verse, the sense of

    value intrinsic to this, the

    comfort of familiar things.

     

    I glimpse her in passing -

    a moment in the shine of an eye,

    a flick of hair, a thing not said.

    I look back.

     

    There are possibilities.

    Always, there are possibilities.

  • in reply to .

    Always a pleasure to share a touch of Frost...

    Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

    Whose woods these are I think I know.   
    His house is in the village though;   
    He will not see me stopping here   
    To watch his woods fill up with snow.   
    My little horse must think it queer   
    To stop without a farmhouse near   
    Between the woods and frozen lake   
    The darkest evening of the year.  
     
    He gives his harness bells a shake   
    To ask if there is some mistake.   
    The only other sound’s the sweep   
    Of easy wind and downy flake. 
      
    The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
    But I have promises to keep,   
    And miles to go before I sleep,   
    And miles to go before I sleep.
  • in reply to Martian Tom

    Thank you for sharing Robert Frost. I do like his work.

    its been a challenging year and a slow process of shifting things closer to where they need to be.

    it turns out that all my angels are aspies x

  • in reply to .

    Reminds me of another in a similar vein...

    The Road Not Taken

    Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
    And sorry I could not travel both
    And be one traveler, long I stood
    And looked down one as far as I could
    To where it bent in the undergrowth;
    Then took the other, as just as fair,
    And having perhaps the better claim,
    Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
    Though as for that the passing there
    Had worn them really about the same,
    And both that morning equally lay
    In leaves no step had trodden black.
    Oh, I kept the first for another day!
    Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
    I doubted if I should ever come back.
    I shall be telling this with a sigh
    Somewhere ages and ages hence:
    Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
    I took the one less traveled by,
    And that has made all the difference.
  • in reply to Martian Tom

    Plans changed...

    WHAT IF THIS ROAD

    Sheenagh Pugh

    What if this road, that has no held surprises
    these many years, decided not to go
    home after all; what if it could turn
    left or right with no more ado
    than a kite-tail? What if its tarry skin
    were like a long, supple bolt of cloth,
    that is shaken and rolled out, and takes
    a new shape from the contours beneath?
    And if it chose to lay itself down
    in a new way; around a blind corner,
    across hills you must climb without knowing
    what’s on the other side; who would not hanker
    to be going, at all risks? Who wants to know
    a story’s end, or where a road will go?

  • in reply to .

    That's me.  You, too?  Plans changed?

    How do you know if an elephant's been in the fridge?

    Huge footprints in the butter. Upside down

  • in reply to Martian Tom

    It’s a shame they’re deciduous (both cherry trees and elephants)... sounds an ideal place to spend the day!

    home alone this Christmas... taking it easy

  • in reply to .

    Christmas Cracker joke, I kid you not...

    'How do elephants hide in cherry trees?

    They paint their toenails red.'

  • in reply to .

    Not at all.  You were first.  I should have double-checked. Slight smile