Creak, groan, and the door eases open.................

Hello there, world. 

I could come up with a million reasons why I have been away from this little corner, but that is for another post. Or 500. We will see. Right now it is a sunny, cold winter morning in Middle England, and the hand therapy is over for the day and the car is about to go for its annual health check - the MOT, and so I have to stay in and therefore I have to actually reopen this blog. If I want to keep it alive.

And guess what?

I do.

Oh, about the car? It is old. Multiple prayers would be very welcome right now.

So, a month into the new year and life has settled down after the Christmas break. We have a rodent in residence somewhere in this house, and it needs to depart. So far, it has managed to trick the Kill and Seal traps, and simply eat the peanut butter bait. This is a disaster of the highest order. I do not do rodents, if you remember my past rants about small furry creatures with long tails. Especially not when they could be under my chair.

I am thinking of inviting friends to bring their cats to visit. Or mouser kind of dogs. Anything.

{{Shudder}}

My wrist is slowly returning to normal. I am just so very thankful that the large lump they removed was not nasty, but a GTTS (giant tumour of the tendon sheath). A giant cell tumour. Sounds revolting. But the word "benign" is one of the most beautiful in the English language. I have great praise for the speed with which I was whisked through the diagnostic process by the NHS. One doesn't necessarily think of speed in relation to the NHS, but when there is concern, oh yes. Speed. Speed is also terrifying for the same reason as above. Because it is unexpected, it is a trigger for worry. Fear. 

But that time is over, and remember, benign is a beautiful word.

The resultant large lump in my wrist - the scar tissue will shrink, I hope, is exactly where my wrist rests on the desk. Reason #387653 why posts have been sporadic  totally absent.

I have discovered it is 4 days early for the MOT of the car. This is a problem. Sigh. I thought I was being so completely ahead of myself. Oh well. The man is going to see what can be sorted. I have messed up his whole working week.

So where was I.....

It was wonderful to have all my children home between Christmas and New Year. Missy is really into crafts of all kinds, so her Auntie Diana, with her wonderful collection of tapes, spent a great deal of time on the floor creating in the new craft corner under the Christmas tree. Missy adores tape. Sticky tape, washi tape, the brighter the better.

She is loving school, and is growing up so fast. Soon the 5th birthday will roll around - how can she already be 5? 

During my long silence here, I have been thinking. In fact, there is nothing like a wait for medical news to focus the brain. Not on worry. Ironically, there was no worry, just sitting. Being. Thinking. One of the things I have taken out, examined in my mind, rolled over, and found totally lacking, is the old saying - "Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can never hurt you." 

Rubbish.

Absolute junk.

Unmitigated *!$%!*

Words can tear into your heart. They can become festering wounds. They can leave scars no-one can eradicate. They can destroy. And the worst thing is that they have echoes, which resound through the hours. The days. The years. Decades. Life.

One of the most destructive of things on earth. The words people say. To you. About you. Around you. 

I have a great deal to say about all that thinking time, you see. The power of the word is a good starting point. They can simply pour out of mouths without filter, and the hurt they can cause is untold. 

The advent and rise of social media lends voice to words which should never be uttered. You see, it is so simple to hide behind a sort of anonymity and feel free to say anything, without thought, without any reading or research, just to type in the words and click send. 

Twitter is the worst place for that. Then there are the news stories, which seem to bring out every revolting specimen of humanity in the comment sections. The blog posts which awake the trolls. And the Facebook pages where personal things are shared which should never be put into words on any sort of screen, apart from the old kind. You know. The screen which is put around a bed to give privacy. Think old style 50s hospitals. Bring back the screen, I say. In fact, just think seriously about the alternative meanings for "screen". 

a) Something on a monitor which displays stuff..

b) Something to provide privacy.

c) a filter.

I saw a really good thing on Facebook yesterday - It said something along the lines of "Do not assume that my status updates reflect my real life. They are for the purpose of providing amusement only." And I thought - yes. I see that. In so many places. 

Tell a child, a teen, a young person that words don't hurt, and they could tell you stories which would appal you. Just look at the suicide rates for young people. But that sort of hurt is not exclusive to the young. As we get older, our skin does toughen a little, but nowhere near enough to protect any of us from little barbs. There is always a way through for those sharp little tools of the devil. 

Words have the power to destroy things. Families. Friendships. Lives. People with power use words to incite, to denigrate, to give hope. And to destroy hope. 

There is so much I want to talk about. I will be playing with the words, my friends. I am sorry for the absence. It has been a while and everything is creaking, but thank you for your emails and messages. I have missed your words. I have missed all of you too.