Awakening Love reviewed again

Awakening Love by Gladys Hobson.

Ulverston-based novelist Gladys Hobson is 75 years old and counts training for church ministry as part of her mature education, so some people may be surprised to discover a rather steamy side to her writing.
Not that any of it is tasteless or gratuitous.
Indeed, sex scenes are going to be inevitable in a book that tells the story of a young woman coming of age and falling in love.
In Awakening Love, the heroine has to choose between different suitors at the same time as coping with her emerging sexuality.
Her ambition is to be a top dress designer, but she becomes distracted by war hero Arthur and his younger brother Charles.
Adding a rather more sinister twist is the dominating figure of her boss, Robert.
Mrs Hobson has come relatively late to the literary world, but appears to have taken to it like the proverbial duck to water, both as a writer and publisher (she runs Magpies Nest).

Review by Allan Tunningly.
Westmorland Gazette, (Leisure supplement) Friday April 25th 2008

Of Love and Marriage

We have been married for 55 years. Even so, we still have much to learn about life-giving partnerships. I can tell you, we had a rocky start but there was never a question of divorce or unfaithfulness. We married for better or for worse. The years have rolled by and our marriage, still not without its ups and downs, grows better and better. And we grow more and more in love.

I came across what amounts to an excellent dissertation on Love and Marriage in a most unlikely source:
http://phoolsparadise.blogspot.com
But there is nothing foolish about what is written in the article on love and marriage. I wish we had had it to read before we were married. Even so, it is still relevant and helpful to us today. There are so many nuggets of wisdom that concerns all of us, whether married or not. For this piece of prose is not written by a mere marriage guidance counsellor (he may indeed be that) but, judging by the quality and content of the essay, by a philosopher-psychologist and sincere human being who knows what he is talking about.

For instance, I have heard many people talk about humility: what it is and what it is not. Payton L Inkletter writes of it so beautifully that I quote a few of his words below. But do visit the website and read the rest of his wisdom. (The print is tiny but I copied and pasted them onto a document so I could read it without eye strain)

Humility
Humility’s only tool is validation. Humility starts with validation, proceeds with validation, and ends with validation. This explains the organic connection between humility and love.

The not so sharp have said that humility is being a doormat, the clever say that humility is considering others as more important than oneself, while the enlightened say that humility is considering others as important as oneself.

Joy beyond words

I stand under the cherry tree gazing upwards at heavy pink blossoms illuminated by sunlight. I am in awe of the beauty in which my senses are drenched. A silent thanksgiving escapes my heart and mind, and I am blinded by tears of joy as I am lifted into another dimension. I and the blossoms are one — part of creation's grand design — one with the Creator. This is heaven and too overwhelming to linger for long. Refreshed and uplifted, I return to earth to continue my daily tasks knowing I am in God and God is in me. This surely is the reality of eternity.

The harmony of spring

Daffodils are blooming in the garden. Drifts of them throw a golden light before a dark stone wall. Kind thoughts and words lighten up the dark places of my soul. Tall silver birch spread their budding branches upwards as if in prayer. I know that others are praying for me and my happiness. Brown soil is a backcloth for jewel coloured primulas and pansies, azalias and all the many flowers that bloom in the spring. They are my jewels that enrich my being. The whispering trees talk to me and the brook sings its sweet melody. All nature tells me that spring is here and life will ever move on in regenerating cycles. New life is born through dying — it has ever been so.

Digging oneself into a hole

We once had a dog called jess. I loved Jess dearly and, in her doggy way, she loved me.

You can imagine the distress she caused when she went missing. We looked for her everywhere. But something told me that she was not far away. While the rest of the family were searching around the area, I took yet another look around the perimeter of the garden, paying particular attention to where my husband keeps what I call rubbish, but which he calls valuable stocks of building materials — wood, bricks, blocks and so on. I seemed to recall Jess taking interest in mouse holes that exist close to the stone wall that divides the garden from a field. I called her name but did not expect a response because she rarely barked. But I thought I heard a faint whimper. Or was it wishful thinking? I went closer to the pile of wood and saw a narrow slit in the ground. Not big enough for a dog to get through but I tried to peer in just the same. I thought I saw movement. I was right. Jess was there and she started scratching to get out. I quickly realised she had been digging herself into the hole! It was now deep and she could not get a grip to get out. She had been digging deeper and piling the earth up from where she had dug herself in. I got down and put my arm inside but could not grasp her. She was getting quite distressed and so was I. I was fearful everything would collapse on top of her and she would be completely buried. I ran to get help. The men soon got her out. Oh why didn't she bark to let us know where she was?

Thinking of that incident, made me think of how we humans can be very good at digging ourselves into holes we can't get out of. At least this human — me! I have been doing a lot of it lately. Unfortunately, like Jess, we often keep quiet and go on digging deeper. It can be most distressing, and yet pride, shame, or whatever, prevents us from yelling "HELP, I'm stuck. Please help me out. I'm digging myself into a hole. Of course, better not to start digging in the first place!

The singing poet

Bob Taylor, (ex Yorkshire miner) author of that wonderful little book, The Primrose Path and other poems, has revealed just how talented he is by creating a website displaying his singing ability. Check it out at http://www.myspace.com/bobtaylorsingselvis

I find some of his poems reach right into the soul, as well as others providing a good laugh. I know a young lady who was so outraged by his chauvinism that she wanted to thump him! She failed to see that he was laughing at himself! Nice love poems too. All dug up from his own experiences. Altogether, that is what I call good writing!

The Spoilers

A lovely morning: bright sun, blue sky with fluffy white and dark grey clouds, chill wind but invigorating. We took a footpath up hills and through woodlands and fields, with daffodils under trees, birds singing on branches, lambs with their ewes. We saw mountain ranges covered with bright snow, fells in dark shadow, sea glistening in sunlight rays. Beauty all around us… good to be alive and live in such a paradise.
We take the downward path — what's this? Seats that were perfect last time we were there, now with their wooden panels smashed; only the iron supports remaining. The wood had gone… where? Beer cans thrown over the wall. A wreath placed in memory of a loved one discarded with the rubbish. Further on, another memorial seat given the same treatment.
Tears came to my eyes…
To grow up blind to nature, indifferent to other's feelings, a destroyer not a builder, is so sad, so very sad.