Memor Esto:
Be mindful

This is the motto of the Clan MacDonald. 
So how can this be achieved in today's fast and furious world?
The first step for me is to focus on today, and refrain from worrying about what might happen.
When it seems impossible to achieve, I focus on my breathing until any anxiety is reduced.
Refrain from being judgemental and at all times remember to be kind.
If faced with a difficult situation, and kindness is not within my grasp, I try to refrain from speaking. Once spoken, it can't be taken back.

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My Story

Hutchison-MacDonald of Clan Ranald

Motto: My hope is constant in thee

War Cry: Dh'aindeoin có theireadh e (Gainsay, who dares)

Growing up in the centre of Glasgow during the 1960s, I witnessed many changes, during the slum clearances. I used to play in the abandoned tenements, and the old stable that was previously the domain of the local hard tickets of Grove Street, the Humphries. I moved to a peripheral housing estate, and I discovered what hard tickets were really like. Although living in slum tenements wasn't ideal, the people had a warmth that was sorely missing from life in our new habitat. I have great memories from the sixties, and I never really adjusted to the harshness and reality of living away from friends and family. Life can be cruel to children when everything they know and love is taken from them. I love to visit my childhood neighbourhood, particularly the swimming pool I would visit with my dad

I've witnessed many injustices in my life-gang fights, slashings, shops getting robbed, bullying and general destruction of public and private property. I didn't always speak up, when I was younger, apart from when I was bullied at school-that just wasn't happening. Having integrity has a cost. Sometimes being sent to Coventry is the price of maintaining one's integrity. And people do get over it (eventually). Staying silent gives bullies and dictators strength-they feed on fear. I am grateful the worst that happened to me was to be ignored. Men and women all over the world have paid with their lives because they stood up to dictators or marched to protest, and to speak up for the powerless. 

  I have met people who faced real adversity in their life; an elderly man who fled to Scotland when the soviets took over Czechoslovakia in 1968. He described this to me, as my friends and I carried his shopping for him. He fled at the age of 75, believing that the change was not a good one. I met a Polish man (in 1978) who was in a nazi concentration camp during the war. In the same workplace was a Lithuanian man, who was one of the guards that beat up the prisoners. It caused him never ending distress when he saw this man, yet the Lithuanian walked about without a care in the world.  And the sad thing is, that when the ship breakers yard where he worked  (and lived) for so long closed down, he committed suicide because he thought he would be deported back to Poland. Even after years of freedom, in his mind he was still a prisoner at the mercy of the authorities. When I heard of his death, I paused for a moment, feeling sad that this happened to him for no other reason except that he was a Polish Jew. It stressed to me the importance of fighting for those who who are powerless.  

 
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Hockey is Fun
Don't take my word for it, try it for yourself

 

Oh what a night with Sarah Bella

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The Glasgow Clan

One Big Happy Family

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Game Night

As the clock strikes six, we’d better be quick
It’s time to go-jerseys on, fast food bought
Fifty fifty! Shirt off the back, who is it tonight?
I Wonder, as they dim the lights
The players are announced, as the crowd bounce
On to their feet, clapping, shouting, as the players hit the ice
The game begins, supporters sing their favourite songs
As the drums role, Mon the Clan we shout, booing the the visiting louts
From Fife and beyond the city line
But come the final buzzer, the players shake hands, and man of the match announced
We all walk out together, friends and foes. 
No fuss, no fights as we all head back home

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Me and Graham

We look happy, don't we? Yes I hear you say.

Our first date was was in Cardiff when the Clan came down  to play

Thirty two years since we last saw each other,

He looked so worried, he needn't have bothered

When we met at the airport, he was sitting alone

I was with Nicola, she was on her phone

It was strange to meet up after all that time.

He said Hello to Nicola, I thought that's just fine.

I said 'Hi Graham, do you feel like dancing?'

His witty reply was, 'Are you asking?'

The Clan got a beating, but they were still quite good.

We left the arena to get some food 

We left in the morning, from Bristol by plane

When the plane got to Glasgow, we went on our way.

Once home I texted 'that's us home pal'

He texted back 'you are quite a gal.'

And now he is moving to Scotland next year

To start a new job and to be with me.

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Woman Writing

Creative Writing

Making Sense of Nonsense

Everyone has at least one story in them-their own! Hurting? Happy? Curious? Write it down. Nothing is more rewarding than looking back at stories and poems written when things weren't so good, or from a special occasion. These snippets from the past can evoke happy memories, or show  how far you've come. Go on, give it a bash, and don't worry what others may think. You'll be surprised by what you discover, hidden deep within you. Memories will come flooding back; you'll cry tears of joy and sorrow, but you'll be stronger.
And remember to be kind to others. You don't know what they're going through.

 

Saying it how it is-I am a people watcher. Although honesty is essential, the truth should never hurt. If you can be kind, do it. A smile, helping the elderly, affirming those you love and those you manage. Don't do this to be popular, but because it's the right thing to do. Hurting people will always remember an act of kindness. As the saying goes,"treat people well on the way up, as you may meet them on the way down. If you see injustice, don't ignore it."

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

Edmund Burke

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Cathartic Prose-Exploring my past memories, in search of healing and self discovery. The journey of life is one big adventure, and should be grasped with both hands. Above is a photo of my eldest daughter with one of her favourite artists-Elvis Costello- Her father is a big fan of Elvis, and she arranged for her dad to meet him. How lovely was that? 
I have a journal with poems and short stories that I had written many years ago. Recently, I revisited this journal to find entries made by two of my daughters. One, a poem, the other a love letter to me. It's strange to think that my private thoughts have been read by them, but the replies touched me greatly. Maybe one day my youngest daughter will leave me something.

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Short Stories and poems-Mostly autobiographical, general observations, with a splash of fantasy, just to make me sound interesting. :)
It's amazing what happens when I start writing. Words seem to dance on the page, and ryhmes come from nowhere. Looking back, what seemed so catastrophic is now comical, and deep hurts now seem trivial. For years I have been worried about other people seeing my stories and poems, but I now realise that I might help others to recover from past hurts, and to rejoice in the fact that they survived and are now stronger. Someone once told me to visit the past but don't stay there. Wise counsel indeed.

Notebook and Pen
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 Work and Me

Hello, I’m pleased to meet you

What’s that you say, what do I do?

Oh how to answer such a question

Do you mean my occupation?

Well, to be specific and not generic

What I do is nothing cleric

Occasionally I will wipe bums

And give advise on how to treat the runs

I know the names of lots of tablets

Including ones that form a habit

It’s a craft, an art, a profession

And every day I learn a lesson

From clients who know that their condition

Will never go into remission

Forty two years I’ve been a nurse

Helping and caring for those who hurt

It’s been a privilege

 

Man's Best Friend?

Jaunting merrily through the woods, first thing in the morning throwing balls for the ever faithful and loyal hound, one meets other dog owners en route, stopping to discuss the merits of our various pets, as the dogs wait impatiently for the next throw of the ball.
“He’s so clever” or “She’s a hundred percent thorough bred, I have the papers to prove it.” 
I am always amazed by how much people love their dogs. Indeed, some of my colleagues have been given compassionate leave when their dog dies. I like dogs myself, in fact I sometimes borrow a friend's dog to go for a long walk, on a sunny day. Other dog owners will stop and pass the time of day with me, just because I have a dog. Dog owners are keen to know the breed of other dogs. I often get a sympathetic look when I am walking my Heinz variety pooch, although I don’t quite understand why. He is so handsome, with his long hair and back legs that bowl slightly-the runt of the litter! One of the things that make my adopted friend so unique, is that he doesn’t want me to throw the ball, but to try and get it out of his mouth. And he is so content, wrapping himself around my neck as he lies on the back of the sofa. Oh Hogey (his name), you are a darling. Well for a fortnight or so, until he is returned to his owner, to whom he returns without a backward glance.
A person’s relationship with their dog can be very fickle indeed. It’s great on a sunny day, when the puddles have dried and the risk of wet dog hair is highly unlikely. When the skies are grey, and the rain is teaming down, the prospect of a long walk, wearing wellies and body warmer is a thought indeed. A dog however doesn’t acquiesce to his owner’s desire to stay    indoors at the fire, drinking tea. Indeed, come rain or shine, a dog needs exercise and does not take no for an answer. But all that love makes it worthwhile, or so it’s said.
I suppose a small lap dog, maybe a Chihuahua or a Yorkie would be easier on a rainy day. They hate the rain, and are happy with a wee walk around the block. No time to talk, as dog owners grudgingly do the right thing with their greyhounds and such like, giving them the exercise they so love. Another plus on owning a small dog; they don’t take up much room on your bed, or so I’m told by the various dog lovers that I know. Fair enough, but most of them have at least four dogs AND a cat. How can that be better? I have decided to stick with my indifferent tortie cat, who refuses to sit on your knee and does’t take up too much of the bed.

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Why Nancy, and why a page?
Welcome to Nancy's page
Nancy was my paternal grandmother's name, and I have taken her name as my 'nom de plume', should I ever be fortunate enough to get published. I decided to create this page, hoping it will encourage me in my creative writing course

Practice makes Perfection

Man with Book
Piles of Books
Woman Typing

I enjoy writing poems  and short stories, with a little humour, and a moral at the end

Brings some cheer to others, sometimes at my expense

If you would like a personalised poem or short story written to commemorate a special occasion, I am more than happy to do this for you. Feel free to get in touch.

Reach for the stars; if you only get to the moon, enjoy the journey and make the most of your life. It's not a dress rehearsal

Be kind to others; you may be entertaining angels and not know it

If anyone thinks a story is about them, they're probably not far wrong. My one promise is that I'll change the names and places. Your secrets are safe with me. :) 

Integrity is the practice of being honest and showing a consistent and uncompromising adherence to strong moral and ethical principles and values

Integrity doesn't mean not having fun and living life to the full. It means that you respect others and cause them no harm

Those who live by the sword shall die by the sword.
In simple terms, do to others as you would that they do unto you.
In other words, what you give out will come back to you in double measure

 
Woman Typing

“Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.”

Virginia Woolf

 

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