A US study has concluded that most types of cancer can be put down to bad luck rather than risk factors such as smoking.

EEEk! The word cancer is so feared that many people simply mouth 'C' rather than say the word which is linked with a life sentence. But maybe the condition shouldn't be so feared. In the UK, television commercials are running at the moment with a message that fewer people die from cancer than ever before. Well, my husband's diagnosis of multiple cancers in the prostate and abdominal area was diagnosed six months ago and he's still here beside me, albeit rake thin and in pain.


Read more at my new blog. 

For future reference:  Francene – Views on news: http://976640989349525961.weebly.com/
 

On the first day of 2015, I slept in this morning. No, I didn't celebrate the dawn of a new calendar year. The days will progress without my greeting. Maybe I'm a grumpy old woman, but random bangs woke me at the appointed hour. I guess young revelers were convincing themselves that the new year would bring better fortune. And there's nothing wrong with that. Hope gives drive to your schedule.

My late arising disrupted my routine. Oh, yes, I'm a creature of habit. I cut short some exercises, meditated, and then hurried into the kitchen and ate some fruit—not fresh. No time to peel and lovingly prepare. I swallowed the usual four prunes, canned in juice, and one quarter of a ripe pear I'd prepared earlier. After dressing I ate a bowl of porridge.




Now, here I am, left without the time to read all the news items to find a suitable story to present to you. Writing and selecting suitable pictures to elaborate the piece normally takes me one and a half hours.

Okay. I didn't do that.

But, does it matter if we are running late? Most people will have the day off work on New Years Day, and will expect to rise late. For me, every day is the same, being deemed unfit for a proper job because of disability, and, most of all, age.

Am I letting my readers down by not presenting a proper snippet of news?

This brings me to the subject of whether to continue my daily blog. I've decided to go on for as long as the inspiration drives me. No reason to stop just because I make no money doing so. Other bloggers press their readers to make money in various ways. That doesn't appeal to me.

I'd rather write more novels, (which need your attention by the way. I promise you, they're undiscovered diamonds—well, moonstones. One click on any of the covers will take you to an Amazon near you.)

And so, barring an interruption in schedule, I'll continue on this blog for now. Should make a new one which incorporates following years. That takes time. For the moment, I'll break out of my cocoon and rise like a butterfly to suck from the nectar of views on news.

Update: I've made a new Weebly blog.
Francene - Views on news.  
976640989349525961.weebly.com


Please, be sure to follow my during the following year.

In the last day of 2014, the news contains some bizarre stories. I never mention my views on this type of story because I'd rather concentrate on uplifting thoughts or problems that require our consideration. But here are a few headlines from BBC News.

• A cargo ship said to be carrying 700 clandestine migrants was taken under Italian control.
• Young people are currently being groomed in "every town" in Britain, according to a charity.
• US woman killed by two-year-old son.
  
• Eight dead in Canadian 'mass murder'.
  
• First Scots same-sex weddings held.
  
• UK Airport Ebola testing 'shambles'.
  
• China's factory activity shrinks.

But here's a story that reinstates our belief in the goodness of humanity. It's about a special man who runs free maths classes for primary age children. Mr Bright is a chemistry graduate and taught for many years before he and his wife arrived in the UK from Nigeria in 1990.

Teaching is his life—his passion. After working with his own three children, he had the satisfaction of seeing them gain GCSE maths while in primary school. The couple realized other parents might struggle in a similar way with their children's maths problems, so they set up their first club to help different families.

Just like his surname, Mr. Bright has been running the Bright Academy maths clubs for primary age children in London and Essex for 20 years. He and his wife don't charge for their assistance to children from the age of seven, believing he should plow back into the community the benefits given to him.

Of the 500 or so children who have taken the classes, about 50 gained their GCSE while still at primary school. Regardless of background, social or religious, the children are taught in an atmosphere of fun. The couple think of every child as gifted and present them with debates so each pupil can develop speaking skills. The aim is to encourage the children to aim to be the best in every field rather than focus on mathematics, to remove their distractions, and to give them a positive influence instead.

For his services to children, Mr. Bright has been recognized in the New Year's Honour's list with an MBE (Member of the most Excellent Order of the British Empire) for services to education in East London. See full BBC article. 

I wish I'd had a Mr. Bright in my life as a youngster. I did well at literature and art, but maths never interested me. I can't say it was too hard, but rather that I didn't want to learn about numbers. I couldn't see the benefit. I'm lucky enough to be able to guess at approximate figures, without knowing how I arrived at the answer—I guess the left and right sides of my brain combine.

Wouldn't it be a wonderful world if we all gave our best to the community like Mr. Bright?

The Scottish Wildlife Trust would like to see the once native Eurasian lynx reintroduced in the Scottish countryside, even though farmers have expressed fears for their economy.


Hunting and loss of habitat due to the intensification of farming practices caused the extinction of the UK lynx at about the medieval period.


But the Scottish Wildlife Trust's chief executive said during a debate on the BBC's World at One that the charity believes there is both a moral and ecological case for reintroduction of species that have been made extinct in Scotland due to habitat loss and persecution.

He maintained that reintroducing top-level predators such as the lynx would help restore the balance in Scotland's natural ecosystems, which continue to decline in the face of widespread threats, such as overgrazing and inappropriate development.

The Eurasian lynx can be found in 46 countries in Europe, northern Asia and the Middle East and is the third largest predator in Europe after the brown bear and gray wolf. The solitary cat hunts at night and avoids humans, so is rarely seen.

A 20 cm adult lynx will normally feed on deer, mountain hares and even moose. In the summer, lynx are more likely to prey on small mammals and, unfortunately, domestic sheep. See full Telegraph story.

So why do humans care about animals when they become extinct? It's a hard question, but I think those who are aware have taken on the guilt of mankind's past behavior. I'm always gladdened to discover when zoos have released animals back into their habitat.

Why do we care about animals at all? For some reason, we feel a kinship, an awe, even love when we get to know a beloved pet.

Yesterday, I watched a 2009 movie, Hachi: A Dog's Tale, that touched my heart. With the sorrowful piano music in the background, I knew the plot wouldn't end well, but I fell in love with the husky dog as it grew from a stray found at a station to settle with the man he chose. When his owner died, Hachi faithfully waited at the train station for nine years. The drama starred Richard Gere and was based on a true story about a Japanese dog, whose statue remains at the station to this day.

Toward the end, I sobbed as if my heart would break. I grieved for my lost loved-ones, and my husband who is getting weaker each day.

Loss is inevitable—we all die. Yet that knowledge doesn't relieve our sorrow. Every morning during meditation, I think of all the people with heavy hearts and hope they will find something in the coming day to help them carry on.

Humans and animals are linked by a force that can't be denied. Call it love, call it dependance, or put it down to an unknown vital principle.

Is changing the truth a bit of harmless exaggeration?

According to research by website Pencourage, one in six people who were asked about events they write about online say their memories have been compromised.

The poll found that two-thirds of web users stretch the truth. For example they claim they were out with friends when they really stayed at home, or they invent entire relationships or holidays to make others jealous.

Lying to make oneself may sound more exciting but embellishment of the facts can make it harder to remember where the truth ends and lies begin. A fifth of those aged between 18 to 24 admitting their profiles on sites such as Facebook bear no resemblance to reality.

Built on previous research of the impact of social media on memory, the poll concluded social networks such as Twitter are unequivocally 'damaging to autobiographical memory.'

For me as a woman of advancing years, I tend to shy away from revealing personal history. I'd hate to think my family would be hurt. If you feel hard done by, keep it to yourself. No good can come of sharing your angst with the world.

But, I must 'fess up. The photo I use on my social websites is out of date—by fifteen years. My reasoning is that nobody wants to see an aging woman and that photo is of the real me, albeit taken by a professional. Here's the before and after, in case you want a laugh. If anything, the comparison will keep my memory real.

22/09/2005 ©


I AM THE SAME




I am the same now as at ten years

So full of laughter, then racked with tears

I learned to keep myself steady then

The only one, on whom I'd depend.




I am the same now as at twenty

Smooth youthful beauty, there was plenty

Joyful, bountiful years of sunshine

Golden, wonderful life in my prime.




I am the same now as at thirty

Learning then to become less flirty

To care for others along with me

And cuddle the children on my knee.




I am the same now as at forty

Teenage children becoming naughty

But offering love no matter what

And wondering if that's all I got.




I am the same now as at fifty

Adjusting to become less thrifty

The world expanding as I travelled

Observing, as loose ends unravelled.




I am the same now as at sixty

Then things started to become tricky

Gone the elasticity of youth

Replaced by maturity of truth.

The poem expresses my claim. How about you? Do you lie a tiny bit about what you're doing in your life?

You won't read anything about dreams in the news, but they say everybody has them even if they don't remember.


We might like to think that we're normal people, living life on the surface, but hidden depths point to the unknown.


Take dreams. Dreams are successions of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations which occur involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep.

But what do they mean? Why do we have them? Science points to the brain needing to remain cognizant during sleep. But I wonder if the spiritual individuals among us might be right in that dreams send messages to the mind which we need to learn from.

Last night, I dreamed my son returned. He died 25 years ago in a car accident. I returned to Australia from England to see his body. Yet in my dream he looked exactly the way he had last time I met him at the age of 28 years. He had visited me at my mother's house—brought her a rose, and showered me with love. Mother took this photo on her verandah in the Australian warmth.

In my dream, I hugged him. Yet, I didn't receive that normal warm glow during the embrace. Only my mind rejoiced.

Thinking back, on yesterday's daily stroll uphill, I invited him to walk with me. Well, not him, but my recollection of him in my imagination. I wanted company in my lonely routine of pushing a rollator up and down the busy road, reasoning that so many families get together during Christmas. I won't say my experiment worked. But, it must have played on my mind enough to spark the dream. I don't usually remember any night scenes, which must be the reason this dream remained with me.

But, is there something I could learn from the dream? I can think of two lessons. Kym's not dead, but living in what we refer to as heaven, or Kym's alive in my memory. I prefer the former.

A woman in Ireland, admitted to hospital for nausea and headaches, fell inside a bathroom and suffered a head wound last November. After fluid built up in her brain, doctors declared her clinically dead four days later.

Her two children know their mother is sick and believe she is being looked after by the nurses until the angels appear.

After her body began deteriorating at such an alarming rate that it was unrecognizable, her family asked for the equipment to be switched off to preserve her dignity. But doctors refused, fearing they might be prosecuted under Ireland's strict Catholic-influenced abortion laws, which give the 18-week-old fetus the same constitutional rights as the mother.

In a landmark ruling, Dublin's High Court gave doctors permission to switch off the life support machine keeping the young mother alive because she is pregnant.

Under the Irish constitution, the fetus is regarded as a citizen.

In their ruling, three High Court judges agreed the unborn baby had little chance of survival. Her condition is failing to such a degree that it will not be possible for the pregnancy to progress much further or to a point where any form of live birth will be possible. Medical evidence showed the unborn child had no realistic prospect of emerging alive.

Doctors with the best interests of both the mother and unborn child do not believe there is any medical or ethically based reason for continuing with the process.

An intensive care specialist told the court she inspected the woman's body on Monday and found it unrecognizable compared to a photo of her by her bedside. Having practiced medicine for decades, she had never witnessed a clinically-dead person being kept on life support for so long. She said the woman's blood was becoming increasingly toxic.

The case has reignited debate over Ireland's constitutional ban on abortion which requires doctors to take all possible measures to protect the life of a fetus.

See full story at The Telegraph. 

This highly emotive subject is bound to touch us in some way. On the one hand, when the woman was pronounced dead, she should have been allowed to rest, pregnant or not. But what of the unborn life?

This morning 'the frost is all around, deep and crisp and even.' Do those lyrics ring a bell?

A national holiday in Britain, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and other Commonwealth countries, Boxing Day, traditionally celebrated on 26 December, is also known as St. Stephen's Day, a religious holiday mainly in Ireland.

The traditional celebration of Boxing Day included giving money and other gifts to charitable institutions, needy individuals, and people in service jobs. Today, Morris men with their ribbons and bells still dance in villages across the country to mark the occasion.

This got me wondering why the day is so-named. Here are some of the suggestions:

1) Some say the tradition stems from Roman times when money to pay for athletic games was collected in boxes. Amongst the ruins of Pompeii, boxes have been found made out of earthenware with slits in the top full of coins. Later the Romans brought the idea of collecting boxes to Britain, and monks and clergy soon used similar boxes to collect money for the poor at Christmas.

2) A ‘Christmas Box’ in Britain is a name for a Christmas present.

Originating in England in the middle of the nineteenth century under Queen Victoria, Boxing Day was rest day for servants and when they received a ‘Christmas Box’ from the master. The servants could also go home to give ‘Christmas Boxes’ to their families if they were close enough to reach by horse transport.

3) A box placed in Churches on Christmas day to collect money for the poor would be opened the next day.

4) Great sailing ships when leaving port would have a sealed box containing money on board for good luck. If the voyage was successful the box was given to a priest, opened at Christmas and the contents distributed to the needy.

In Ireland, Boxing Day is known as 'St Stephen's Day'. Hence, the carol beginning with the words: 'Good King Wenceslas Looked Out On The Feast Of Stephen'. Lyrics here. 

The message contained in the song tells about the virtue of giving to the poor. I love the line: 'In his master's steps he trod, where the snow lay dented.' 

Another tradition in Ireland is the famous "Wren Boys". Tradition says that to kill a wren is unlucky unless it's on Boxing Day. St Stephen was killed, reportedly stoned to death, for believing in Jesus. In Ireland many years ago the Wren Boys would go out with blackened faces from burnt cork and would stone wrens to death. They would then tie them to a pole decorated with holly and ribbons and carry their catch around the town knocking at doors and asking for money, food or a gift. In return for a donation the recipient received a feather from the Wren as a thank you.

Um—a bit gruesome and hardly good news for all the poor innocent wrens in the area. Anyway, who would want a feather?

Some of the old traditions have no use in modern times, but it's interesting to find out the origins.

In China, December 25 is not a public holiday. However, it is recognized in China's special administrative regions of Hong Kong and Macau, both former colonies of Western powers with Christian cultural heritage.

In the mainland, a small percentage of Chinese citizens consider themselves Christians unofficially, and they observe Christmas.

Commercial Christmas decorations, signs, and other symbolic items have become increasingly prevalent before this time in large urban centers of mainland China. Their cultural interest in this Western phenomenon helps retail marketing campaigns as well. Many Chinese customs, including sending cards, exchanging gifts, and hanging stockings are very similar to Western celebrations.

Here in Elstree, Hertfordshire, UK, we live next door to a converted pub, now a synagogue. For over a week, one globe on the symbolic candelabra outside the building has been lit up. Yesterday, each one of them was glowing. Apparently, secularized Christmas is celebrated throughout Israel, aside from Hanukkah, which usually occurs in December. Hanukkah or Chanukah is the Jewish Festival of Lights. It dates back to two centuries before the beginning of Christianity. In the western calendar, Hanukkah (meaning rededication) is celebrated in November or December.



Give a thought to all the other countries in the complex world who adhere to their own traditions, either forcefully (like China) or of their own persuasion.

How do you celebrate Christmas?

Severe weather is slamming southern USA and four people have been killed just before Christmas. I can only imagine what their families are going through—lights turned off on the Christmas tree and the festivities canceled.

In Glasgow, UK, a bin lorry crashed into unsuspecting shoppers yesterday, killing and injuring until it came to a halt.

For many people, Christmas time brings trauma. All the family of loved ones killed in accidents, or dying in some other way during this time must harbor memories that will not leave them.

So many people are lonely during the Christmas period. The UK Government is televising messages about looking out for neighbors who need care and attention at this time. But it's not just the elderly who are lonely. For some people, the holiday brings up painful memories of tragic events and departed lost ones. They appear year after year each time the merry-go-round reaches this point of the year.

I'm one of the people with sad memories. A movie I watched yesterday of a family reunited touched me so deeply that I cried for my lost family. I sobbed, longing for the past, regretting my loss, and asking myself if I had loved them enough. I know in my own mind that I, as a young mother, could not have done more. My whole being was centered on the welfare of my children and I lavished love on them, brought out the strengths in each of their personalities, and taught them well. Yet, I feel bereft because two died as adults and the other lives far away and barely contacts me. My grandchildren are spread around the world and I've had little contact with them over their lives.

My husband's adult grandson killed himself two days ago. He'd never met the American boy because of his estranged family, yet my husband feels the loss deeply, as must all his family.

I send my deepest sympathy to all the people who shun Christmas. The personalities of my loved-ones live on in my novels. For those of my fellow mourners who don't write, try to remember the good times instead of your loss.

Everyone else should appreciate the family with whom they share the celebration, ignore the squabbles, and bask in the closeness.