Love is Pain. Through the hours of pregnancy searchng my breast for an escape. An escape that cannot exist. Because Love is Pain. And I have known love. I have known love...I have loved and been loved, and it brought great pleasure. It brought wonderful women into my life and beautiful daughters, and grandchildren. It brought wondeful memories...and that's why it was painful, so painful that it forced me to look at myself. And that was painful. But, now it's painful in different ways. Now the pain is loss. I am at an age where the people of my past are leaving, the people I loved, but didn't live with as a partner. The mother of my first daughter, died last year. I loved her. I cried like I've never cried before. I was able to touch her lips with my finger one more time at the funeral parlor. I touched her coffin before it disappeared, and I think of her today. I met the love of my life in 1964, through air mail, and met her physically in 1968. It was painful because I didn't understand her, or her past, But, even when I flew out of America, I knew I loved her, and it hurt all the way home. I didn't understand then, that she had a lifelong effect on my life. Through the miracle of the internet, we reconnected again in 2004 and have been talking on Face book and other platforms virtually every week. And I love her, and it hurts that I can't be with her. Especially at a time when she has suffered the losses of a husband and a son. But that's not the only pain. We found that we had different views on the American political scene, and that has led to arguments and shouting at each other over the bloody internet, and occasions where we have refused to connect for months...but I love her. The conclusion? I guess to know love you have to know pain. To know you can love, you have to know that you will be hurt along the way. I am grateful for the pain, because it means that I can still love.

https://trimtrain.com/

I have the hardest speaker challenge in the country. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Hi, I’m Ernie Boxall, and I’m a storyteller…or should that be storyseller. Let me explain… Every school holiday, I become Erine the Wizard of Storytelling at Tudor World in Stratford-upon-Avon, and to be a storyteller in Shakespeare's hometown, you have to be pretty good. The house, built in 1480 and renovated in 1594 after one of the most destructive fires in the town, is a living museum where families can steep themselves into the fabric of Tudor life. The town life, the English Civil War, and the Great Plagues of Stratford, along with smells, videos, and educational notice boards around the museum. In one particular room, Erine awaits as families climb the stairs into the infamous Ship Room, where, for ten minutes or more, they will learn about ‘Otto’, the now famous ‘Headless Knight of Stratford Upon Avon. NOTE: Don’t waste time scouring the history books for him. These slots are relatively easy as a storyteller, a captive audience who, while they have paid to tour the museum, I come for free, and it's all for personal satisfacrion. The challenge is the evening where, at 6 pm and 8 pm, almost every Saturday, you will be met by Wilfred the Warden of Tudor World, one of England’s most haunted Houses. This, ladies and gentlemen, is when I take the victi…visitors around the house, barely lit by a ‘Tudor LED lantern’ and educate and entertain them with the stories of everyone who has died there (and there have been an awful lot of people who have died in many ways, all of them tragic). And this is where it is, in my opinion, the hardest speaking gig in Britain. There will be a number of people pre-book for the hour’s tour because of the historical significance of the house, some will book because of the opportunity to experience the Spirit side of the building (no other actors, or ‘jump outs’ but ‘stuff’ as often happened), and the other will have come off the street after a day out or a hen night.