The Communication Generation
About The Author
Carole Mccall is a former Civil Servant and Business Woman who has worked as a Life Coach, NLP trainer, Psychotherapist and Hypnotherapist for many years. Working in the United Kingdom, Ireland, Spain and America she has helped many people solve their own problems. She now lives in Tunbridge Wells with her husband and a little white Bichon Fris called Stella. This book is about her year of travel and exploration in the peace and harmony of the wonderful English Countryside that restored both her health and her peace of mind. It is also about her delight at being a Granny and her interest in the way we teach our precious children to communicate.
Event Planner Emily Carter says: “Carole is the most positive, honest and caring life coach to work with. Her style of coaching is perfect for me. In my lifetime there have been some personal challenges that I have wanted to overcome and she has given me the tools to do this through productive long term and short term goals. Carole is a great listener and provides 100% support, passion and encouragement which is the main driver for me. I am in a really happy place right now and will always continue to keep the lines of communication open. Thank you Carole!”
About The Book
The day dawned softly on that first morning, as lost in a reverie she gazed into the middle distance. Pulling her treasured late mother’s frayed lilac woollen cardigan around her pyjama-clad body she shivered a little. Then with a deep sigh she began to collect her scattered thoughts.
Then with a start she remembered that they had moved the previous day into a duplex in a very smart part of another town. Realising that she had been sitting on her antique French chair for some time she wriggled a little to make herself more comfortable.
All around the room were boxes of much treasured possessions that had been deemed too important to go into storage. Her awareness of the vision that stretched out languorously before her was only just beginning to pierce her scattered consciousness.
These were glorious white houses, revealing lush green gardens and most particularly the shades of exquisite purple and lavender that only ancient, gnarled rhododendrons can produce. Everything she could see aligned perfectly and produced a feeling of calm and tranquillity within her soul. Leaning over to open the curtains on either side of the bay window the purple verdant dream stretched out on both sides as far as her sleepy eyes could see.
The anxious, pale blue butterfly that had been her constant companion for some considerable time picked up her skirts and floated for a moment on the breeze wafting through the sash window. Then glancing ruefully over her shoulder the butterfly flew serenely out of her solar plexus forever, as last night they had really talked for the first time in a long time.
At that moment she knew I was going to be happy here, wherever here turned out to be, because she realised with a juddering silent breathe that she had finally finished all the frantic slipping and sliding that the previous year had signified.
Her Sisyphean task was finally over and had landed her with barely a bump in her own luxurious purple patch.