The poem from yesterday:

Old love, new love

I look at you with eyes full of our years.

Like endangered species, cleverly hiding:

The bush over our heads, protecting

A bright secret: the end of all fears.

It took some effort, some fight, some heart,

To own up to weakness, to failure, to doubt,

But now over the mist, from a faraway past

Certainty arises.

You and I both in a place of confidence,

A place of honour, a place of dignity,

Where no harm can be done:

After the falls, the rising.

no more complaining!

That's it! I am pleased to announce that, as of to-day, there will be no more complaining on this blog. I am going to be happy with whatever happens, comments or not, and adverts for cheap appliances or not! In fact I would go even further and apologise humbly and profusely for my most recent case of the grumbles...I think it's when I don't feel too good and the world seems to recede as I stay put at home for days on end, that the moaning grabs me. Well it ain't gonna get me no more!

Better things to do I think!

Although at this precise moment I have little to say, save to reflect on the evocative power of words once more. It goes like this for me:
1) have a feeling, a "touching", an "inkling" about something.
2) ask brain what words or images might evoke that feeling in others.
3) write down what brain says to share with others.

That's because I am blessed with an oversize language center up top. As a little girl I would invent dozens of words which everyone around recognised because of the logic of their construction but which didn't exist...Since this greatly amused the young adults who brought me up (when my mum and dad were Paul's age, I was 9 years old already), I suppose this linguistic playfulness got reinforced and became a habitual behaviour. Also as a child, I chose to be a devout catholic, confessing to things that I didn't even know existed , lovely words like adultery and covetedness*, which I reeled out from the back of the "missel" to a rather splendid priest who encouraged my interest in the Latin of the liturgy (this point being the other link with linguistics).

At school I studied English and Italian, which I continued at university. Depending on the journey at hand and the friends I made, I have variously dabbled in: Greek, Portuguese, Spanish, Turkish, Latvian, Japanese, Shona in Zimbabwe and now Hindi. But I regret to say that, blessed up top or not, it all disappears when you don't use it, only to come back from retirement if severely pressed. At the wedding of our Zimbabwean friends I found myself understanding the speeches, of which there were very many!, after about the fifth one, when the aunt with the serious religious bias started quoting the scriptures. Nothing like a bit of background to fill in the memory gaps!

Well, this is most interesting for me, but I'm not so sure about anyone else....and so a further helping of apologies is presently dished out, just before I go and have a lovely cup of tea, with Djellabis(SP?) given to me by our meditation teacher this morning to make me feel better about being unwell, I think, and having had to miss so many classes recently.

So until the poem I was going to write here comes back to my mind,

Love, Regards and Namaste,

Jocelyne

humour me, please ( experiment continued...)

Fashion accessories, catwalk, Paris couture scene, topmodels, prêt à porter collection, Autumn collection, Chanel, défilé de mode, designer clothes, off the peg.....

Angels, cherubs, fairies, archangels, pixies, elves.....

Chess, Chinese checkers, Drafts, Ludo, Monopoly, Pictionary, Diplomacy, that game I don't know how to play and I can't remember the name of (where is your thesaurus when you need it?), Ma-jon (SP????),

Any suggestions welcome: trying to change that advert which makes me feel like a "quincaillère"(hardware store owner?)

See ya!

Jocelyne

Not controversial enough?

I think that my blog is not controversial /trendy enough. For me, the fun of being involved in a Blog lies not only in the writing, which I could just as well do on my own on a pretty organic-banana-paper journal with purple ink from a dainty fountain pen.(..mmm...appealing!....), but in sharing ideas with a wider and, for the most part, undefined group of people.

I make a point of reacting to the blogs I read, and I have grown quite fond of two or three individuals, almost as much  for the exchanges through comments than for the logs themselves.  It's like finding the proverbial needle in the hay stack, finding folks with like minds, like humour, like values and so on.. I did get excellent guidance from Paul ("is this a good idea?" Paul, who most of you will know is my excellent son). 

And although he does keep telling me that comments aren't  "the point"... and so did one of his friends, who said she always reads "grasping the nettle", but doesn't comment(....a wink to you, you know who you are), still I wonder if the dearth of comments on my efforts is due to the fact that I am supremely inoffensive,  do not write on controversial topics, and can be accused, at worse of being whimsical.

So, I now think that every one who reads this SHOULD comment on:
A) how well I write English, given that it is not my mother tongue
B) how funny my ideas are and/or
C) how lovely the landscapes I write make them  feel . 
The delicate nature  of my intellect should also have been taken note of , even though I do berate it occasionally. 

If not, I might start swearing, ranting on about politics, pretend that I take drugs or drink too much coffee, listen to modern music, believe in corporal punishment, am a racist .... wait a minute....I most absolutely draw the line there!

The real truth is: I have become  a "has been"! I have done a lot of controversial and also a lot of brave things in my life, but now, it's kind of "curtains" for most of them. The plot of my life has changed drastically with  my choosing a  spiritual path,- a choice which coincides very conveniently with the onset of old(er) age and the physical limitations this and my poor state of health brings . Like "good" people, and older people everywhere, I have become a bit boring.

Although, of course, it is a paradox  that the life of the spirit is a million times  more interesting that that of "gross matter"...but perhaps only so for  those who actively pursue it.

So, no aerobies in the park for me:-) , no new jobs to delight in;-), no trips for big adventurous holidays:-), no touching family snapshots of my babies;-)  no wonder ! :-(

And yet a wonder of every moment! I am pleased that I have travelled much , loved a lot, climbed some serious mountains, swam rivers (only litttle ones, swimming, not my thing...), thrown the best parties ever(yeah!), learnt to play a few songs on the guitar, sung endlessly. Pleased that althoughI am no longer doing these things, I know how to dig a garden, shape a privet hedge, count my money, sew, dance, paint. I can embroider and I can ride a bicycle great distances. I have the gift of friendship, the gift of joy, the gift of empathy and of compassion.

See? Not controversial at all...

More controversial might be that I seem to Blog-connect mainly with young men...In my head, and in spite of my "ordinary" woman-ness, I have always BEEN a young man. Go figure! And I promise you I am not even a bit schizophrenic ( I have had to look the word up in the dictionnary, which goes to prove!).

Well if this does not get you commenting, it should at least be confusing enough to change that blasted advert for drainers and various other sink related objects.... I live in hope!

Love, regardless,

Jocelyne

 

Inviting you to play a game:

In the space next to the blue blogspot, there always appear some advert vaguely related to the latest post. I propose trying to "manifest" certain adverts by writing trigger words as part of your blog. Now for starters let's try and manifest an advert relating to travelling in Egypt, say!

We may want to talk about the Great Pyramids, the Valley of the Kings,  sandy deserts, a trip on the Nile, Cairo and so on.... See if you can do it? I am going to post this just to see what happens to the adverts. (Two posts ago, I got offers of sink drainers... I wonder why?)

See the way an idle mind uses any opportunity to remain idle!

Off to Egypt I go,

Smiles and benevolent thoughts from your favorite traveller,

Jocelyne

PS Just checked: it's still the drainers; drat!

This time...

This time I know I have flipped my lid, blown my brain,  gone gaga, lost the plot...(you get the picture?) :  I checked MY blog to see if there was some thing new since those "two small domestic considerations"....I always suspected logic wasn't my forte.... I was mildly surprised to see that "she" hadn't written any thing recently.... shame  really, "she" is such a lovely ol'girl!

I suppose this brain confusion was due to the fact that I couldn't think of what to write, and I had been browsing here and there from blog to blog.

Anyway, I have now remembered something I wanted to share earlier on: when I went to the concert the other night, and again to the open air theatre, I was struck by something new which is happening to me.  I have spent my whole life feeling very self conscious, a fate no doubt caused by my grandmother's obsession with presenting me to the world as the best dressed and most neatly coiffed child  in Cluny, all this in cheerful disregard to my youthful aspirations as a Tom boy , my absolute dislike of wringlets and my despair at the small torture I was subjected to in the creation and elaboration of said wringlets.

And now that my gran has died, I am no longer self conscious. At the concert, I suddendly felt free of my usual worries: I did not engage  in comparing my clothes to that of others, or think that, really, I ought  to dye my hair a bit...I was at ease with me.

At the open air theatre, while some others were in short sleeves and light dresses, I wore a winter coat AND a blanket AND I didn't care, so long as I was warm!

Now the Test to this newly acquired freedom is fast approaching as I am planning to visit my dad and  family in ....Paris. Nothing like the look of a Parisian relative to kill a  fragile sartorial ego. I know, I've been there! So, we'll see how I fare next week. I'll tell you, in case you should care, that is.

Meanwhile, I am wondering what I should be  wearing to go to Paris. Oops!!!

Tired and off to bed,

Love,

Jocelyne

Two small domestic considerations

1) I have just realised that I am a champion at stacking the freshly done washing up (I don't use  a dishwasher, see...). The kitchen in my little rented house is tiny, space is  at a premium; it's more like a caravan's cooking space than that of a "proper" house. For over a year and a half I have been adjusting to narrower rooms, tighter corners and a feeling of lilliput, and certain coping strategies have emerged, evolving into some quite skilled space management: of which the stacking of clean crokery, saucepans etc is a salient* example. Everest hasn't a thing over my mountain. On a single drainer, I manage to store and safely stack -for draining- almost all the contents of my cooking and eating tools cupboard. It's artistic, really! When I have my digital camera, I promise you a picture of this extra-ordinary stainless steel and porcelain erection; it's stunning in its equillibrium and it always needs drying... Ah and , please,  don't tell me about those contraptions which are meant to make stacking up easier; I just don't get on with them: I remain  a free spirit.

Which is probably why:

2) Although without a doubt my late mother made  the best mashed potatoes in the universe- starting with growing her own favorite mashing brand of the aforesaid tubers- , and I follow not too far on her traces, I now favour a purely chemical version of that dish (could be related to the vagaries** of the previous item, as you do need quite a few implements to make the best mashed potatoes in the world ; but this is a trade secret, and shall remain so, sorry!). For the chemical version, all you need is a boiling mixture of milk and water and the little flakes of chemicals and puff! in a wink of an eye you have your comforting meal at the ready...Did I mention I was feeling lazy?...I'll probably get fat as well what with all this mashed potatoe and inactivity. Oh, I know, I could always climb the washed up hill in the kitchen....

Off to have some breakfast. Love, and winks of the naughty elf kind a'plenty,

Jocelyne

*health warning: this is a pun!
** I used that word, then I had to look it up to see what it meant in my bilingual dictionary.
     vagary= "caprice"
     ...so, just right in fact! good brain!(pat, pat)

A very lazy time

Not like me at all, this laziness which is taking me over. I am not doing much, and what I am doing isn't much....

I think, quite a bit, not a bad way to pass the time.

It could be because of the weather, or because I have spent so many years as a teacher relaxing at this time of year that the habit has become ingrained. Good job I was never a ballet dancer, or else I would probably still be going around in a tutu....perish the thought!

Last night Paul, Dave and I went to the Botanical Gardens, here in Birmingham, to watch an open air performance of Midsummer Night's Dream, by an amateur theatre group. Regardless of the finished product- which in this case was , like the vicar's egg(?????) ,"good in places", I have unlimited respect for those who are prepared to give up so much of their time and to make so much effort to keep alive this  English tradition of theatre in the green.  But much more importantly, there is such a magic about the writing of the Bard that the words themselves grab you, even when all else fails. I found myself remembering all the many magical performances I have seen of this particular play,  not only Peter Brook's definitive version, with The King and Queen of the fairies on precarious trapezes and Puck with a wiry curly fishing thingamygiby, and Frances de La Tour running amock oh and everything else just about perfect! It was a long time ago (1970? 71? someone's bound to put me right), but also many others in less glamorous venues and the film with "Allie McBeal" as Helena.... But most of all I get lost in the eternal beauty and the easy wit of the words.

Just like fireworks, they are!With you for a few brief seconds and then pushed out as others come. And then there is silence. A few evenings ago I woke up to the sound of some terrific bangs. There was a firework fantasia in the public park not very far from my little cul-de-sac ( any excuse to use a French word, sorry!). I was too tired to get up, get dressed and get closer, but from my bedroom window, I managed a reasonable view of the bigger sky splashes. It is just bliss to sit on a comfortable chair and to see the sky come alive, unpredictably and yet with a great degree of symetry. When it was all over, I waited  quite some time before I realised that , yes, in fact, the latest  burst had been most spectacular and must be the last one of the night.

I love them, fire works. But not on TV. On TV they don't feel  right, because their very essence is their transience, their here now, gone now nature. Fireworks fit in well with a certain human sense of insecurity, they are a befitting image for  a species so acutely aware of its own physical impermanence and ever possibly  imminent demise.

But I don't care see,  'cause I am a soul travelling through time watching firework upon firework to my heart's content.

Love , and a myriad sparks scattering....

Jocelyne 

 

Summer?

I miss Summer: it should be sunny and warm, but it rains and the central heating has to come on most days.
 
See? How English I have become: I am talking about the weather. But then may be someone would like to know what the weather is like here? Well, ok, may be not.  May be it's an easy way to get back into communication with you. 
  
On Friday night I went to hear Hugh Masekela in concert at Symphony Hall, here in Birmingham. He is a bit older than the last time I saw him, which was in Zimbabwe - 1988, I think. With him were the 21 piece big band Jazz Jamaica All Stars. In spite of some quite casual mixing, the sound was very big, the performers generous, and the audience just the right mix, quite typical of Birmingham's mutli-cultural tradition.
Looking at the small man on the stage, I was trying to fathom the kind of extraordinary life map which can lead  one from Soweto townships to prestigious venues of the world. What struggles, what efforts, what dedication to music and what self belief. I am sorry I missed his desert island discs choices on radio 4.
The exhilaration of hearing live music never wanes for me. The only drawback  is : I want to be on the stage with them and sing or dance or something, if even clapping hands...but so far, and thank goodness too- I have always managed to rein in that impulse.
 
A landscape has slowly been emerging from my mind, but I am not sure if you will like it as it starts a bit more somber than my usual images:
 
Dark, deep waters, running fast in the middle, green , and white with foam here and there. The fury of the elements is implicit in the relentless flow. The sound echoes as loud as motorway traffic, rendered even louder by steep mountains at both sides, with frothy cascades feeding the stream with more water. The tops of the mountains are lost in mist. We are in the middle of the stream on a fast and sharp edged wooden small craft. Whoever is steering has the confidence of a God. In the midst of all the awe, he laughs and jokes and wields a precarious looking oar with the dexterity and the poise of a Geisha eating rice with chop sticks. Familiarity  is giving him the faith to navigate the rapids. And up, ...and down,... and fast to starboard and ...over the big wave we go, holding on for dear life, while he, as if  glued to the bottom of his ship, stands steadier than the rocks that shake our craft...
(Thus it is  that we do at times trust one who knows better, all ego gone, back to the oblivious faith of very young childhood. The only input that is needed form us then is a calm mind and good wishes for the one taking responsibility for our safety and wellbeing).
After the storm of the white water, the lull  comes, and the mist  lifts, revealing once more the majesty of the summits and the brilliance of the sun. Then we jump into these warm waters and splash about with not a care in the world. Drying out on a little sandbank, I'm sure someone will even bring in a big salady lunch with some of the  best crisps and a mug of chai tea...some toast?

......................the end.....................

I haven't had my breakfast yet, you see!
 
Ideas have bubbled up while I have been blog-idle, so I'll be attempting to order them as time goes on. But for now, breakfast does beckon, irresistible.
 
Many good thoughts for any who managed to read thus far!
 
Jocelyne 

MY BLOG has been reprieved !!!!!!!!!!!!!! :-)

Well, I really scared myself: I deleted my blog. (I even told a couple of people about it...)

Then I was asked to re-instate it, because it WAS after all giving pleasure and food for thought to others...

Blog support have responded magnificently, and retrieved the whole ka-boggle.

I am not doing a big post just now, because I need to have breakfast, but I wanted to reconnect as soon as possible and celebrate the return of the prodigal.

Soon come back,

Jocelyne

Saving someone's life

Sounds dramatic? Well it's true.

I remember the concept of diffused responsibility from having studied social psychology.

There's the scene:
-my friend gone to China to give a talk at a conference,
-her 13 year old son staying with different families while she is away,
-his broken arm with bits of wires sticking out and his BCG injection fresh from the hospital,
-my promise to check up on his well-being throughout her absence...

He is a tough boy, used to hiding his feelings of discomfort and pain. I had to really draw out of him that the pain in his arm wasn't just "par for the course", but a bit more than that!

Three hours later, the plaster removed, the antibiotic drip installed and the boy in the hospital bed, I am in shock: I very nearly didn't make the call to him, thinking he was in good hands with the families. Clearly, each of the families felt the same and so no-one was taking responsibility for really checking the arm situation, only giving their young guest a bit more pain killing tablets when he told them he was in pain...

This made me realise in a very big way how much each of us is responsible for doing what is right, without reference to what others may or may not do in their own right.

I am so grateful for being secure in my thinking and being oblivious to the fear of what others may think about my interfering!

I also decided that "my" patient was not fit to travel to China himself on Sunday, and asked his mother to come back to the UK...Knowing how much they had looked forward to the trip, that was quite hard, but again the right decision, as now the doctors have had to operate on the arm again, and Nick is being kept in hospital until Monday morning at least...

I am telling this story as a bit of a cautionary tale, and releasing the spirit of personal responsibility into the ether...May those who can, capture it and make it theirs!

A strange sense of duty

A strange sense of duty brings me back to this blog. A slight sense of unease, verging on guilt and bordering on the other side on the fear of failure, too, as the last couple of posting were dull, even for me!

But what can I do: the things that really matter to me, my deepest beliefs are private and I can't spread them out openly for all to read.

I do have opinions about politics, war, society, and all that, but now I feel it is futile for me to express them, as it don't amount to a can of beans as the saying goes.

I can always fall back on my love of words and the joy I have at making them work for me. So many, ready slaves to my will.

And then sometimes, you just feel like being quiet, don't you?

On a path in a pine tree wood, with tall but delicate spruce. The pine cones are crunching under foot. I love pine cones, with their absolute spiral form, and their "I am made of wood, but it doesn't show attitude". I use them as decorations in my house: a childish trait? The light is perfect: it clings to the lower branches at an exact diagonal, and hits the ground like a spotlight on a stage. The incline is soft and further up, a rocky plateau bathes in the sweet sunlight of the evening. The path is shown by little piles of stones to which each adds his own. We might decide to unlace the heavy boots and to wriggle the toes in the stream that runs alongside the path. Then we might stretch out for a good old day dream on a bit of grass. It's not going to rain to-night: let's make the best of it!

The flight of a swallow just below,
A ridge of climbing rock,
A crooked tree sticking out, within reach,
No fear: breathing in life as I rise,
Agile, alert, greedy for the experience of conquest.
If I start to shake I'm not going to tell!

And that's the way I want to be.....

Regards to any who happence stray this way, and a curly bow with my feathered hat!

Delights

It's raining on Birmingham, but not crying in my heart...and the violins are laughing rather than sobbing...Blame the French poet Verlaine for these allusions.

9 am: the food shopping is all done. The day will be one of these 'there is nothing I have to do' days, a delight. A bit of Will & Grace, a bit of lunch, a bit of rummaging through the big wicker basket I call my filing system, quite a bit of meditation.

Saved myself £90 by phoning around for quotes for my car insurance. Everyone I spoke to was charming and responsive.

.....A day passes....

Since it is now past my bedtime, I will be very brief and leave you with a "aahhh!" story. (This works both as "aahhh" or as "aahhh", by the way...)

An infant of my acquaintance was inordinately fond of looking up at leaves moving about in the wind, from the bottom of his pram. No problem in Birmingham - which is green and windy! But on a visit to the gran'parents in St. Claude, France, small logistics problems occurred : number one, the town's traditional walks were not very green, and what trees there were, were all very tall, and did nor fit the bill. Mémé (then 81 years old) and pépé (about the same) set about finding the right kind of bushes for the emperor granchild. When they did, the bushes were fine, but totally motionless, so the enterprising grandparents set about shaking the bushes in a convincing way until they triggered the desired peals of joy from the innocent one... Touching or what? (L'amour, toujours l'amour!)

Good night all.

Harming animals at lunch time

Sometimes, when animals are used in a film, there is a disclaimer at the end of the film which states: "No animals were harmed in the making of this film".

This is meant to give us, the audience, a warm glow of innocence, and to reassure us as to the responsible nature of those involved in making such a film. The collective "feel-good" created may even last a fleeting few instants, and then off we all go to have a bite of chicken, fish casserole, pork chops, barbecue sausages or lambstew.

I have been planning to produce some laminated statements to use as place mats for my dinner guests that would read: "No animals were harmed in the making of this meal".

(Not wishing to rant, just thinking out loud.) In any case, for me, the feelgood factor of being absolutely respectful of other creatures'lives is unmatched.

About deadlines: I was pondering about deadlines after faithfully reading that lovely torfeida.blogspot.com/. Does anyone ever miss deadlines? Or do they get a state funeral just before you ever get to them? I don't think I have ever missed one in my studies or teaching career. When reports were due, reports were done! When marks had to be in, marks were in...no matter what it took. How can that be? You know something is absolutely un-do-able and you still do it??? A price is paid, most times: I don't think I took any notice of my 10 year old son Paul for days, while writing a final year dissertation, BUT the dissertation was handed in on time. Looking back...should I have said "blow the deadline, my son needs me"??? I think so! There you go: the minute you retire, a huge paradigm shift occurs and what seemed sooooo important fades into proverbial insignificance.

I vaguely remember a seminal book which described how, of old, role and personality were kept very separate: i.e. you may be the Prime Minister,(role) but your private life was seen as irrelevant to the carrying out of that role, and therefore did not come under scrutiny . Similarly your personality was not seen as relevant. Transfer that mentality to any work situation, and reverse the angle of view, and you have perfect freedom to be who you are whilst performing the tasks required by the role you play.

Don't remember why I am writing this now...ah well, no matter...I'm off to cook some lovely green bean soup.

The glide down

By special request from Jane, my lovely Bowen therapy practitionner.

So I have to think about the glide down now:

First of all we are holding hand, all of us who chose this adventure ...The paraglider is made for two, three, four, anynumber...The laws of physics do not apply in this dimension, except for those of the vibrations of music. Would you allow me to let Bocelli sing? or Callas? Ah! Once again freedom has been granted and each can hear their own music, to order. We decide to share the same sounds, solemn, grand, cheerful still.

How long the drop? Just as long as it takes for your flying lust to be assuaged. The descent is slow and floaty. It holds no regrets for the summit. The joy of it is profound. How wonderful to observe without greed, knowing that each scene which unfolds is instantly replayable in slow motion. Rocking and bobbing, the canopy looks reassuring taut above all our laughter.

If I tell you that there is a gentle breeze, you may well cry out: " cliché! cliché!". Well! I am not responsible for the existence of this gentle breeze up above the valleys. (If you ask me, much better than a raging wind which might take us off course, anyway, physics or no physics.) So, drifting down thus we get to pass through the colours that were ordered on the summit...it is our reality, and we created it. I am delighted with my chosen palette. The feelings are serenity and wonder (émerveillement!).

All the animals below us glance up just for a few seconds checking this strange drifting craft, knowing we pose no threat. The harmony of nature is palpable, you can taste it on the wind, you can hear it in the majestic cry of the eagle riding on the thermals alongside us for a bit of fun.

We each come down to earth like a small feather, a tear of gratitude falling into a diamond. The ground welcomes our tipsy frames with a firm security. Fragrance of jasmine and mimosas, or... roses and lavender, or peaches and orange blossom..., or...

I'm going back up again,...comin'?