Back in the land of the blogging

Hey! Isn't it cool to have me back in the land of the blogging?

If you ask me, I have NOOO idea why I have not written for over a week, but no matter, since boom boom... : here I am!

Ideas I have had since then? Many! The most recent one concerns possessions. Yesterday I gave away 3 skirts, and 3 blouses: all very decent classics, all good quality. The point is, they weren't "me" anymore, and hadn't been "me" for a great many months...and yet... I was so loathe to part from them! Then I remembered a film I once saw, set in the eastern bloc, where the main female character wore the same dress over the whole length of the film, which overlapped several years. Then I also remembered my paternal grand mother's wardrobe (if one must call it that!) which was so very sparse- one on, one in the wash, one to dry type of thing!- When did we start needing so much? How can I to revert back to the "necessary"? How to decide, nowadays, what is necessary?

Things are even more awkward: for while I most certainly have yearnings for the ascetic life style, I also possess a fairly hedonistic temperament. Tough one or what? I console myself by gingerly engaging in that most fashionable pastime of the TV classes: decluttering! However, the line is firmly drawn at my collection of Le Journal de Mickey & Mickey Parade and Asterix: I am keeping those for rainy days. I did tell you there was something not quite right about me. Still, I did eventually stop sucking my thumb, three years ago, at the age of fifty-three, so there IS hope!

Now, where was I? Oh, the mystery one forlorn highway shoes! Just how naive can one get? It hadn't occurred to me that alcohol would have been involved, since I do not indulge, and never have -save on one very dangerous occasion (where I might even have lost a shoe myself) which cured me for ever more!!!

A Zen garden now:

Stone boulders, just the right size, just the right number, in just the right place.
Very,very fine pale yellow sand raked into geometric, concentric, symmetrical patterns by monks - as a contemplation.
Sitting cross legged.
A silence which is no longer the absence of sound, but an entity of its own with a perceptible existence.
Totally alert and totally peaceful,
Not even aware of the privilege, so natural is it thus to be,
Just now, just here.
Oh, I forgot! some speckled bamboos, too.

Ain't life a hoot?
Love and good wishes,
Jocelyne

A few things I wish I knew

So, where to begin? That's the first thing I wish I knew: I made myself smile, here!

Yesterday,at the Birmingham's Arts Fest, there were plenty of people milling around, and I didn't feel in any way distracted by them or resentful (cf The Garden Show of last Saturday). Live music was being played, may be that's why I didn't feel bad? 1st tentative answer, ok!

This morning, on my way to meditation class, there was a slither crescent moon in the sky. Why should that be so moving? ...Don't know!
Why should dawn be such a truly magical time. (Please notice that, due to general abuse, the word magical must now be qualified by an absolute in order to "register" properly...)... Don't know!
Why, when you know that soon light will break and that you will be in full daylight again do you always miss the time when it's just about to...Every time. ... Really can't work that one out!

But mainly, has anyone else noticed the ubiquity of that most disconcerting of objects, namely ONE perfectly good shoe, -or boot, or trainer- found discarded along the highway. I have been trying to avoid thinking about it, but the 5.30am pale green leather,rather pretty,high heeled,right foot,sling back finally got to me. I now imagine the most ridiculous scenario: woman with wooden leg walking home, gets fed up with the noise made by the high heels on the tarmac and kicks that one shoe off, so as to reduce the nuisance by half , -since the wooden leg has an antislip rubber coating on the bottom. ( I am trying to chase away the thoughts of an attack on that poor now one-shoed woman, and as you can see, not making a very job of it!)
And then, what about the smart grey trainer...Couldn't stand the bad smell of the left foot of its owner? I wish I knew if a person's two feet can have different smells!, or perhaps, he was just the more daring of the two trainers, the one that got away so to speak?...

Seriously though, I AM telling you the truth when I say that I see single (GOOD) shoes of every type discarded on the highway almost every day... That can't be right!

If anyone knows what this is about, pray do tell!

I'm off to count my collection of footwear two by two! (just in case...)

Have yourselves a worry-free Sunday,

Jocelyne

P.S. It's on days like this that I wish I had a digital camera: Moon crescent on Birmingham skyscape; Pretty shoe, forlorn on tarmac; Bewildered yours truly, wide eyes and quizzical...(Photos I would have posted if I had a camera. As it is I must trust your imagination)

P.P.S. Wonderful exhibition, look at www.earthfromtheair.com and tell me what you think -if you want to, of course.

Voilà, j'arrive!

There is a serious mood at this time of year, at THIS time. World events beyond our direct individual control conspire to create a sombre background to any month, but to September in particular. Was it ever thus? Was there ever a time of innocence, of global sanity? We can argue, debate beliefs, delve into history, or scriptures here and everywhere.

Yet a fact remains: we, residents of the 2004 world have to cope. But how? This is what I would like to debate, just now. As I may have mentioned before, I have had to stop work because of poor health, therefore, my time is all mine. The result of this is an availability to others which would previously have been curtailed by my professional activities. So it is that many of my friends and acquaintances find their way to my door or to my telephone line and confide their fears and anxieties to me. (That's how I come to know that folks are so worried about the world, see?)

Now! Me, I watch very little TV, making an absolute point of avoiding the voyeuristic reporting of ongoing dramas. I reckon if something important is going on, I'll be informed soon enough (either on news bulletin on the car radio, or by the communal agenda which emerges when "big" stuff is going on).

And I do, indeed, get to know about all the latest craziness in the world: civil war and famine for refugees in Sudan, massacre in Russia, Australian Embassy bombing, French hostages in Iraq and on and on....

But I have a very strict mental policy which is a two pronged affair, and which I always share with those who ask- and as, you can see, sometimes share with those who don't ask!-

a) Send thoughts of support and love to those caught up in the current crisis- victims and perpetrators alike..by the way...however controversial this may sound.

b) Centre myself in my present. Where am I? What am I doing? Controlling my thoughts so that they do not wander in the danger zone of panic creating, disaster making, heart breaking, sorrow causing stuff.

This, contrary to first appearances, is not an avoidance strategy, an ostrich's head in the sand policy. It is a clearly thought out decision, based on the belief of the power of our thoughts, of the collective unconscious' capacity to generate more havoc from existing havoc. It is my way of taking responsibility for not adding to existing evil. Not judging (because all the information which would be needed to make a valid, informed, judgment on most global issues is not available) means not perpetrating the vicious circle of retribution, Mafia style, and not contributing thoughts of anger and revenge which probably account for a good half of all conflicts...

I know this is not a main stream way or opinion, but one of the remaining moral "pluses" of this part of the world is that I am allowed to hold and express these views.

And for that, as well as for the red of the Hawthorne berries in the lane at the back of my house, the green of the leaves and, yes, the blue of the sky, I am profoundly grateful.

OM SHANTI,

Jocelyne

just checking something, bear with me, please

I started a post and got distracted by an email

Sorry about that!

To-night, I was reallly going to write some good stuff, and then I had an email which triggered a long response, and I'm all written out.

So I'll just say Hi, from this here Birmingham sunshine land until such time as I have gathered some more words to make stories, which I will then share with you.

Until such time then,warmest greetings to all,

Jocelyne

The garden show

I knew it: I am not as others are!
http://www.birmingham.gov.uk/gardenersweekend.bcc
I got waylaid today into going with two of my same-age-same-gender friends to a garden show in our locality. First of all I resented having to pay £4.50 to walk about looking at great big produce and great big marvellous flowers with no1, no2 or no3 rosettes (for 1st, 2nd and 3rd "in show"...Reminds you of anything you've experienced recently?)

The ground was a bit soggy and there was a definite risk of muddying one's shoes!Alright, that link isn't where I meanto be, but, you know what, it is a link, still! (and you will see why I didn't enjoy myself after all).

The thing is there were crowds of people, and crowds just ain't my thing...I have always had a profound dislike of milling around together with hundreds of others. For me, there is something humiliating as well as irritating in being in a crowd. I want to see all the beautiful things alone, or alone with one or two choice persons.

At THE Picasso exhibition in Paris a few years ago I had that very same feeling. For this I blame TV: where you can -and do- see the most wonderful sights on your own or with your close companions. At the cinema ,which I love in spite of crowds, there is the advantage of darkness which fairly obliterates the other-ness of others. There, apart from the fact that I find myself laughing at odd places and that I am aware of having to rein in my undisciplined laughter mental muscles, I can almost forget the proximity of so many...But in a park, in full sunlight, that is quite impossible. I end up observing the faces, the clothes, the expressions, the purchases rather that the plants.

That is not to say that there is not something perfectly sweet in an amateur garden show, or that the displays are not well laid out and impressive.

No, but what I want, is to be alone, to be able to pick anything I like and take it home and to be allowed to eat the displays.

When colours are so beautiful that your eyes hurt and when you know that such intense reality can only be appreciated: there, then and for that split moment, a great big frustration wells up. I need to be a painter, a photographer, a botanist. I want to capture that beauty in more than a memory. I want to dance among the flowers in a fire dress that matches them, with music that will make them forget that they were cut and that they will now fade and die. I want to juggle with big pompom dalhias, I want to take away the scent of the best rose. I am a doer, a participant, an extrovert and looking just isn't enough when I can't improvise and let go.

Someone in my neighbourhood gave me the name and 2 telephone numbers of a gardener who might be free to do some work for me. I phoned the first number, and it was a totally unrelated office number, and I phoned the second number and spoke to Robert, who obviously is not the Steve who can rescue my garden...Is there a lesson to be learnt there? Must I do my own gardening? In that case, I am back to square one, because I did not bother to buy any plants at the show.

Oh well, too bad...

I left my friends there, came back home to the comfort of my solitude, and had myself a good old cup of tea just for the form.

To-morrow I will go and see a funny film instead!

With hundreds of flowers and the most massive cabbages-ever- crowding my thoughts for no good reasons, I am glad I am neither a vegetable, a plant or a flower.

Love and apologetic greeting to all gardeners everywhere,

Jocelyne.

Kick-started by Cuppojoe (see comment no 3 on last post)

Ah ah! So I CAN tell it the way it is after all!

I am moved beyond reason by the praise of my peers. My acceptance speech for the latest accolade I thus received runs as follows, spoken in a slightly Brummyfied French accent (tears of joy optional: I look marginally better when not crying, really!):

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!
This stupendous and totally unexpected award would not have been possible without the contribution of the following people whom I would like to thank from the bloggom of my heart:

-The doctors at my local hospital who said it was ok for me to stop lecturing and to take retirement due to ill-health (for while I was working, computers were the bane and tripple bane of my life: no time to catch up on all that technological guff, you see)

-The lovely people who gave me loads of money in exchange for my big old house, thereby providing the ready cash to afford a lovely little laptop (which is neither too scary, nor too imposing in a room, and very,very, old user friendly)

- Super Paul, my son, for teaching me with the magical patience of an elder most of what I needed to know to be getting on with this (and of course for introducing me to the secret world of the blogs!)

-All the athletes, commentators, cameramen and so on ... who made it all possible....."

By now my voice is breaking up a bit and I am being dragged from the stage by two burly chaps in toxedoes to be unceremoniously bundled into a taxi and sent back to my little cul-de-sac, from where I can continue to write in peace the charming nonsense that you, my lovely and patient readers have come to expect and to appreciate!

I did have some more to say about the Olympics, but it was really more about the opening and closing ceremonies, and my love of the diversity of cultures.

The Chinese thrilled me to bits with their exhuberant and delicate dancing. Accrobatics seem to be the norm for them. I liked the rich reds of the costumes, in contrast to the beautiful blues of Athens. I loved the faces of the Bejing Opera performers, which reminded me of a book my dad had brought back for me from Paris, when I was seven years old. It was the story of a little girl whose dad brings her dolls from all the five continents of the world. This must have been my first glimpse, -bearing in mind that the year was 1955, that we had no TV and that I had never yet been to the cinema -, my first glimpse then of the wonderful differences between the peoples of the world. And there was a Chinese doll, all red pursed lips, eyes in a line and very black pigtails on top of her head.

The Greeks bored me with the singing (sorry, I should be more tolerant...but I like to understand what is being said, and I didn't) BUT... I loved the fact that there was more than a sprinkling of wrinklies on the front line. The strutting was phenomenally ridiculous and highly entertaining, and soooo unsexy, I felt. My heart bled for the chap that tripped up in front of the whole world...How does one in show biz recover from that???

It all seems very long ago already. On the plus side, I have been outside several times since the end of the Games; I have done a walk in a pine forest, seen some friends. The house looks tidy once more, there is food in the fridge, and my clothes are ironed. Order is restored.

I'm off to bed now, with a new set of easy peasy reading books : The no.1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith. Set in AFRICA, see!!! and funny and touching and easy to read. Just like that book about dolls of the five continents.

Good night. I hope I haven't bored you! Good feelings of belonging to One World to everyone,

Jocelyne