The cold light of day

I've been cringing ever so slightly about my previous post.

This morning I was reading up on the astro of the moment and Yasmin Boland put some context around what may have influenced me to pull out my soapbox.

Mercury meets Jupiter today – they do this about once a year. It’s a wonderful link if you need the confidence to say something – timidity will go out the window, if you decide you’re going to speak up for yourself. However, be aware that this link can bring out the standing-on-a-soapbox preacher in all of us. If you think you’re saying too much, you probably are! So I will stop now!

So I was a day or so early with my rant. I mean really, who's checking...?

A soapbox moment

The ignorance and lack of thought that I see on facebook leaves me really concerned about our collective social intelligence.

In the space of a week, I saw two group names that were like proverbial 'last straws'-leading to this post (the language may offend, so you might choose to skip the quotes):

- Everytime I see you a voice in my head goes SSLLUUUUTTTT
- Bitches need to get slapped as hard as they act

Do people not consider the implications, interpretations and context that these groups carry? As a society, do we really accept, applaude even, such passive aggressive attitudes?

There are also a good number of groups that begin with 'I hate..'. That's very strong language and it seems to have lost it's meaning and impact today.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a high-collared killjoy trying to pontificate on the lack of values in today's society. I enjoy using facebook and some of the groups are intelligent and funny. For instance:

- And WHY can't my life be a musical?
- Admit it....farting is STILL funny
- An arbitrary group of people demanding some action be taken

It's just that, when I see some of the groups that people join, I feel mild alarm at the ignorance it suggests could be rampant in society. Humour does not excuse ignorance, bias or nastiness, and it definitely doesn't make it okay.

What's new pussycat?

I went to see Tom Jones last night, in the rain. I sent a message to my folks and their reply made me laugh so much that I want to share it. I've left all the typos in, just for authenticity's sake.

Me: It the tom jones gig. It's very wet :) will try and call when he's one so you can hear-unless you don't want me to, me course. Love you xx

Mum: Thats not unusual. Stay dry. It should be worth it.

Mum: Chris says no worries delilah. Think of the green green grass of home. This time of the year whats new pussycat.

Me: LOVE IT! love you guys so much xxx


Needless to say, he was fantastic. He looked a little too orange, but he's still got that gorgeous voice.

Their earnest best

I caught the bus to work today. I stood in the aisle. It was busy.

There was a group of young school girls sitting in the pods of four seats, some squeezed in, three to a pair. The girls looked so very young. Their uniforms were still new. Not just start-of-the-year new. They were start-of-high-school-career new. They wore them properly, having not yet developed bad habits and too-cool atttitudes.

The girls' school bags were very full. As soon as I noticed them I knew they were still taking home every text book they owned. The novelty of it hadn't worn off yet, or perhaps they were terrified of forgetting a piece of homework. Each girl also had a second bag, probably a sports bag.

My heart went out to them, when I saw the panicked look in their faces as they remembered being told they should always give up their seats for adults. I heard the whispers, we have to get up, get up.

The reality was, it would be so difficult to do. The effort and inconvenience for them and for those of us standing in the aisle would not have been worth it. We would have to dosey-doe around each other, the young girls attempting to keep hats on their heads and trying to stop their two, awkward and heavy bags from hitting others or getting caught at impossible angles. All the while, those in the aisle would be despearately searching for a new place to grip as our shuffling feet carried us away from our successfully won handholds.

I remember how cumbersome it was to be a high school student. So many accoutrements. So many rules. So many people who know more than you...don't they?

You no longer fit as a child and definitely not as an adult, but the new and strange world you found yourself in left you wishing for a safe space.

I told them not to worry, it wasn't a problem and that I was happy to stand. I wasn't in a dosey-doeing kind of mood.

At the next stop an older woman-older than me, that is-stepped on and ushered the girls out of their seats. The expected dance ensued, hushed and awkward, as the girls tried their earnest best to move themselves, their hats and two bags apiece into the already packed aisle.

Sometimes, I thought to myself, old fashioned courtesy gets in the way of just plain courtesy.

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A lesson in not losing love

I got the email today that I had been expecting and dreading. The one that confirmed I have been left behind. The one that leaves me feeling ashamed to still be single.

How screwy is that? I feel embarrassed that I've not been successful in love.

I knew the news was coming. I said as much to a friend three weeks ago. It's just that I hoped I wouldn't hear it until I had met my own 'someone'. Oh, don't get me wrong. I am completely aware that it is good thing and excited about the new phase that it heralds. Even so, the news knocked the breath out of me.

I read a wonderful article last year about love. It was written by Ruth Ostrow and spoke about the inadequacy of the word 'love' in the English language. In other languages there are many ways to express it. For us, we're stuck on love. Heady, demanding, eros-centred love.

For most of my life I didn't believe that love really existed. As a child, I told my family that I loved them but had no concept of what that really was. As a teenager, I had parents who were very out of love with each other. As part of a young couple, I felt forced into saying it. I thought that love was something people kept spouting on about and saying to one another because they thought it's what they had to say and didn't want to be left out of what everyone else was pretending to feel. Really, I thought to myself, they don't know what it is either, so it probably isn't a real emotion.

Then I met someone who made everything feel safe. He made it safe to feel love. It was like magic. I felt that I had endless amounts to go around. At first, it didn't matter that it was never returned and when I noticed that I was hoping it would be returned, I counselled myself that giving love is better than receiving.

He was always very honest with me, gentle with my feelings and considerate of my heart. As much as you can be, I guess, when you don't feel the same. I will always love him for making it safe for me to feel love. That's a very special thing to do for a person.

If wishes were fishes

You know the old adage, 'be careful what you wish for'?  I do. I am always careful when I offer up my wishes.

Think of the genie who dupes the wish-maker, twisting their wish into something unasked for. I try to be sure that what I'm asking for is really something that I need. I always follow up with a promise to stay open to opportunities I can't yet see, but which seem always to come up.

So then, what to do when the universe delivers up something resembling your wish, but which isn't quite what you had in mind?

Did I ask it the wrong way? Have I inadvertently asked for the wrong thing? Can I ignore it and let it go away?

Or has the universe, the cosmos, given me exactly what I needed, and I just don't realise it yet?

Do I accept this gift and hope to find a hidden beauty in it? Or do I trust myself and hold true to what I believe is a better thing?

And therein lies my problem. My intuition is strong. I know that. I have gone far by trusting it. Yet I wonder, does the universe know something I don't?

Brown paper packages tied up with string

These are a few of my favourite things.

I love astrology. I read Mystic Medusa, because she is avant garde. I read Jonathan Cainer because he is grounded.

I love mountain biking. When I labour up a hill, breathing like I'm half-woman-half-rhino, it's with building anticipation of the thrilling downhill chase that must surely come.

I love reading fantasy novels. I have done ever since I read Magician. I escape into them. I know that makes me dorky, or nerdy, or something. But I don't care. I can't care, when I read authors like Patrick Rothfuss, who picks up mundanity and puts back pearls.

'It was night again. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts. The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking.'

'Old Cob tucked away his stew with the predatory efficiency of a lifetime bachelor.'

I love my life.

I experience a lot moments of true, deep joy and I am thankful.