3/1/2010

Days like this when I lie in bed searching for inspiration, looking out at driving rain, listening to the wind howling in the eaves, and hoping that the steady rhythmic beat I hear is the clock not another leak in the roof, I have to remind myself why I came here, and what makes this place so special for me. Even now with the view through the patio doors mostly obscured by raindrops and low flying clouds, I can see enough to know what I first saw in a photo, that this place reminds me of where I grew up, which to me is special, as the place I grew up in no longer exists, the last half of the 20th century destroyed most of it, and heaven’s only knows what this one has done. The things that endear this island to me are mostly trivial, the small similarities like the birds, robins, wagtails, blackbirds, starlings, sparrows all the same, chaffinches similar but different plumage patterns, and of course the buzzards. When I was small I used to lie on my back in the fields watching the buzzards wheeling in the sky, making their almost cat like calls, then for many years I hardly saw any. Now I see them every day when the weather is good, they are plentiful here, you even see them while shopping in town. There is also a definite but indefinable ambience about the island, I noticed it first time I came here, as I stepped outside the airport, the only way I can describe it is that it is like when you arrive at some exotic destination and you breathe the air, and say to yourself “Yes! This is me” if you have felt that you will know what I mean, if you haven’t, go search; it will be one of the highpoints of your life. As for me I have done with lone travelling, if I were to travel now it would be for the pleasure of sharing that experience with my loved one, any other way would feel pointless. So even in this welter of mud, rain and wind, I remain content in my island home, sure there are things I would like to be doing but the wheel turns, sun, warmth and pretty flowers will blossom and I shall bask in their warmth, in the meantime I have my music, my writing, my girlfriend to chat to, my Labrador to adore me (the feelings mutual) and of course you my lovely reader, thank you so much for returning to read my silly thoughts, take care, enjoy your day.

3/10/2010

Therapy, it’s OK am not talking anything esoteric, cold baths, hot stones or even anything that costs a lot of money, just the little things that I find help me get through the days, weeks and months, and considering this winter to maintain some semblance of sanity. Living a solitary life, and frequently not seeing anyone for days, means I have to fall back on other resources, and I have been lucky in being helped in this by my girlfriend, who though she only exists in cyberspace, a temporary situation I hope, is still a constant and tangible presence. One of the things we share is a lifelong love of reading, from “The Waterbabies” and “Alice” to whatever currently takes our fancy, here we diverge a bit, but we introduce each other to our own personal favourites and thereby she has widened my experience, due to her I am currently reading “The Mists of Avalon” which I have loved, and which has raised my levels of awareness on so many levels, it is beautifully written, and you can even read my review of it on Amazon. The previous book she told me about was Erica Jong’s “Witches” which was delightful, and which by the way led to our discovery of a delightful Old Russian cartoon on Youtube, about Baba Yaga, and which used the music of Mussorgsky. Music of course is probably my constant therapy, it is a lifelong regret that I cannot play an instrument, I did in my youth have a brief flirtation with the trumpet, but I think my lips were better suited for other things. I am a classical; oh go on brag Ari why don’t you, classy! Girl, while my girlfriend tends to favour hard rock, but she introduced me to kd lang, and Dido, which led me to Melissa Etheridge, while I locate the origins of music she likes in film scores. Now movies, films to me I haven’t watched for years, a few in the past on TV, but I gave up that odious box about 5 years ago, and don’t miss it, but I now avidly search Limewire for films she believes I should have watched, again our basic tastes differ, and we often go off at tangents to each other, but because of her I have rediscovered the pleasure of watching Tinkerbelle in Peter Pan, and have been pleasantly surprised at my reactions to films I previously would not have considered watching. However I am not entirely a couch potato, I do occasionally get out of bed, but for reading and my other sedentary therapy writing I find bed is the most comfortable and productive place to work, and yes sometimes reading is work, she told me about Stephen King’s amazing book “On Writing” did I mention that I wrote a little more than these occasional scribbles, no, silly me, because it has probably become my greatest therapy, especially during this interminable winter, I have just finished the first edit of the first book that I have completed, although not the first I started. The discipline of trying to hammer out 2000 words a day was initially a challenge, but even on the darkest day I found that once I started the words flowed through my brain almost without effort, and conveniently at a pace my typing could cope with. The book is currently being proof read by friends, and yes she is one, and yes she writes as well, like will find like I suppose, and now I wait in dread for everyone’s comments, even while ideas for a sequel bubble around in my head like simmering soup. Ah the beauty of the written word, soup, I love cooking but I think in a way, particularly in winter soup making is a therapy all on its own, I am by nature pagan and delight in making the best use of anything I can grow, find, scrounge, I think I draw the line at purloin although that is perhaps because I have yet to be tempted sufficiently. Whatever there is little I feel to compare with the pleasure of creating soups, or casseroles from raw ingredients, I make my own stock which both adds to the pleasure and reduces waste, as I can use virtually anything to make a good stock, old cabbage leaves, nettles, chicken bones, you name it I have been there, and what is left after making vegetable stock at least goes to the animals, I draw the line at feeding meat based waste to the sheep or chickens, the memory of CJD, if ever there was a natural vengeance for man’s greed that surely has to be in contention for the top or is that bottom prize. Well, the sun shines, and I am sure by now you have heard enough, so I will leave my al fresco therapies for another day, bless you for taking the trouble to read this. Oh a final word, my most potent therapy if that is the correct term for it, has been to accept myself for what I am not for what other people expect me to be or want me to be, now that was a truly liberating experience, took me more years than I care to remember to do it, but there you go, enjoy your own day.