Clarity in Wonderland

A Night, Moonlit

2010-09-22T02:20:00.000-07:00

Early morning, late night, did not check the hour. A hurried phone call - get up, get dressed, drive to hospital. I'm fine, we're fine. Just an alarm we found, thankfully, false. Nevertheless the A&E (Accident & Emergency) Room, lags. Drags. A strung-up tension pervades with the lingering scent of spilt bottles/cans. So quiet except for the hum of the coffee machine. While I wait for the doctor to see our loved one. I sit, write and look out. Expectant of a long night. All around us, the murmurs of humans. Delicate, hushed. All the vulnerable souls in this room are in it together yet utterly separate. Small islands of fear, trepidation, calm.

I am fine, we are ...

A woman with red hair and white clothes bobs her head to her ipod. A young woman with short hair and pyjama bottoms holds on to the hand of her beloved for dear life. Lifeboat love. He is young - dutifully responsive without looking at her. Shy - embarrassed, I can't tell. She rocks back and forth for a while then continues touching him - his hair, his blue-jeaned leg. He might as well be in another room. I notice the twin-taped cuts on her shins, then look away.

Not for the first time, I notice the lady with the green shoes. Beauty with tired eyes and hair. She looks alone, even desolate. Somehow she has turned up stylish. Looking at "us", so did we but this was done in a haze of sleep. Her green shoes glisten in the fluorescent glare. Her eyeliner, smudged. Is she alright? The result of a late night or late life. She curls up in her steel chair. Then stretches here and there, head back, uncrossed then crossed legs, conspicuous. I think that I am watching a show. Perhaps she has played the role of beauty too many times, opposite a beast of a life.

It is now 2 a.m. I write and ignore any gaze from me to pen and back again. Why can't they look at the lady with green shoes? Stream of consciousness, I am adrift. Thank God for this pen. Ipod lady has started speaking with two porters, they are pally. I wonder if it is a return trip. The lady with sore taped shins has stopped touching him. I feel relieved. Almost want to get her a coffee. It's alright, he's brought her one. Perhaps that's how he touches. Perhaps it's none of my business. Yet tonight I feel we are all in the same lifeboat, - While children sleep, mothers worry and God watches. A microcosm of a night, somewhere in England. I am fine, we are fine. Looking back on what I wrote, thinking. Sometimes I know I love the whole world and see only beauty, soft-winged beauty.

Peace,
x

Sparkle

2010-07-17T10:45:00.000-07:00

It was two hours until dawn, late summer night, this girl was cajoled into bed. Apparently I looked tired.

Perhaps, yet I couldn't sleep. To blog, perchance to dream: I wrote the following just before my eyelids drifted shut and am posting it the day after. Within this post are old photographs I had taken in my teens. I'd forgotten what "real" film looks like, warm and grainy. I'd forgotten that girl who carried a camera instead of lipstick. Quite nostalgic in an "If I had told myself this or that..." way:

A true life = clear thought.

Clear thought combined with... perseverance, which is another word for "patience in the long haul".

If one is in it for the long haul, one must hold back, refrain a little. Not jump to that first desire like a magpie meeting a sparkle in the grass.

Conserve your energy for what really matters, not just the physical reserves, but your mental energy too. Step back, look clearly upon something and think.... before you speak, before you leap... focus gently.

One of the things I have learnt in this tiny span of existence is - it helps to keep your eyes wide open, along with your mind. So, although no one might know it, you are taking it in, drinking it all in. Studying the horizon.

I've always admired the grace of animals in the wilderness, they know the above naturally. Especially cats. The soft slink of ease and languid determination. So languid that as a child, visiting game reserves abroad, I would watch transfixed if any crossed our path. Part of me would be struck by their confident beauty, the other part would sometimes think "Hurry up, please".

That second part is the one I work on... every day. For impatience can sometimes be delicious, you want it now.... you want it cartoon-fast and vocalising that releases something. The truth is, it only releases energy you could use otherwise. Observe patience as something tangible, not just an ephemeral object. Think of it as a muscle one needs to work on.

Strengthening this gives you real release. Rather than falling upon a sparkle in the grass, your thoughts and feelings share equal space, equal respect. Ultimately, you grow patient with yourself too, an unexpected gift. A necessary one.

Odd how "Go with your heart" as true as it is, is nowadays given more reverence than the brain - why not emphasise both? If one consistently goes with the heart in life, relationships, faith even - at the first sign of real trouble we hear:

"This is a recording... go with your heart" and some of us lash out or ... jump ship; it is not so much that rationality is abandoned - just that it is easier to react without thinking of the consequences. Patience is a wee casualty in the "heart only" mentality. But thankfully, it can be revived. We just have to allow both sides of our nature an even playing field.

What I find amazing is that while you are reading this, wherever you are, you have unique brain cells, synapses, emotion sparkling away inside of you, bubbling to fruition. So real, thank God and so wonderful. Everything you have just read, you have absorbed or recognized. Everything and everyone are somehow linked.

Peace,
x

Just Add Water

2010-05-28T03:09:00.000-07:00

A while ago I heard about this clever company that came up with a new pancake mix in the 1940's. All you had to do was add water and hey presto .. pancakes. Now being an enthusiastic cook, the thought knits my brow. "Water? what else is in there?". But I understood the convenience and of course the company thought that they had hit on culinary alchemy. Somehow when it came to the sales launch, shoppers stayed away. People (or in those days, women) found it too easy, too strange and alien. So a clever duck in the company changed the recipe, now you had to water and ... an egg. Sales shot up at a blistering pace. They didn't understand it but were pleased, the mix was finally off their sorry hands and into those of the fairer sex.

What they forgot to tap into at the beginning, was reality as seen and known by people at that time: Nothing is that easy, some work goes into achieving anything worthwhile. Which makes me think of the world we live in today. Everything is at our tiptap fingertips. We may lament about the declining economy, petrol prices and finding the right shampoo - but on the whole, we've noticed that those who do complain, are hardly the ones lying in the street or counting loose change under a streetlamp.

Yet while we we have so much more materially - the fear is always driven into us that we have nothing, not really. That life is not as it should be. The spouse is not quite perfect enough or psychic enough to anticipate each and every need. The job is too stressful. Time is far too fleeting. The last one is the only one I agree with: Pardon me for my absence.

During all this fear-mongering, the "counter message" we get to balance this out is: More. That's their answer. As if by just adding more (water) we will be gifted with an instant life. A life other than the one we borrow. I use "borrow" here, because that is how it is. We don't keep life forever; we are entrusted with one for a short while: Why then are we so determined to remain dissatisfied with this gift?

I feel as if people are bombarded by their own side sometimes. Good, intelligent people are buying into the idea that they are not quite capable, because they are unhappy - and they are being sold that idea by OTHER human beings. An endless spiral of enabling - the drug is "This is not good enough and neither are you".

Perhaps they are right to be unhappy! Or dissatisfied. It's good to know when something needs fixing. The only harm occurs when they barely scratch the surface of why there is discontent; when they use the outer life: appearance, career and status as the passage to contentment. The truth is, all those things only equal a material life - which no matter how much you improve upon will never bring true fulfillment.

Deep down we know this, yet we still forget. The other messages are too prevalent. Why? Happy, fulfilled people are rarely voracious consumers, it helps profit margins to keep us in a state of constant need. I don't think that those who enable this process truly mean harm - but let's face it, they are partly responsible. Though not completely.
The greatest opportunity and thus the greatest test lies with us. Taking responsibility for why we are and what we value is not the easiest thing. Sometimes it can strike like a lightening bolt - when reality forces us to see beneath the veneer. Most of the time, it takes work, real hard introspective work. We actually have to sit down in a quiet spot and think. Shut away the world and all the images dangled before us. Just sit and think and ask every question we have avoided or neglected. Remember our question mark? It comes in very useful during those tender, worthwhile moments. This life is so precious and it floats by in the blink of an eye; I hope we can give it the time and thought it deserves, soon and often. Throw out the pancake mix. Start from scratch.

Peace
x

Farewell Sweetheart

2010-03-12T14:11:00.000-08:00

It's 10pm in London, returned from a marathon writing session. The whole day, the sense of something tangible, something missing followed me. Just wanted to be indoors. I ate little, what little I touched lacked taste. I prayed, found some peace in that. I wrote some more. Then, looked at missed blogs.

It's 10pm in London and dear Renee, a person of incredible warmth and goodness of the blog "Circling My Head" is.. not here. Her cancer, telling title is her blog's name, had deteriorated quickly. Her warmth and strength are needed elsewhere, she is dead.

Renee, today I wrote, after a long time of my brush with the dreaded tumour; the lease and breath of new life that came when they removed it. Today I found, you, missing. I know Renee was here for a short while. I can't tell you how much she means to me. I want to post her picture and I can't.

I don't always let people deeply into my heart; give - yes, receive? carefully. Except when I come across genuine and kind people, it is very easy to love them. I don't know the romance of that emotion, but with family and friends, it is there and means much. Renee was an instant, loving and sincere friend - certainly not something I expected when I started to write this blog. I did not expect her familiar love, her endearingly sweet emails, her glowing trust, encouragement, understanding of vulnerability and unexplained delight in knowing my real name. I did not expect a complex, amazing, ballsy, (sometimes potty-mouthed) funny and shatteringly good person. Renee did everything her own way and answered to nobody. She grew up Catholic, married her Muslim husband in their "unique" 1975 wedding and together they built an amazing bond and family. She suffered with cancer, sometimes in silence, sometimes with a primal cry for help and we came running, because that's what people who love her do.

I am crying Renee, but it is because I knew you, not because I lost you.

I am grateful to her darling daughter for sharing all the news with us at this sad time. My heart is with Angelique, her father and family. I am grateful for Renee's open heart, searing mind and soul. God I hope I see you in heaven, RK; you deserve peace after all this pain. You deserve every drop of goodness you brought to this world. I am not mythologising Renee, she chose goodness; the simple undiluted kind every day.

I love you.

Peace be with Renee,

Your friend,
x

Water Ripples

2010-02-09T17:49:00.000-08:00

Dear friends, dear souls I have missed the pleasure of conversing with in some time.

Including the friends who email, hello again.

The absence has been felt. Somehow I wish you were across the street from me, so I could meet you at the window and talk back and forth happily like they did in previous times, ready to share, ready to listen.

For some weeks, I have been trying to be the best person I can personally and careerwise. Sometimes they collided, quietly, change causes sparks. It helps to be prepared. I spoke on the phone sporadically, emailed less. Itched to blog. Forgive my silence.

I hope you have been well, better than well. My thoughts would stray, sometimes even gallop to thinking of many of you individually. As weeks stretched, I would rush to write a post and then leave it, it didn't feel quite right for the time, as always the sincere thought requires a ready moment.

For January I had written an enthusiastic, bold, happy one, and then, Haiti collapsed. A house of cards, heaving tremors around the world. Somehow the happy post seemed inappropriate. But I remembered the posts you wrote and they touched me although I could not reply. How to reply, when you said it better than I?

Aghast and shaken, days after I thought of what happens to people after the rubble is cleared: We are left with questions: these encircle a magnifying glass to the people that were abandoned, hungry and needy before any earthquake shook them. I only discovered this after watching a Charlie Rose YouTube on Haiti. Yet we heard little for so long amidst our normal concerns. Little until one earthquake hurt them and jolted us.

Is selfishness individual complacency? Or an epidemic? Are we to blame for not seeking to know more about the world than we are spoon-fed?

Perhaps the magnifying glass can be held to ourselves. Who are we? Who am I?

Am I like the shape of water? Ready to fill the vessel I am given? Or do I build the vessel myself, grow within it, discard it when it cannot contain me anymore?

Without the analogies, I know one thing. I am in this world for reasons bigger than myself. This means I must share of myself freely and without expectation. This means that sometimes I am needed elsewhere. This is not weakness nor naivety. It is humanity finding its way.

The past few weeks have taught me that without cherishing the bigger truth, life is not quite right, contentment is not as surefooted. I reserve the right to be imperfect, I also reserve a right to aim for perfection knowing I will not attain it, as this is human. Yet how vital is this journey when we try for the right reasons?

I pray we all act on our words and good intentions at this time, however small the action, allow it to form and ripple farther than human eyes can see.

Peace,
x

Awards and The Coliseum

2009-11-16T06:04:00.000-08:00

Awards

Going underground is what our work prep. feels like; contact with the world at large being via my phone, with its tiny screen only allowing me to view blogs while squinting and shaking it at the same time. I often tried to comment but for some reason my on screen keyboard seems to have been made by Lilliputians with a sense of humour. Clicking anything makes the page expand and contract, double clicking makes me type in Danish, do I speak Danish? My phone seems to think so.

So alas, I am back in the realm of the living on a mild November day and gearing up to read what I’ve been missing. As for those who messaged, love you. This post is in two parts; the first, passing on awards because they are “about timely” and the second a youtube sight that can only be called … well, you’ll see.

I have tried not to repeat awards for those that already have them; I know the "rules" involve one word answers to questions, etc, but I was never very good with rules or monosyllabic answers. I choose to pass them on in appreciation and love, unconditionally.

The "Deborah" for Laurel, Pamela, Jennifer, Renee, French Fancy, Vanessa and Purple Flowers.

The "Kreative Blogger" for Lori, Diane, Heavenly Housewife, Phoenix, Victoria, Debra, Corinna, Dzintra, Jacqueline and Des.

Above you will find a feast to suit any mood, be it intellectual, emotional, decorative, culinary, cultural or simply those that bring a spark as they share. Thank you for being who you are so openly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coliseum

In complete contrast, the following youtube video may surprise. It’s one of the first things I saw on going back online to a reasonably sized screen. I want to write about it objectively, if that is possible. I can attest to never seeing anything like it.

The centre of attention is footballer, Elizabeth Lambert of the New Mexico University team. The sight of this girl kicking, punching, pulling hair, tripping up opponents and tripping them up again has flamed through youtube with a vigour worthy of the cheesy wedding dance couple.

This is the most surprising, feisty and ferocious bit of (sports) violence that people have witnessed for some time. One of the kindest people I know viewed this and burst out laughing. While offensive, the complete incredulity of the clip brings forth a shock that is sated by laughter. It is hard to believe that it is real. It’s too cartoon-like, too "Street Fighter", too.. masculine?

As of now, the youtube view count is hurtling past one million. The comments alone reveal a snapshot of the world at large,

"She was provoked", "What a bully!", "Go girl", "Thug life!" (apparently a positive).

Besides the obvious calls for a referee (where was she/he?), the majority of Elizabeth’s defenders appear to be male and her opponents, female. In an age where equality is King, when a woman produces a performance mirroring Vinnie Jones’ - former model for football hooligans in my country, it is electrifyingly vulgar.

Perhaps it takes an act of sports barbarism or rough play according to which side you are on, to wake people up. Violence of this kind is rarely made real to the majority of genteel viewers. One expects it to be the start of gang fights (when they can’t find their blades) or the result of a crass late night gone wrong. One does not expect "Thug life!" to come in a blonde, middle class and female package.

Elizabeth Lambert is the bitter pill and antidote to an unshockable zeitgeist. Perhaps the transplanted coliseum show playing across our screens is just what we need in order to ask how far violence is going. She could be your daughter or sister, that is the piercing reality when the laughter dies down.

So could her toppled opponents. Within forty seconds of footage, the college girls have been catapulted to infamous worldwide attention. The last thing they expected to learn besides their major and minor was how to take a thorough kicking, in public too. It is neither their fault nor their infamy but the memory is sure to remain more acute now. The fact that a mea culpa has been issued is of little use to them as is her indefinite suspension.

As for Thug Life Lizzie, we have not heard the end of her after that apology. Rather than vilify her, it would be wise to ask where this anger comes from, is it a symptom of our times? I can’t help but believe that condemning something makes us stop debating, stop figuring out what lies beneath and what we can do to change it. Condemning it also makes the taboo grow acceptable and more palatable, because in our world, taboo attracts attention.

We have not seen the last of that kind of performance either. Expect youtube parodies to come pouring in with carrion crow efficiency. One can only hope that the "Why?" can be answered before the world numbs itself with laughter.

Peace,
x

Question Mark

2009-10-25T08:51:00.000-07:00

A graceful curve, a succinct point. One flow here to a pause, followed by a simple dot. The question mark; a wonderful addition to our world.

It is not about the look of this object but what it represents. "Question everything.". That is a human birthright. What separates as from animals if not our reason? At the heart of reason is the quest for knowledge, inner and outer. Curiosity is the antidote to ignorance.
Curiosity is a question mark.

I can imagine a long queue of human beings milling along a busy city street. The view of them is from above as they walk to and fro. Over each head, a clear question mark follows like a punctuation halo. Some are as clear and bright as an oil slick, others are dulled, many have their forms nearly scratched through although the shape remains the same.

We are born curious creatures. We learn at a rate that a computer could not hope to quantify before we even understand what a computer is. Curiosity and reason are as inbuilt as love. I don't doubt that in years to come the curiosity gene will be discovered with a big "I told you so" written all over it. The truth is the gene is unimportant; exercising curiosity is what really matters.

Time seems to go so fast that we are being dragged along with it like barnacles holding fast to a speeding ship. The temptation for the human being in this state is to accept, anything. Be it the status quo, the safest option or whatever is handed to them on a plate. Sometimes all of the above.

Question everything. If you see an irrational world, question it, dig deeper than what you are told is the answer. If you yourself have an irrational thought, question yourself.

I discovered recently that the question mark was also known as the interrogation point. Like a full stop with attitude. But the "interrogation point" sounds apt. Interrogate life, question the why and the wherefores. Look behind the veneer of stated fact and ask the difficult questions as well as the easy ones.

It was not too long ago that I was pleased with an ivory tower, filled with exclamation marks and full stops. I questioned nothing if I felt it would interfere with my ivory tower. Most of all, I never questioned if I was truly happy. Difficult questions are easy to avoid because we know deep down the answer might serve as a challenge. A challenge to re-examine, change or even grow.

To grow is something adults are unused to. The mind and heart are as settled as the flesh and bones they inhabit. We remember the pain of teething and fear the same again, perhaps more acutely this time. It is a genuine fear. But we should all remember that teething was a temporary stage that passed and was forgotten like a fallen autumn leaf. We gained something new and better after it. We gained a freedom we had not anticipated but gladly welcomed.

Curiosity is just the same. It awaits, ready to be tapped into. It is everywhere and in everything. It enables us the chance to grow before we cannot grow anymore. It gives us a gift to not just react and follow, but to reason, decide and choose what we will. The question mark is a friend on the tip of your tongue.

Peace,

Come Fly with Me

2009-10-15T05:27:00.000-07:00

Thanks are in order before I begin this post. Three lovely ladies graced me with sweet awards on the sidebar, Shell, Vanessa and Lori, your blogs are unique and I thank you for the warmth and sweetness you bring here. Do check out their blogs if you have not already. Now, for mentioning something about me not mentioned before (as asked):

I would like to share a private dream with you - as yet unfulfilled;
I've always wanted to fly. Preferably in a small plane, over Africa, Asia, anywhere that is rich with landscape, colour and wonder. To be a skilled aviatrix is something I don't see happening for a while, time being one reason. But sometimes the dream catches me softly and I allow myself to smile in its familiar hold.

I want to know what it is like to control and master a delicate and precarious engine. I want to know the feeling of human melding with wing and horizon until you are one motion. Most of all I seek the dream of soaring skillfully, as if I was born in the air.

Dear all, how to describe why I am always touched by this film sequence, where even the tiny screen does it some justice. If you get goosebumps and your heart swells, I understand. From the overhead view of Africa to John Barry's golden music, this is beauty designed to make every human ache.

May I present to you three aviatrix (except Amelia, I intend to write a post for her alone) who were not only capable of all of the above but were TRUE examples in their courage, dedication and quest for adventure. These are real pioneers. They had no publicists, pop songs or photoshopped spreads, they were only themselves. Lovely.

A brilliant and feisty girl from Texas, who after being denied flying lessons because of her colour, saved and travelled to France in 1921, where they allowed women and African-Americans to obtain the difficult international pilot's license. She was the first American woman to gain it. She returned to The States, aged twenty-nine, to much acclaim and continually worked hard to be a flyer, activist and lecturer across the country. The first African-American aviatrix proclaimed, "I refused to take no for an answer".

This was true for Elly Beinhorn-Rosemeyer (see last post). She started off as an only child with a thirst for life and a desire to break through the city walls surrounding her. Long distance-flying became her dream despite opposition. In 1931, aged twenty-three (two years after gaining her license) she flew solo from Europe to Africa, carrying a mosquito net and water. On her return to Germany, she pointed to an Atlas and said that she would like to try, "Somewhere on the right"; this was Elly. She then flew over Mt. Everest, Bali and Australia then returned to the African coast, the last time with her husband. She turned in her license aged seventy-two voluntarily, knowing she had tasted her dreams.

Imagine the early days of aviation. You are like Columbus in a small drag plane. All you have is a compass and basic instruments. In front is an open cockpit window and no roof. The wind rushes past your face, bellowing at you, as you lift and lift higher into the air. Surrounding you is the sky, intimate and vast.

Ascha Donnels, Californian aviatrix, remembered on her ninety-ninth birthday:
“I could imagine that I was sitting on the edge of a cloud, looking out over the whole world. In those days there was no smog, and you could smell the fragrances of oranges, whatever you were flying over, at all altitudes."

Achsa: “I had no sense of fear. In fact…when they learned about it (first flight), my family said I had no sense, period.”

I wonder what it was like; below you have left not only reality as you know it, but the thoughts of the age. Very few people if any believe you should be up there. To them a woman in jodhpurs is hideous, let alone a woman in a plane. They cannot believe your choice and yet, some of them admire you for it. A lonely place is knowing you are doing the right thing although few understand.

But up in the air, the wind is knocking the truth back into you, "It doesn't matter" and it really doesn't. You are electrified and more free than most on this planet. You inhale adventure and light. The engine roars its encouragement, you go higher, "This is the world and I am its dove". Everything seems minute below, but you feel oddly protective of it, somehow more enchanted. It is true that distance makes the heart grow... not fonder, but aware of good.

I think that flight taps into our consciousness in a manner few things can match. On the one hand, it is spectacular to roam the planet as a winged being.

On the other hand, it serves as metaphor: Striving and reaching higher than you thought possible; facing oneself at a dizzy height; finally, mapping your journey and taking charge of destiny. Wherever it takes you, at least you follow a map and compass. So this is my dream to be one with the sky and use my compass wisely. I hope you have enjoyed your flight.

Peace,
x

Old Age, you Rockstar

2009-09-29T06:48:00.000-07:00

"Breathing, listening, being", fantastic, alles in ordnung, all is well. The sun is shining and I feel odd posting this as my mood is lifted by the sparkly view from my window. This was written the day before and is illustrated by the subject of my next post - pioneering women... go with it :)

Let me be the first to remind us today, sweet gratitude!

A reminder is needed: I have been confronted by the smite we all know as the "woman's column", everywhere I turn I face the dreaded false distraction of women AND men somehow putting down women for the awful crime of, wait for it.... growing old. There I said it. "Old", say it, let it curl around your tongue like a forgotten flavour.

This is after all what the "fear" is; equalling old with "forgotten", "past it", "sell by date" - I am still shocked, even now, that we can use this kind of language to describe one of the most BEAUTIFUL gifts in the world, the experience of life in it's many seasons, growing, changing, living.

So this will be an unusual turn for me, a slightly tongue in cheek look, perhaps a kitten's rant in defense of ageing.

I will add that grey (gray for my American friends) hairs don't count; we have lots of beautiful natural dyes on this planet used by pre and post grey-haired people, equal opportunity dyeing for all; moving along.

Now some of you may be aware that I am "relatively" young, by that I mean, no longer a teenager nor am I old enough to be a district attorney... I think. Find whichever age you think that is and guess away. Because that is beside the point, how old am I? Who cares? I won't deny that for years I always wanted to be older, as if something magical was going to happen then. This only stopped when I hit eighteen and then the facet of mortality and an immature fear of revolving years nipped at my heels. But I am over that now, have been for some time, thank God.

For those that still have this superficial fear of ageing drummed into them, my dears, consider the alternative? .... exactly.

For those that would like to take a time machine back (sometimes I would too, but only to meet all the wonderful people who've passed), not going to happen. I tried, they told me the science was impossible. Plus I think that, seriously... God does not need to do a "rinse, repeat" with our destinies.

And for those that would like to look like they did when they were younger, what good would it do you? And if that is the case then how far back do you want to go exactly? I could go as far back as age twelve in my head, hmm, I looked like a cute girl with the body of a twelve year old boy, no thankye.

Frankly, anything which is not naturally occurring that somehow makes you look twenty years younger, well that's surgery, CUTTING and it is just unreal. Sorry to state the obvious. In fact I look on that kind of surgery, the pull, tug, nip, tuck, disappear acts as self-harm. Harmful because they are there to make you THINK you need to look better than you do, you don't. They are also there to make you feel you are not good enough, you are more than good enough - you are fantastic. They are lastly there to turn ageing into the millennial money-making disease.

"The plague, the plague"

"What? Swine Flu?"

"No! old age, quick, call your surgeon".

I don't wish to blame the media. Start, stop. It's been done. One does not have to invite a rude person to dinner neither is one compelled to buy into that shtick. I accept that youth is adorable but it is not King Solomon's Mines. The real treasure is the face of wisdom, love and understanding. All of which grow and are magnified by greater experience.

As for wrinkles? Beautiful. My favourite are the crinkly eyes when someone smiles. I look forward to them, can't beat 'em, don't want to, so join 'em. I look forward to all the things that we are told to shun and fear out of ignorance. Dear friends, let us just stop buying into the paranoia, the cosmetics have made enough money off of it and do we really care if 10 out of 23 women prefer retinal a to peptides?

To emphasise, cellulite? fine, bring it on. Change is good. Stretchmarks? groovy. Case in point: A beautiful friend (in her twenties) was wearing jeans to a tea party, complaining about stretchmarks, she then with one finger displayed some on her upper hip, uninvited. Following my initial surprise, "Cool" I ventured, "It's like a Zebra print", she got the joke; but the truth is I see nothing wrong with it. Look at it another way - nature's tattoo (!) People make out like these are sinful scars, "Horrible, horrible, pass me the cocoa butter", why? If they are scars, then let them be the battle scars of womanhood. Wear them proudly, you made it!

We all know it's not always easy being female and it does not get any easier. I know I live life happily, but please be aware, it is not an exercise in floating with my eyes closed. I worked to get this way, or get back to being this way as I believe we are all born with the brightness gene. It just gets dimmed sometimes.

Yet, back to taboo stretchmarks, bring them on too. Zebra print me, I don't mind. In fact, I'll help it along; tonight I'll take an extra scoop of ice cream, make that two extra scoops. Anything I can do to impede the madness that is "FEAR OF OLD AGE" and the natural body, I shall do. No sacrifice/scarcrifice; sorry, had to.

Lastly, please think back to some of the most amazing and graceful people in this world. Where would we be without those who lived without fear and delusions? People whose courage made us smile and inspire us to go forward be it on a shared path or simply by the gift of their pearlescent quotes. I wonder what they would think of the petty 21st century concerns about something completely natural and precious. I wonder how incredulous they would be. Most likely they would pity everyone. Those that fear ageing and those growing up to fear it.

Below follows Audrey at her most beautiful:

Please, let us remember that this life is a gift as is every.... single.... wrinkle one earns during it. Kiss it, love it, embrace it. A certain fifties male actor dropped this ditty, "Live fast, die young and leave a good looking corpse". Well, he got 2 out of 3. I still think it is the silliest line ever. That along with, "Why buy the cow if you can milk it?". Sorry, Jimmy. I also feel sorry for anyone who chases the mirage that a plumped this or a tighter that, equals happiness.

I thank God for the graceful gift of living, I pray that we all live a RIPE old age, full of sweetness, full of truth and full of giving. Serving white and dark chocolate ice cream tonight, feel free to join me.

Peace,
x

Autumn on my Cheek

2009-09-13T05:14:00.000-07:00

Autumn, you rush in like a kiss brushing the cheek, yet leaving an impression.

Autumn, you call to me like a long lost friend;

"Remember me? How my colours evoke silences? How you taste the minty air on your lips? No more heat for you my friend, still I bring warmth... I unearth your sweaters, your scarves, your happy shiver. "

Autumn reminds that we all love a little surprise, a spicy breeze captured in the cocoon womb of our jackets - worn and comfortable - or newly bought, "For me? Why, thank you" says Autumn, "I always like it when you dress up".

"But, oh dear soul" soothes Autumn, whom shall herein be referred to as "A",
"I am more than a change of look, sweet as it is, nay, superficial fare am I not.

I am your reminder, your conscience, your special season. I show that life is not endless Summer nor forever Winter. I laugh at Spring, your fleeting friend, for I am "A", your gentle one.

I quicken your pace, as Winter saunters, and there is much to be done. The languid days of Summer have taken their own holiday, after kindly hosting yours. But "A" is here, the loyal nudge along the cycle of life. "

"Remember, remember" whispers "A", "Time is the fleeting season, circling once before it passes".

Love, live, renew... wrap up warm, sip your steaming cup and ponder your map of life. Then smile as another breeze raises a gentle kiss across your cheek, whispering "Remember, love".

Our time on earth is but a raindrop in an ocean of always.

Peace,
x

A Little Light Reading

2009-09-03T09:50:00.000-07:00

I love poetry and poets. I love the heart that articulates the soul and mind. You are all so sweet to share with me, I wanted to share one of my favourite poets with you, E.E. Cummings: Truth seeker and pacifist, genius and exuberant heart. I normally recite silently; this is my reading I taped lo-fi into a mobile phone and mingled with some photographs you may have seen and some that are new to you. Feel free to tell me what you think on here or on youtube. May all your days be filled with poetry.

Peace,
x

New beginnings, ascending

2009-08-24T11:45:00.000-07:00

I hold a bird in my hands. This bird of love. It looks up with sad eyes and I notice then that its wing is injured. Whose fault was this? Yours, mine or ours? It doesn't matter now. I must heal it without fail.

On waking one day, I find, not when I tell it to, but when the bird tells me, that it is well again - I can let go, let it fly, let it be. The eyes are no longer sad, but trusting, aware, forgiving. "Forgive me", I still say. For whatever we do or don't do that causes pain, we humans should always ask forgiveness. There is value in releasing hurtful pride, and allowing truth to be our friend. Acknowledge the wrong. This could be apathy, forgetfulness or worst of all, ignorance. Be truthful that it might have been your fault and if it wasn't, there is something to be said for healing the wound that isn't your doing.

Love is one of the most precious things we can offer. How easy it is to forget the love we see every day, the love we share, the love we hold. How foolish it can be to look for it elsewhere, either out of sadness or even boredom. The brave heart understands the trust in its hands. The mind reminds it to look at it, every day, every night.

"Forgive me" are powerful words. With them, we lay ourselves open to love and - acknowledge the weakness we are programmed to hide in this motorised world. We are not machines, mistakes will be made. The lesson of wisdom when this happens is what you do afterwards. Do you ignore it? Turn your back on it? Or heal the wing?

Years might have passed, or simply days before such questions are asked of ourselves. The important thing is to ask them. Believe in the good and let it come through you as light that rests within us all. Ready to shine, glisten or murmur through your skin ever so quietly.

Love is a tender bird, strengthened by our actions. Love is the bird in flight. Treated well, it can transcend time and trials. Know yourself and those you love by understanding - without judging. Loving freely soon follows.

Peace,
x

Sunrise arise

2009-08-15T13:32:00.000-07:00

I have just returned from a topsy-turvy two weeks. Nothing exciting - yet. A humongous cold for days. I dragged myself out of bed, just to fall back into it. The past few days was spent racing to catch back the week I needed to make up for and how.

So much time away makes me feel like the roadrunner with a to-do list. Chasing me is the wolf of schedules and consciousness. I somehow feel guilty having a cold, then drift away from that, as all time is precious. I am here, better - and there is no gift like the present. I hope you have been well. Please take your vitamins. Thank you for the kind emails, it is lovely to be thought of and remembered.

If you ever need a breather in a week which is crazy hectic, I recommend Belgian chocolate cake and mp3's of a comedian/poet - my current favourite is American and once called himself the "Dark Poet" - ironic as his thoughts exhaled enlightenment. I then recommend you put those away as they can be far too distracting.

Above you see a beautiful hinted sunrise I captured in a defiant blur against my cold. Missing the day against the drawn curtains, I nearly climbed over my roof, camera in hand, wearing pyjamas (thank God: neighbours/sleeping) and snapped these few delicious pink hazes.

The night before I was woken up by my own girly cough to find a light bellowing through my curtains like the beam of a lighthouse. Thinking someone was missing the point of night, I inched toward the window to discover no jokester with a searchlight inviting Batman or aliens but... the moon. How beautiful. How incredibly unexpected and welcoming. I forgot myself and the chilly night and just had to reach for my camera and take her picture.

It mesmerises me how I can look up and somewhere on that sphere is a human footprint. Likely Neil's, untouched by time or weather as of course, there is no atmosphere up there. But there is down here, and there is time, reaching to us, calling, reminding all how the sun sets and rises and we have to pursue our destiny or waste the breathing day. Your shared words on "Love Letters" touched me deeply. I love you all, you feel that. Those who don't ... read back.

Have a beautiful Sunday and every day.

Peace,

Love Letters

2009-07-29T12:52:00.000-07:00

Vanessa, a sweet soul (Vanessa's Runway) paid me a kind compliment two posts back and then mentioned my possibly writing love letters.

I must admit, I've never written one or a love poem. Received letters and poems? Perhaps. Modesty forbids one from discussing details. The truth is, in my mind, those didn't count, because the emotion (carefully avoiding the word - love) was not reciprocated.

I truly admire people who can profess love through a letter, without knowing how the beloved receiver may react. It is brave, it is hopeful, sometimes it's just foolish. But I would rather encounter an honest fool than a dishonest vagabond. Did I just type vagabond? Alas must be the Browning influence.

Secretly too, sometimes, I peer out from under an emotional hat, wondering what it must be like to love the sender of a love letter. I've never been in love, not even close. I guard my heart carefully and want to be with one person and not waste a lifetime tasting the fall-aways. This may seem quaint and old-fashioned in this day and age, but I'm OK with that. Although I do tend to hear the chorus of "When one has so much love to give it would be a waste not to marry...". People mean well. Yet, one cannot force love, one cannot conjure chemistry or forge true understanding. It is so much easier to be friends than to know who your life partner should be.

So when I come across a love letter, a genuine profession of the beating heart, It moves me, in a sweet sad way that can only be compared to looking through glass at a beautiful sight you cannot touch. Then I close the shutters. And reality crowds in like welcome clouds. I am reminded how blessed I am, how gifted with good people and true love in other ways.

The rose you see above is a love letter. One picked by my father to give to my mother. After decades of marriage I am touched by how sweetly they can share love. In ways I cannot describe here, they bring an example for me to look up to. I also see it in my friends, a couple who have been through so much in a youthful marriage, perhaps the sum of challenges some face in decades and still their strength and faith revives and holds up their love. They are amazing to me. They make the choice to see the good in everyday and each other. I think the best examples of love to me are those who choose to work as a team, no matter what and make it them against life's inevitable tests. Perhaps that is the best love letter, the unwritten, never finished one. Where the pages are years and the words are their actions.

Love is such a delicate beautiful giver, of the heart and the mind. I am reminded that if anyone wants proof of God they need only think of love. I hope you can all take the time to treasure the soul that is entwined with yours today. Feel free to write a love letter, or even share it. This wonderland was made with love. So I guess, these posts are my journey but also, my love letter to you.

Peace,
x

Doubles, anyone?

2009-07-20T00:40:00.000-07:00

I got double-tagged. A truly lovely compliment from two adorable and bird-like ;) bloggers I admire - Laurel of HappySimpleLife and un bel Oiseau. I first came across Oiseau's ("Bird") blog a while ago and then Laurel's (who shares my adoration of Gatsby); I found that they have a winged obsession in common, remember Laurel?

I adore this award, it's so unfluffy and simple, it's a bit English too, which fits, so thanks! So the rules are, according to Laurel:

I need to copy the logo and place it on my blog (Right)

Link it back to the person who gave it to me (Which? I'll put both)

Pass it on to five fellow bloggers (Gladly)

List 10 things about myself (OK, this should be easy for a relatively anonymous blog)

Before I give my 10, I would like to pass this on to, in alphabetical order and with just one of their talents highlighted:

Anika - Book collector

Lori Ann - Traveller
Pamela - From the House of Edward - Wordsmith
Renee - Circling my head - Survivor

Will Bryant- Artist/Illustrator

If you have been tagged, then I hope that we can find out 10 more things about you. I'm not sure what to write, so here follows a simple stream of consciousness.

My ten are:

1. I am an optimist with a reality hat on. I see the world as it is but rose-scented.

2. By the age of twelve, I had visited over forty countries. I love travel but have a nesting instinct.

3. I decided to be a writer early on after my love of reading. I decided to be a Filmmaker too aged sixteen after reading Orson Welles' biography by Barbara Leaming. He was a misfit and nothing else fits but film and words.

4. I choose my close friends carefully (sometimes after a minute) but am friendly to everyone. Life is too short and precious to be cold.

5. Last year I was faced with my own mortality. It was a tough time but brought me back to my true course; I quit my current work and decided to direct my own projects. Nothing teaches you more about reality than realising how short life is. I'm fine now.

6. Although I live by the city, I like oceans, lakes and mountains. Nature refreshes me, if I had a choice I would eat facing a view, all the time.

7. I don't drink.

8. I think Africa is the most beautiful, varied and mysterious continent. From Mozambique to Morocco, so earthy and ethereal.

9. I believe in God. My DNA is because of him, I'm grateful.

10. I don't know what to put for 10, I really don't. If you have read my blog and you know anything I can put there then let me know. Good or bad, I don't mind.

Peace,
x

Recycled humour, now exporting.

2009-07-13T13:43:00.000-07:00

Here is an unusual post from me. I rarely get to catch TV beyond the news and a really good documentary. So I am increasingly pleased with youtube, a virtual picnic of clips you can get in your inbox, choose or drop without having to sit through a precious half hour.

Thanks to them I get to share some new British comedy with you that you may be unfamiliar with. Humour is continually evolving here, but what I adore is that it never loses it's wit, irreverence or more to the point, kind satire; be it towards Churchill or the Church of England - the latter being the church King Henry VIII invented so he could legally get a divorce. Ahem. With that, please enjoy this comedy window with brief descriptions. I'm leaving the best until last but they're all quite good.

The following BBC clip comes from the naughty schoolboys in grown men's clothing known as Armstrong and Miller. This clip is one I like because of the literary references and tongue-in-cheek treatment of manuscript readings à la Byron, Shelley and Co.

We take a brief break from this presentation to bring you the following "advertisement" from Mitchell and Webb. Another funny pair who are rather similar to the above. Sometimes I feel like my country's entire comedy repertoire consists of the grown up antics of former public school boys (public school means private school in England, we call none-private schools, state schools). Happily this advert spoof needs no translation:

We return to regular transmission to finish with Armstrong and Miller. Their funniest work is the spoofing of British WW2 Films and the stiff upper lipped pilots therein - only the language these characters use is current slangy "London street":

There's a brief foray into some laughs, let me know what you think.

Peace,
x

Listening

2009-07-08T15:06:00.000-07:00

I like listening, I adore people who listen without waiting to jump in. Although an endearing talker can make me smile; I'm sure you know someone like that, who is just fidgeting to speak, so you nod and then their words flow like pearls clattering down stairs.

I am slowly realising that there is an art to this life, and listening is another art within it; one to practice and attempt to perfect. Yes, I said perfect. I know we will never achieve that state, being flesh and fallible. Yet while knowing this and being freed from the myth of human perfection, why not aim for perfection? that way you can at least conquer the best you can do and exceed your own expectations.
This applies to listening.

It is also giving: Something to share without asking anything back, something you present, something that makes someone feel special. Listening ticks all of those boxes without coming in a gift-wrapped one.

As a child I was either incredibly shy and watchful, soaring with glee or chatting non-stop with those I felt comfortable with. Not unusual. But I recall listening in order to learn, absorb, soak in. The quiet moments taught me most. The expressions of adults as they pondered thoughts I could not reach, with emotions I could sense as keenly as fire or ice. As we grow older and savour the nuances of a deeper and wiser life, our beloveds have a lot more to say, a lot more to carry and also release.

Listening brings it's own rewards. At first the air changes. Literally. I can feel a tangible peace when someone listens and I listen back. The words that are spoken are absorbed. And still more goes on, we are expressing, "I am here", "I understand" and even "I love you" without having to say a word.

Time is so precious and one of our preconceptions is that we need to fill it to experience it; with speed, travel, music, parties. All of these things are extras, some of them wonderful extras but they cannot replace the gift of time, spent with someone, when you just listen.

Peace,

Optimism - The Art of Looking Up

2009-06-30T13:41:00.000-07:00

Optimists are the road sweepers of the soul. I had to look out the window after writing that - while my conscious self caught up with the inner - then smiled. You see, we're rather tame. We don't tend to do much drama, tear our hair out or scream into pillows. The idea of that just seems like a waste of energy. I would rather stare out at a beautiful view, reflect, maybe photograph it and share it with you. Like these ones from again - Morocco.

Optimism is not hard won by but some people do need to win it - back. I think that as children we were natural optimists. Open to the world and always looking up, peering at the sky, into a flower, staring at a melting ice cube.

Everything is fascination, everything is light and promising. To where does such an amazing viewpoint disappear sometimes? We sense and recognize it's passing either personally or in observation. Some of us are living examples of a life adequately lived with just a memory of complete happiness.

All is not lost. All is never truly lost. But, how to win it back? I think that one way is to step back from any distraction, sit down and just... think. Happiness is partly being reconciled with yourself. There is no one alive who is truly happy that is not true to themselves. So it might be good to reintroduce yourself to yourself. Who am I? What do I really want? Why am I here? From there you can search out your methods and tools to go forward. I found mine at the age of twenty-one and I am so grateful I did. Others will find their way, as long as they search it out.

There is such a life to be lived! And meaning like treasure to be unearthed; it would be a sad thing to leave this world with the epitaph, "I came for the food".

With regards to this world - realising you can't control it is an immense freedom. Observe this fact from a simple distance. Distance from anger, envy. Distance, from any negative reaction that springs like a struck match. This is not coldness; it affords you a truthful minute to look at things with clear rational eyes. I think that gives one more patience and ultimately compassion. Try controlling everything and you'll soon lose track of yourself and the point. Just, step, back.

It's hard to tell more without revealing. I used to live a life that glistened on top but was shallow underneath, yet had hugely complex feelings bartering for attention. Now it feels a lot deeper and incredibly simple. I just have to look up from time to time.

1am in London

2009-06-25T16:52:00.000-07:00

It's nearly 1am in London. Taking a break from editing to watch the news. The news is that another human being has left this earth, this time it's Michael Jackson. My thoughts go out to his family. Fifty is so young.

Suddenly the reglorification and gushing begins.
I am listening to newsreaders and contributors praising him highly, "Groundbreaker..Thriller, Peter Pan". How different to the past two decades.

I grew up listening to him, watching those mesmerising videos. To children, he was a larger than life figure that connected with them because of his vulnerability. It is not hard to see how this was exploited by others. If one looks at the bare facts, he had been "working" since the age of five. Most of his life was spent in the spotlight, how normal can you remain in that environment? So much has been rumoured about him. I hold the belief that everyone is innocent until proven guilty, somehow I wish the media would have upheld that basic human right.

He started as a child performer, became a superstar, was ridiculed like Quasimodo and is now back in the superstar books. He was simply a man, brother, father, son. As the swarm begins on the screen, I feel I must turn away. My thoughts go out to all the human beings who have left this plane today. Rest in peace.

All the World

2009-06-22T05:59:00.000-07:00

"All the world is birthday cake, so take a piece but not too much."

~George Harrison

The morning began with these

Then these

I melted a little.

So it was my birthday, a day filled with love, beauty and laughter. I feel so blessed and thank them profusely. What to do with a relatively anonymous blog? I suppose post a snapshot of the periphery. Not the gifts, that would be tacky, although I'm itching to be tacky... but I shan't.

I was then told, nay, ordered "not to do a thing". This is hard for me.
A friend once asked me not to work too hard then added "Well, it's like asking Jesus not to cure the blind, isn't it?". So I allowed this one day of total pampering with no mind to work, writing or schedules. I felt somewhat useless. But lovely. Wrapping paper was strewn like confetti and a zaniness ensued that I had nothing to do with but delighted in gladly. The day of hugs and kisses included full stomachs with a surprise dinner of one of my favourites - Spaghetti Cioppino (pardon the blur - steam)

And was matched by

This berry-scrumptious creation arrived courtesy of Patisserie Valerie (est. 1926, they proudly boast). Together with a loved one they chucked their repertoire and came up with a new recipe of all my favourite things - fresh berries, ganache and what appears to be Belgium's entire supply of white chocolate. I am sorry to any diabetics, truly I am.

I love the effort that comes straight from the heart, not spectacle or show but pure love. It was a good day, so rhythmically good I almost got a headache.

After some delicate hour I floated off to bed, feeling like a princess. I just wish I remembered what I dreamt about...

Carnaby Street

2009-06-15T03:21:00.000-07:00

Dear all, I've run away to join The Sixties.

And this man is about to run away with that outfit...

Saturday 12pm - London's Carnaby Street was transported back to when it was the hub of the Swinging Sixties.

For those unfamiliar with the street, a short film I grabbed off youtube plays below:

Although I am a child of the eighties and nineties, I adore The Sixties/60's (along with the thirties). So many "ies" in that sentence. The best music burst forth from that decade, The Who, The Beach Boys, Cat Stevens, The Kinks, Motown and John Barry - Mozart of the century. The poetry discarded form, the books broke barriers. Such a flood of creativity, colour and vivacity, while the rest of the world tried to cope with a new identity, a new era.

One of my favourite films is a little known gem from that time called "The Knack and How to Get It" - someone kindly put a preview up on the 'tube:

It spells out the struggle between new and old, wild and innocent, pretentious and truthful, it also sends up the era it exists in. This is the film I show to very special people on a rainy day in.

Back to Saturday; Londoners and tourists alike came for the spectacle. I liked it that those who experienced the era got to revisit it so fondly. A few even dressed for the occasion and brought their beautiful toys:

The most 60's Woman (not age wise, mind) was this lady, I want her choker:

The male equivalent was him:

A gigantic crowd suddenly gathered around a stage; they knew before I did that the highlight of the day was the sound of The Small Fakers, tribute band to (The) Small Faces.

If the point of the day was to celebrate the 1960's, then this band brought it home sweet home.

The drummer and Hammond organ/piano player were consummate professionals. The solid base player complemented the overly charismatic lead singer/guitar player.

The energy The Small Fakers brought was raucous and wide open, underpinned by serious musicality. The crowd, a mix of ages and tastes, was swept up by the music and good humour pouring from the stage. Classics from "Tin Soldier" to "All or Nothing" rocked out.
Who knew that one of the best live sounds in London would spring up in Carnaby Street? If they wrote some original material, I would film them. Do check them out, you might be as pleasantly surprised as I was.

After the encore, it was time to drive away and savour a Waterloo sunset. Wish you were here.

Peace,

Onwards, beyond words

2009-06-06T23:59:00.000-07:00

The plan was to post about the witticisms and evolution of slang and lingo. It was to be garnished with a picture of a silhouette. Instead it became something other, something else, because of two people.

I posted last about what we are told to be and who we really are, in part, the meaning of this journey. It's a constant exploration and interest and I am so pleased with your lovely and personal comments, thank you.

Lisa, your compliment was extraordinary. As is her dripping with charm blog, A Bloomsbury Life which also recently contained a picture of a silhouette (book cover); thus my change of mind on using a similar image.

The photographs you see are from my camera-fuelled voyage through Morocco, a truly amazing experience as much as a place. This was alluded to in the “Retour” post. I might just have to punctuate a season of posts with the pictures I took there.

I then read this comment from setyourselfonfire, who after reading the post decided to change her career course:

“I've just had the realisation about living my dreams. I've always chosen more practical things for the reason of being financially stable. But i've realised I can't do that any more because i don't put my all into the practical things because it's never something i'm passionate about. I've just made the choice to quit my job and follow my heart. I'm excited.”

Immediately, I had to get up and walk around. Then sit back down again.

I am pondering and processing what our hearts and our minds can do, when they spell out that meeting truthfully. Astounded; everything we say and do can release small ripples that grow in ways we have no idea of. That comment felt like the splash of a wave, coming back after I threw a pebble out to sea. I don't know what your life will be like, I just hope it will be beautiful. Sending out my prayers and love to everyone.

Peace,
x

What do you want to be?

2009-05-22T03:27:00.001-07:00

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

As I near a birthday in a few weeks, the thoughts of an old familiar question remind me of bygone times.

I remember that question being drummed into us kids from the age of three. We soon began to ask it of ourselves. "What do you want to be?", "What defines you?". Why? What? When?

Before the philosophical ramifications of such questions revealed themselves, the answer was simple. At the age of three I wanted to be a ballerina by day and a ninja at night. The power of flight, optional.

And why not? Is that not what innocence of the world teaches us? Be who or what you want to be?

I don't know if a simpler answer to the question "What do you want to be?" might not to have been, "Taller". After all, the truth we learn and the wisdom we gain is that we do not control the future. We have only a vested interest in it and must work hard for our place in that landscape. I don't mean materially or professionally, but more soul-deep and intelligently.

If all else fails and you are alone on a bare rock overlooking the ocean, who you are inside will carry you forward. Not the job, the attention or the paraphernalia.

Ballerina and ninja. The two choices define qualities I still admire. Grace and mystery. Softness and strength. Light and shade. Perhaps Filmmaker/Writer is a grownup amalgamation of both. As I now have no use for leotards (uncomfortable) and dressing like a ninja in London is likely to draw just a little too much attention. Although I'd like to see a ninja, just once, sipping tea outside a cafe.

I would suggest a revised approach to the above question. Let it not be about the job. Let it be a measure of the qualities that will shape the human being in this fleeting world. I hope one day to hear such answers as "Stronger, happier, patient". Perhaps even "I don't know". The honesty in that answer alone is beautiful. It gives one time to think, reflect and ultimately grow up.

Simply Bill Granger

2009-05-01T05:45:00.000-07:00

There's something about Bill. There's something about his eclectic and original food. There's something about sharing - all entwined. He is exactly as he appears in my photograph above. After the brownies post, I was emailed about Bill Granger so had to blog a bit more about him. Why? He has an abiding love of cooking, giving and what I admire most in talented people, a lack of pretense.

Hence him being able to place brownie recipes in a cookbook that contains Spicy Prawn Stir fry, Italian Onion Soup and Pumpkin and Pea Coconut Curry. I am not one to recommend what you should buy, but his "Feed Me Now!" is an All season favourite I could not put down. I think it is a good indication that a cookbook is a success when you want to eat the entire book, I mean literally.

This is surprising as he is a self-taught cook and one of Sydney's most successful Chefs and Cookbook writers. His background was not easy, less about that here. He is an amazing success story not primarily because of his talent, achievements and innovation- but because he is still a nice guy, speaking in the voice of a teenager about his life, loving family and an unabashed enjoyment of food. We shared a "few" words after watching him cook for the first time in London the other evening. The condensed version is below.

Bill:

On Growing up:
My mother was a vegetarian and my father was a butcher, so you can imagine what our mealtimes were like. Sometimes meat would be placed in the oven until a few hours later it had settled into a grey solid layer. Other times dessert for me would be: add water, eat.

On Cooking:
I believe that meals should centre around the family, good cooking, great ingredients, just taking time to sit down and talk together.

On Other Chefs:
I really like Cooks for whom it is not about ego, but a real respect for food.

On Special Ingredients:
I am not that fussy about branded ingredients, even Soy Sauce. My emphasis is on ingredients that are fresh, delicious and simple. It's natural sometimes for people to be fussy; at home my daughter will only eat cheese that is Buffalo Mozzarella - not just any old Mozzarella, it has to be Buffalo!

Home life:
I am the designated cook at home! Although I run the restaurants [he is also opening another soon in Japan] my family expects me to come home and cook dinner and that is incredibly gratifying to me.

On his Cookbook:
I wanted a book that makes easy home-cooked meals into joyful and delicious experiences. Time is of the essence nowadays, so whether you're cooking for family, friends and even on a Shoestring, this book will have lots of choices for you. There are breakfasts, teatime treats, small meals and fabulous dinners. With a young family, I am very aware that feeding the eyes is just as important as feeding the body, so the foods are as delicious as they are healthy and fresh.

His Cooking Philosophy:
Cooking for others is about giving, if you cook with love then it will show.

Bill's books are available via amazon and his website is http://www.bills.com.au/home.htm

Have a lovely weekend, Peace, x

A Midweek Treat

2009-04-29T10:58:00.000-07:00

There are a thousand different ways to say I love you. One of them is with food. The simple act of cooking a dish fulfills so many simple pleasures, even before the eating of it.

The recipe that follows resulted in the ambrosial brownies you see above. They were too luscious to eat (almost) so I thought I'd photograph them quickly in the spirit of Spring, just before they disappeared.

The recipe is from Bill Granger's new cookbook "Feed Me Now!" the only chef/restaurateur I pay attention to. He told me it would be "Killah" in his Australian accent and he was right. It is also, (gather round), much lower in fat than regular brownies. The moistness comes from the novel addition of dates. When I snapped Bill doing his thing below, one thing that struck me was how easy and fast it is. Do try this at home.

Healthy Chocolate and Date Brownies (makes 25)

140g butter

140g finely chopped dates

60g cocoa powder

90g plain flour

1tsp baking powder

95g soft brown sugar

3 medium eggs

1tsp vanilla

Line a 20cm cake tin with baking paper. Preheat the oven to 160 degrees centigrade.
Melt the butter in a saucepan, add the dates, stir well, take off the heat and stand.
Sift the cocoa powder, flour and baking powder into a large bowl, add the brown sugar and combine.
In a new bowl, whisk the eggs and vanilla. Stir in the dates and butter. Add to the dry ingredients until just combined.
Pour into the tin and bake for 20 minutes or until just set. Leave to cool and cut into squares. Enjoy!

Bill sees baking in this day and age as something special, like

letter-writing, I have to agree.

Richmond Park Muse

2009-04-24T04:49:00.000-07:00

"...and she was just going to spring over, when she heard a deep sigh, which seemed to come from the wood behind her."

~Alice in Wonderland

We spent a few lovely hours in Richmond Park. A sumptuous green wonderland full of paths, stags and room for thought. You could walk it for years and still find something new, a hidden lake, a quaint English lodge, hollow trees large enough to hold an avid reader with a soaring imagination. I was dragged willingly from screen and keyboard; slowly shaking off the thoughts of the day as they clung on, merging with reality: Scene 1, Ext. Richmond Park, two friends walk gingerly upon...
and of course you simply release here, talk when you want and enjoy the silence when you feel it. The camera came along, resulting in the photograph above. One ought to find places like this as often as possible. Embrace the heady gift of nature.

Sunlight and pancakes

2009-04-22T06:24:00.000-07:00

This is for someone who needs a little sunshine today and anyone else out there as well. When a rare bad mood bothers a friend, my immediate instinct is to banish it. As this friend is away I decided to indulge them by spending a minute to send a wee scented candle- red for the "mean reds" and place it in a candle holder I designed in the style of Breakfast at Tiffany's, which she likes at the moment. It's not quite me, but that isn't the point of gift giving.

"The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of." - Holly Golightly

So this is one little way of burning away the mean reds... aromatically.

I once heard that if you're scared of God then everything falls off in comparison. With trepidation, I tried it and it worked... the nightlight disappeared (Earth Day, bonjour). Sometimes the things that scare us most are as thin as paper, we're made of stronger stuff.

When Insomnia meets a Snowglobe

2009-04-14T01:00:00.000-07:00

I got a little cold this weekend. Welcome to London, you are truly back. I wish someone had reminded me that cold medicine contains caffeine and caffeine, well... look what happens when you don't sleep.
I always find that my mind shuts down but my body is awake which negates writing. Option 1: Paint .. too messy, Option 2: Make something I like. I like .... I like.... zzz... OK... I like Snowglobes. This was a hobby I haven't indulged since childhood. A time when I travelled everywhere with my loved ones and wanted to capture each experience in a bowl of water and have it slow-moving and dreamlike like a memory. It's been a while but I still see the small snowglobe collection from those years with a mixture of warmth, nostalgia and a slight twinge of tacky-shyness.

This then reminded me that "someone" I know enjoys a recon. altoid tin. This is the strangely therapeutic practice of taking an empty tin (formerly housing mints) and making it a into a new artwork. In my case, I wanted to make the world's first altoid tin Snowglobes. As a previous insomnia-fuelled effort had been admired, I decided to make another. The themes were chosen for me - travel, mystery, Taj Mahal, which I someday have to visit. It's time to rest, tins take ages.

Retour

2009-04-10T12:02:00.000-07:00

"Be in this life as if you were a stranger or a traveler on a path."

I'm back in town.

An intensely felt blog was written by me last, in the world which is still invisible to those who know me best, this wonderland. I felt relieved, blessed to share it with you, but somehow, something old in me wanted to return to my shell and shy away for a day. A hug is welcome and you can't escape from it, thankfully. But words touch me deeply and I wanted to savour your responses, remember and breathe in private.

Something was happening in England, I felt an alien inertness; it was physical rather than emotional. Like watching your wings laying still on the grass and wondering why that is so?

Two answers arrived, firstly, my laptop expired only days after I thought to myself "Backups, remember" - I did not. Secondly, a gift was presented to me to leave these sleek rainy streets and travel, far away to a land of heat, light and mountains.

Where phones are left on voicemail and email escapes me. I missed coming here, yet am so grateful and caught up with the impact of it, I will share it sooner, God willing. I was so busy recharging my phone, my laptop, my adored appendages - I forgot to recharge myself. And so in my one break - my first in years, I brought only time and hope. It was wonderful.

A Rose Life

2008-07-12T02:33:00.000-07:00

"If you don't know where you are going, any road will take you there. "

~Lewis Carroll

On a beautiful day not more than 3 months ago I was given wonderful news. This news followed the not so hot news that a) I might have cancer b) the chance of survival for someone in their twenties was "fair" and c) I shouldn't worry.

The beautiful day that came was the "all clear" - negating a) and b).

I also realised that a) and b) were simply wake up calls. Loud, clanging in your face, don't forget to write wake up calls. It didn't teach me much about myself, but it did encourage a 180 back to my original course. Thank God.

If I can share something else that is intensely personal, it reminded me that my mild mannered self is not bad in a crisis. If this could be called that. I don't panic or raise my voice, I don't even cry. Except for a brief moment walking back to the car, when I consider for the first time whom this news might affect; c) I did worry for them.

The world opened up for me when several days after the op, my doctor gave me the wonderful news; a reprieve, for God knows how long this gift will last for any of us.

So, before you finally decide to follow/change your dreams and your journey. Do give another loving hug to those near to you and take time out to look at all sides of the rose.

"Acres of Books", acres of minds

2008-07-03T22:43:00.000-07:00

This is a short post about the bulldozing of a huge used book store in Long Beach, far away from me. "Acres of Books" has served the community for so long and it is being removed to make way for a mall / other non-unique development. Used book stores (or secondhand book stores) are delicious, cramped, welcoming and most of all islands of knowledge discovery. The big book sites we know of are primarily for books that made the bestseller cut. Not the independent small books or the gems that are hidden away in shelves, waiting for that reader, that mind.

There is something beautiful about the passing down and sharing of wisdom, knowledge and also whimsy, dreams. Ray Bradbury, writer, has taken it upon himself to champion and support them. His words are succinct and passionate. I know that others have blogged about this so I hope that in some small part, a little more attention can come to this olde shoppe:

What is Punk?

2008-07-03T12:27:00.000-07:00

"Family values, unity, spirit, community. All these things they try and steal away from us. That's punk,"

Johnny Rotten

Punk started a little before I was born but there was something resilient, truthful and gritty in it that appealed to me. The Sex Pistols were raw, independent and true to themselves. Little wonder that they were considered "dangerous to the very fabric of society and banned across the country". A bunch of teenagers wielding more influence and independence than arguably, The Beatles. I say this because although they weren't as prolific or easy to listen to as the latter, they were open, unabashed and not stuck on being the top, but simply the best.
I was surprised to hear Johnny Rotten of The Sex Pistols on the radio a few years ago, not because he was swearing, loud and brasher than a foghorn, but because he discussed lucidly and concisely how much he believed in marriage, traditional values and the family unit. It was touching and pleasing; he had no pretense of the rock hard musician with flagrant tastes, opinions and of course the cliched lifestyle. This is a man who knows himself.

Johnny and friends enlivened a generation. Young boys just went out to Woolworths, grabbed an instrument, started a punk band and played for themselves. On the other side of that, he grew up and is now more of a person to be listened to and admired than before.

Here follows a link to a new Reuters article about Johnny, Punk with a bit on their DVD titled "There'll Always Be An England".
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http://uk.reuters.com/article/peopleNews/idUKL035478020080704

Julian Beever- Optical Illusionist and good fun

2008-07-02T13:41:00.000-07:00

This London artist makes completely flat on the ground images appear 3-dimensional, these surprising images also make one smile and have something to say.

Julian remembered his school teacher telling him that although he was a good artist, he stayed safely within his boundaries. That hurt at first and then helped define him. This humble and peaceful character soon developed into a street artist who pushed himself while still maintaining a playful smirk.

Julian begins each work with the location, think Mel Brooks's crack about the vampire's stake through the heart: "Location, location, location". He chooses busy city walkways and pavements were a) people are walking towards a well known and established gallery (Tate Modern) or more simply b) people are leaving their concrete cages for their 1pm lunch. They mill around him throughout the process, sometimes lasting days. This encourages the artist, the open companionship with the crowd. He also has to watch out for the sometimes less charming council employee who can legally order him to stop his "graffiti". This has driven many artists underground and sparked their notoriety.

Julian soon chooses the landmark or subject he will reproduce and the angle of distortion. Very important in creating an illusion. He then chalks it, think art class and Vermeer, pulling a chalked piece of string and then pinging it on the ground like an elastic. The lines are now formed which will be the skeletons of his perspective.

All the while, the idea is bearing fruit in his head and driving him, along with, I suspect, his eagerness to please an audience. This is not lost on them either as he sets up his camera (every artist should carry a camera) and examines the bare scene through the frame. Modestly, he will not feel above asking passersby to look through the lens at the chalked marks:

"Does that look like a perfect circle to you? Are those lines matching?" He will spend at least an hour(s) getting the perspective just right, enough.

Julian is a street artist although he sounds a lot like my former well spoken Geography teacher, Mr. Lardner. He draws you in, but nicely, you expect him in his smeared jeans and cap to break off and offer you a cup of tea. Instead he wields his chalk and colour, chatting away.

He does stop though to have a jibe at the Tate Modern artists. Again, as my old art history teacher did (he has struck a cord here). Conceptual art in it's, pardonez moi, bull manure sense is not "cool" with him. I must interject here that while I don't disregard conceptual art, I do find his irreverence amusing. Placing a stretch of tarpaulin on the ground to protect the work from the rain, he quips that that ought to be enough to get him into the Tate Modern.

There is something about him, his experience coupled with his very vital street art that hints at the outsider. He is not establishment, then again who wants to be? He is also not the normally praised street artist with a "hip hop, rewind, choon, selector" flair now rampant in London. If the above combination of phrases have confused you, please check out the urban dictionary.com, which deserves a post of it's own at a later point.

The one thing we need to realise about art of this kind is that it is free, it is neither corporate nor appeasing the masses, nor dumbed down. It is truly independent art. Anyone can do it! This is both expansive and down to earth. Street-level down to earth. I hope you have enjoyed this foray into Julian's pieces and that you enjoy more art in your street soon.

E. E. Cummings on a sunny day

2008-06-29T03:21:00.000-07:00

I would like to dedicate the following post to Deirdre, who encouraged me to blog with kind words....

This poem has meant a lot to me since childhood. I illustrated it a while ago as a gift to someone. The simplistic style is reflective of the poem and the ocean which is allegorical and literal. The painting can be folded into a small card, although I now understand it's on the bedroom wall.

maggie and milly and molly and may

by E. E. Cummings

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea

E.E Cummings led an interesting life by some accounts (see his namelink); how do we know the truth unless perhaps you knew him as a friend? What is apparent is that at some point in his life he had strong principles and stood up for them, I admire that...

Merci Deirdre, bisous

Patience, truth, journey

2008-06-28T14:47:00.000-07:00

I remember driving through this thick morning fog just a few months ago in Richmond Park. All the cars toddled politely in twenty mile per hour long rows. Hence my taking out my camera and snapping this earthbound cloud. After a while I thought that the camera flash (ignited in those daylight hours) might distract the other drivers. There were also no stags to photograph (this park is famous for stags). So I sat back in my seat and tried to enjoy the pace and hoped that I would not be late, which I don't like to be, at all.

The whole picture reminds me of certain moments in life that some of us have come across or may come across.

The car is you on your journey with your own true thoughts. A realisation occurs, both empowering and fresh. But, out of the corner of your eye you notice other cars driving past you. These are other people's thoughts or more precisely, the fear of others' thoughts.

The fog doesn't help, this stands for confusion and angst in the face of this new thought. I think every great scientist and every soul with an ounce of courage must have lived that journey at some point. "I know my thoughts are right, but what will others think of me?"

Truth is a beautiful thing. One thing we need to remember is that not all truth comes easily. But it is always, always worth it.

Peace,

xxx

Why can't she sleep?

2008-06-27T20:13:00.000-07:00

Did I have coffee today? I think not, nothing stronger than a Red Bull.... it's never worked before. Note to self, stop buying Red Bull. Second Note to self, stop typing notes to self.

I remembered the part in Alice in Wonderland where Alice chances upon the Queen's (the one that was simply a card) subjects, who are painting the white rose tree, red - satirical and amusing, reread the book, and if you haven't already got it then go to project gutenberg and read it there:

"Would you tell me, please," said Alice, a little timidly, "why you are painting those roses?".....

So I had to paint and the result was this rather large canvas above.

Things to do before you're thirty

2008-06-27T19:56:00.000-07:00

1) Start an anonymous blog

It is nearly 4am in London and I am just tired enough to keep this one short and sweet, well, sweet perhaps:

Dear God, I hope I enjoy this 'blog'. The word itself sounds cartoon-like but I hope the entries will be anything but otherwise. They ought to involve writing, travel, memories, dreams and truth.

This is an anonymous one, for the most part. I doubt my friends could find me here. Not that I don't want that, but it will be fun for a while to play hide and seek and write quietly....
So this is me Clarity in Wonderland, quoting Lewis Carroll (real name: Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, really):

"Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?''
"Begin at the beginning," the King said gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop."

~Alice in Wonderland (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)