Love Letters

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?

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.

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

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,

x

Optimism - The Art of Looking Up

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

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

"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

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,

x

Onwards, beyond words

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