Letter to the Season

Dear Season,

I am sitting in a heated house while I write this. I am very much aware that many people don’t have heated houses, and the cold is so biting, that I feel guilty and undeserving of such a blessing.

It crept up on us, you see. We weren’t quite expecting it. Do believe me when I assure you that I am not attacking you in any way, whatsoever. You started off quite warm. I didn’t wear a jacket for two weeks straight, and oh, last weekend you were so deliciously warm.  You daintily shed off your summer garments, when they browned and frayed on the edges. Softly dropping them to the ground as you gracefully welcomed the inevitable change in your very soul.

But today you are cold. You breathe an icy breath on my toes, you whip through lush grass, and suddenly the blades look ominous and cutting. Where did your cold come from? Am I being too ungrateful in questioning it? Is it uncouth of me to expect warmth in the season of blustery winds and rainy days? You welcomed the storm, O’ season. You opened your warm arms, welcomed the ravaging winds, and now the air outside is biting and snappy, and sends us hurrying from one indoor place to another. Does it bother you that we no longer wish to revel under your skies? Or are you glad, Season.

I send you a shrug, O’ season. I see how people are bundling up against you, I see the shelves are groaning under the weight of all the goodies we are expected to hand out to children, I see the glamorous lights twinkling in the early evenings, and I send you a shrug.

Make of that what you will.

Good day to you.

Regards,

Lenora

7905511.jpg

Image Credit: Hazel Thomson Art

Advertisements

When the Sun Rises

Sunrises, in the silence of a morning.

Birdsong, and sleeping windows. Fresh breeze, footsteps echo. Why do they echo so early in the morning?

Why does everything seem louder, somehow?

And goodness, why does the world feel so fresh, when only a few hours earlier the atmosphere was simmering in the drunken, filthy haze of a long, lived-out day?

IMG_2229

Sunshine and Cactus

IMG_2843

 

I think sunshine has a habit of making everything look better, and feel better, and sound better, and taste better. Here in Britain we live under a perpetual cloud. The winter sky is characteristically overcast, gloomy light turning everything into monotone. When the sun finally does manage to beam her face down at us, once the relentless clouds have given her the stage for a moment or two, the world is suddenly flushed with colours I never knew existed!

Wow, grass is THAT GREEN?! 

That tarmac is looking particularly handsome today!

My goodness, I never noticed how very pink those roses are.

Oh, glory days, this doorstep is the most gorgeous russet I have ever set my eyes on. Peonies nodding in sunlit breeze. Gleaming black railings against the stark white of a Kensington building.

Everything has a humming vibrancy when the sun comes out.

n.b The photo taken above was actually in Spain.

Snapshot

I took a snapshot in my memory the other day. It was a brilliant moment. A flash, if you will. A photograph seared in time.

Perhaps my brain has already changed it. I remember it so vividly, and it is an incredible and saddening thought to me that my brain edits the things I remember. Do you ever wonder if your memories are real, or just mere constructions of your psych?

 

The moment the sun gave its last kiss to her part of the earth as it sunk below the horizon. Its last hurrah, she thought, watching as the bellies of the clouds illuminated from below. The sky in stunning shades, so vibrant. The silhouettes of the trees and houses just before. The lake, still and silent. The gentle breath of wind on her cheek, caressing her skin so softly.

It was a moment come and a moment gone. A moment in which her very heartbeat stilled, and the world around her ceased to turn. A moment through which clarity beckoned, so fleeting that she missed its soft call, before the sun disappeared and the world began to turn again. Heavily, slowly, like ancient cogs on a vast machine.

The sun vanished, and the cold settled in, and she wrapped her wrappers tightly about her shoulders and made her way back home in the increasing darkness.

sunsets-clouds-landscapes-nature-skyscapes-reflections-1280x1024-wallpaper-www-wallpaperfo-com-96_orig.jpg

 

Cat in my Lap

As I write this, there is a cat in my arms.

I have never had a cat in my arms. She feels soft, warm. I can feel her breath on my wrist. She feels – alive. 

Wow. She came slinking over the back of the sofa as I sat here in the dark, perusing blogs. And she pawed my arm, then slowly, gracefully, sat herself in the crook between my two elbows, right in my lap. I can still type because I have free reign of my wrists and hands, but my goodness. She just took comfort in my being.

I don’t like animals very much. I don’t ever want a pet. But this animal just came, and consciously sat in my lap in the dark as I type away. I just felt so honoured. I feel so honoured.

Also, she is BREATHING. Like a real human I can HEAR her breathing. Breathing. Usually she is just a cat. But now she is a cat. Do you know what I mean?

Anyway. That was my thought for the day. A cat crept into my lap and curled up comfortably and I feel fuzzy inside. My iron heart must be melting.

Her name is Tillie.

I think I am falling in love with her.

After-Dinner-Nap-150dpi-720x506.jpg

Love Letters #32

When she looked over the edge of the mooring, she saw the sky. She saw an infinite galaxy of stars spinning away from her in the gentle ripples prodded along by the breeze. Her toes careened a little, so filled with wonder was she, and she felt herself falling ever so slowly forward. Or maybe the sky was surging ever so slowly towards her.

The heavens spread out before her, beneath her feet, and she was suddenly rendered so insignificant in the midst of this surreal vastness. And the universe was still, silent, except for that thrumming background noise one hears even in the depths of the womb. The thudding continuum that is time and space and the place we all come from, and recognise, but are not fully aware of. The sound we all know, and when we hear it we suddenly stand still, recognising the call, but not quite understanding it.

The world behind her fell away; growing more distant with each moment that passed by. Her ears were ringing, almost, and the sounds on the wharf behind her faded. The clank and the medley of voices, human, living, all became something of the … past?

And what would happen if she succumbed to this unearthly sound, coming from the stars, and let the ripples carry her away?

 

1432869428609.jpg

 

 

 

Keeping Busy

I am finding that my days now are very busy. I am jumping from one thing to another without a break in between!

I am enjoying this immensely. A busy mind is not an idle mind, that’s for sure. And an idle mind is a dangerous mind.

I am also learning a great many new things. I feel as though the more busy I am, the more happy I am. I feel more content, and as though my days are finally rewarding.

The only downside of all this is that I have less time now to spend with my family and my husband. FAR less time, in fact. In fact, I think I only have around two or three hours all week.

That is not a good sign. Maybe I have taken on too much? Well. We’ll see how it pans out. I want to be this busy. It will distract me from all the problems arising.

I also think keeping busy is good for the mind and the soul. Also the body, if the busy is an active sort of busy. As long as you aren’t completely stressing yourself out mentally then being busy is immensely healthy.

What do you think?

3c80ba92b4d8646fa020957e5101ce7a.jpg

Love Letters #14

18.09.1994

Falling in love is like descending into madness. The first few days are euphoric. Everything they do or say is special and fabulous, melting your heart into mush and making your knees tremble with the sheer power of their words, their voice. Then the twisting knife of jealousy and fear begins to pry at the very top layer of your skin, shaving off small translucent curls. Barely noticeable in the beginning, obscured by the encompassing passion of hormones and intoxication. Hormones, I think, can be like drugs, if administered in large enough doses.

Soon the knife digs in deeper and the Alices and Katies and Corals of the world rear their pretty heads and tinkly voices, wreaking havoc in the oh so perfect system.

It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not, it’s not. Every time I think about him my whole body shifts, as though it is leaving this realm of reality and floating a little higher. Everything is a little brighter. Old crushes are now pale and unappealing, mere fragments of memory on the edge of this brilliant sphere in which I now hang.

Falling in love is painful.

I am not too young to understand it. This is love. This all encompassing passion. This drive to do things I have never done before. This mad hunger pushing me outside my comfort zone. The whole world is small and insignificant. Nothing matters.

Until it feels like your whole world is shaken and pulled from under your feet like a rug, and you are displaced and the fall when it comes is hard and harsh and sudden, aftershock reverberating around your skull like a metal stinging wasp.

Who is Alice? WHO IS SHE? I thought you loved me. I thought this was love. I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME.

Lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling, too numb to cry. Wanting to scream and scream but knowing it won’t solve anything, won’t take the pain away.

‘You’ll get hurt,’ they tell me, ‘you don’t know what you are doing. Stay away from him, you don’t understand love.’

I fell in love. You don’t understand, you adults with experience, that I need to experience this for myself. I am young and naive and too trusting, but this feeling is too powerful for me to ignore. You should know this. I can’t stay away. It is physically impossible. My intuition doesn’t know any better.

And when all your prophecies come true why do you say ‘I told you so.’?

Just hold me and tell me this is a lesson to learn from, like you learned yours. I know you want to keep me away from the pain that you know, but how will I learn until I have experienced the same pain? How will I know, like you know, if I haven’t been heartbroken.

‘Ah, young love.’

That is what they say. Because they know.

Now I am like you. I want to protect my baby from being hurt, from falling in love and chasing that which is bad for her heart and soul. I want to prevent her from feeling like she has been seared open from inside. Like I was. My little baby with the torn hole in her chest.

Now I look back I wish they had dragged me away from him. I wish they had chained me to my room, rather than let me be foolish and have my happiness and sanity snatched away from me so.

They did, though. Didn’t they. I escaped and did it all in secret anyway. All I have now are thorny memories and bitter regret.

Falling in love is like descending into madness, because when you escape its frenzied clutches, you see everything clearly again. You see situations for what they were. You see people for the selfish manipulators they always were to you. Stark reality pierces you from every direction like poisoned arrows, and you wonder, where was I all those months? Why didn’t I see this from the very beginning.

‘Ah, young love,’ they should say, ‘the drug that clouds your judgement and steals your sanity.’

Signed,

L.P.

089290573f12b459935583145e262de1.jpg

 

Why do women show more skin than men?

Why do women show more skin than men?

Why is it acceptable for a woman to wear shorts as short as her knickers, but for men it is deemed ‘unattractive’ and ‘ugly’.

Why are women’s clothes designed to be more flamboyant and revealing, but if a man wears clothes like that, where his neckline is halfway down his chest, he is ‘stereotypically gay’?

Advocates for feminism claim that women are allowed to wear and do as they please, and should not be ‘victim blamed’ when they are raped.

The same logic applies to children; dressing children in skimpy clothes is a controversial matter. Some say children should wear things like that because it is freedom of choice and all that, while others say that is just inviting paedophiles. Nobody is blaming a child if he/she is sexually abused, but they are saying dressing a child like that encourages paedophilia and parents should refrain from ‘sexualising’ their children at such a young age.

Yes, women will be raped whether or not they dress modestly, but the majority of men see the way a woman dresses as a provocative ‘invitation’. And it is ignorant to assume women (and of course, men) will not be sexualised. We are all human, and the majority of us will find certain people sexually attractive, it is human nature.

So, now that we have established that is in human nature to sexualise people, doesn’t it seem obvious that if we do not want to be sexualised, we should not wear clothes that highlight our ‘sexiness’? And if we are sexualised because we are wearing clothes that make us look sexy, should we get upset about it and have a rant and say ‘men are pigs’?

If a woman is wearing a see through dress with barely anything underneath, she is demonstrating her right to do so, but also showing that her nudity is bare and public for everybody to see and enjoy and look at. Some say that is perfectly fine, and she is an independent lady and should do what makes her comfortable.

That is all very well in the grand scheme of things, but when it comes down to the nitty gritty, it is clear that her clothing is showing that the body parts she has on display are just that; on display. There for whoever pleases to look at. And when they do look (well, why wouldn’t they?) should a woman be angry about it?

I don’t think so. I think she made it very clear by wearing that skimpy, see through dress, that she was okay with people staring at her nipples.

There is a big difference between appraising somebody because they are beautiful, and appraising them because their bodies are on show.

This whole topic has a lot of sub-themes and arguments, of course. And I am of the disposition that people should have the right and freedom to do  and wear as they please, but, to me, there has to be a certain level of propriety, that’s all. And this applies to both women and men.

It is within my rights of freedom to walk out and not see somebody’s butt cheeks.

What do you think about it all?

Do You Lie to the Kids?

Sometimes I tell my kids, “If you don’t brush your teeth, you’ll grow a forest of mould in your mouth,”

I joke, I joke. I don’t have kids. But I do take the opportunity to tell other kids this. I used to tell my little brothers all sorts of stories. Once I convinced them, when they were both really little, that the dark blue tile dolphin on the floor of the swimming pool was real. I told them it had been cast away there by a horrible sorcerer, but at night it detaches itself and has a nice swim when nobody is around.

“Don’t step on it, okay? It feels everything.” I said solemnly.

My two little brothers, who were so cute back in the day, scoffed at the story, but I could tell they were spellbound. My youngest brother treaded water like mad when he was anywhere near the dolphin, while I nearly choked on my silent guffaws from the sidelines.

My mother has a friend who would tell us all sorts of silly things when we were younger, things that resonated with me as I grew up. Like she would say “if you swallow those watermelon seeds you’ll grow a watermelon tree in your tummy!”

I actively avoided watermelon seeds like the plague for years and years after that, even though I knew no such thing would happen, it was still a little likely right?

When my brother got the chicken pox she said, “You better watch out he doesn’t pop right into a chicken!”

I was terrified. I peeped into his room every morning to make sure the bundle under the covers wasn’t covered in feathers. Cluck cluck cluck.

You would’ve thought that these experiences would teach me not to lie to kids, but I can’t help myself, it’s so funny! Especially when they believe it and in some cases, it makes them behave and brush their teeth.

I think there is a line to be drawn, however, such as with the case of Santa Claus.

But that’s just my opinion. What about you, do you lie to kids?