#704 theoldmortuary ponders.

Here I am the original Halloween grinch starting a blog with a carved pumpkin on the 31st of October. Needs must. I have 3 granddaughters, something has to give. Hannah, who has lived in North America, feels much warmer towards the event and carved a vomiting pumpkin.

I am going to have to find a way around my long held dislike. Eventually I can introduce the small people to the Mexican Day of the Dead. A festival I very much admire, who wouldn’t want one last party before entering a different realm.

Maybe we will enter a new phase of marking Halloween with pumpkins good food and wholesome autumness. A Harvest Festival/ Halloween mash up. Maybe with some magic wishes from good witches thrown in.

As if by magic, coincidence or me being sneaky the blog host suggestion for today mentions wishes from a genie. Agnostic in the mystical world and the religious I will take my wishes from whatever source is offering them.

You have three magic genie wishes, what are you asking for?

World Peace and good health for all knocks off two wishes instantly. But the third would have to stay in my pocket. I would need to observe the chaos I had caused by using the first two. No one ever gives parameters or protocols with wishes. The strength or longevity of the wish is never mentioned. Surely wishes should come with a set of instructions or a users guide. Improvising or just hoping for the best seems somewhat irresponsible. Maybe my very first wish should be for some learned guidance, in life and in fantasy.

#697 theoldmortuary ponders.

A year ago my October morning dog walks were spent on Wimbledon Common. I was in London giving Nana support to my freshly delivered granddaughter. As is the nature of such a visit the weeks passed into rather a blur but walking on the common daily was a great way to experience nature starting the shutdown for winter.

I am not a winter person. Short days are not my thing. Now I am no longer constrained by working impossibly long days in a hospital I find October to be my most prolific walking month. Any excuse and the dogs are put on a lead and we go out for additional day time walks.

The photos that pop up in my image archive reflect this.

This spider web is from a Cornish October walk and a fresh one from this week is below.

I’m really not certain what compels me to be out and about quite so much. My need for daylight almost feels like a thirst. It helps that as long as there is no rain, October walks can still be taken in sandals and without a coat.

Autumn in its purest form is a fabulous season. I just feel conflicted by it.

I love the idea of Firework Night on the 5th of November, a strange celebration of a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament. A British autumnal tradition that eases us towards winter . Just a few days earlier I dislike and avoid Halloween, with all its tacky plastic spookiness and begging children. But without Halloween I would not get to experience the beauty of pumpkins, and the adult I have become knows that Fireworks are really a very hard thing to defend for many reasons

So where am I with October and Autumn. There is an element of grieving for the summer past and anticipation for the festive season to come. Acceptance that there will no longer be warm days and the first inklings of planning for the festive season, something I love.

I think my need to be out and about , feeling nature in autumn turn towards winter is complex and only a recent discovery. Only obvious once I had given up full-time work in artificial light. Now I think I need to harvest daylight while I can. Something I would never have considered in my working life.

October. It makes you think.

#694 theoldmortuary ponders

Incoming tide lapping at a back gate.

My dad was occasionally moved to say  ” I can read you like an open book, and some of the pages don’t read too well”  In life he was far from my harshest critic, and I think that statement could be  about right.

The question below was posed by the hosts of this blog. I really have a love hate relationship with these daily prompts and probably respond to one a week. This however is right up my pondering street because I can rant against it .

What’s something most people don’t know about you?

How can I possibly know what most people don’t know about me.

Is there anything to be gained by releasing my unknown nuggets of information to the world. At my level almost certainly not.

Thank goddess, I have largely moved on from the world of formal interviews and these sorts of daft bloody questions.

Where would you like to be in five years time?

Tell us about a difficult situation you handled well?

What is your worst characteristic?

Does anyone ever answer these questions honestly. Imagine a world in which such futile questions were answered honestly by people more significant than me.

And so Mr/ Madam World Leader. What is your worst characteristic? Where would you like to be in five years time? Tell us about a difficult situation you handled well? What’s something most people don’t know about you?

Suddenly with the addition of absolute truth futile questions could become the secret to world peace and effective life management.

As luck would have it my dog walking gives me an actual answer to present. It’s not going to affect world peace

My favourite book is Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Graham. Most people don’t know that. For the last two years my daily dog wanderings have taken me past an insignificant looking coastal cottage called Toad Hall. It is a daily little heart warming moment. Yesterday my heart got a lot warmer. Look what a talented Street Artist has done.

©@streetsaint

Happy Saturday blog friends

#690 theoldmortuary ponders

I think it might be time to accept that autumn is in full swing and that summer and even an ‘ Indian Summer are behind us. These last couple of days have been liminal spaces with some spectacular sunshine but dropping temperatures.

This was the view two days ago,but last night our evening swim was a chilly, grey affair. The water temperature was a balmy 16 degrees while the air temp was 12 degrees. There was much talk about putting the heating on at home. Our winter swimming kit is slowly making an appearance and we didn’t linger on the street corner for an extended farewell natter. But moments later I did linger to take this picture of an autumnal leaf resting on a curb stone.

This gives me the chance to recount some second-hand Plymouth history.

As regular readers will know Plymouth was one of the worst harmed cities in Britain by the German bombing raids of World War II. I suppose this little historic ponder is about a small part of the clear up that followed.

So many of Plymouth’s historic streets were blown up,there had to be a very clear plan to salvage whatever could be reused when rebuilding began. I browsed an old book yesterday that described the aftermath as an ‘exploded’ city. The small detail of salvage included the collection of all curb stones from bomb damaged locations. Many of those curbstones carried scars from the devastation caused by shrapnel or hot molten metal from the fires that raged. As the city was rebuilt the salvaged curbstones were reused as streets were repaired and returned to normal use.

The location of this particular curbstone may or may not be its original location. It is an old cobbled street, now thinly covered with tarmac, very close to where there was some significant bomb damage. In the photograph above the autumn leaf has settled almost perfectly into the scar. A lovely visual analogy for nature healing the harm that humans cause.

#688 theoldmortuary ponders

Striking images make you think. Two striking images this weekend have provoked widespread pondering. Despite being musically aware throughout the career of Black Sabbath, their music has largely been an outlier for me.Breakfas today, with Black Sabbath was an easy way to reconnect. Although there is a lot to like, my somewhat flimsy reason for limited knowledge is that Heavy Metal gigs were uncomfortable places to be, with sweaty leather and testosterone laying heavy in the air. As contemporary ballet goes this one was somewhat patchy but with moments of unforgettable beauty. For the reasons above I can’t be knowledgeable about the music choices but my favourite snippet was included,so it gets a ✓from me. The audience was wild for the performance by the time the final curtain went down. Despite the fabulous image on the programme this scene did not exist in the performance we watched. We were rather disappointed, but not on the scale of disappointment that many people felt when there was no moment of joy when an actual Black Sabbath band member appeared out of the orchestra pit. Maybe that happens in Birmingham.

On a sartorial and olfactory note the atmosphere of the theatre was not filled with too much sweaty leather or testosterone.

©Banksy

Banksy, of course, made everyone think this week. Two hours of googling and research cannot make sense of a subject that makes no sense. But refreshing knowledge always shines a little more light. Madness for me, that the history homework where I first tried to understand the history of the Middle East would occasionally have had Black Sabbath as my background music of choice.

My dad would have shouted up the stairs ” How can you possibly understand what you are studying with that noise on”

My response now would be. ” Tell me what music makes any of this understandable”

#686 theoldmortuary ponders

What’s something you would attempt if you were guaranteed not to fail.

An interesting prompt from my blog hosts. One that is easy to answer as my definition of failure is a wonderfully flexible beast. I would buy a lottery ticket for the Euromillions. Knowing that winning any amount of money from the top life altering prize of many millions to the lowest £10 pay out is technically a success.

A £10 win would definitely be the easier of the prizes to receive. No moral conundrum with that amount of money. £10 would very nicely provide post bobbing chocolate for our swimming friends on Friday morning. Bigger sums would give more options and the biggest prize, whatever unthinkable amount of money it was, would give so much scope for thought, philanthropy and fun.

I am not someone that believes money guarantees happiness but it undoubtedly increases the chances of creating happiness and the power to make changes that allow happiness to be an option.

Money, wisely used makes the wheel of life run a little smoother.

#685 theoldmortuary ponders.

Battersea Power Station ©theoldmortuary

‘There are some losses that change the trajectory of your life’ P.Diddy

Puff Daddy, P.Diddy, Diddy or even  Sean Combs  his real name, is talking about the death of a woman he loved and shared three children with.

Significant losses or negative events do change the direction that life takes.

As an optimist and someone who likes to reflect on my half-full glass I am guilty of skimming over negative outcomes and always trying to find the best in people and situations.

Reflecting on the negative is not somewhere I feel comfortable but just acknowledging that negatives and positives have equal power to change the direction of life is somehow a quite relaxing thought. Just as the planned and unplanned have a similar capacity.

A ponder is not what I expected when I read an article about a Billionaire Rapper. Just one thoughtful sentence. Of course I have lived the reality of loss altering life’s directions. As has every human. But until today I could not have expressed that sensation so eloquently.

#684 theoldmortuary ponders

#682 tholdmortuary ponders.

Ponder #682 was a tragic historical blog about Slapton Sands but we had a fab time in the sun on the eponymously named Sunday. It was a vanlife day that started at 8am with breakfast.

There was also a Sunday newspaper to be read. Walks to be had and for Hugo some basking

Lola takes things a little further, or maybe less far, and lounges in a sunbeam.

For the humans days like this are about catching up and nattering. We have a friend who is going through a very raw grief currently. We have both been through that journey and seeing friends hitting such a life changing event is hard to witness with grim personal experiences to recall. But we are fine and imperfect examples of getting through both sudden, traumatic, grief and the slow destruction of terminal loss. It is good to talk of love and loss on a sunny day, on a beautiful beach with some dark history. Because we all need to know that the sun will come out again, even in dark places.

#681 theoldmortuary ponders

Here I am casting a long shadow. I pondered on the subject of this ponder. My ponder is not particularly upbeat Saturday but sometimes some ponders just need to get out. I’m sure all women who have worked in hospital environments would have experienced unwanted sexual attention from male colleagues or patients. Yesterday with my group of bobbers I saw a man I had last worked with more than 20 years ago. He was in our bobbing zone. At work we all needed to get along with him to make the working day go efficiently. He had an exterior persona of being chatty and pleasant but would throw in inappropriate comments in such a way that I questioned if I had heard correctly. There was also an element of having to engage in his, sometimes, flirty behaviour to get a job done.

One of the other bobbers had worked at the same place at the same time. She quickly got as far from him as possible. Rather than get changed near him I pulled my swimming stuff over my underwear. Checking that all the other bobbers were getting ready to swim with minimal flesh on show.

We all jumped in for a bob and I kept an eye on him. He was staying a long time in the changing zone, chatting and being charming I am sure. I decided that when the time came to get out I would tell all the bobbers to move their stuff to a different place to get changed.

I am certain he would have done nothing beyond watching and chatting but that is not really the point. For twenty years in the eighties and nineties many women at that place of work knew to be cautious around him. Did anyone ever share their experiences with their line managers. I think it is extremely unlikely. Could he get away with such behaviour in the twenty-twenties. Probably. How many women could tell a similar story, even now.

This is not headline grabbing stuff but it is low level intimidation and it casts a long shadow.

#672 theoldmortuary ponders.

What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in?

Being British is to be curated from a culture that has always been a multicultural stew. As befits a small island nation that has been the subject of invasions and conquests. We also have a history as colonisers which has many negative connotations but has boosted the multicultural character of Britain. It is multicultural Britain that I am most proud of, it is my cultural heritage. Maybe I should do a genetic test to see what heritage my genes are sourced from. That question is easily answered. But where do my cultural interests come from. I honestly have no idea. I am a magpie for the cultural experiences that living in an ethnically diverse community brings. I used the word magpie advisedly; just like a magpie I see/ hear/ taste/ experience something intriguing from other cultures or heritages and immediately research/ steal the idea from any source to pop into my mental resource to be utilised later when and if appropriate. No shame.