English was my favourite subject by a long way. I went to a very normal State school with an excellent English department. The staff there encouraged my natural love of creativity and communication using language.
In this week of a puzzling, to many, decision by nearly 51% of the American electorate to give Donald Trump a second crack at being U.S President, I was sent a copy of a letter by an old school friend. He is equally obsessed by English. Below is his letter to The Age, an Australian Newspaper.
In the Charles Dickens novel Martin Chuzzlewit, (1843), one of the characters asks,: “f I was called upon to paint the American Eagle, how should I do it?” His companion replies,” Paint it like an eagle, I suppose.”
“No that wouldn’t do for me. I should want to draw it like a bat for its short-sightedness,, like a bantam for its bragging, like an ostrich for its putting its head in the mud. And like a phoenix for its power of springing anew from the ashes of its faults and vices and soaring up into the sky.”
While the American electorate were acting like bats and ostriches, Donald Trump somehow managed to transform himself from a bantam into a phoenix. Except as everyone but the American people know, the phoenix isn’t real it’s a myth. Meanwhile the American Eagle’s future is more uncertain than ever.
David Pullen
Martin Chuzzlewitt, fictional character created by Charles Dickens could have made this observation yesterday. From abroad it feels like a cousin ( The U.S) has entered into a relationship that outsiders can see is not healthy.
What’s something you believe everyone should know.
Spending time doing unexpected tasks can be enjoyable.
This morning I did not expect to be making knitted bunting. But an experiment at 8am worked out rather well. I picked out autumnal colours from some donated knitted triangles that had been given to a tennis club I help to run. At 11am myself and a friend were sat overlooking the sea,sewing bunting that could be used in the clubhouse during the late autumn. By midday we had had great quality nattering and had produced 3 strings of colourful bunting. Neither of us had planned to do this but the fruits of our unexpected task looks rather lovely in situ.
I have always struggled with the statement above. How can anyone pass through puberty and genuinely remain a kid at heart. Once we are adults everything is viewed or expressed through the experience of metamorphosing from child to adult in the years of adolescence. Wishing or pretending to be ‘a kid at heart’ is just magical thinking, presumably just cherry picking the wonderful things about being a child. I realise this comes over as a little grumpy so here is a chocolate croissant heart to lighten the mood.
My only forms of physical exercise are walking and sea swimming. With such a small, but effective repertoire it seems churlish to choose a favourite. Especially as they go hand in hand. I walk to the sea to swim. Yesterday the offshore wind made the sea so rough I had to swim in a small tidal pool.
What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?
I am absolutely a risk-averse, risk taker. I would never plan a big risk but am happy to allow risk to happen. I believe that creativity absolutely grows in an environment of risk and that firmly held planning is the antithesis of a creative mind. My science, child rearing ,or health and safety head is a much less risk taking beast but even those worlds benefit sometimes from happy accidents.
To answer the question, I have no idea how big a risk I would like to take, maybe I already did it or maybe that choice is in the future.
On an illustrative note the photos accompanying this blog were taken in a friend/ bobbers/ neighbours garden. I have learned to my cost that taking a risk with planting in our yard does not work. What is needed is acute observation of what survives in close-by gardens as our locality is very much a micro climate. I spotted this rose while doing a tour of my friend’s garden.
Her yard is east-facing and mine is west but for a rose this beautiful in October I feel the risk is worth it.
One last little risk, throw the rose picture into a photo editing app that has a random algorithm and see what happens.
I think pride is a very hard thing to define and also quite transitory. Sometimes a cup of tea is so perfect that there is a moment of self-congratulation. Is that pride?
If I had clambered onto these rocks yesterday as these men did I would have been very proud. These rocks are covered in razor-sharp barnacles, climbing up is likely to have been very perilous for them and yet it looks almost effortless.
Pride in myself is not really in my skillset. Like most parents I am proud of my children, of course, they are wonderful people. But I can be proud of the most random of things, an observed kindness, wonderful acting, a beautiful garden.
I like my version of pride, it is easy to manage. The simple things that make life more gorgeous are worthy of gentle, transitory pride and I have loads of it to spare.
Is the last line of a poem that has shaped my thinking ever since I first read it.
The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost.
I have always known that any decision taken, sets me on a certain path. There is always an alternative.
Poetry resides in Autumn for me, possibly because of this poem. A Yellow Wood speaks to me of Autumnal colour changes.
This poem suggests that free will and decision making go hand in hand. That is not always my experience. Pragmatism is often the path of choice. No matter how verdant the alternative seems. Regardless , right now I have chosen the path of more poetry. Two books, quickly reserved on my Library App.
A poem or two before bed will be my new Autumnal habit.
I am a great procrastinator and very easily sidetracked. Over my many years I have developed strategies and excuses for this behaviour and believe I have turned them to be positive attributes. Others may disagree. Doing things at the right time is a much better use of energy than doing them too early when things may change and the task needs to be modified or even abandoned. Being sidetracked is just a different phrase, from the more accurate one of doing research on future projects. Today I fully plan on both procrastination and being sidetracked. We are on a jaunt with no firm plans. Since adopting the habit of daily blogging I have learned to fully embrace the serendipity of procrastination and sidetracking. Allowing Ispace in my life for unexpected things to happen enriches daily life and in turn the blog. Sometimes I procrastinate on writing the blog and it changes direction completely if I am gainfully sidetracked.
When was the first time you really felt like a grown up (if ever)?
Grown-up-edness arrived at a cricket match when I was in my mid-twenties.
My father-in-law had been diagnosed with a rare form of stomach cancer. The cricket team we were with, was formed of young medical people. The talk was about how hopeless his case was. It dawned on me that this was us being propelled into true adulthood. His diagnosis was the end of youthful free will. We were both only children, and the buck, at that moment, very clearly stopped with my husband. 16 years later 3 parents had endured terminal illness and death. But we had two gorgeous young children whose arrival had kept us sane in rather difficult times. Sometimes in life, you just have to play the ball that is bowled to you, not the one you imagined.
If you had a million dollars to give away, who would you give it to?
I’ve pondered sudden windfalls of large amounts of money for most of my adult life. I have also pondered just how long the words One million would still have the cachet of seeming like unimaginable wealth. I realise all these things are relative.
Lets chip away at the One Million Dollars.
£ 765,155 pounds would not even buy me my first flat in South London which had 3 bedrooms.
A suburb where people with ‘normal’ jobs owned or rented normal sized flats in unremarkable streets.
Going back further to when I was first properly aware of the true value of money and how I had to work to earn it.
Right now if I had a windfall of £765, 155 the last thing I would be doing is giving it away, away. My family could be more comfortable and I could make a difference to small, local organisations and charities by making bigger donations than I do now.
How much longer can the word Million continue to pretend that it represents unimaginable wealth?
