Top Hat

"The weather is fright'ning 
The thunder and lightning 
Seem to be having their way 
But as far as I'm concerned, it's a lovely day 
The turn in the weather 
Will keep us together 
So I can honestly say 
That as far as I'm concerned, it's a lovely day 
And everything's o.k."


Irving Berlin


Have any of you seen Top Hat? It's one of my favourite films - an old black & white movie - a musical starring Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers - heavenly. Not only is the dancing dreamy, the musical score is by Irving Berlin, the sets are elegantly Art Deco and the script is hilarious - perfect for a rainy day.


I first saw this movie as a youngster when every week's TV viewing included at least a few vintage musicals. How sad (for me) that this is no longer the case. Many years later as a 4th year university student I had the joy of watching Top Hat as part of a 20th Century Design course. After 4 years of rather dry studies it seemed like the most enormous treat (and a bit 
of a skive) to be studying this old favourite.


Did you know that in the Venetian Lido scenes they dyed the water black to emphasise the contrast with the white sets? This is all that I remember from my university studies, and utterly meaningless if you've never seen the movie, but - hey - one day it may be on TV and you can impress your fellow viewers with this interesting fact.


The reason I mention Top Hat is that I watched it yesterday. I was feeling decidedly blue - hormones and bad weather getting me down. I forced myself to work in the morning, with the promise of feet up in front of this movie if I completed my tasks. Three Aspro Clear, a hot water bottle & a wee white wine and I was happily ensconced on the sofa - singing along and laughing heartily - bliss.


The week has been a bit flat after the extended & spectacular Jubilee celebrations. Not only were we all partied out but the weather disintegrated into cold, wet & windy - yuck. I know, I know, I'm Scottish & should be hardened against such meteorological melodramas, but I'm not. Perhaps I could get treatment? Hypnotherapy? Electric shock therapy? Anything to lift my mood when the clouds descend. Perhaps some cheery photos of Petworth's festivities?

   

Our street party was a roaring success with 800 locals in attendance & sunshine throughout the day - miraculous! The mad woman with the hoover was part of a husband & wife team of street entertainers. She spent a good hour stopping the cars for minutes on end while she hoovered the road in front of them - too funny. 


I know not everyone will agree, but I found the Queen's Diamond Jubilee celebrations hugely uplifting & a blessed relief from all the doom & gloom of the "double dip recession". Double dip recession - what about the bloody double dip winter?! A week or so ago Chris Evans remarked on his Radio Two breakfast show that it was only 24 days until the nights started drawing in - I could have thrown myself on the carpet & wept. The only thing stopping me were my newly washed black trousers!


Now I know I told you last time that I was starting a self portrait in clay. I've finished it now - or at least I got bored and stopped. In some ways it was as straight forward to do as Chris's head and in others it was hugely difficult. I took all the relevant measurements and got the basics in place. But the details were hard to capture because I didn't have my own head in front of me - to view from all angles. Yes I'd got Chris to take photos but they're still two dimensional, and looking in a mirror didn't help because everything is in reverse - very confusing for the brain!


The other problem is that I don't really know what I look like - for the reasons above. Chris tells me that it does look like me. I guess I have to take his word for it. I should have taken some photos when the clay was still damp. When it starts to dry out it goes patchy & pale - difficult to picture as skin. But like I said, I got bored & distracted by the shop, and by the time I remembered to take photos it was too late.


I've a feeling she might crack up...in the kiln that is. Mm, maybe it's a more accurate self portrait than I thought. It's entirely my fault. You see I was in a hurry to dry her out, wanting to get her fired by the end of the month when I've got a glazing course & will be doing Chris's head. Chris told me to let her dry out downstairs where it's cool. But oh no, I knew best - impatient like. So I bared her to the heat of the conservatory & now she's cracked. Cracked in the head, that's me.


Anyway, I'll let you see her so far:

Is that really what I look like? I look like I could use some lippy for a start! To be honest I was a bit scunnered after I finished her. I reckoned I could do with a break from all this realism and try a bit of an abstract figurative piece, just for fun. But I developed an overwhelming ennui and just couldn't muster the energy. Oh I am so fickle! 

This is me. I found this card in Selfridges when I was buying a Scorpio one for Lou. It made me laugh so much that I framed it...it's so true!
Laura x

Flags & Roses

Ah, blue skies & soaring temperatures - the last ten days' heatwave has come as a blessed relief after the six weeks of constant rain. Of course, as I write, the Jubilee weekend forecast is for more rain - here in the South at least. But I'm sure we'll make the most of things with our usual British aplomb.


I'm guessing that my fellow countrymen in Scotland will be more reticent with their Jubilee celebrations than we are down here, only an hour south of London. But I'm glad to be in the thick of it. Petworth is aflutter with flags & bunting galore and everyone is in a festive mood. What's wrong with that? With so much doom and gloom in the news, it's good to have a reason to party. And whether you believe in the Monarchy or not, there's no denying that our Queen has done her duty with grace, dignity & intelligence for all 60 years of her reign. Queenie - you go girl! 

My latest Creation

April showers? That's an understatement! I know we need the rain, but this is excessive. Still, while the storms are rubbish for business they have meant that my last week's sculpture course could be enjoyed guilt free.

Following on from my first foray into sculpting after twenty years, last November, I was keen to explore further. I duly enrolled in a second course with the lovely tutor I had worked with previously. Sculpting The Head - an Anatomical Approach. Fun! Despite my years as a sculpture student, I had studiously avoided heads. More interested in the body...by the time I reached the head I had lost interest...okay, I was too scared to ruin what I'd already created with a dodgy fizog. So, a challenge!

I decided that it would be a good idea to sculpt Chris - my theory being that if it wasn't very good after 3 days at college then I could continue at home & hopefully improve, with my model at hand (or should that be head?) And if I was going to tackle a head then I ought to know how they were put together - hence the anatomy. Now I'm a conscientious student and took the time before my class to study the skeleton & musculature of the human head - no easy feat (mainly due to the tedium, which had me nodding off frequently). I also had the help of a wonderful book written by Edouard Lanteri, who taught Rodin, no less. The instructions were comprehensive, the latin names incomprehensible, and the photographs of his own work dauntingly impressive. No pressure then!

By the evening of our first tutorial I had nearly persuaded myself that I wasn't going - especially after the emotional roller coaster of my last class. But, armed with a huge bottle of Rescue Remedy and the thought of £300 wasted, I plunged in...and relaxed.

The first day was spent without live models. Instead we each had a polystyrene skull to copy. Armed with callipers we measured & moulded the clay - a class full of silent Shakespearean actors. Alas poor Yorick. By home time we had added muscles to the bone to create grotesque flayed heads - nice!

The second day dawned - nervous again. How will Chris fit into this intensely studious atmosphere? How do I feel about sharing my precious creative space? How will I do justice in clay to the man I love? Argh! Oh get over yourself Laura. Deep breath, more Rescue Remedy, relax. And we did. The atmosphere with models in place changed completely. Now we students shared a common goal. And with Chris in the room, curious & unafraid & enthusiastic, soon we were all talking and sharing our aims and fears and the story of our lives.

One model between 9 students placed in the centre of the room is harder to work from than one to myself. I felt lucky to have mine so close at hand, and lucky to have one I know so well. As I poked and prodded, shoved callipers up his nose & twirled him around on his chair, Chris sat patiently enjoying the new environment & chatting away happily.

Instead of being scared I was elated. The feel of the clay in my hands, with measurements to guide me and familiar features to capture, I was in my element. And after two days of concentration & several delicious free lunches, I was beginning to see my hubby's head appear before me.

So far so good. Getting the head home was the next trick. Most of the students had opted to leave their pieces for firing in the college kiln. This involved the scary process of removing the top of the head, lifting it off the armature & hollowing out, then sticking the head back with clay slip - like a Victoria sponge - very nerve wracking. I paid attention & then packed my sculpture into a discarded computer box & took it home.


Three days later I decided that it was time to operate. It took several hours of prevarication, another half bottle of Rescue Remedy and a kick in the pants from Chris before I plucked up the courage to act. With my hubby's practical brain & brute strength we executed the decisive move. If the clay was still too soft it might collapse, too hard and it might be impossible to hollow. Argh!


Success, of a sort. In order to fire without distortion, the sculpture should be evenly hollowed throughout. My hollowing was more nursery school than Ming vase - oops. Too late now. Ah but that's kind of the appeal of clay. It is the most amenable of mediums to work in - allowing you to squish & smooth, thwack & contort, carve & scrape. But until it is fired it is fragile and, fired wrongly, it's toast. A lesson in the impermanence of everything, me thinks.


Chris, my greatest champion, has decided that I should forge a new career in portrait commissions. Me, I'm a little more circumspect...okay, scared. I loved the experience, loved the challenge of capturing a likeness, working the clay within more formal parameters. But maybe it was a fluke? Can I do it again?


Well I'm going to try. The college don't recycle their used clay. So, being Scottish, I decided that I would. I now have bags of it at home. I've added water and done a fair bit of squidging, ready to use once more. And my next project is going to be a self portrait. Again, having my head at hand should be an advantage. Not being able to see it in front of me will be challenging, but I can feel it, use photographs and look in the mirror (remembering to reverse whatever I see). I'll keep you posted.


Wish me luck!      

Therapy

Ah, the first day of British summertime...and the sun is actually shining. Not only that - it is shining in Scotland! I know because I've been studying the forecast - on my way, as I am, for  a 4 day visit to my homeland tomorrow. I can't wait to see Max, and my darling Grandma, as well as all my favourite friends & relations. Therapy indeed.


But it is Therapy that has kept me from them since my last trip in early December. For while I may have been trying to hibernate (and indeed feel as if my brain has atrophied) I've actually been hard at work making sure that our wee shop is in tip top shape for the year.


If you didn't know me & read my blog you'd be forgiven for thinking that all I do is sit around & contemplate my navel. In reality I'm a shopkeeper, a fashion buyer, a "Company Director" no less! But I still feel like a wee lassie playing at shops. Which is probably why I never mention what I do for a living. Well, can you blame me for not dwelling on my full time job? Choosing pretty things; making our wee shop look inviting; selling clothes to lovely customers - it hardly counts as work.


Therapy is what it is - for me, and hopefully for the ladies who visit our little emporium. Eight years ago when Chris & I were planning our new business in Petworth, we couldn't decide on a name for the shop. So Chris asked me what I wanted it to be. "Somewhere relaxing & inviting, where ladies can browse, with nice music & a warm welcome, where they can have a good time whether they spend money or not - a bit of therapy". And so our business was born.


And it was therapy for me too. To be in a new place, far from home & family, knowing only a handful of people, my mum recently dead after a long illness, could have been stressful. And instead the shop healed me. I was in my element. I poured my energies into creating a haven for myself as much as for my customers. And the wonderful women who have shared their time & life stories (and money - thank you very much!) have enriched my life.


Fashion is fun, shopkeeping isn't brain surgery. Doing what I do, I have no reason to be stressed. Not that that's stopped me. But now I realise that any stress I've had has been self inflicted. Not content with our one perfect shop, we tried expanding - a shoe shop, a children's shop, a frock shop - spreading ourselves and our finances too thin. I see now that I was driven by my inner demons - a desire to escape the pain and turmoil that still existed in my personal life, a need to prove myself, to drown out the critics in my head.


Having come full circle, back to our one original shop, I am once again able to focus on the elements that inspired me all those years ago. Through my navel gazing I have come to understand that we all have our dharma - a path that we must follow in order to uphold good and find our individual salvation. For most of my life I'd imagined that my dharma would be something noble, something more...oh Laura...


But now I have come to understand that shopkeeping is what I do best. While I might still harbour dreams of being Mother Theresa, or berate myself for not being Michelangelo, I can accept that my small contribution to a happier life (for me & for my lovely customers) is good enough. Selecting beautiful colours & fabrics, finding the perfect linen skirt or yummy cashmere sweater - making my customers smile - is good enough. And I have a nice time too.     

Today is Good Friday. The weather has reverted to winter (not so good for business, but nothing I can do about that). I will sit in my little shop & smile and chat to anyone who ventures in - offering chocolate eggs & words of advice, making sure that everyone leaves with a smile, if not with a carrier bag, hopeful that they will return.


My trip to Scotland was a triumph. The weather continued warm & sunny, allowing me to sit outside with Max and with my darling Grandma. Despite her failing memory, we sat in peace together and I told her over and over how much I love her. Not knowing who I was made no difference - she smiled and thanked me for my love. And I in turn found peace and acceptance in her aged situation. At one point, thinking her asleep, I touched her arm. Without moving she spoke:


"I'm not sleeping - just being still."


A lesson indeed.


More lessons followed as Max & I sat in the sunshine and shared our individual demons. As we watched the sun set over Edinburgh from Holyrood Park, we agreed to let go of past pain and allowed room for the good memories to surface. I felt healed.


It has taken a long time - a decade - but time is a great healer - or at least it can be if we are willing to learn, to understand, to forgive - ourselves as well as each other.


It is now more than 8 years since we found the old butchers shop that is now our Therapy emporium, nearly 9 years since mum died. My last meal in Scotland was with my Step Dad, Tom. We met in my favourite restaurant, on the shores of the River Forth, with views of my favourite edifice - the Forth Rail Bridge. As the sun glinted on red, we laughed and reminisced in the company of his delightful companion Violet (aka Morag). To see him happy and relaxed after the pain we had shared after Mum's death, filled me with joy. Time is indeed a great healer.


Amen.

A Nice Pair

Right, that's it! I am fed up with being miserable & ill for no reason whatsoever! Still recovering from the flu, I came down with a cold. You know the kind - a thick head, oceans of phlegm, talking like a teenager with an adenoid problem - nice.


Chris says he still loves me. "What, even though I'm a snotty troll?" "Yes, even though you're a snotty trollop." Okay, it's close enough.


Several sleepless nights, woken from dreams by a torrential left nostril, have left me crotchety and tired with a cough like an eighty year old chain smoker - yuck. I can't sing, I haven't been laughing nearly enough - time for action.


Since the sun is shining, I decide to focus my attention outwards - a bit of mindful meditation on nature - that should get me out of this introverted grump. 


As morning steals across Petworth town centre, the birds come out to play. Our town stalwarts the Jackdaws flap & parp from rooftop to chimney, gossiping together before taking off in search of sustenance. (They reconvene in the evening, I swear to settle down with a cuppa in front of Coronation Street.) 


Starlings, oily, shimmering, march stiffly up and down the church roof, like Private Jones from Dads Army. Pied Wagtails hop with furious staccato movements - monochromatic clockwork toys which never wind down. Wood Pigeons cuddle & coo - united, united, united (listen out for them). I don't have to look far for inspiration.


Three days ago we were treated to a spectacular sight. Hovering directly above the town centre were two pairs of Buzzards. About 500 feet above the ground, they wheeled & swooped, riding the thermals. Suddenly one of them dived. Folding it's wings tight into it's sides, it plunged towards the earth & into the trees below. Who knows which poor rodent was forced to meet his maker, the Buzzard didn't reappear.


The remaining three Buzzards continued to circle directly over our heads. Suddenly a squadron of Jackdaws hove into view, swiping, diving, driving them off course. It was like an avian version of The Battle Of Britain, the similarity accentuated as Chris loudly hummed the theme tune. Spectacular.


As we sat for the first time this Spring, revelling in the warmth of the sun & delighting in the views from our roof terrace, the Buzzards returned. I gazed skyward, trying to spot these graceful birds of prey. 


"I can't see them."


"They're definitely up there. I can hear their cries, they're very distinctive."


"Oh, what do they sound like?"


Chris paused, frowned in thought... "Urrgg-uurrr-urgh, but higher pitched." The noises accompanied by a special beak face (of course).


"Sorry, can you do the noise again."


"Urgh-uuurrr-urgh." This time with Owl-like facial movements that suggest he is about to regurgitate a pellet of bones & fur.


By this time I'm convulsed with laughter. I swear, living with Chris is akin to spending all day in a surround sound cinema. The fact that his hair was standing on end, forming a birdlike quiff, just added to the Buzzard impression.


Sure enough though, above us soared a pair of fine birds of prey - drawn, no doubt, by Chris's uncanny impression.


When the sun ceased to shine on the roof terrace, I retreated indoors to fiddle about with my wee clay torso. Let me tell you what I'm up to: This sculpture was created with the help of a book. The author shows step by step how to form the foundation of a figure by using blocks & balls to create the main skeletal areas such as the pelvis & ribcage. It looks simple, but I was behaving like a stroppy school girl when I started it. My ego was a bit put out at the prospect of what it saw as "sculpting by numbers". "


"Och, I've got an MA in Fine Art - I know what I'm doing. I won't bother getting my proportions right or angling my blocks, getting the dimensions correct. Nah, I'll just slap the clay about & see what happens". Well I'll tell you what happens - you spend hours trying to correct the basics when you've already spent an age working on the surface detail. Pants.


Serves me right. But I'll tell you, I learnt a lot from that. I learnt a lot from the book, however grudgingly. Working with the basic building blocks is helping me to understand the anatomy of the human body. The more I know, the less work it is to arrive at a good foundation from which to express myself. Simples.


So I'm happily sculpting, trying out my new tools, and I see a flickering black blob in my peripheral vision. Impatiently I brush it away - a fly enjoying the sunshine, just like me.


Later that evening Heidi came to call. As we chatted on the sofa she paused. "There's something moving in your hair." Reaching out she plucked a small spider from my head. The same intruder that had distracted me from my sculpting. This arachnid tourist had been seeing the sights from the top of my head for the last five hours! I reckon he had hitched a lift while I was rootling around behind the television earlier (don't ask).


Now I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to spiders, or any creepy crawlies. I don't wish them any harm - just don't do your crawling on me. But, as my mum always said, what you don't know can't hurt you. A spider living in my hair? I didn't know it was, so I didn't care. Mind you, it was a little one. I can't say I'd have been so sanguine if it had been a Tarantula. 


Not satisfied with being removed, my new best friend proceeded to work his way back up the sofa and attempt once more to cadge a lift on my head. What is so attractive about my hair? Heidi reckoned that he was trying to get back behind the telly.


The next day Chris & I were in our turret. Craning his neck to peer into a hole in the window frame, Chris started to exclaim. "Oh, it's gone. He got it!" What is he talking about? "The fly, it's gone. There was a wee spider in his web earlier & a humungous fly flew into it. It was wrestling to escape but the spider started circling it with his fangs out, waiting to paralyse it with poison. It must have got it & dragged it down into his hole."


OH MY GOD!


What if it was my travelling companion? He must have been starving after his round-the-house trip. Yes, but he wouldn't eat me...would he? I pondered the gory scenario. Eugh!


Ah but he didn't - a prescient reminder to me of this eternal moment of Now. And so I'd say my mindfulness meditation was a success and a failure. 


Focusing my attention outward on the world around me made me forget my introspective imaginings and left space for creativity. 


But I had a spider in my hair for five hours and I didn't even notice it. 


Not very bloody mindful!    

A Birthday Message (but not from the Queen)

Greetings & apologies to my loyal and patient viewing several. It has been six weeks since you last heard from me. This time I have no excuses. I have been hiding in a hole, waiting for February to pass. I confess to being rubbish at winter. I think I'm doing really well because I love December and all the festivities. By January I'm busy with the Sale and planning my year ahead. Then just as I'm congratulating myself on negotiating the dark months - splat - flat on my face as February extends a sneaky leg.


For some reason I was particularly struck down this year. I accept that a severe bout of flu didn't help (proper flu, not Man Flu). You know - when you feel so exhausted that your brain doesn't work & positivity is a distant memory? God help me if I ever have worse - I'm a rubbish patient!


Ah, but which came first - the chicken or the egg? Being ill made me feel depressed. But in reality, I'm sure it was my low mood that left me susceptible to the flu. I'll tell you what happened. I tried three times last week to explain myself here. I remembered what my dear friend Cara said about writing it down, however I was feeling. But when I'm slithering around at the bottom of a black pit, forming sentences is a struggle. How do you describe abject despair and the total paralysis that fear brings?


I know what started it off, and to be honest, I'm a bit embarrassed. Kind of thought I'd brought it on myself. Well, you know me and my constant search for The Answer - reading my improving books, meditating, communing with God. I'd been persevering with A Course In Miracles. It's my toilet-side reading now. I pick it up whenever I sit down, and have a random glance. I reckon it's better than nothing, and I just can't yet face starting at the beginning & reading it all the way through - too taxing.


But the trouble with dipping in and out of a serious tome like this is that you can swallow a huge piece of knowledge out of context. And it can choke you. 


Now all my searching & reading & experience so far has taught me that we humans are far greater than the limited individuals we see ourselves as on this planet Earth. The ancient sages and the quantum physicists are all pointing to a supreme intelligence, a source, from which everything stems and of which we are all an indivisible part. Cool.


Much of my reading and contemplating revolves around the struggle between my Ego and my true self. I'm more than happy with the concept of being an eternal, limitless being - not bound by my body or by the restrictions of this holodeck we call reality. I'm with the scientists and their psychedelic space-time continuum. Perfectly comfortable with birth & death being just different aspects of a timeless existence. 


But how do I reconcile this with the day to day nonsense that my Ego fills my head with? Now, by way of explanation, my understanding of things is thus: My Ego is the identity that I have - formed of DNA and a lifetime of influences and limitations. It is the thinking, breathing part of me that wants me to believe that I am somehow separate from everyone else out there.


"So what?" you may well ask. Well the thing is, separation leads to fear. How else can it be if we are convinced that our mortal flesh & a few trillion neurones is all that protects us from the endless dangers 'out there'. That is scary. And the problem is that this fear and isolation leads to all the suffering that we have already and will ever experience. Hate, jealousy, judgement, violence - you name it, its source is fear.


Fear leads to suffering, while actions stemming from love lead to peace. Simples. This is my sole reason for my quest - to give up pain and to live a peaceful life.


Now before you all die of boredom - this is no idle, theoretical concern of mine. You see my Ego isn't going to give up without a fight. Every time it gets a thump because I've made a move towards my true self, it comes back twice as hard.


So I'm on the loo, and I pick up Miracles and there it is: "This world is an illusion. It makes no difference what we achieve in our lives, it is how we live. Do we live with love? Nothing remains the same." Oh. Yes. It must've got me thinking - and got my Ego worried - because that night it got ready for a major attack. Lying in bed and meditating on this idea, my Ego caught me off guard. "So, it doesn't matter what you achieve then?" No. "Then what was the point of it all? What was the point of leaving Max? Here you are, ten years on, and for what? It was all for nothing."


Wham.


Ugh.


Right in the solar plexus. Winded me, it did. I felt myself crumple and a dense weight of despair engulfed me.


Knock out. Match over. Ego is the new world champion.


I wandered around in a black cloud of despair for weeks, wondering what the point of my life was, crippled with thoughts of death and old age. No amount of reading & meditating & talking to myself could shake my deep depression. On and on the voices in my head shouted - worthless, useless, limited, pointless - a never ending cacophony that echoed round and round. Exhausting.


Finally my true self fought back. A number of things happened to loose me from the throes of my despair. Max called me. Appreciative of the help I'd given him with his application, he wanted me to be the first to hear about his offer from Edinburgh University. Oh heaven to an absent mother's ears. A poignant reminder that nothing stays the same.


Buoyed by our conversation, I decided to make the most of my advantage. That night I meditated on my crippling fear. Safe in my alpha state I focused: "There is no such thing as time. All we have is Now". No point worrying about a future that doesn't exist then, is there?!


Not bad.


I awoke with a smile, relieved that there were chinks in my cloud. Determined to continue the good work (you can't say I don't try - part of the problem, I fear), I practised a new visualisation. You see, up until now I'd pictured my limitless self encased in my body - like some minute galaxy trying to shine its light through my flesh. Every time I felt a twinge in my solar plexus I imagined that it was my true self trying to communicate - reminding me of how I'd failed to find peace.


Nah. All wrong.


Try this on for size instead! My Ego is contained in my solar plexus, and every time it knots up it's no more than my Ego griping about something (like one of those toilet gremlins in the TV advert). Ooh yes, my limitless true self is actually on the outside - extending in every direction - bigger and more powerful than any petty Ego. Nice! Then I added some big flappy wings. Cool. Every time my gremlin gripes, I'll just ruffle my wings knowing that it's not real.


Getting there.


But still a bit of residual cloud, catching me off guard when I wasn't looking. Then along came Heidi. Heidi is a glorious soul - feisty, honest, loving, giving - a joy to be with, and always a surprise. We were having a Friday chat about life and she was talking about always knowing who she was, despite life's setbacks. I caught myself nodding in agreement, while my gremlin griped gently.


It was now or never.


"Actually, I have no idea what you're talking about."


Keep going Laura. 


"I have never, as an adult, felt comfortable with who I am. I am never without the voices in my head telling me I'm wrong, criticising my every move. I don't love myself."


There, said it.


Heidi listened. "Why don't you let others judge you?"


What?


"Instead of judging yourself, why don't you just love yourself & let others judge you?" 


Oh, now that's an idea - instead of fretting about having done the right thing, why don't I do my best and then let others respond as they choose to? Mm, I like it. Less work for me to do.


As if one piece of wisdom wasn't enough, Heidi then presented me with another:


"Remember," she said, "actions speak louder than words." 


I considered this from all angles. Okay, so my gremlins may berate me for not always being the perfect, loving person I could be. They can attack me for my thoughts - but how often do I actually act on these negative thoughts? Not often. My initial response may come from my griping Ego, but I still choose to respond with love. Okay.


And what of others' actions? What if I look outwards, at how other people respond to me? 


On Sunday it was my birthday. I awoke to a call from my step son in Australia. Cards & presents and more calls followed - all wishing me love. My darling hubby threw me a surprise party. And when my dear friend Dorothy appeared from London, I savoured the pleasure and decided to appreciate all of these gestures of love - no questions, no argument. Who am I to know better than these loving & generous friends?


Now I know what Chris will say when he reads this. He'll say: "You've got too much time on your hands." And he'd be right! On the recommendation of my son I have been practising doing less, trying just to be. And I sure need the practice - I'm rubbish at it! But I will persevere, because in the quiet nothingness there is room to grow. Max said that it would be hard, especially for an antsy creature like me.


But he is right. If I hadn't made time & space, I wouldn't have started to create things again. Not as a means to an end, not for any public recognition, but just for the sheer joy of it. So many years filled with action and drama left no time for creativity. I tried to drown out the noise in my head and ended up drowning myself.


And so I may still dip beneath the waves now and again. But the rest of the time I can look around me and make choices that are right - for me and for others. I'll always think too much. I'll always be searching for answers. But I'm learning to try less and be more.


PS: This is for Frances x
PPS: No I can't get it round the right way!

   


  

Old Friends

Following on from my last Blog about...stuff. You know - relativity and doing small things with great love, and stuff. I want to tell you about a visit to my friend Katrina. Katrina & I have been friends since we were kids. 37 years of friendship. That's nice. We met when I was 9 and Kat was 8. We grew up together, know each other's history, family, friends. Lovely.


Before you think I've gone all The Waltons on you, I must point out that we haven't been the most attentive of friends over the last 2 decades. You know how it goes - we live only 40 miles apart but are lucky to organise a meeting once a year. But no matter, we pick up as we left off, with all the accumulated history forming an indestructible link between us, despite our lack of contact.


The last time I saw Kat she was planning some huge changes in her personal life. We discussed it, I gave her my encouragement, and left her to it. Nearly a year later I sent her a "how are you?" text and we arranged to meet. "Come and stay." said Kat. "That way we can catch up properly." "I have a buying appointment in London. I'll come up the night before." said I. And so our date was set.


Kat has a beautiful daughter Umi. If I were visiting two such special women then gifts were required. What to take for such an occasion? What could I offer that would express my care at this difficult time? I know - jewellery to adorn, exotic candles to scent, silk & jewels to please the eye, The King & I to bring back memories of childhood, gin & tonic to relax & celebrate, Amaretti biscuit papers to light, iced buns for breakfast. A Care Parcel, my mum used to call it. Gifts given with love and thought that would express emotions that my words could not. There was something beautiful & profound in sharing Kat & my traditions with her daughter. The thought that our history was influencing a new generation made my heart swell.


And in return I was welcomed like a long lost friend. Not lost - just laid to one side temporarily. Beautiful, affectionate Umi greeted me with hugs & smiles, just as happy as her mum to pick up where we left off. Gin was drunk, presents were appreciated and cottage pie was prepared, as we settled down to share the year that had just been. In the warmth of Kat's beautiful home we talked - of partners & lovers, careers & family, dreams & regrets.


I'm happy to say that the regrets were few. What's this? Have the young girls we once were finally grown up? I hope not. Older and wiser and more experienced? Yes. Grown up? No. Crying with laughter over her brother's swimming trunks & pronouncing her love of peas, Kat is still the scatty, quirky, creative spirit she always was. And I am still playing about with fashion.


As if dusted with a touch of Hollywood magic, Kat announced the arrival of her sister Fiona - staying that week on business. When she finally appeared it was like being transported in a time capsule. Rewind 30 years and listen as the two sisters dissect parents and attempt one upmanship - Fiona winning as usual. As Kat's older sister & I discussed old friends & past history, Kat and Umi planned the next school day & watched Friends.


I had envisaged an evening of deep conversation into the wee small hours - dissecting failed relationships - and instead I got old times & domestic bliss - perfect. Perhaps I hadn't fulfilled my duties as a friend? Perhaps I should be questioning & pronouncing? But Kat had shown me, in a few words & expressions, that she was coping just fine with this latest situation. Just as she's always coped - with love & honesty & humour & understanding. There was nothing to add.


And as we stood in her kitchen late that night I told her how proud I was of her and gave her a hug. So many words I'd imagined saying, and none were necessary. 37 years of friendship & laughter & love - no need for words.


Amen,
Laura