Something beautiful in everything

The demolition and construction next door has brought nothing but misery. At midnight a team arrived with the digger that would reduce the old house to rubble. Our fence all but fell down and we were left with no privacy and no security for two months until (again at midnight) a second team arrived to begin construction. We have just 22 more days to endure this as in March 1st we will move to another house in a new part of the city. Yesterday we were given some privacy at last in the form of a hastily erected canvas sheet between us and the site. It was a relief, and today it afforded enough peace and space for me to notice a small and fragile jasmine flower against the rotting concrete and florid blue of the canvas screen.

Bangkok from the rail link

Coming home 1

In my name

For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.
Matthew 18:20

As a young Christian this line used to piss me off something fierce.  I remember asking Rudd, the vicar of my church, "Am I not good enough if I am alone then?".  I used to imagine I would be in great need of God and be on my knees begging for help and God would holler down, "Hey Trace, go and get a couple of mates and I will be right with you.".

Now I know better.

The force that Christians call God is just as present for the individual as for the group, and indeed doesn't perceive a distinction between us singular or plural.  This was just a "bring a buddy" marketing campaign to make a new faith viral.


**aside**  When we go for coffee sometimes Dom makes a heart out of the receipt and gives it to me.  This is one of his hearts.

Escape and stories

Interesting how this blog was working better as a private journal.  As soon as I went public (i.e. told Dom) I started 'writing for' instead of 'writing about' and I lost the momentum of introspection.  But yesterday I was lying on my yoga mat listening to stories. Don't worry, I was still in the Floment, but stories were rising... and I listened and let them go like a good yogini.  Anyway, I realised I still needed this space. I am so full of stories and they clutter me up.  Yoga is physically, mentally and emotionally easy for some and hard for others.

Hard for me.  But good for me too - helps me sift through the stories and let them go.  But ultimately when you struggle with yoga you need more than one mat.

This is just another mat.

Sheep

I took this on the train from Nottingham to Glasgow.  It was a five hour journey and much of it was lovely.  This is somewhere in Cumbria, maybe Penrith.  I (and you may not believe this) was taking a photo of sheep.  The train was passing field after field of sheep and I thought "Cool, I should get a photo".

I rummaged  around (sheep sheep), got my phone (sheep sheep) held it up (sheep sheep) and took the photo (no sheep).  

And I swear I didn't see a single sheep from that point to Glasgow.

Well I exaggerate.  I got bored of waiting for the sheep to return after 10 mins, and put my camera away.

So this is a photo of an empty field, but immediately to the right - just out of the shot - there is a field absolutely packed with sheep.

The title stands. It's a metaphor.  Or metaphysical. Something.

Seized by Rhythm

Rhythm.  I don't have much, but what little I have finds it very hard to resist a marching band.

I blame my mum who, every year, dressed me up and had me follow the Mablethorpe Carnival Parade: Aged 4 - Little Bo Peep; Aged 5 - Mary Mary (quite contrary); Aged 6 - Turkish Delight girl; Aged 7 - Water Tap (hey there was a water a shortage, and I won Best in Parade for that outfit) and Aged 8 - Anne Boleyn (posthumous).

 Then I was too old to be cute and so I proudly followed bearing a flag and wearing a Brownie and then Girl Guide uniform.  I like uniforms too, but that's a whole other post.

 Anyway I caught a few minutes of the St Patrick's Day Parade in Nottingham - long enough to take a bad photo (above) and resist the seductive pull of several marching bands.  If I had let myself go I might still be lost; lying under bushes somewhere in darkest Nottinghamshire, mussed and twitching, with bits of green crepe paper in my hair.

Gratitude

This is my Gratitude Journal - every day I am supposed to write five things I am grateful for in order to remain focussed on life's positives.  I got the idea from a new (very inspirational and thought-provoking) friend on Facebook, Marike.

• I am grateful for inspirational and thought-provoking friendships.

The journal is a lined exercise book with a firm card cover, wrapped in a really soft cloth that snaps shut with a very satisfying way.  The pen is a Cross and has my name engraved in the centre.  My husband bought me both for Christmas.

• I am grateful for a generous and loving husband who knows not only that a pen and a journal will please me but also that having my name engraved on the pen and choosing a book wrapped in soft cloth with the perfect snap makes the difference between a wonderful gift and the perfect gift.

Did you notice that they are green?  I find myself suddenly smitten with green, he knows that too - it is a relatively recent love affair, but he picked it up quickly.

• I am grateful that my husband is quick to notice the new things that please me.

I am wrote in it two or three times in January and then I stopped because our cleaner moved it from its position next to my bed to a new location underneath a pile of books on my dressing table.  I am disappointed that - as so often happens with  resolutions and intentions born over the New Year period when change, growth and self-improvement is at the forefront of our minds - what was so enthusiastically and determinedly taken up was so quickly and carelessly forgotten.

• I am grateful that I have a cleaner, even if she is a bit rubbish sometimes.
• And I am grateful that I have a big pile of books on my dressing table - I may complain about clutter, but having the material wherewithal to have clutter to complain about is a blessing.

But failing to do one thing doesn't make me a failure and I am able to forgive myself.  I can start again, and again and (if necessary) again until this becomes routine or I can find other ways of being consciously and specifically grateful for the many good things in my life.

• I am grateful for the ability to forgive myself.
• I am grateful for the fact I have choices and I am able to recognise them.

The reason I raise this now is because on Tuesday I looked for the pen (picture above) that in a sense 'came with' the journal I couldn't find it, and for a short period I feared it was lost which was very distressing.

Stuff isn't important, but the meaning behind stuff is.  This pen in particular has a very powerful meaning for me as when Dom gave me the pen I was upset because I thought we couldn't afford it.  I find it very hard to accept expensive gifts - even modestly expensive ones like this.  Although Dom and I have discussed and dealt with my difficulty accepting gifts of value before it is one of those things that comes back and has to be rediscussed repeatedly.

So you can imagine the idea that I had lost this very precious gift was even more painful.

• I am grateful for the reminder that I have treasures that must be taken care of even if those reminders are painful.
• I am grateful that if the lesson needs to be repeated it usually is.
• I am grateful for Dom's patience.

But I found it, and - to cut a long story short - I am very grateful...

for friendships and inspiration
for a clean yet cluttered house
for the pen and my name engraved in silver
for the lessons in giving and receiving and losing and regaining
for the colour green and notebooks covered in soft cloth
for my loving and patient husband who thinks of details

I may even start writing in my journal again.