Dark Moon, New Moon

Tonight is the night of the new moon. It is unseasonally warm, by my standards, at this late hour with no cooling breeze to bring respite. But I should be careful what I wish for - as I live in a very green country but often the skies are leaden grey with rain clouds. And I do love to see the sun. Even tonight when coming home the sky was a beautiful azure palette overlaid with heavenly white clouds. John Martyn's Solid Air was playing when I arrived home.


The dark moon found me in Edinburgh, which has given me both happy memories and regrets. Age and the lure of social networking led me to meet former guy friends who I had not seen for fifteen years. I had attended a university re-union in the same city two years earlier and found it disconcerting. The only exception was my two girl friends, with whom I hadn't kept in touch with but they tried hard to not lose me, and with whom the years melted away when we were together. The girls' time is filled with wonderful adventures so I hope they can keep some free time in December to meet. 


And this brings me back to next adventure into my past. Trying to act and look nonchalant, unfortunately my coffee cup, sensibly placed in seat tray cup-holder, jumped into my lap as the train lurched forward leaving from the station. Ah, I had tried again, foolishly, to pretend to be the suave, sophisticated lady but started my day with coffee stains on my jeans and blouse. This reduced my apprehension a little, as I felt foolish again, but I should not have been worried. To chat for hours about how our lives have changed seemed the most natural thing. I doubt it will be regular occurrence nor does it need to be - a 'hi' at a bar or concert is more likely - but it has complimented the lines of communication of social networking.


And what of the book? Coffee aside, the train journey was a perfect opportunity to read. I always feel it is my train journey, as I have travelled it so often - with my mother from a small child, with school friends, to uni and later with my husband. It has just dawned on me that a pattern is emerging, as I started reading on the train from Inverness and now it is Edinburgh. The new High King Uther makes his plea for Igraine to be set free to marry him. Her husband Gorlois responds by withdrawing both Igraine and his support. Igraine, mistress of Tintagel , is then all but imprisoned there, to keep her from Uther's grasp whereas I am free to go wherever I wish  and return willingly home . . .

The years fly by

And now I am older, no longer a teenager or maiden, heading towards wise-woman? No, a crone most probably. After all, I have been wearing the garb of a crone for most of my life. I have just aged into my role gracefully, gradually or not, as the case may be.

I have always felt more comfortable with the written word to express my emotions. I have been a fervent diarist and letter writer. But the concept of the internet as a mass depositary of people's thoughts and words, forever out there for all to see, concerned me. The moral conundrum - just because I can, doesn't mean I should. But when did that ever stop me? So for those in my life whom I have hurt, I am sincerely sorry.


Now over a decade since I first registered but did not use my first domain name, I find myself compelled to commit my thoughts again.


This summer, oddly enough in Spain during the World Cup, I read Unseen Academicals by a favourite author Terry Pratchett. It was the first book I had been able to read in a few years. I don't know if I broke my concentration by reading Fermat's Last Theorem or Human Genome Project a few years ago or it just coincided with my symptoms.

Now I have my health back, the house is being de-cluttered - including of books, which feels sacrilegious and unnatural. Oh the irony of it! Travel books galore donated to friends. Trips to the local Oxfam book collection bin, too close for comfort to work.


But I have to focus on quality - filling the gaps in my collection and this I have started to do quickly - it is still shopping after all. I couldn't find my latest copy of The Mists of Avalon so I bought a new one, swiftly followed by a new copy for my sister also as her copy is still loaned out to friend. I also renewed my Sandman collection by Neil Gamian, under the guise of 'I can't remember which are still on loan to friends I rarely see' which ended up as 'please get me for Christmas' and the resulting hardback collection looks beautiful now on the bookshelf.

And still The Mists of Avalon sat untouched for weeks, waiting for the right moment to be started again. Would it take over my life as I read it? Would I ever remember to eat again? I can remember that I can make a pot of tea whilst still reading a book so it might not be all that bad.


The time finally came, Sunday 29 August 2010, returning from Inverness by train. The beautiful scenery, which should fill my heart with joy, whizzed past unheeded as I was transported into a land of myths. I recalled visiting Cornwall but I did not have the opportunity to visit Tintagel. Having said that, I have no complaints about the Steve Hackett concert in the Carnglaze Caverns and The Rum Store at Bodmin Moor - my host was very thoughtful and provided seat cushions however I also wished I had wrapped up more warmly for the evening in the cave.

And here I leave it. Igraine accepts her fate, discarding her current life, to be with her soul mate, endlessly throughout the wheel of time.


(Yes, it does sound like a mid-life crisis but she is only 19.)