Sixteen Years

I am now in my sixteenth year. Sometimes it feels like it has been forever, in the good way, but I lost track of the best of my old life, focusing on the new. This blog stands as testament that I wish to happily integrate both.

It has been an emotionally charged, tiring day. I have now had all the sleep I'm likely to get tonight so I'm trying to unwind with 'The Thick of It' Special. And I was just the bystander today. 

Good things happened for me until the full moon shone through the mist in George Square tonight. Girly things -  purple shiny fingernails, calf length black leather boots, new dress, new jewellery, new specs, time off work, cosy hat and earmuffs - you get the picture! Disruptions - communication breakdown (human and mobile) resulted in unplanned change, which is never a good thing (personally or professionally). Outcome - early to bed, early to rise.

As another day arrives, I consider how to organise a compartmentalised life again. By aiming to integrate my old life with the new, I do not mean that every part will be shared, as I realise that, with no dark spectre, sometimes it will be easier that way. Having said that, 5 February is still desirable. 

I hold (most of) my past relationships in high regard and fondly with affection, as I do with my present and, hopefully, my future relationships. It does not diminish or interfere with my feelings on this day. Would I feel the same if the roles were reversed? I would hope so - friends love you and lovers should always be friends. 

I should not be concerned that being proud of a former friend and lover's achievements may be misconstrued as vying for their affections again or putting temptation in my and/or their way. It is the close friendship I miss, the entertaining letters when I was lonely away from home and the changes he inspired in my life. Yes, I want the tshirt! Or has that role been replaced in my life and I can have only one? I should, and will, commit time and visit friends, without feeling guilty, self imposed of course ;-).

Gosh, a smiley crept in! 

-3 degrees forecast for tomorrow today - back to sensible winter clothing perhaps. 3am.

I have been told that using Facebook has brought a change in me and I do agree. For me, the change is on a social level, allowing myself to think of 'outside' - the past, the present and the future, cue Jethro Tull. Hmmh, Living the Past (1969) - spook!
I do not yet know what other paths it may offer me.

As for Morgaine, she travels to Glastonbury for Arthur's crowning as High King of All Britain, with the dawning realisation she is pregnant with his child.

Gypsy Dance, Gypsy Sing

Yes, 'All that matters here is song and dance'. 
I hum, ok sing, to myself all day, all week. A bit too loud. 
I want to spin.
Sway.
Skip from one side of the room to the other. 
And back again.
Endlessly.
Songs swirl through my head like colours. 
I feel elated and tingle with emotion. 


However, at the moment that emotion is dull panic over packing suitcase and a desire for Rice Krispies.


But I will take another route - upload the mp3 with music and Lord of the Rings. And get a bowl of Rice Krispies.


And tomorrow? Gypsy dance, gypsy sing (if I am lucky) but definitely pack my suitcase.


And take the book . . .

Serendipity - more than a movie

When I have sought to read, I have found sleep. Now I have started reading again. Morgaine's journey has moved so fast from a child to initiation into the mysteries of the Goddess. Fate is fickle. It can be changed and changed again, depending on the choices that we make, so can we still blame fate?


Had Morgaine not been willingly persuaded otherwise, she would not been filled with guilt at the outcome. Rather she should have been schooled enough to accept her choices and move along her path, making more choices as life dictates to suit her wishes. There may be other fates, parallel universes, but who can say if it would be different at any stage. Like her, I cannot escape guilt but do feel remorse for my regrets.


The wonderful Serendipity stars the talented John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale as star-crossed lovers, thwarted by fate. In the end, love conquers all, with the help of snow and NYC, but it also leaves two broken hearts in its wake, who have loved the lovers when their 'soulmate' was not on the scene. 


Cynical? Perhaps. We make the choices that predict our now and our future. There will be scope for many soulmates along the way, the alternative is that one wrong choice would forever deny you your soulmate. No, I do not believe that. My life has been blessed with love and warm feelings of love remain for soulmates who have moved from my life.


Morgaine chose not to break her vow with Lancelot. Lancelot met Guinevere before she met Arthur. Morgaine and Arthur . . . No, soulmates are with us on our journey through life, as are the inevitable broken hearts.

Whatever's written in your heart

Gerry Rafferty R.I.P

Singer, songwriter, musician
For all the wonderful moments and memories his music has given me.
Get It Right Next Time to lift me, City to City when I miss home and family, Whatever's Written In Your Heart, dancing to Baker Street in London, the inspired use of Stuck In The Middle With You in Reservoir Dogs, the delight in getting and listening to Life Goes On on Christmas morning 2009.


The list goes on . . . Life goes on

Hogmanay

Hogmanay in Scotland is an important time. It is a time to take stock and prepare for the coming year. I do not clean my house to make it spotless, as my mother and grandmother did. Perhaps I should have. Maybe I don't do the traditional things to bring me luck (see also 'first foot' below).

Hogmanay ends the year with celebrations, traditionally family but now including public celebrations where all, including multi-nationals are welcome, to 'bring in the new year' 'at the bells' at midnight. I think I only missed the bells once at home before my marriage and should have been there with family. I learnt from that to celebrate on Hogmanay Eve and go home for the bells.

Now I stay at home and 'first foot' my own house when my husband is awake, which isn't meant to bring you luck, it is visitors that do that, but I do leave the house before midnight to first foot and stand shivering on the doorstep before the bells ring out. I now sleep for a couple of hours before the bells at midnight. He tries to stay awake for the bells but it is getting more common that he is in bed asleep instead. I don't mind this. I will see him on Ne'erday morning to wish him Happy New Year. After all, he completed the database update tonight - more than an album a day for the year. Now if that had been apples?

I actually got through on the phone at the bells to wish my mother 'Happy New Year', just before the phone networks went into overload. The text messages have all now been successfully sent. Facebook has been good for this but it must be repetitive for all the messages to be 'Happy New Year. Almost time for bed. I brought in the bells with a little red wine and lots of John Martyn on the stereo. I could go on all night but I should get some more sleep - start the new year as I intend to go on with it you could say.

No, the book lay beside me untouched as I slept on Hogmanay evening, again ...

The Passing of Midwinter

The theme of Midwinter has been the bitter cold. On a good note, a sense of community and camaraderie has returned, with strangers cheerily greeting others in the street with 'it's a bit warmer today' when the daytime temperatures soared from a baltic -11  degrees celsius to a positively balmy -6. They say it was even above freezing today - not that I have been outside my door to confirm or deny it. What a Christmas blessing indeed! But there is a heavy snow warning for tomorrow . . .


Midwinter and the full moon brought bustling industry - shopping with various degrees of success, concerts - Arcade Fire and Belle and Sebastian, various lunches with family, friends and colleagues and mad house tidying.


It has been a generous spirited season, which I hope will continue well into the New Year and beyond.


My beautiful Christmas wreath, a gift from my beloved mother, hangs proudly on my front door, adorned with  glistening red apples amidst the green foliage, telling me it is time to join Morgaine in her journey to the Isle of Avalon and the path of the Goddess.


The isle of apples awaits . . .

The Glastonbury Holy Thorn

It is not midwinter yet the landscape has been covered in snow for almost two weeks now - with no end in sight.

I had no intention of writing until midwinter - out of respect to Igraine - so I could then turn my attention more fully to Morgaine.

However, in response to reports of a wilful act of destruction, I felt compelled to do.

The Holy Thorn Tree of Glastonbury on Wearyall Hill has been cut down in the middle of the night, branches strewn beside the remaining stump.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2010/dec/09/glastonbury-mourns-felling-thorn-tree

According to legend and echoed in the Mists of Avalon, Jesus' uncle, Joseph of Arimathea, was welcomed to Glastonbury by the Druids and Christian priests alike. He then took Jesus' staff and planted it on Wearyall Hill, where it took root and sprouted, blossoming at Christmas and Easter.