Ocelotchatelaine

Assimilation - resistance is futile

2011-12-20T02:37:00.000Z

Blue Boy is staying. ( touch wood so far) I have plugged myself into the Cat Lady Network and the Vet has checked for a chip. His details have been advertised in the local paper. This has resulted in one call. As I answered the phone I was filled with conflicting thoughts. This cat has been loved. It has no fear and no aggression and a certainty that if he asks nicely he will receive. He is sweet. In short he is lovable and I, knowing my place, am doing that.

The person on the phone started to describe him. I held my breath, in one indisputable way the cat she described and mine are different. It was with relief that I breathed in and said "no that's not my cat." I noticed that. I said not my cat. I hadn't realised til I said it that I had made a decision. She was crestfallen. I then heard her story, about a lost companion who was/is also loved and hope that she has better news soon.

Had he belonged to her I would have given him up. ( But - as the vet said to me as we discussed this eventuality - with my arms folded and pursed lips. He knows me so well!)

As I talked to the Hound I referred to him as Blue Boy. He emerged from the kitchen where he spends a lot of time keeping an eye on his bowl. We have agreed a longer formal name which is not for sharing, it might make his blue blood and pink tongue blush.

The other master and mistressess in the household are ok with this.. He doesn't make demands on them, doesn't try to use his maleness to dominate - a wise decision with my two canny females. He has seen and concluded that it would be "a funny sort of game"

He would probably prefer to say " How about a nice game of chess"

He has certainly shrewdly played me as the Master he is.

Unexpected arrival

2011-12-03T23:50:00.000Z

Last week out walking with the hound late, we were enjoying the stars. The fields are a bit damp at the moment, the frosts haven't hit hard enough long enough, to make night walking pleasurable. So we were looking at the sleeping village in the dark. It's usually just the two of us.

That evening the Universe had done a sterling job with the stars. Lots of twinkling but very little moon. Sparkling pavements. It was quiet, the sort of "eerily quiet" demonstrated on Dr Who before the Tardis arrives. (It hasn't so far) It's a beautiful peaceful experience without noisy interruptions

There was a frost that evening, a harsh one. We were about 5 mins in. Bouncing along Primo was bursting from one smell to another. There is a turning point where we enter another part of the village, a different set of houses and there is patch of grass here that if we pass Primo must at all costs investigate. A long thorough investigation, the smells there must be particularly fascinating.

As his servant that he leads along I was standing patiently waiting. I could hear a strange snorting sound. It was odd and I couldn't place it for a while as this particular spot is a bit of an echo chamber. Eventually we moved on a few steps and the noise continued. Eventually I located it. There on a wall was a funny looking creature coming towards me. It looked a bit like a very scruffy owl with 4 legs. It was light on its feet.

It saw me and jumped down onto a lower wall and continued to stare at me snorting,
By this time I had worked out it was a cat. A rather distressed one. Decision time, do I walk on, come back later without hound or approach now with the hound and risk frightening the cat away.

I approached the cat. I got very close and could see and hear it was in a very sorry state. Long haired and horribly matted, so that sitting down or lying down must now be very uncomfortable. Dog on lead in right hand. Again decision time. Do I risk putting my hand out for a savage scratch. How will the dog react. I looked down. Primo's tail was wagging furiously but he had his mouth pursed forward - he was about to wake the village with his hound ROOO ROOO ROO.

Shut up Primo! He looked surprised but he did. I reached out and touched the cat. He turned his face and looked up at me. Hard to breathe and with eyes running. He let me touch him and just looked at me. His face spoke of sadness, his body of slow starvation, A bone bag with fur. Primo increasingly interested danced at my side.

I pic up the cat and he fell against my body relaxed through weakness. All the way back the cat rests and Primo dances along looking at it.

When I get back into the house I take a proper look. So does the dog. He is very interested and talkative with it. The cat looks even worse in a good light than he did before. Very compliant and wide eyed.

Since then he has eaten bits as I've given him small amounts, drunk. He has spent the day at a vets whilst they check him out and remove some of his knotted hair. He now looks worse, if thats possible as he is partially shaved. They couldn't get to the rest he was too stressed, but we will return next week for round 2.

The local cat people network has been alerted to see if we can find the owners. In the meantime he is here, takes the odd stroke with dignity, navigates the other cats, and regularly leads me to his dish.

Going to be an interesting few days

Speaking of death

2011-11-19T01:01:00.000Z

It is a dark time of year. And we have festivals that bring us light along with crimson red poppies against black to remember. It starts with the ghosties and ghoulies. The saints attempt to appear but they don't have the charisma to blot out the darkness, the mists and the mystery. I like it. I like the winter approaching and the cool and the regular bright twinkly starlight.

This evening speaking to one of my oldest friends, we found ourselves discussing death. He is a half orphan and I am a total orphan. Strange and unreal terms to use for either of us. And yet it is true.

Even though for both of us the departures were several years ago, there are times when that deep pang comes forward and very present. When you want to cry out

" I want my Mummy"

or

"I want my Daddy"

For those that have been lucky to be loved I don't believe these feelings ever go away completely.

That is not to say its always sad either. Sometimes in the midst of something amazing happening there is a desire to share it very particularly with one or other parent. The thought skips across the brain like a child on the way home from school with a picture. And then you remember...

When the orphaning is new so many people report thinking they see a loved one in the street. Sometimes its a garment or the way the head is held, their gait, sometimes even a smile can take you there. When it is raw when it is new, it cuts you up inside, slays you. But later there is a strange unreal comfort from this and even amusement.

Looking around at siblings and the children around you, you see the missing ones. It might be in a glance, a turn of phrase, an attitude to life, a laugh, a bark, a dark one liner. Sometimes "stuff" appears to skip a generation and new people who did not know Our Originals, are manifesting things they could not know about. Where has it come from? Is it coincidence?

Then there might be that special shared look of those who are connected to the ones that went before, as together they observe what makes sense to only them and is an invisible bond between all of them through time.

And we know they are not gone.

Looking in the wrong place?

2011-11-03T14:03:00.000Z

Watching the dog running earlier this summer from a distance I could sense something was not right. He was lame. As I got closer I looked at his legs as he moved along. He was quite happy, there was no sense of pain, he wasn't frowning, he was accommodating it.

A phrase came unbidden into my head from working with horses. I was taught when I was quite small that you can see if a horse is lame by looking at its head. This seemed bananas at the time, and I think I said so, though probably a little more carefully, she was not one to annoy with flippancy! Anyway a hand came out and pointed to a horse running around and how the head is carried. Easily. There was another - the reason we were there - that has lame. I couldn't spot which leg it was that was causing the lameness. "look at the head" so I shifted my eyes away from looking at feet and looked at the head, the head carriage wasn't the same. This horse was lame.

I still couldn't tell which leg it was that was out, but by shifting my gaze away from one of the possibilities, stopping trying to look and compare all legs at once , I saw the overall shape. I had a good sense of what the horse should look like in movement and by seeing the head and then the whole shape I had a much better idea of where there was something not working right. I was encouraged to use my ears too. I thought my Aunt was a scary genius ( she was!)

So with Primo I reverted to what I could only do at a distance, I looked at the overall shape. I had a good sense of what it should be and sure enough it was easier to choose which leg to pay attention to. He canters everywhere, over and under and through things, simple removal of a thorn twig and off he went, the right shape. Everything was elegant again, even when he was working hard. He had accommodated it. Sometimes as part of his running an alien object is ejected naturally, so the accommodation is a sensible response. With a thorn, that could have embedded and caused all manner of systemic problems.

Recently he had some other bother, (highly sensitive wonder hound that he is) which is now sorted. As he spurted along and charged up behind me demonstrating a fluency, speed and joy that can only honestly be described as beautiful, I realised his ears were floppy and a bit mad again. It's another "tell" which I can now use to see if he is quietly accommodating something he shouldn't be.

Dogs and Horses. My Aunt had shown me a way to look at the whole system to help decide where there might need to be an intervention.

It seems an obvious leap to me to think about how this plays out organisationally. After all Organisations are systems, made up of systems, teams, groups, right down to each one of us. Humans the most magical special systems of all. In teams or groups or even whole organisations, commercial or not, what might be showing as problematic might not be the source of a problem. It also might not be problematic, but naturally symptomatic of something else.

Sometimes you need to have a sense of the OVERALL shape and let your gaze rest on it, your sense of it, go soft - to take in the whole - to pinpoint where there might be something wrong in the system. And sometimes when there are changes happening it is essential to have a sense of what the new shape is likely to resemble so that you can calibrate if it is progressing or stuck. Then you have a better chance of making the right intervention or letting the system right itself.

My top 5

2011-10-27T12:36:00.000+01:00

A few of posts back I shared a link with a site where people post their top 5 rules for life. In the intervening weeks I've given this some thought off and on, as I work through another set of small personal but important projects.

So to break all tradition there is some overt structure to this email - won't be making a habit of this, its my blog to say arbitrarily what I feel like saying when I feel like saying it, how I feel like saying it at the time ;-)

1) What are my top 5 rules ?

2) Are they really rules ?( I dont like rules!) they shape my life.. they do get broken, I feel the nuances at times and appreciate them differently as I get older. I doubt the essence has changed much in the last few decades, but the words I use as I currently understand them do change.

3)These things that arent really rules, what happens when I forget them?... well it ranges from mild unhappiness to serious illness.

It turns out that question number 3 proved to be the test for membership of the top 5. Or to put it another way, when I remember these 5 things, I am a nicer person to know, even for me!

So here they are:

1) Trust your instincts to be true to yourself

Ultimately the only person who influences you, is yourself. It is your voice in your head, even if you have inherited some of the ideas from others and sometimes suffer the emotional contagion of other people's feelings. If you are having a reaction to something it is important to pay attention. Your instinct doesn't tell you what is wrong, it tells you that something is not right. Your observation and investigation might tell you what and why. Your instincts tell you to check it out. This is biology's calibration system, sometimes it is an alarm, sometimes its a big loud "go on" signal. Be respectful of Mother Nature and pay attention

2) Forgiveness is liberating for others of course AND for yourself. A good memory does not make forgiveness even harder, just less accidental and more conscious. What greater compliment than to forgive and be forgiven?

1 and 2 are entwined somehow, inextricable but still distinct. I learned 1 from my Mother and 2 from my Father. Lifelong gifts. Thank you both

3) Remember you are an animal get in touch with your inner animals.. Cats have nine lives cos they are curious, they also sleep a lot! Dogs approach the world with a nose for fun. Toddlers are lovely animals and instinctively seek. It is the best way to learn, aware of the world but not made self consciousness by it.. They just do it and enjoy. Some might call this playing.

I dont know who gave me this one Playing is Joy in action.

4) There will always be a way for you to contribute and be you, find it and do so.

This came from my Granny who saw everything and loved anyway.

5) Spend time under a big sky every day, AND night. Star light and the moon provide a different illumination on life, the universe and everything. It is a place to breathe.

Breathing is good :-)

Note: I used the word YOU all over this. I am talking to myself

WhipLEASH experimentation

2011-10-17T18:34:00.000+01:00

The Hound excited by his play with his friend the Ridgeback decided to leap over the ditch.

However I was not ready and still climbing under the fence, the lead was inadequately around my hand. He leaped. I tried to grab, failed, but felt the sensation of sinews stretching unnaturally and fast. I now have a VERY bruised left hand. I was told that it would be better if the hound was wearing a choke collar. I demur, I don't like them AND my fingers would almost certainly have been broken had I been using one.

The mistake was mine, NOT Primo's.

I know this pain I've had it from a horse and rein accident too.. It is painkillers and pain and swelling and temporary sausage fingers (UGH!)

I wonder about violin practice, but other practical matters like putting clothes on to go outside are more pressing right now. Tentatively the car was tested this morning. I can drive safely because the middle fingers and thumb are unaffected for gear changes. I won't be driving far though.

Stupid things catch me out, like holding a jar whilst taking the lid off. More experimenting as per a month or so ago, this time through necessity. The natural rhythms are upset. All food making is hampered by my one armed ineffectualness. Typing... hmmm not for long.

Try pulling on and off socks one handed, or putting on a bra! Or taking it off. I can use the forearm as a sort of counterbalance but I find I catch my fingers unexpectedly and I yelp. It makes the animals jump when I do that and I get reproachful looks from them as I disturb an afternoon siesta. Selfish chatelaine, they think.

My sister, made me laugh out loud on Skype in the coffee shop this afternoon, with her comment about how much the earth needed my violin playing. Even digitally delivered in words I heard the tone of voice. This was not a comment hidden by the post modernist cloak of "irony."

This was first order Sarcasm similar to the honesty of my other sibling who said he wanted me to practice for a very long time before he wanted to hear me!

To them I say two things - in order.

THANK YOU and Bassoon.

;-)

This is NOT about Primo at all.

2011-10-06T17:17:00.000+01:00

Primo is not sure he likes Robert Redford yet. He was very interested as I approached Mr R and he gave him a good sniff. Mistletoe has met Mr R before and was prepared a long time ago. Squidgey returned to her place under the workbox behind the radiator. Mistletoe looked at the pink ribbon Mr R was wearing around his neck and gave me a look that said "oh really is that dignified even for him"

Dalmatians are interested but sensitive souls. So he stood alert wagging his tail as I ran my hands all over Robert, and tidied him up. Up until this point Primo was prepared to give MR R a chance. And then I pulled the bow over the strings and Primo ran away.

Now that's feedback!

Its funny how things once you start looking for them collide in front of you. Of course sometimes you don't know what it is exactly you are looking for. You've mislaid it somewhere and are on the alert but you've also forgotten what you've mislaid. Like going into the kitchen and making vague gestures with your hands for an implement you need but can't remember the name of.

We all are many people, thank goodness, with the unique essence of us in each of them. We define ourselves by our relationships, (or dangerously others attempt to define us by our relationships) we define ourselves by what we do, our jobs, our aspirations, our feelings. Definitions happen even when we decide we won't define.

An identity I have held in the past is one of musician and every so often it whispers to me. Sometimes. For a long time I was too preoccupied to hear, until eventually the whisper becomes assertive, gets hold of your hands and your fingers and there in front of you is a website that has non copyright musical scores to access. When did they arrive there? Why hadn't I thought to even look.Obviously they would be there, the activity and attitude of the Internet would make that such an obvious candidate.. Why WHY WHY didn't I look before. Just finding them and looking at some of them made me smile inside for over a week. Knowing I could go back and have a quite look whenever I wanted.

Then I stumbled across something else.

So last night I found myself sitting in a room with about 40 other musicians none of whom I had met before. I was greeted by the leader and found myself sitting down in the section with the first violins. How did that happen? Last time I played 1st Violin I was 18 ( A V LONG TIME AGO). Eeek. The first piece of music in front of me after all this time was Schubert's Unfinished Symphony. EVERYONE else in the room knows it and has played it. Bugger its in a minor key, what time is it in, what does that Latin word mean, is that an 8th or a 16th note, which way up is my bow. Oh hell that notes high up, What IS IT? Ooo do I even know this piece, oh that bits familiar, no don't know that bit. So all this is going on in my head. My hands, wisely, choose to ignore it and get on with it. I got through it

The Musician is OUT...(she needs A LOT of practice before she stops being a sonic hazard though)

Of course I am not stumbling. "Stumbling across" is just a short hand for "somewhere part of me was ready to get out and declare herself again."

Canine House Rules

2011-09-26T23:04:00.000+01:00

1) It is not possible to get to the top of the stairs before a Dalmatian. This rule applies whatever house you are in and where ever the Dalmatian might be before starting the ascent. The Dalmatian must be at the top of the stairs to wait

2) If a Dalmatian has ascended the stairs for his own undisclosed purposes, a Dalmatian is unable, under any circumstances to descend the stairs until the Dalmatian has heard, clearly, the tinkling of an appropriate amount of biscuits into the Dalmatian's bowl

3) A Dalmatian does not descend the stairs for an inappropriate number of biscuits.
The Dalmatian shall decide what constitutes the appropriate number of biscuits even when the Dalmatian can not SEE the biscuits

4) Wet food whilst acceptable as well, will not be acceptable for a Dalmatian to descend the stairs. Please see rule 2

5) A Dalmatian's duty is to be certain about the contents of the fridge at all times. To do this the Dalmatian will open the fridge when the Dalmatian believes it is most appropriate to do so, to be certain of the contents of the fridge.

6) A Dalmatian shall liberate the fridge of contents which the Dalmatian believes are inappropriate and have been misfiled. For the avoidance of doubt the Dalmatian shall decide what foodstuffs fit into this category of misfiled food.

7) The Dalmatian has the right and duty to dispose of the misfiled contents in any way as the Dalmatian sees fit. Dalmatians are efficient and speedy in the despatch. The Dalmatian shall leave the fridge open afterwards as a silent reminder to the Misfiler of the inappropriate contents of the fridge.

8) A Dalmatian shall take outside any object that might be of use to the Dalmatian for recreational purposes. This can include the previously mentioned misfiled contents of the fridge. Generally however only the empty receptacles of the misfiled contents of the fridge will remain as objects to be observed by the Misfiler on the way to a later walk. This along with rule 7 is part of the Dalmatian's duty to nonviolently point out the error of the Misfiler's ways.

9) The Dalmatian shall guard the contents of the oven as food is cooked within. The Dalmatian shall do so assiduously and the Dalmatian very rarely has reason to ascend the stairs for his own undisclosed purposes whilst the main oven is in use.

10) The Dalmatian is aware of the difference in use of the top and bottom oven. When the top oven is being used to grill toast, the Dalmatian has a personal quest to snatch the toast as it is transferred to the plate. This is to ensure the sharp reflexes of the Toaster. In the event that the garden is not available to the Dalmatian, after the execution of this act, the Dalmatian may ascend the stairs for his own purposes. Please see rule 2, which will apply when the Dalmatian is ready.

N.B.

Please remember at all times that the Dalmatian is demonstrating his service and duty towards you when considering these rules.

Rule 1 is a Universal Law of Dalmatians, as well as a Canine House Rule

Left handed experimentation, making the dominant go quiet for a bit.

2011-09-06T19:16:00.000+01:00

A few weeks back I had a left handed day. I needed to give my creative side a bit of a boost. Some thoughts had been colliding in my head but looping. They weren't wrong, they just weren't going anywhere. It started out as a normal day, became a left handed day and then a left handed themed few days. It was worth the effort.

I wanted to give the right hand side of my brain some deliberate dominant time. The right hand side of the brain seems to be the place activated when engaged in creative, artistic, musical and lateral thinking. To quote from the great virtual hivemind demi-god Wikipedia,

"While functions are lateralized, these are only a tendency. The trend across the many individuals may also vary significantly as to how any specific function is implemented."

The right hand side of the brain controls the left hand (usually) . The left hand side of the brain is associated with linear thinking and apparently rational ;-) thought. There is a lot of stuff out there to read and understand about effects, tendencies and variations with the wiring of the brain. I was watching what happened with me, and hoping that a shift such as this would encourage other shifts. That was my test. There is some suggestion/thesis that the right hand brain has a more direct access to the unconscious too, which I am curious about.

I am naturally right handed, but luckily not overwhelmingly so. My left hand takes a supporting role. Noticing which hand operates for preference and then reversing it has an interesting effect on how you think, what you think and what you do,. It also affects the speed at which you do things. This is pretty obvious, of course it will!

But think - what else can happen when you do things slowly?

I had intended to have a left handed day, but even though I declared it out loud it took a while before my hands believed this. So as I reached for the kettle, the fridge, my pen and the animals, I'd have to stop and remember to reach for it with my other hand. Just the mere fact of noticing how much you rely on one part over another was salutary. I started out believing I wasn't overwhelmingly right handed, by the end of the day, I'd reconsidered that thought. So everything I did became less automatic and more considered. This was in part what I wanted but really only the first stage.

I changed nothing when driving.

I really started noticing what happens when your left and right hand play clearly complementary roles in a normal task, like peeling fruit, unravelling something, sorting through coins. I noted that for some tasks not only did I have to consider what things had to happen, but in the reversing, sometimes they had to happen in a different way. That sets up some odd sensations generally: an awareness and concentration that isn't normally present. It is learning in a way that you don't normally get to experience as an adult very often. It's quite exhilarating

I knew this already hence my decision to experiment in this way. A few years back, I had to learn to sit up, stand up and walk all over again. This was a fascinating and exhausting experience.
.
This set my thoughts flying beyond what I was doing. I routinely anthropormorphise things; so my right hand thumb became the confident leader who wanted to take control and the left hand thumb was in a supporting role. Just trying to swap around which thumb does what and expecting it to happen does not work. The right hand goes out and does stuff, the left hand stays at home, but is essentially there to support when the right hand needs it. This sounds bizarre, as I read those words - but if you test it out and watch your hands and fingers you may see what I mean.

Some tasks just couldn't be accomplished by a straight swap of physical movements, some things had to be done in different ways. Playing with that, doing things radically differently or just in a nuanced way, it was pretty easy for me to make a leap to what happens in organisations when there is a leadership shift. When someone who previously had a supportive role, who had a sense of how things should be, because they had been part of it for a while and then when in a leading role realised that everything they had understood needs to be re - examined in light of both the new requirements AND the new perpective. Similarly when watching my right hand adjust to a supporting role and the muscular temptation of it to just take control - when a leader has to step into a different place and watch a new leader do things. This proved to be a very rich seam of thought for me. This also seems to apply in families too, watching as people take control and responsibility for their lives - or attempt to.

Try tying up shoe laces, or a knot of string the other way around. Don't use a mirror, do it as if the other way around Would be the way you do it normally . Peeling potatoes...found myself going very slowly there :-)
I extended this over a weekend in the end and watched what happened walking the dog, putting on his lead, his harness etc.

I was blackberry picking during this time too and this proved for me to be one of the most worthwhile bits of the experiment. The simple act of holding the bag for the berries in my right hand and doing the picking using my left hand, led to a concentration, focus AND at the same time width of general thinking about STUFF I need to think about that was rich and rewarding and just a little bit mad. ( well a lot mad!) I also noticed useful changes in my peripheral vision.

I also swapped which hand I wrote with and this had an effect on how I recorded my thoughts and plans. The context of my thoughts was the same but the way I approached the context shifted in a very useful and complementary way.

All in all it was worthwhile, weird and normal at the same time and it accomplished the thought shift I thought it would.

Hard to contemplate or comes to you easily?

2011-09-02T15:28:00.000+01:00

I came across a wonderful website today.

http://fiverulesforlife.blogspot.com/

where people list their personal (not defined or decreed by someone else) top five rules for life.

Browsing through my personal reactions varied from,
Yes! EH? and NOOOOO!! All of which were good indications of one of mine.

You can submit your own, or just think about it....

Uplifting and Useful as long it doesn't become an unthinking dogma

:-)

Primo status report

2011-08-28T13:06:00.000+01:00

A few people have asked me recently how is Primo.

Summary: he is fine, his grasp on leading a full industrious life includes: opening fridges to swipe butter and bacon, attempting to snatch bread from under the grill, taking a used yoghurt pot to his place in the garden, collecting the dustpan and brush for idle afternoon chewing under the cherry tree. These are all normal parts of his day. Sometimes he rings the changes a bit, another pair of glasses were destroyed last week.

We fall out mostly over my shoes and his desire to chew them. Many pairs have had their lives ended by Primo. More recently the game has shifted. Now if I haven't taken a hint quickly enough he disappears briefly. He reappears for me to see he has shoe in his mouth, whilst his tail wags furiously behind him, head slightly to one side and down, he raises his big eyes at me. COME ON!!!

This morning, whilst I surfed to check on news of hurricane Irene on the East Coast, Primo bored with waiting, climbed on to some packed boxes by the bedroom window (I am not currently at home). He returned,by climbing down backwards and then continuing this reverse theme over mountains of cushions with a Masai Warrior in his mouth. I know without even looking, that whatever else was in that box, it will not have been as important as the one item he chose to show me he had. The Warrior has been retrieved and placed well out of reach to survey the rest of the room. Primo wants to play across the fields and I am not quite ready. A combination of his antics and the quite extraordinary array of vocalisations he will make will contribute to my making the decision to comply with him. Primo has his own understanding of Pavlov's stimulus response technique which he uses to great effect.

Earlier the Orange Cat that resides here, purred in his face as he tucked into his food in front of Primo. I did take Primo to another place and fed him his biscuits and he has had his morning dance around a garden. Until the energy he has been generating in his body all night - whilst the rest of us merely slept - has been dissipated with a few sprints, and lots of cantering, the solo canine Jazz singing will continue in one form or another.

He needs this:

And some of this

All will be content in the house when we reach this:

However briefly.

Primo also likes meringues.

Flintstones, Gardening, US Budget

2011-08-01T11:26:00.000+01:00

When I was a child and The Flintstones were on, sometimes I would weary of the story line.

I loved the rendering of stone age life, was amused by Dino, BamBam and Pebbles, and the bird beak record player. I liked the surreal and the word play and it was all this that made me watch it regularly.

BUT

Sometimes Fred would get himself into a predictable predicament and worry about what Wilma would think and I couldn't - even at 7 or 8 years old - be bothered to stick with it. The rules of the cartoon meant that it would be resolved in some way in the next 20 minutes but so what ? I knew the ending and I was bored by the process. I'd go and do something else more interesting to me, sometimes that was just running round the garden with the dog for a while.

When my Mother was facing waiting for news she could do nothing about but would then have to deal with the consequences of - she'd head off out into the garden and focus on something more fertile, and real and long term.

I've felt the same about watching this crisis in the US for agreement between the executive and the legislature. Some resolution (whether it is the right one or not, I have no idea) was going to happen. In the meantime there was going to be posturing and competitive obfuscation and unedifying game playing. This is boring and timewasting.

Can't help feeling that BamBam and Obama share only letters.

Kirschen

2011-07-10T22:00:00.000+01:00

Ich esse gern Kirschen mit Kuchen und Sahne.

Die Katze hat leider die Sahne gefressen, die fuer die Kirschen geeignet war. Aber Donnerstags, wann das Einhorn kommt an, stehen alle beide zurueck .

Ich fotografiere das Einhorn nie, weil es schuechtern ist.

Hochachtungsvoll wuensche ich Ihnen eine gute Nacht.

Garden Ghostly laughter

2011-07-05T13:19:00.000+01:00

This morning I discovered something about my garden that was blindly obvious to everyone else but I had completely missed out on. I have been gorging on the very ripe cherries plucked from my heavily laden cherry trees. This is a first for me, usually the birds have them on account that "they are for the birds, Sarah."

When I first moved here the trees were tall but only flowered. Or so I thought. And yet as I think back I do recall some fruit on the trees, in small amounts. I remember squishing them on the path and I have spent many hours watching from my bedroom window the blackbirds hop about the branches as easily as I navigate my sitting room, singing a bit and snacking a bit as they go along.

Today one looked particularly shiny and plump, dangling above my head just about within reach -- and for the first time in many years I reached out and took one. It was delicious, juicy very dark red almost like a sauce juicy, like rain drops of blood, juicy. The taste was tangy, not sour but definitely the piquant side of sweet. I am not dead yet so I am assuming that they are in fact edible and for me to enjoy as well as the birds.

Earlier this week one of my friends commented on how lovely it must be to have cherries grow in your garden and I said they aren't meant for eating, "they are for the birds." And this is why.

When I moved here my Mother would stay sometimes and work in my garden. This was because she was a fantastic gardener and turned every patch into a little Eden, a haven of loveliness and peace. She found pleasure in the work, meditative and took delight in watching and waiting for things to happen. I am a crap gardener. I like gardens, but I don't like working in them, I also don't like them too manicured. (I even have dreams about what to do to an overdone garden and the small minded person "wot did it") I likes em a bit wild, slightly out of control, surprising. My Mother somehow could make this happen AND be an attentive gardener, her gardens were a partnership between her and everything in it. I can't so, I have am very happy for things to do what they will and all the bipeds, even the ones with wings and the quadrupeds make what they will of it, which is mostly enjoy it. She looked at the cherry trees and told me that they probably would flower but that the cherries ( if there were any) would be sour and for the birds alone. She mentioned my Grandmother's mock orange tree when I tried to say but they are cherry trees, and how that didn't have oranges either, but that the blossom was almost overwhelmingly lovely. And I heard what she said, filed it and thereafter I have never attempted to eat a cherry from those trees... until today, when captivated by it's allure I helped myself. And very much enjoyed it!

As I ate that first cherry I distinctly heard her laughing. Her dry delivery a wilful tease... and finally the punchline.

The questions in my mind are: who was she when she warned me off the fruit of the tree? And who was she when she was laughing after I had eaten the fruit from the tree..

The Owl

2011-05-29T23:46:00.001+01:00

This evening driving back from an agreeable afternoon of chocolate, coffee and great conversation I had an encounter that I think ( hope) will live with me for a very long time.

I was driving home humming along to some music in the half light. That light where if you could only be certain there was no one else on the road you wouldn't bother with headlights at all because what you see with the headlights obscures what you could see in the shadows. That light where the edge of the light is the most interesting place but when you are driving a heavy fast thing, responsibility means you have to alert others to your presence.

There were few cars on the road, but it is a very hilly and winding one, the presence of the lights from other vehicles a forewarning of their heavy lethal unnatural automated arrival. It is a great road for making the most use of the curves and feeling the gear changes, using the hills as they fall away from the tyres to full effect. To physically experience the drive.

As I approached the brow of a hill there was something odd in the shadows between one long white stripe and the next, something unexpected. I slowed my approach aware that about half a mile behind me at speed was another car. As I crested the hill just at the top I realised what it was. Before me nearly in the light was an Owl. It was about 9 inches tall and somehow unnaturally stationary. I felt the air escape from my lungs and a tingling in my stomach. I stopped, the Owl turned to look at me. It was alive. I breathed in.

I put on the hazard lights and considered my next option. Not only was the owl at the top of a hill from my direction, from the other direction it was around a blind bend. The benefit of the lights in the darkness was that hopefully my hazard lights blinking yellow along with the white dipped headlights would be visible enough through the trees to forewarn any other vehicles and their human inhabitants of my presence. Otherwise there would be two squished creatures on the road, which would not have been good for the Owl at all.

I got out and walked towards the Owl. As I got closer it became obvious it was a baby. I felt an inward tug. In the distance I could hear the car that had been following me approach up the hill. It had evidently seen the hazard lights because the indicators had gone on to overtake. I decided how far I needed to step into the car's way to ensure the Owl was not harmed as my lights would have obscured the bird's presence. The car slowed and went smoothly past me and the bird.

In one sense I was relieved the presence of another car had not startled the bird into dangerous movement but in another way I knew this meant the creature was mesmerised and confused. I stepped back towards the bird. As they do the OWL turned his head around nearly 180 degrees and I gazed down into the wondering of its big round yellow and black eyes. His feathers were downy, fluffy like fur, soft and new, a soft grey. The beak was hooked but tiny.

I do not know if it was wonder or fear I saw as I looked into those amazing, vulnerable and curious eyes. I do know I was seen. I was properly looked at. I was considered. I looked around to see if there was a parent in sight. Hard to do, in the dark but up in a nearby tree I could see a mirrored shape, I sensed a presence before my eyes rested on it. I could see the mirror shadow shape, so whilst I looked at it, I have no idea if it looked at me. It was definitely connected with my Owl on the road and I believe it was watching the scene. Still the baby Owl did not move. Could it fly? Was it transfixed by fear, confused by the hard concrete of the road? Or was it physically harmed? I hoped, if I had to touch it, that the parent above, having witnessed the scene would not care. I bent down, not certain exactly how but planning to pick up the owl with it's soft down and little pointy beak and take it across the road to the trees below the Shadow Guardian. I considered the beak and told myself " I can take it pecking me, but I have to get it off the road." The owl's head flipped back and looked hard at me. There was a noise from the tree, the Shadow owl. The baby turned away and stretched out the feather down wings. A gentle, calm reach and in slow motion the bird stepped forward, with the gentlest downward push from the wing the Owl was off the road and into the trees beyond. The Shadow Owl had disappeared from the branch and the sounds from the trees told me they had connected.

Relieved,and feeling immensely honoured and glad I stepped back into the car and finished my journey home.

Thank you Mr Simpson : Help for Heroes

2011-04-22T06:10:00.000+01:00

When I was about seven there was an old man and his wife who lived next door but two from my Grandmother's house. My Grandmother knew them both by their first names being the same age but to me they were Mr and Mrs. I used to wave to him sometimes across the garden fences and he always waved back and he always had something to say to me. The conversation wasn't deep, it might be about the weather, or the state of my Grandmother's roses ( an amazing display always) or the smell of the honeysuckle in the evening. He'd have a question about school. I never once felt he was talking down to me or that he was too busy. If we met passing on the road where they lived he would invariably lift his hat as he walked past and smile as would his wife. It was a road I was often walking up, not least to see my Grandmother but in the summer without fail to head to the outdoor pool in the park as soon as school was out, then back to Gran's for tea and a chat.

I remember the first time I saw him. I was with my Mother walking back from town with the shopping. We had recently moved back to the town of her childhood and whilst everyone was a stranger to me, for her everyone was familiar, and people were pleased to see her and talk to her. On this occasion we were walking up the hill as they were coming down. We were dressed casually ( in comparison) and they both were properly cloaked and they both wore hats. Shoes were shined and she was wearing gloves. If I had wanted to check there would have been a clean handkerchief in her polished handbag and in his trouser pocket. A generational thing.

Across his jacket he wore a line of medals. He had fought in the First World War and was proud to wear them. This in part is what made that meeting memorable to me. Like other men I knew he had been a soldier, only this was a war that I didn't at that time properly know about. I knew the dates and that it was a long time ago. I knew the phrase a war to end all wars, and that the Second World War had denied this. I knew both these wars had been fought against the Germans, a country I had recently been living in. I knew that people died in wars. Or rather I knew the words. What I didn't know was what death meant to the living. I had no comprehension of the impact on people: war films, my tv film diet for years, some how showed, but did not tell, what war meant. What it means to be at war.

Mr Simpson always neatly pinned his sleeve to his jacket as he walked in his hat and suit with his medals in the street. I knew not to stare the first time I saw him but I did have to ask - later after they were safely out of earshot. My Mother explained matter of factly and plainly. Mr Simpson when he was a very young man lost his arm fighting in the First World War. Though it was a shocking injury and would have been hard for him, things were so terrible during the First World War getting injured like that probably saved his life and he came home to a wife who loved him and went on to have children and grandchildren. From hell to hope in a couple of sentences. He wore his medals with pride and people as far as I could see accepted this. She went on to explain more about how when she was a little girl she was used to seeing lots of men with missing arms and legs, some begging.

(The First World War left the UK with 41,000 lower leg amputees (and this British only) and 9900 from the Second World War statistics from this source)

I had no sense that he felt he was a hero, for that generation I suspect it would not be a word to bandy about. I would guess that he wore them out of pride, that he stood up and did what he thought was his duty. Perhaps he had no choice, perhaps it was peer pressure. Standing up for peace in such a time would have been another sort of heroism too without the support of the masses, of the crowd. Perhaps the medals provided an explanation for the missing arm, saving questions. A statement silently told.

He didn't speak of the glory of war, none of my grandparent's generation did. They knew better. It is not a glorious thing. Perhaps Baldrick's poem whilst funny in situ in the episode, says it as it really is.

"Hear the words I sing,
War's a horrid thing."

The Guardian provides the statistics here for dark contemplation. These are British figures not including US, or other allied forces nor those of the Afghan people. Everybody belongs to somebody.

Another century on from Mr Simpson, and for nearly a decade we have been at war. We watch the funerals, the coffins saluted in the streets but what of the planes that return night after night bringing the horribly scarred and wounded. What has changed? The Poppy appeal instituted after WWI still effective and active.

HelpforHeroes is an AMAZING organisation of people, that has grown from a ground swell of feelings, their phrase Passion not pay, started it off and maintains them now. It's stance is strictly non political. Bugger the rights and wrongs of war, think about all the individuals affected. A charitable body, a company ltd by guarantee with a trading company subsidiary which funds 100% of the administration costs, leaving EVERY SINGLE PENNY donated to be used where required. And quickly too. By partnering with expert organisations they provide significant funding and practical support for those that need it.

Since 2007 when the Charity was formed, the volunteers have raised 97 Million pounds, built state of the art centres, funded individuals, families and pioneered progressive programmes, making a tangible difference. They have guaranteed 100% online donation to their cause and for other charities too by the astute purchase of bmycharity Supporting the 21st Century Mr and Mrs Simpsons and their families. The acts of war sadly haven't gone away, but fortunately neither has the desire to support. Millions of people are not looking away in embarrasment but doing something, with a varied mixture of cash, time and courage.

Actually this is worthy of the word AWESOME.

When I think back to Mr Simpson I find myself having an inner argument about which arm was missing. I must be able to remember surely, but I can't. I've deleted that unnecessary detail.

Mr Simpson wasn't defined by his injury, he was defined by the man I knew. A kind man, who had gone away in his youth, come back, raised a family, wore his medals and raised his hat in greeting.

Well .. mm verses?

2011-04-06T19:57:00.000+01:00

On the trees I see
small bursts of cherry blossom
rebirth and new life

And in other news:....

His strawberry nose
sharply raked by the felines
Camera shy for now

Dark thoughts

2011-04-05T00:51:00.000+01:00

This evening we completed our usual exploration of the valley at night. Primo hops about and I walk trusting that I don't put my foot down a rabbit hole.

Night walking is a pleasure - the darkness is cool and the skyscape more easily gets to play centre stage. Tonight there were plenty of stars out quite early, the moon was not making herself known and around the edges of my sky was a tinge of blood redness near where the sun had set. It was in this environment that we paced the fields.

The first minute or so of walking is based on trust and memory. My body seems to know where some things are to be avoided. After about a minute sometimes sooner depending how relaxed I am on starting out, I can see quite a bit.

Primo glows in the dark. No really he does. He doesn't glow outrageously as if he has quaffed Delboy's radioactive juice, but about every 6th hair seems to have an iridescent quality. He twinkles sometimes against the snow when it has reached the 3rd frozen day - the glistening point.

When there is very little light I am not sure how I can see him but sometimes I just can, across the other side of the fields or running along a hedgerow. We share an awareness despite distance.

In the dark all the other senses awaken, the eyes are not bad without sunlight and still perform a function but the ears tune up. And the feel of the air across your face and any other bareskin all communicate different things. Breathing is quite a different experience and provides lots of information. Breathing in cool air somehow goes beyond the lungs and straight to the soul. Refreshment. It is a great time for thinking, there is a space and peacefulness to the darkness that allows a deep contemplation, of the big things and the little, the trivial and the serious. The darkness somehow gives a long term perspective, long term as in aeons. Perhaps that is the presence of the sky and the immediacy of the message that everything is transient and the moment, NOW is to be explored and lived.

One evening a dark moonless winter night we were out walking. Primo was doing his thing, trotting back and forth, sniffing the ground, whiffling at the air, raising an ear here and there. Simultaneously paying attention and carefree - an enviable state. He was quite a way off and I was not near a path. I had paused to watch an odd movement in the air. I could sense, rather than see, darkness coming towards me It was a very odd sensation and then about 4 metres away from me I realised there was a man approaching climbing upwards and further behind his black dog. He seemed very surprised to see me there, perhaps at the last minute for him. He had been concentrating on his dog. I had known something was coming towards me but didn't understand what. Air and the darkness was moving, but I couldn't hear footsteps in the grass. He looked up startled, there was a person right in front of him - me. I remarked that it was good to know there were others as mad as myself that paced the fields in the night time. He managed to laugh and admit that it was a kind of madness, relaxed finally and then moved on. The dog, a bossy black labrador, spent a cursory few seconds checking me out then sought out Primo for a serious and thorough sniffing session.

This evening there was light somehow, in the darkness without a moon. Spring is evident even in the night time. I could see from field to field, as the breeze hit my face like cool water on hot thoughts.

My trust to not find rabbit holes with my feet was rewarded again, but on returning home later I have noticed that Primo appears to be walking with a limp. He is favouring a leg. I buttered his paw to encourage him to explore for thorns and perhaps a nights rest will help.

Tomorrow we may be visiting the vets.

A decade has passed.

2010-11-28T21:26:00.001Z

It is a belief many cultures share, that those we've lost somehow are still connected to us. The language for this varies, it might be heaven, life after death, eternal life, the spirit world, the hereafter, the happy hunting ground. Even in families there will be words for it, upstairs, beyond, in that other room. Our memories and our philosophies shaped by their presence in our lives. If the belief is held at all it is a comfort or a horror, depending on the relationship in life.

This week a friend I lost touch with contacted me and in the exchange asked me to fill in the gaps since we left off. I am still thinking about how I respond. What is relevant what isn't, who do they want to know about, what makes sense from the person they knew at school. There are the facts that are a matter of record and then there is the interpretation which changes with mood, time, perspective and experience. Later this week a postcard from another arrived, thinking of me as they know it is exactly 10 years since my Dad unexpectedly and traumatically died. An odd milestone and the precursor to another. I have been thinking about the time that has passed without his presence.

Unexpectedly is an odd word to use about death, we are all expecting it, but because it is there all the time we ignore the possibility. I had a fear of it as a child, someone at school had told me with glee that because my parents were older they were going to die sooner and for weeks afterwards I would check on them in the night to see if they were breathing. Eventually the checks became unnecessary. But it WAS unexpected. Traumatic too because it happened in a car, medics worked on him and my Mother watched, as they tried, knowing he was gone...

So I've been thinking about my life in segments, and for the last few months very much about life since Dad.

Dad isn't someone you can capture in words. The spirit of him is elusive in a very defiant and definite way. His views of heaven were subtle. He wasn't tied to a religious belief though raised in one. He had his own sense of hope and whilst quite capable of looking into souls and deciding whether their aim was true or not, he was optimistic somewhere about people. He could see the worst and still notice the best. His notion of heaven (and he had one I think) was that it was different for everyone and in explaining this he said perhaps it was doing something you loved, like an endless game of bridge.

Inevitably with such self indulgent musings the question is asked what would he think? I don't know the answer. It wouldn't matter what he thought anyway, as what drove our relationship, like all good personal relationships wasn't in the end thoughts but feelings. Proud or disappointed, amused or bored, annoyed or contented, whatever the dynamic at the bottom was always love.

So 10 years ago he left suddenly, rocked us all and the world has no idea what they lost out on.

But I do, because I was one of the lucky few for which he fought to live as long as he did.

Cultural development of HR though unconferencing disorganisation ;-)

2010-10-22T14:58:00.000+01:00

At Talis a great deal of emphasis and importance has been placed on the development of a culture that supports everything we want to do as people and as a business. It sounds simple in one sentence. It isn't, some of the ideas are, the practice though, well that's a different matter and takes commitment, serious business commitment.

Finding people who care about people and culture in similar complementary and inspiring ways is hard. I don't have an HR background. Not having the automatic trained hinterland of an HR education is both a hinderance and a help.

Yesterday face to face were 64 people from across the UK who do care about people, are aware of cultural impact, understand deeply what employer branding is or isn't and can argue for a purpose about it AND importantly for me get excited about the potential for people to change their own worlds and the world at large This was at the great inspiring and informative event ConnectingHR Unconference: HR and the social organisation- Embracing social media for competitive advantage

Watching this unfold over the last few months has been great, seeing a set of radicals come together and not start from the Orthodoxy of what HR should be, nor be confined by historical professional best practices. Instead wanting to be innovative and develop the right practices for each and every situation. Being inclusive and wanting to invite others in to share information has been rewarding. It feels not just like fresh air but like a hearty meal after lots of gruel that doesn't really keep body and soul together.

As an event it was nutritional, raw, the venue was stunningly basic almost brutal, the energy was maintained. There was progress, information exchange, connection and energy for the next opportunities to develop.

It was so refreshing to see HR people whose culture traditionally has been framed around organisational shape and in organising things and people approach the fluidity of an unconference formula.. It's a technique well used in some technical and development communities. The WorldCafe movement is another example and it paid dividends yesterday

The unconference I think exceeded everyone's expectations. Informed, opinionated and still open minded people wanting to communicate and share the energy and passion to get good things done. I came back with a head full of things to think about and a longer list of thoughts to think about after that..

Talis' strapline is Shared Innovation and it is a determinant factor for our culture and one we will develop and nurture.

Seeing that ethos live naturally in what can be seen as a traditionally conservative profession was beyond delight. Bringing the rigour of professional experience and combining it with a passion for positive development is something I certainly will want to participate in and learn from

Yesterday was a very good day.

The Dalai Lama and me

2010-05-23T13:42:00.001+01:00

Yesterday I ventured into a supermarket on a Saturday. A rash act I know, as normally, particularly where I live, shopping on a Friday or Saturday is a rehearsal or warning about entering into HELL. A place to experience LOTS other people with less time flexibility than I am blessed with. Where their semi-feral children are released from the modern societal confines of small gardens and are roaming the aisles whilst demonstrating sustained sonic abilities. The children generally are amusing, but the energy from the stressed out parents and staff permeates the area around the checkouts like a heavy pollution induced smog.

Yesterday these two dynamics of misery and merriment were not present, possibly they were en masse at a nearby festival. The aisles were clear for some speed shopping in preparation for todays visitors and I took the opportunity with alacrity.

As I picked up the last few bags to leave, fought with an errant melon and some apples attempting to escape I noticed something I had before never seen. A small blue box with a slit like a postbox. Next to it were some small blank slips of paper and a pen with a note saying if you had something or someone you needed or wanted a prayer said for to put it on the slip and the prayers would be said at local Christian Churches. I found myself looking at that and being moved by the act of faith in placing it there. The promise to pray, unfettered by constraints about who the asker was. I talked about it later and discovered that at least one other box like this exists in the County and am deducing from that flimsy evidence that its probably quite common. I think its wonderful. In terms of faith I think, as he often does, the Dalai Lama expressed it best when he said,

"This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness. "

The presence of that box demonstrates that philosophy, nothing is being asked in return, an offer for free to do something for someone unknown.

After I had been released from months in hospital, I discovered that people I didn't know had prayed for me and for those close to me. Two people had actually paid for a mass to be said for me, neither of them knew me or even knew each other and I am not even a Catholic! I can't thank them and they wouldn't want to be thanked anyway. Its good to remember. That box reminded me.

I was sent flowers at various times and when I was in various intensive care units I couldn't have them. They'd show me them and then whisk them away. One kind nurse put them in the window of his office for a few hours so I could see them. After a few hours I asked for them to be taken to the hospital chapel. I did so because I was passing something on.

Hospital chapels are strange places. ( In a good way) I spent some time thinking in one when my Mother was in hospital. It allowed for every and no religion really. It was a meditative place, a place of calm, without noises of pumps, or machinery or people in pain, or the noises that frightened visitors make to try to be normal. The absence of hustle and bustle -a place to collect thoughts, gather yourself. I had noticed the abundance of flowers in there and the vivid colours and vibrancy reminded me of the urgency of life. The phrase "the quick and the dead" passed through my mind. It was also cool. The ward had been hot, cloying and claustrophic. The chapel though a smaller room felt spacious. It was a place to inflate carefully.

As I drove home from the supermarket I thought about prayer. How you don't need a religion for it or even a belief in a god. You needed faith, perhaps sometimes prompted or forced by desperation. The Chapel and also the supermarket as places said what the small box did. Beneath all the difference there is a sense somewhere of US. A connection to something bigger than ourselves.

A unity of difference

its been a while

2010-04-26T01:08:00.001+01:00

Late last year was a bit of an interesting time. Again I ended up in hospital, taken by ambulance in pain that it was pointless howling over, even though it was excruciating.

For most of last summer I had been dragging myself to work. This is not like me at all. I love what I do and even when its a grind I know its just stuff to dig in for, so that I can get to the stuff I want to do. Not last summer. Last summer I was waking up exhausted. I was existing in a world full of treacle. I had nothing left. I don't know what I was running on but it wasn't as full as empty. It was mystifying, as if I had gone back a few years. When I was just out of hospital then, when after learning to walk again a 2 minute stand in the kitchen to make a cup of tea would leave me whacked for more than an hour afterwards. I learned to keep drink near me, diet coke to keep back the nausea ( it works btw) so that I didn't dehydrate.

I thought those days were long gone. I hadn't noticed I'd taken the horses out of my life again. Riding stopped - a mixture of too busy and too tired, I had ceased. But I hadn't noted what was going on. It was insidious and crept up on me til I was forced to a standstill.

It turned out to be a simple thing, easily controlled. Diabetes. What a relief, something to pay attention to but in the scheme of things quite manageable. I should have been diabetic after they removed most of my innards and I had frustrated the medics when I hadn't been then. Now I was. Now I am.

Being at home contemplating how bloody I had felt and thinking through what this diagnosis now meant in terms of lifestyle changes was an interesting experience. I now have to eat breakfast. Six words. Six innocent little words that do not convey the depth of difficulty that adjustment has been, still is, for me to make. I now have to eat regularly. I was always a "eat when I am hungry" person - get lost in my activities and then realise the day has passed and no food. Now I eat more regularly, still I have a long way to go, and I have appointed guardians who ping me regularly to ask me if I have eaten, just to make me conscious of the thought.

I also made another change. A while back my dog had died, and for lots of reasons I had not been ready to have another one. I knew my role at Talis was changing or rather how I approached it would be, which meant that having another dog became a real possibility. As the time wore on at home recovering I was allowed my laptop and clearly from there I had easy access to any part of the world I liked. Initially I was looking at greyhounds and contemplating rescuing one and it is still in the back of my mind to do that. I was reminded by a nephew that I had always wanted a dalmatian. He was right, I had, How had I forgotten that too? So then another hunt was on. In December I collected a little spotty wolf in puppy clothing. I saw his litter at 3 weeks old, he chose me and I collected him at 7 weeks.

Dalmatians are bonkers. I just thought I'd mention that. They are permanently ON. They are very intelligent and thoughtful (yes really) and quick to spot opportunities. They are also playful in the sense that they tease. They are industrial strength chewing machines, but at the same time quite gentle. One of his toys a giraffe is loved hard with this teeth but is still intact, and carried around. His bed is picked up and tossed across the floor and into another room when he is annoyed and there are others which he relentlessly, diligently and systematically ruthlessly destroys. He is coming to terms with the cats. He has an awareness that their thinking is quite different to his own. He might bounce them like Tigger but both cats know about dishes served cold. Once the Panther has had enough of his antics she will hold his head down with her paws and bite his ear till he squeals in submission and then she will stop and look at him hard. This interspecies sibling rivalry doesn't stop her wanting to join him for a walk in the valley in the evening though, nor he from running up to her after a day a way and licking her older wise head (which she finds disgusting but tolerates as she can see he means well). The Spidermonkeykitten cat has a wholly different but no less effective strategy. Though tiny she runs at him squawking and he demonstrates his dressage ability well and backs away. Even she will be given a quick whole face wash when he has a mellow moment hit him.

Dalmatians need exercise, lots of it, so as well as breakfast a serious amount of outside walking is happening under a big sky. He is still only 6 months old, watching him notice things for the first time, or seeing his surprised look on his face when his back legs decide the front of his body is heading across the field at a rate of knots brings a pleasure that is hard to convey but easy to experience

So with the help of breakfast, a dog and lots of exercise I am no longer dragging myself anywhere. What a sense of freedom and space that has given to my mind.

Next month, I plan to put the horses back in too.

The Moon

2009-10-11T23:27:00.005+01:00

They say (whoever they are) that if you want to be inspired be with inspirational people. I find that if you look for inspiration its there, but then as a child I was told to "Stop being such a bloody Pollyanna!"

I can't always do it and spend time in an Eeyore place, nothing a swift kick up the metaphorical or real arse can't shift, most effective if it comes from myself.

I can gaze at a piece of art work and experience that shift inside somewhere, a connection with the artist or something greater, but its not usually something visual that moves me. Not man made visual anyway. It is usually sound, often music and lyrics at times which can plumb the depths or boost me to highs that are unsustainable but long in the memory and deep in the heart.

Sometimes I open my eyes properly and can't believe I have been focused on such a small horizon, and a season has turned. So if it is visual its Nature that is providing it. Recently someone in my family accused me of getting excited by small things. Too right!! I had just been raving about how AMAZING the moon looked in the sky over the sea. Every time I see this sight, wherever I am in the world it still sets off a reaction in me I can't put into words, still a sense of wonder, sense of WOW, water moved by something so far away, just as I am moved, reassured by its presence. It is a thrill, I am excited by something so timeless in the human scheme of things. Walking or driving by moonlight has a special feeling, a sense of belonging that there it is up above us, all of us. In the past the reassurance that someone I love far away in a different time zone, will look up at the same moon, even if the stars allotted are different. Reassuring, powerful, changeable, known and mysterious. The moon to me is female. I like the night, I easily turn nocturnal and there is this glowing presence travelling with us through space on a journey beyond the mere mortal, radiating its blue luminous glow for all.

Last week I was trying to capture something of the wonder of a full moon at dusk over the valley behind my house, all I had to hand was a disposable camera, and I was trying to take photographs, a man appeared with an absolutely gorgeous black Labrador, and asked me what I was doing so I explained and suggested he look at the moon and he said, "oh that, haven't you seen that before!" I said, "no, before it was another day, another time." He looked at me as if I was mad. Oh well.

So this week I wondered how I felt about NASA bombing the moon. I am intrigued about the purpose and the exciting possibilities this could help arise AND somewhere I felt sad about the violence of it. NASA site is full of interesting information and I have anthropomorphised a small planet... http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/LCROSS/overview/index.html

"Earth's closest neighbour is holding a secret..." - not just me then..

Mental Conflict I feel!

School of Hard Knocks

2009-07-22T21:44:00.000+01:00

About two months ago I was riding in one of the outdoor schools and doing my basic stuff, whilst at the other end was a horse and rider practicing some high jumps and tight turns. There was another rider and horse partnership like mine also doing their stuff. There were 3 instructors one for each horse/rider pairing and each of us was able to maintain awareness of ourselves and some sense of WHERE everyone else was and what they were doing and where they were going. An essential skill as the horses concerned were large.

One of the them was a stallion, not common in this situation and the Gelding I was riding was very aware of the presence of the stallion. The other horse was a mare.

The stallion was jumping out of his skin, and very very hyper, hardly controllable and sure enough the inevitable happened, the rider was dumped. I knew this had happened even though when it did happen, I actually had my back to the events and the horse knew too. The rider was soon on her feet and back on the horse. They continued rider picked up where they left off and 10 minutes later with lots of snorting they finished their practice and were off.

Again I knew they had left the school even though at the time they did I had my back to the events. I could sense a change in the horse I was riding, because the horse too knew that the stallion had departed.

I found this wider awareness fascinating. We all have this skill, we use it all the time walking through crowded places, and not crashing in to one another. We use it in the car when somehow despite watching the road ahead we can maintain awareness if we open out to the rear view mirror and the side mirrors. I can remember my father asking me the colour of the 3rd car behind me in traffic jams!! And sometimes I even knew the answer!?!

Yet on a horse I am still at the stage when this same skill is amazing to me because I am conscious of it, I am noticing it, even when I don' t need it. I will be really competent when I notice it Specifically when I need it, when it doesnt noticeably intrude on everything else I am doing. I suppose it will be part of being in flow.

I have decided that I am on the path to this competence because recent evidence is severly testing me and I have taken a few steps back and am in a relearning loop. Intriguing when I think about it, frustrating and upsetting when I experience it. I appear to have regressed. I suspect I am actually learning stuff now in a deeper way than I did before. I hope so.

It all started few weeks ago. It was a friday afternoon, hot and heavy and also monsoony. It was the afternoon of the company party and the day before an important family party too.

I was riding a horse, a mare who has difficulty with a particular move.

When a horse canters, depending on the direction in the school there is the Right leg to lead off with and the Wrong leg, and this changes with direction. There are a few reasons for this and when you are riding in a tight circle when a horse is on the "wrong" leg it can be an interesting experience!!! For both Horse and Rider

The horse I was riding can only canter off one leg, so in one direction its the right leg, and in the other direction its the wrong leg. She only canters on this one leg and always has done. When I ride her we slowly work on increasing her suppleness on this other side, so that we can coax out of her the ability to lead off the other leg - so that eventually more people will be able to ride her this way. She actually CAN canter off the other leg, she just doesn't believe she can. And because its rare for her to canter off it, obviously she isn't as good at it.

Nice self fulfilling prophecy at work.

So I spent about 35 mins doing various things to make her more limber and relaxed and aware of that side and remembering that both legs can lead. Then set her off nicely and we head round first corner, use pole to strike off from, ask her to canter. She responds nicely and balanced -- on the wrong leg.

We make several more attempts and each time its lovely and balanced -- on the wrong leg.

Afternoon was getting very hot and steamy, and both of us are generating A LOT of heat too.

Next time we try it slightly differently, and instantly though lovely and balanced I know its the wrong leg. I ask her to come back to trot and she does beautifully for about 5 steps. Then she trips over her feet. This happens in slow motion and really fast at the same time. She stumbles and from where I was sitting felt like she was a bit surprised with where her legs were, and considered " am I going to fall over" before actually decidng "yep I am going to fall over".

I flew about 10 feet over her shoulder forwards on to the floor on my right shoulder and hip and knee. Winded, air sucked out of lungs, pain to one side of back oh ho... pulled myself.. Horse on knees behind me. Roll over. I manage to get upright on knees and am terrifed she is hurt. Get towards her and she is getting up off her knees and snorting. Manage to stroke her nose a bit and talk to her, all the time she is looking down and watching and taking the strokes and listening.

She was shocked, more I think than I was.

I had been through that quick momentary elation of "I'm alive" followed by "quick do a total body check" followed by "must get to horse..." Thoughts so quick they overtook each other

Manage to get up and walk her around a bit. She seemed sound. Got back on and had a quiet 5 mins doing some gentle transitions but she felt stunned. Decided to dismount and walk her back up to the stable at end of lesson and the whole time I was talking to her she was leaning her head into my shoulder, almost leaning on me.

I should say this particular horse is quite a remarkable one. She is currently "on loan" to an adult who learned to ride on her and actually she has been the one that has done the teaching and the looking after of the rider. I too felt this nurturing instinct the first time I rode her, she was assessing me and helping me. When I had fallen and turned to look for her, she was looking at me. She was snorting with shock and fear, not with aggression.

Adrenalin is an efficient pain killer. Afterwards I drove on to the party and in a way was relieved. It was bound to happen some time and the longer it went on the more the thought of falling off would have festered in my head. Now it had happened and I still knew how to do it!

Bruising was the usual large technicolour postmodernist abstract body art.

Subsequent lessons though have been frustrating. The first one only a few days later I still hurt everywhere, my right arm reminded me of its presence regularly and as for breathing deeply, I've only actually been able to do that properly for the last week or so.

What I have noticed is that the sensory awareness I was describing at the top, is still there but its overwhelming me. Before the fall I was surprised at the amount of information I was consciously processing but was able to process it. After the fall I was hyper alert, but quickly reaching overload. Whereas before others working in the school with me presented no difficulty, now they sometimes do. Annoyingly for the last week and a half I haven't been able to continue as other obligations have kept me away. Very frustrating in so many ways.

My instructor pointed out that she thougth my pelvis had tightened up again so when I do resume its to a no stirrups lesson followed by a lunge lesson. Better eat Pasta the night before those lessons then!!

She also most wisely said that I should just go back to enjoying it rather than thinking about it

Sage Girl... look forward to following that advice.

Back to the lovely mare, two days after our fall, I went to see her in her stable and when she saw me she nickered at me. Felt like a nice recognition that we had been through something together.

:-) felt v happy with that.

Yesterday

2009-07-18T01:28:00.000+01:00

80 years ago she was born

Silent Solstice Night

2009-06-21T00:39:00.003+01:00

Being nocturnal is probably my default state, when the world isn't making demands on me and I can do as I please, within a short period of time I will turn the clock and often appreciate the dawn this way.

Sometimes the silence of the night is very loud and you do hear you heart beating and thoughts snuff out if you can't sustain the argument you are developing

How fast is a thought anyway?

Wolfram Alpha was not sure what to do with that input. Which has been a common reaction to many of the things I have asked it ( and people too!) Uncertainty isn't its thing on principle.. Or I am not sure it is

It has proved however to be a very intriguing definition engine and has given me some great definitions on thought

belief | the organized beliefs of a period or group or individual higher cognitive process | the process of using your mind to consider something carefully mental object | the content of cognition; the main thing you are thinking about opinion | a personal belief or judgment that is not founded on proof or certainty (4 meanings)

Interesting, those definitions could probably apply to a few species

So I checked the definition of thinking, this is what it returned

thinking | the process of using your mind to consider something carefully

Hmmm and so could that....

Checked the definition of instinct

instinct | inborn pattern of behavior often responsive to specific stimuli

MMM... applied to the stereo Ocelots beside me and myself

Conclusion: As I thought, Cats do think

Soothed by a Cat called Yusuf

2009-06-10T23:45:00.005+01:00

A Cat Said: I love my Dog and it's a Wild World

He also said:

"find you are in hospital, getting injections day in and day out, and people around you are dying, it certainly changes your perspective. I got down to thinking about myself. It seemed almost as if I had my eyes shut."

"when I sing the songs now, I learn strange things. I learn the meanings of my songs late..."

"I get the tune and then I just keep on singing the tune until the words come out from the tune. It's kind of a hypnotic state that you reach after a while when you keep on playing it where words just evolve from it. So you take those words and just let them go whichever way they want... 'Moonshadow'? Funny, that was in Spain, I went there alone, completely alone, to get away from a few things. And I was dancin' on the rocks there... right on the rocks where the waves were, like, blowin' and splashin'. Really, it was so fantastic. And the moon was bright, ya know, and I started dancin' and singin' and I sang that song and it stayed. It's just the kind of moment that you want to find when you're writin' songs."

What a fantastic image - I can imagine, hear and see it, taste the salt of it.

Geldof said ( in reference to Father to Son) his words are what would be said and that the melodies are beautiful.. Who could argue with St Sir Bob?!

Peace train sounding louder....

"That name is part of my history and a lot of the things I dreamt about as Cat Stevens have come true as Yusuf Islam"

They've come true because he has committed himself to making them come true. What an interesting and balanced man.

One to join my list of heroes

.... Now when and where can I get tickets...

A life long eQUEST

2009-06-06T23:01:00.000+01:00

Well recent evidence suggests that the path to being a brilliant (but undiscovered) equestrienne, is going to be a very long one, life long probably. Fortunately I knew that when I set out cos my beginnings the first time were memorable and had continuous physical and mental impact on me. The first year I learned to ride as a child I fell off, slid of, was bucked off, cunningly thrown off and or just found myself off or on the way off with no idea quite how it happened on at least a weekly basis.

Sometimes it was inattention, the horse put his head down for a chew of juicy grass and I slid down the neck -- very embarrassing, hurt feelings, some bruising. Horse regarded me with one eye and would swish the tail and continue eating.

Sometimes it was at speed, and the landing place could be a ditch or a ploughed field, or some concrete somewhere. On those occasions then it was more than hurt feelings.

Bath time would be bruise count time. I'd get a strange amusement from this. I wasn't proud that I'd fallen off, it was too frequent an occurrence and very obviously pointed to my lack of ability, which was very frustrating. I really wanted to learn though and somehow somewhere I knew that I was choosing to continue and I was earning the bruises. The big step that year was not the riding itself, it was when I crossed a threshold and did not cry when I fell off.

No one was making me, the opposite in fact. My Mother had been bored to tears with "horses horses horses" during her own childhood from her own sister, so another inflicted person in her house wasn't ideal. My Father other than being glad one of his children was finally showing some interest in sport of some sort, Horses were BIG THINGS that would always try to bite him. As for siblings one had left home and the other had entered with some enthusiasm into the (probably permanent) phase of pubs, fags and girls.... My passions were just something to watch with some amusement - from a safe distance

Those days/weekends at the stables were an eye opener in many ways. The horses and animals on the farm presented many challenges. Teeth and Hooves! I wasn't just riding (or more accurately) falling off. I was collecting them from fields, feeding them, cleaning them, cleaning the tack. Filling water troughs was hard enough in itself.

One pasture was hidden, it was a strange triangular field you wouldn't really know was there. An old fashioned meadow, full of amazing flowers and high grasses, the earth was always damp - but no actual water nearby. When the buttercups arrived and some of the horses would be turned out in here, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. In winter it still did, but the bleak dark bits of fairy stories where the witch is nearby and not entirely friendly. So the trough would be filled by climbing into a small ditch and filling an old battered tin bucket with water from a spring, then climbing back out of the ditch and walking 30 yards, climb the fence and then bucket by bucket fill the trough. This was done alone sometimes and very arduous it was too after a long physical day. Mostly though there would be at least two of you at it. One in the ditch ( usually me, because I was small and with the small bucket could gradually fill the bigger buckets) and the other taking the water to the trough. A large trough takes a lot of buckets. It was a time of banter too and mischief. Other times in winter the ice would have formed on the water and we would have to break it so that they could drink when they needed.

All this would happen at the end of a long day, when every sinew ached and certainly before we had anything to eat or drink ourselves.

No one was making me do any of that either. We all mucked in and out! Tasks were allocated by a mixture of choice and ability, often tacitly. Being around horses and working with them brings a great deal of visibility to your skills and your desires and it becomes clear to all around you what you are capable of. . And the most astute judges were the horses themselves. Horses might be flight creatures, herd creatures but they are fast. They often have time to decide whether they need to flee. From a distance you can see that decision point, if you are close by, you might just FEEL it!

There was one very pretty mare, Pippa that I wanted to ride. She was a very beautiful, very highly strung, highly schooled horse. I was a very long way off being able to attempt to ride her. I would occasionally talk to her. when she was tacked up waiting. Once I remember I was allowed to take her tack off, and swap her bridle for a head collar (and kept all my fingers!). I was thrilled that I was finally trusted to do just that.

I never did ride that horse. Later, many years later, I did ride an event horse that was as beautiful, as highly strung, ( a very naughty boy) and even more highly schooled and he taught me a lot too.

This time my mind knows I have been here before, but my body has almost total amnesia and it is much weaker too. So I have little arguments going on in myself between what the head asks and what the body can do and they get very annoyed with one another. This week I was asked if I knew how to do a particular move, I tried to describe it, the instructor smiled and said the words I had used were correct but somehow it wasn't accurate!

She should be a diplomat.

Harry Potter Political Commentary

2009-06-04T00:28:00.002+01:00

Dolores Umbridge / Hazel Blears .....

Feline pauses aforethought

2009-05-20T00:27:00.004+01:00

It has been suggested to me that animals can't think.

I think that they can think, and more.

I would write a longer blog post about this - but the return and backspace keys are under a small feline chin. She doesn't appreciate the interruption when she is dozing and there are activities I should be attending to for her.

Anyone would think she had thought about it.

;-)

My Hero

2009-03-27T23:39:00.003Z

I was not able to ride today. Some vague balance problem from a virus meant that I took the decision not to attempt it. Being physically weak and not particularly competent is a risk I will take, but not able to balance is probably, at this point one too many risks.

However I had to smell them. I went to rearrange and to have a good long sniff. As I chatted I asked where large grey beastie that brought out my vertical take off skill was, as his stall was bare.

He was in the school. So I took 10 mins to watch him in action. He is one amazing horse. Very large. There were two other horses in the arena, one being lunged whilst one of the school owners talked through the process and coached the person lunging the horse, whilst the horse itself listened to the instructions down the line. This was a beautiful dainty light bay and looked tiny in comparison but was a good size horse. This was happening at one end of the arena. Then there was another chap on his slightly bigger horse riding round the outside of the arena just as a warm up. And then there was the Grey Beastie.

He is very handsome and very proud. His rider was very accomplished and together they were quietly doing some interesting things and some very very difficult things. They were deep in conversation with one another, it was interesting to watch, and listen to the noises, the breathing. I could sense the contained energy, the power held between them. And the generation of something more. It was good to watch the two individuals, know they were two and that they were making one beautiful shape, to make the whole. The rider asked and it was perceptible but subtle, the horse mostly chose to answer.

I like the curves of a horse, the long sweeps. He has them in abundance. He arched his head. A few times he slipped in a buck, which amused me but not the rider. OOOh He is a handful.

I had my 10 minutes and then left the school happy I had seen, but sad I was leaving.

I was walking across the quad when three dogs of different shapes, size and disposition came to greet me and looked me hard in the eye. Luckily for me this slightly slowed my progress and this meant that just as I was about to turn through the gateway out of the quad, the horse came out (still with rider) and walked across the yard. He stretched his neck, put his front foot out, and reached down and rubbed the side of his nose against his foot. It looked from my angle like a salute to one of the little dogs who was standing directly in front. He was regarding me as he did so. His eyes looked black and deep in his noble white head, the contrast and the line of his eyes and eye lashes, perfectly shaped, more curves.

I left and drove away, looking forward to my next visit. I wonder if he will still try to bite me next time.

I think I might be in love

:-)

Cat Rescue Remedy

2009-03-27T21:41:00.006Z

When I run out of cat food (which I have been trained to do infrequently) they get Emergency Tuna.

The know the words. I just have to walk into the sitting room and announce Emergency Tuna! and into the kitchen we go. They like Emergency Tuna I think almost more than normal cat food and I am comforting myself that they hear the phrase Emergency Tuna and translate it as "mmm yum treat". The alternative is that they are being gracious about my lax attitude because it is convenient, but in the Cat book of Chatelaine Crimes and Punishment it is being listed and the total is increasing. I hope their lack of opposable thumb means they haven't yet flicked to the latter half...

One of them has been very poorly this week and her appetite has been a bit off. This calls for Desperate Measures Sardines (in tomato sauce), the strong smell and taste encourages her to eat. This doesn't have the ring of Emergency Tuna but something about the rhythm means that when I do say it, the ill one (which ever one that might be at the time) knows it is for them, and the well one doesn't demand their share.

Emergency Tuna is for all Ocelots.

OWK help, not enough synopseeeeese - no time to catch up

2009-03-24T00:11:00.003Z

So Brenda has made a mistake, Tom has reacted badly (she always does and why is she surprised at his reaction) Matt is being investigated for Fraud, ( has he really been a norty boy with Chalky) Pip is still subjecting people to her 5 mile radius diet and her chronic case of smugs disease looks life-lasting.

Usha has been mugged and doesnt want to talk about it. (Who and do we have any indication of why)

But I dont know the details.. Facts Facts Facts... someone who collects facts....

Still "I am not a 22 year old hair dresser" and "How about its a Wonderful life.... I am not a toddler" did take on Shakespearean wit.

Do we know what car Matt drives? I am betting not a mercedes estate ;-)

Harrier Goat Person

2009-03-15T18:04:00.003Z

When I was a child I was thrilled at the sight and sound of a harrier jump jet. It was the vertical take off that impressed me. I wondered if I could have one, no more worrying about what was ahead of me I could just leap up and over it

A few years back on Crete we watched in amazement as the special Crete goats did this amazing cartoon style leap directly up, them sideways mid air over a fence and then back down again, followed seconds later by its companion. It was such a funny and startling sight we laughed about it for hours.

I have often wondered how this was done

Whist waiting on friday I walked down a cool shadow aisle and said hello to some equines. One a pony was full of talk even before I was near him, he had held my eye and was reeling me in. I spent a happy few moments scratching his ears and forehead, whilst he explored pockets for mints.

At the very end was an enormous creature. A grey horse, clearly male and his head was HUGE, I would say just his head alone, ignoring his neck was the size of a springer spanial. ( a whole one) He looked hard at me and pulled a face. Charming I thought. He looked again and I was encouraged to walk nearer, not too near, he looked very very cross to me, but he was so beautiful I wanted to know more about him. He felt sad and fed up. He looked at me and I looked at him. He met my gaze and his ears went back, fast and tight. He looked at me some more and a foot stamped. Hmm I thought.

I was well back but suddenly he stretched his neck and his head shot out and I saw at close quarters all of his teeth. In the same moment I leapt up, sideways and back out of the way.

I didn't know I could do that. I have done it before but such a long time ago there were teachers roaming the earth that took my PE lessons ....

Nice to know I can do it. Still dont know how

After my leap to safety the horse swung his head and farted. LONG and Loud. The talkative pony nearby gave him a look of derision. And then the Grey Horse's head came forward and he wanted a conversation. He got one, but I maintained my distance as those teeth were encased in a very large jaw.

Its a jolly good job they dont really have canines.

Episode 3 Communication, it's the listening

2009-03-13T23:31:00.006Z

The building where I experience without any mitigation, my inadequacies, is itself like something out of my fantasy land. It's a quadrangle, open at one end as an entrance for carriages, in the centre of the quadrangle a perfect circle of grass, used as a roundabout for big long vehicles with enough horsepower to carry horses. All around the square inside are stables and stalls. When it was built long ago, attention was paid to the building. The tiles on the floor are tiny and set in herringbone fashion like a red tiled parquet for horses. The stalls are spacious and deep and the long rows of heads looking out, each with their own thoughts is just beautiful to my eyes. Opposite the entrance at the other side of the quad is the school, menage, the place of mirrors ( there are at points mirrors - though as I am not wearing my glasses as I ride I can't really see them). An active reflective place. This isn't a place to contemplate myself, this is a place to experience directly with no soft sell translation what I am doing right and what I am not.

The horse I rode yesterday was VERY tall I would say 18hh, a very long time since I rode one that tall. He was quite an interesting bod too. He definitely was checking out if I meant it, when I asked, and if I knew what I was asking. And if I wasn't clear enough, or polite enough he didn't oblige.

You can't pretend you got it right on a horse. You might occasionally be in a situation where the horse ( maybe out of humour, maybe not) hears your thoughts before you actually ask, but the rest of your body isn't ready when the horse does the thing you were about to ask for, and it is obvious. Going right back to the beginning is hard and fun.

When it works well it is a mindmeld. That's what I am aiming for, have experienced briefly and seek again.

The system is the two of you listening to one another. Being from a loud talkative family I do find myself talking to the horse A LOT. ( I listen more though) And the horse is listening to my tone and my sense of self worth. Horses DO feel fear, they are prey animals, it's an essential survival instinct, others' referred fear in the herd part of an early warning system. They are also curious and quite discerning, before heading off at 30 mph they will just look to check. Give a shrewd second glance before deciding. Of course all of this happens more quickly than a human would normally be aware of, dullards that we are in our environment..

The Wikipedia article on the horse is a very good one and I particularly liked that whoever had written it had included Balance in the section on Senses, but that's another blog for another time.

I will have a horse in the future and I do and will take tremendous pleasure being out in the fresh air on a horse and sometimes at speeds that set your heart pounding and make your eyes stream. I love those moments, and I look forward to many of them in the future. There is an exhilaration that is hard to convey unless you experience it, of air entering your body at speeds it wouldn't normally do.

I also love as much and maybe more actually, the conversations that go on with dressage. I can't call what feeble steps I am taking presently dressage, it is too grand a label. Flat work is a more humble and honest description but I am very certain where I am going with it ( over the next several years) This is going to be very very hard. Constant communication, will you, wont you, have you, did you mean that, do you feel like it, are you up to it. It looks gentle but its actually quite challenging. This isn't something you can enjoy if you always want to know you can do it, and are not used to losing face whilst learning. You might be in control, you are aiming to be in control or more honestly to be able to effectively respond, but and its a huge but, its actually not about control at all.

Its all about cooperation, confidence in each other and trusting oneself and the other to be able to achieve things. That is never sustainable by force. You might get what you want once but the resistance the next time will be greater.

Once you believe that the other part of the system, the horse, is doing the best it can, and you have a sense that the other part of the system, your partner in this activity. the horse believes the same thing about you, then you have the start of something. Something strong enough to go into the unknown, knowing that any feedback you get, even if its not positive feedback is intended to improve.

Yesterday another horse entered the school, who was "in one!" and the rider hadn't yet established any connection. This grumpy beast headed towards mine, with malintent. And I could see that intent all over his face. My horse regarded him with the disdain a tall creature can muster easily over a smaller one. He actually relaxed one of his back legs. I should have LISTENED to that but I didn't, I reacted with my own response which was a loud WHOA. The rider broken out of her trance then started to communicate with the horse, (decided she was actually riding the horse, not as Eddie Izzard would suggest be something that the horse wears)

My horse moved one of his ears back quizzically at me and sighed, and walked away. ( he strolled off in a "am I Bovvered?" way)

I later found out that the other grumpy horse has a nice !?! trick when not feeling obliging. He walks besides another horse and bucks! So I would have had hoof in my face. Didn't feel quite so foolish about my crying out once I heard that. Thereafter we maintained polite but distant relations as we encountered one another in the school.

I wanted a twenty metre circle later, my horse doesn't like 20 metre circles - he likes 40 metre circles so my battle yesterday, my learning, was to find out how to get him to listen and believe and do, when I asked for 20 meter circles. Right now one of my (many) failings, is the amount of contact I have through the reins. I never am particularly tight here, even when I was good at this stuff. I want the horse to do it and I want as light a contact as possible. I don't want to be pulling at his mouth, I sure as hell wouldn't react well to someone pulling at mine.

However if there isn't enough contact there I can't listen to what his mouth is telling me, I can't feel the tiny inflexion of head angle, or tension. So I need more contact than I have and I am gradually getting it.

Most of the information is conveyed through whats going on in his and my body. I transmit where I want to go by looking in that direction, ( it has to be very exaggerated at present) and that means looking 180 degrees round the school so he can fell through the saddle where my intent is and I have to maintain that, steadily whilst he resists and walks away. Yesterday was frustrating because I knew another way of getting him to understand that I wanted him back on a particular line, but to use it would have been counter productive( at this point). We haven't reached that bit of the conversation yet. He doesn't believe I am fluent enough in this bit, to try the other technique. Even though I would have been accurate HE wouldn't hear it because he needed to hear something else first and I hadn't demonstrated it clearly enough for him.

Being such a different shape to the previous horse his trot was very different. A different rhythm.The instructor asked me if it was more or less comfortable. Found that an odd question, it was just different, it wasn't as familiar ( at that point) because I hadn't ridden him before but once I listened it was just different and I just adapted to match him and accommodate his length of stride. And on we went.

Afterwards the instructor told me that she had noted that the horses seemed to be calm around me, even the stroppy ones. I'd like to think that's because I have the right energy for them.

I think it might be more to do with how I feel about them. I love horses. I mean it. It's not a word I over use. I really love them. They move me, I am in AWE of them, I would pay money to see a horse like others would to meet a film star ( pah limited bipeds). I look at them and the whole universe falls into shape, I watch them argue and bicker with one another and I marvel at the complexity and subtlety of their conversation. I like their honesty, their moods, their cunning. And I love the fact that you have to earn it, whatever it is, they discern and they discriminate, they pay attention, they give you multiple chances, they are prepared to make it painful to get you to listen.

They may be your friend and ifthey are, as a good true friend, they will challenge you

What a reward!

Reconnecting

2009-03-08T19:41:00.004Z

I've got back on a horse.

Twice now :-) !!!!!!!

First time was two weeks ago. I was excited all week, and terrified. What was I going to find? Did my body know how to do any of it? Would I be able to stay on? Would I be able to breathe? Would I be able to stay on and breathe? Would I be able to ask the Horse to do anything, stay on and breathe?

Well the answer for week 1 was Yes. Getting on was interesting, horses are so high up aren't they? I don't like heights, lightbulbs are things that other people change (if I can get away with it). However, previously being high up on a horse didn't count, like standing over a waterfall and a lake doesn't count either. The water or the horse remove the fear somehow. Anyway, on the horse, hmm legs... what are they going to do? This was why I was nervous I had no idea what was going to happen.

I like riding a horse for more reasons than I care to share. One important reason is their unpredictable nature. Horses have minds and moods and spirits of their own. You have to ask nicely, and they have to want to oblige and believe you know what you are asking.

Horses have special knowledge, they know that sometimes a hedge is a hedge, that well known thing they pass every day on the way to the hay net. They know what birds are, they dance about and land on the cattle, they can fly. Sometimes they know its not a hedge anymore at all and there is a lion hidden in it which they have to skitter past, fast and sideways. Their equivalent of the monster under the bed. ( The lost Book Monster in all our houses!) Or that shadow isn't the crow on his way somewhere but an eagle about to swoop and the only means of escape is to RUN.

You have to pay attention when on a horse. Eddie isnt quite right here

about me - though he is as always amusing.

So am on the horse wondering if I will 1) remember how to do anything 2) be able to actually do it.

This was going to be as hard as when I learned to walk again. Sending some instruction to some part of my body and see if what happened was anything like I had hoped. It was near, sometimes.

The horse was a star, a mare but not a tempermental one and I had a sense that she was looking after me. That sounds like a foolish notion, but it did feel like that. So I get to the end of the session, having breathed more deeply then I had done in a VERY LONG time I had nicely dredged up all sorts of goo at the bottom of my lungs, and I had a ruddy complexion. Did I say ruddy? I dont think that really does justice to large population of blood vessels that had exploded on my face. And I was hot.

I was alsodrunk on happiness. Happier than I have been for a very long time. The sort of deep happiness that comes when you have connected with something that you know is part of you and has been lost.

So end of week 1. My core muscles worked for the first time since before surgery were in that dazed place of "Eh? What just happened here? Who ARE you? Eh?"

Next hard thing, get off the horse. I knew as every single muscle in my body was trembling from over exertion that getting off the horse was not going to be possible the normal way. I took my feet out the stirrups and had a think. How was I going to jump off? How do you do it? Well I'd remembered lots of things, but not this one.

Fortunately there was a mounting block nearby and on a loose rein the horse walked me to it and stood patiently whilst I climbed down. The right leg, didn't quite make it. I was off, but not elegantly.

There is a scene in the film High Society, where the character Grace Kelly plays, is very drunk at her party the night before she gets married ( who can blame her!) and she has been escorted to a room to recover. She decides to escape and climb out the window. The way she does it, bears some similarity to how I got off that horse. Put it this way, its not the easiest, best or most elegant way. And I probably couldn't do it sober.

So for several days afterwards EVERYTHING HURT. And that was GREAT

Week 2 arrives. Get on the horse. No longer appears high up, just normal :-)

Ask the horse to do things. Horse says yes sometimes and not others. Horse is not being nasty, just not taking care of me like it did the previous week. Horse has measure of me. Horse is teaching me. Get to end of lesson nearly. Nearly pass out at one point through lack of oxygen, This thinking AND doing AND Breathing lark is all a bit much at times.

Go out of school and up lane for a stretch of the legs. (Not mine, am still on the horse) Gorgeous day, sharp, birds and lion hedges about. Horse skitters but comes back. Look down at horse's head. Horses ears. Forward. I can't see the horses face but I know from her ears what sort of expression she has on. She is enjoying the pastoral scene too.

Walk back in to yard. Outside. No mounting block. Have to get off. Hmm last week was a bit of a fiasco. Last week I had the mounting block and it was an indoor school. The earth would have been ignominious, but soft.

This time am outside, concrete is hard and cold. Still not much strength in my legs. Stamina coming back slowly, or at least I have faith it is.

Could make a big fuss and find the mounting block OR I could risk it. What's the worst thing that could happen? I could land hard on the concrete and not be able to get up... because I can't yet get up, I still have to pull myself up. I could land hard on the concrete and break something, then I definitely wouldn't be able to get up and it would be another while before I was back on a horse.

Got a bit bored of myself worrying about it. Took feet out of stirrups. Went for it. Jumped off horse. Properly. Landed. Properly.

It wasn't what you'd call a great landing. If I'd been a gymnast dismounting, I'd have made that one step forward. But it was good enough...

Thrilled. ( More thrilled by that then being able to keep one leg on, change diagonal and breathe at the same time)

Next day, slightly aware I'd exercised, nicely aware actually, but no pain.

Looking forward to round 3.

I am not naturally sporty. Happy in water, on a horse, riding a bike, BEING rowed. Takes me a while to learn stuff, get it actually in the muscle memory. It's hard for me. I usually find when I am doing something physical like this my other learning starts to wake up too..

Hope still the same.

Ocelots have a new toy

2009-02-21T23:23:00.004Z

A toy dog to be precise, delivered in the darkness of a thursday night.

.....Hmmm what gentle sport shall we have....

I could hear them as they each took a high sentinel post and regarded their ~~prey~~ toy

....At some point SHE will leave the house and then......

Her ladyship is an aristocratic spaniel who is holidaying with me whilst her persons are parleying and digesting cheese, wine, and probably vampire repelling amphibians.

She is part of the extended multispecies family, so they all know one another. Dogs have the freedom to travel in cars and such like, as companions. Felines do travel by car and stay in other habitats at times but they generally have the freedom to come and go through their own special door, the portal to their wild selves, when they choose. Then return and be pampered and turn their playful games on to more docile sport. How perfect for them a small dog.

So far it is gently done, a dog's bed is a perfect cat's bed, particularly perfect if the dog wants to lie in it and can't cos the shadow of a panther is resting with a paw out and a small but discernable slow rhythmic tail twitch.

The Old Spaniel has learned a new trick, sent by sms to those in the lower latitudes. She has found a way of sleeping atop a crate of groceries delivered, covered by the fallen skirt from the laundry. A sort of Spaniel Fakir slumbering on her bed of nails, of soya milk cartoons, sauce bottles and vertical spaghetti. Being mostly blind she can not see how clever she is being and therefore is not averse to attempting it.

They watch on from the comfort of the dogs bed, or her duvet or her blanket. And I have watched all from the sofa whilst consuming yet more lemsip.

One of the cat tippees is now back in place.

How long before her ladyship finds it and what will Ocetlots do then?

This is a thank you - with permission

2009-02-14T14:08:00.003Z

To the biped hands of the Post IT Cat that sent me a letter in the post.

Dog, n A kind of additional or subsidiary Deity designed to catch the overflow and surplus of the world's worship. This Divine being in some of his smaller and silkier incarnations takes, in the affection of Woman, the place to which there is no human male aspirant. The DOG is a survival - an anachronism. He toils not, neither does he spin, yet Solomon in all his glory never lay upon a door-mat all day long, sun-soaked and fly-def and fat, while his master worked for the means wherewith to purchase the idle wag of the Solomonic tail, seasoned with a look of tolerant recognition. Ambrose Bierce 1842 - 1914

The Ocelots have allowed this, because they realise that had Ambrose been defining a Cat, the entry would have been shorter by 7 words in the first sentence. There would be no need for the third sentence and there should be a replacement of 2 words in the last sentence.

But it was near and far enough to amuse them. And cats can start sentences with but.

And with and.

Snow

2009-02-02T22:57:00.002Z

Today driving to work I was intent on keeping the gritter in sight, but not close enough for him (yes it was a male gritter lorry) to dirty my windscreen. I was looking at how the fan thingy at the back was dispersing the grit so that it covered bits of the other side of the road too. Up the steep hill safely enough, noticing the banana brain in my rear view mirror who never seemed to brake in a timely enough fashion and wishing, not for the first time, that I had a Hong Kong Foooey car and could drop something to get his attention out of the boot of my car - without hurting him.

This went on for about a mile or so, watching the gritter in front and letting my other senses keep a track of the "driver" behind me. Finally I noticed I had been driving through a really beautiful bit, a forest, and my attention had been on the grimey orange gritter.

The trees were amazing, very tall and long and elegant there was a steely stoic quality to them as the light behind them,put the branches heavy with snow, into relief. It was a surreal sight and I nearly missed it.

The rest of the journey was beautiful and uplifting. I'd timed the journey to avoid the early morning lunacy, on a day like to day I am even less inclined than usual to join the lemmings trapped in tiny metal boxes (Thank you Mr Sumner) , but even so every sense had to be alert to others doing odd things in the road and relearning the responsiveness of the car and wishing someone in the sky could paint the words... "use low gears!"

No music, just radio 4 this morning. Womans Hour - my heart sank, but it was actually very interesting Meryl Streep, quietly insightful, amusing and amused.

Didn't see much wildlife, but chose roads that I knew had a fair chance of the gritter, - hence my close and prolonged encounter with the golden amber beastie - so not too surprised. I saw a horse alone in a field tonight, no rug, no shelter and no companion in sight... I hope there was a fellow equine out of sight to me.

The office closed earlier than usual today too so even though my journey was still over 2 hours home I was back before the expected time. The vertical pupils of the Ocelots narrowed. What was I doing back in their house at this time? Hmmm still maybe we can get an early supper... With an unconcious synchrony they rose from separate heated places, leading me they strolled towards their bowls. One squawked and the other more refined opened her mouth slightly, both training the biped with a small reward of interest in her.

Looking out over the wildness that is my garden and the valley beyond, the world is beautiful even in its harshness.

People smile at the snow - if its the first day, when they'd be ground down by the rain. So many people work from home now that today, whilst extreme, has not been a repeat of previous snowed in days.

I found a quote whilst reading about the snow in 1963 - a time of old money before I lived and thought hmmm but wouldn't it be great if time future really was contained in time past.

"People expect too much now. In 1963 about five weeks went by without a first division football match"

Teased by hope

LETTERS

2009-01-17T13:46:00.002Z

I received a letter in the post this week. Not unusual you might think, everyday the ritual of paper moving across the country, inserted through boxes at the beginning and at the end of the journey. Once the paper diaspora hits the home, its opened ( or not!) filed ( or not!) and thrown away. A lot of the stuff is just picked up and taken straight to the bin.

Most of the stuff that comes through the letter box is official in some way, a statement or a manipulative request to buy something or support a cause. Christmas time is a big exception when cards plop on to the hall floor, but generally though they may be personalised they are not really personal.

I don't write letters much, there have been times in the past where I have been a regular correspondent as I maintained contact with people away from me for a time, but from preference and habit I prefer phone, email or actually seeing people. And I enjoyed that process, developing an accurate eye for episodes and events and an ear for thoughts to convey later to the person not present.

I remember once my Mother and Grandmother being less than impressed when a relative in America wrote a letter and they typed it. He had signed the bottom, but that didn't satisfy, for them at the time the rules were simple, personal written, impersonal typed.

The content didn't matter the form did and they were hurt by this. Form does still matter in lots of things, in the sense that it always has an impact of some kind and people choose how they communicate. Even if its a habitual way and the choice is no longer immediate, its become habit for a reason. Somewhere it suits.

Some people think that the written word is about the visual. I don't think it is really. I think the written word has more similarities to the radio than the television for instance, provided you are literate. The written word is a direct communication channel straight into the mind, and the mind does the rest, including creating the images and the feelings.

The last proper letters I wrote ( up until this Christmas), personal ones, that werent long notes in Birthday, Christmas or Condolence cards, was whilst in hospital. I'd been incarcerated and incapacitated there for what felt like forever. People came (those I let see me that way) cards and notes- in fact I got lots of mail whilst in hospital and in messages delivered in the old fashioned way, by word of mouth but the essences of the people in all the messages. I had learned to sit up again that week, without help, finally technique and strength combined and I could do it maybe 3 or 4 times a day. I worked hard at eating and keeping some of the food down that day, so that eventually I felt strong enough to write them. They took me hours, most of the work was in my head thinking what I needed to say, because I knew that the writing of them was going to do me in for a few days. It would be a task of physical endurance, so the thinking needed to have happened. Eventually after lights out I could face the attempt. Even whilst ill my nocturnal rhythms meant I'd have a bit of an energy burst to get the words down on the paper. I didn't recognise my writing really, small, feeble - if I was ever going to have faith in graphology that would have been the moment, my writing I felt reflected my physical well being, at that time still a long way behind par. I handed them in, like homework to the nurse on night duty early in the morning and slept uninterrupted ( for a change!!) for several hours.

I've been using email for a very very long time working in universities early on and in IT meant I had access to it and lots of the people I knew did too. I loved it. I still do. I still love the magic that someone perhaps in another country has a thought and sends it and its immediacy. I am not a user of twitter, not sure if I will take that up, maybe I will, but those I communicate with in various other forms, usually get a small flavour of a bit of whats going on in me by viewing what I am saying.

This weeks letter was in response to one I sent at Christmas. Last year at yet another funeral we commented again to those we have long held, deep affection connections with, that we are sick of meeting at funerals. I was reminded that I am poor when it comes to Christmas cards and letters. So I broke the pattern and at Christmas I wrote two specific Christmas cards and one proper letter to an old family friend of my Mum and Dad, and this week I received a reply.

Obviously the contents are not for here, but I remembered just how much I enjoy receiving PROPER letters, that there is a qualitative difference between a letter and any other form of communication. My piano teacher occasionally used me as a postgirl. She was of my Grandmother's generation, indeed they had been at school together. She corresponded regularly with a friend of hers, that lived on a road I could walk past on the way home from the lesson. Mostly the letters went in the post but if I was to carry out the task, she would in front of me write on the top of the letter "by the kind hand of Sarah" . Strangely even though I had no idea what was in the letter and the person concerned knew nothing about me - we never met- I knew that that was all part of the ritual of writing, sending and receiving of letters; the choice of mechanism.

This is a tradition I have taken, if I ask someone to deliver in the same way for me, I will in front of them write the same message on the letter, inserting their name. Very occasionally at work I have received personally delivered letters from someone of an older generation and seen the same words there, "by hand" sometimes with the name sometimes not. It adds a charm to the process.

The letter itself was long and typed, with a paragraph apologising for its typed nature explaining that his writing was no longer the best and I thought back to my Mother and Grandmother's response and knew he too had the same values - hence his felt need to explain.

This tradition I have not taken. The thought that someone had spent time to compose and carefully without error type such a letter and then post it, meant more to me than how it had been written.

This is the universe. Big, isn't it.

2008-12-23T01:31:00.002Z

Over the weekend, the tv, the new tv, the one with the obscene ( compared to 5) number of channels, delivered my favourite film. I had a suspicion it might be on soonish because a couple of weeks back another from the same stable and nearly as wonderful had been on too, and the schedulers have a certain predictability.

I happened upon it in the best way, by accident, without hunting it, it was just there and I landed at the beginning. Just as I did the very first time at home on vacation from university. I am not sure how it was possible that our paths did not cross before I left home but I am glad that they didnt. It was a pivotal film in the career for Mr Niven who made me laugh out loud one summer.

This film reaches out and plays with your heart, amuses your mind, and dazzles your ears and eyes. Witty dialogue delivered simply. Images once seen you don't forget and ideas that LIFT YOU UP and make you think. Each time I see it I wonder at it.

Greeted by the sound of barking - a black bounding labrador and the sound of a flute, Niven believes he has entered heaven.

OOh I always hoped there'd be dogs..

Roger and the Mars Bar

2008-12-13T23:21:00.003Z

We werent talking of hoovers, but vacuums, and my sister commented that she had known a few hoover dogs in her life. This set me thinking about my canine companions through life and sidewinding I came across this description of the first family dog in my living memory, Roger.

"This lovable little dog is among the smallest of the working terriers. It has a short, strong, sturdy body with strongly boned legs and a fox-like muzzle with large solid teeth. The eyes are dark and expressive and the ears are upright. Norwich Terriers are active, courageous, affectionate, balanced and without any nervousness or quarrelsomeness. They are easy to train, and need consistent rules to follow. These little dogs love everyone and are great with children"

There was more, about what they are bred for. It misses out a few other characteristics about him too - he was intelligent, cunning and definitely ambitious, particularly when there was a bitch in season in the neighbourhood. "Get your lecherous hound away from my dog" (the female in question was a Great Dane - Roger wasn't perturbed) became a legendary quote .

He chose us. All our animals come to us. My Mother's Uncle bred him and this particular puppy would follow my brother around and pull down his rompers. My Mother staked her claim. He was middle aged when I was born. He liked to roll on his back and for hours would relax as assorted hands would tickle and rub his tummy.

Strangely every single cat and dog I have had since has liked this.

Roger liked chocolate and simultaneously made another of our clan annoyed and overjoyed when he leapt Lazarus like from his bed to snatch a Mars Bar being waved about in conversation above his heart attack stricken body.

I took more than a Quantum of Solace

2008-11-08T17:47:00.003Z

to see that Daniel Craig is getting better and better in role. And the use of technology seems less and less far fetched, even down to MI6 supplying him with a limited edition phone that seemed to be easy to use, reliable, full of functionality.. and not bimbo technology at all

:-)

A good use of power

2008-10-19T20:30:00.002+01:00

Russia is rolling out an alternative to GPS, the Global Navigation Satellite System, military in origin and now productised for the civilian market.

Lots of the news channels have it today Auntie, CNN, Russia Today all with videos as Putin's labrador Koni is given one to wear. In September Putin's labrador's Nephew, Sheldon had one too, this only on Russia Today.

And I can understand why. I had a labrador with stealth capabilities. He periodically reminded me I was still capable of the odd sprint. After a comment about lying down in puddles, Putin replied that his dog wasn't a piglet and didn't behave in such ways.

Mine was a thinking playful being, who would catch my Father's eye, stare at him and then pick up his ball and look at the pond. Just as my Father started to shout NOOOOOOOOO, the Stealth Labrador would casually trot just fast enough to evade him and drop the ball in.

Then generously, in a great act of canine kindness he would jump in, retrieve it, as he was born to do . A knowing look would pass between them (more than a note of triumph in the dog's face) as the ball was returned to my Father

When I am lucky enough to have been claimed by my next retriever, I shall be seeking a similar tracking device.

At least 4 journeys in 2 hours

2008-10-18T15:04:00.003+01:00

This afternoon, caught sight of War Games on tv. Decided to stop what I was doing and watch it again.

Timely

The Ferris Bueller actor is the star but it's a few years earlier. Similar "butter wouldnt melt" strategy he uses, reminds me of an old friend's brother. Make txt connection, not caught up with her properly for ages. We both suffered (not really) from brothers who apparently could raise their eyes to their Mother and all was forgiven. HA! Good strategy. Another watches.

It is a fun and superb film, loved it the first time, now enjoy it, retrospectively and in the moment simultaneously. Emotional time travel. Remembering how I felt the first time I saw it (before I had been anywhere near a computer) and now when I work in the software industry, when in relative age -though sadly not in intellect - at either point of the journey I could associate with either Falken and the naughty good boy.

Fascinating experience. The last line is still, for me, one of the best film lines of all time.

Strange Game
The only winning move is not to play.

How about a nice game of chess?

Commandant Cat

2008-10-15T22:40:00.006+01:00

Feeding them this morning, the small one noticed I had opened the last tin. The Last TIN

She is small but she has very round eyes that dilate fully to complete blackness. If she had a brow she would be capable of raising it beyond her ears when perturbed about something. Very effective.

She also "talks" constantly. Some have said she runs around the house shrieking "Milk! Milk" ( I rarely give them any - but guests might not know that -so she tries her command) I think more often than not it sounds like " Now! Now!" It's loud too.

Today the Last TIN was clearly not what she wanted to see. The heavy enormous bag of biscuits was no source of consolation at all. She wanted to know that there would be more wet food after today.

So with her shrieks ringing in my ear I left the house knowing I had just 3 things to remember;
Milk (for me), Toilet rolls (for all bipeds) but most importantly, Wet cat Food. Remember Milk, Toilet rolls and Wet Cat Food.

Arrive at work, into the Vortex..... several hours elapse

Leave work for return journey, full moon, tonight I saw a fox and an owl on the way home, and noticed the fields and valleys luminous, swathed in the moonlight. Even in the dark, in the special black and white, somehow the change of leaf colour is apparent, the mood of the countryside busy shedding, saying goodbye, preparing.

Radio 4 accompanies me til I get bored, Classic FM had plain song, the plainest sort of plain song- switched to cd (old technology) shock horror, Billy Joel.! Sing about one thing, think about another 3 or 4. Plan a trip, wonder about horse. Roads beautiful to swoop along, night driving so cooling and altered than the day. The long warning of oncoming traffic silently heralded by the seeking glow, hugging the tarmac, slinking round hedges.

Pass through small market town, find myself walking into supermarket and then from nowhere the mantra begins. Milk, toilet roll and Wet Cat FOOD. Would like to think that the order is dictated by the geography of the shop, but recognise that as the mantra is repeated in my mind, there is a rise in volume and the accent is most definitely on the last two slow syllables.

Compelled, I respond to the instruction of the morning, dormant all day and now commanding me.

Autumn Smells

2008-09-20T14:26:00.002+01:00

It does. You meander through the summer, rain or shine, mostly rain this year and then one day you go outside and you know the season has turned because the Goddess of the Autumn life death cycle has a very particular perfume.

Keats nearly captured it and placed its essence on a page. The mellow sun appeals far more then the harsh hard heat of a hot summer. (Unless I have a pool or the sea nearby or a trees or all 4 and a horse. If all these conditions are met with a good book, access to the radio - when I want it, then, then I will be very happy).

There isn't the fresh snap to the air of later yet, your breath may make streaks in the air, but they are gentle streaks that disperse willingly and gently.

But the smell is musty and piquant. The sound of foot on ground changes, as the decay starts to dance to a different tempo and the fruit swells and drops on the ground to be harvested by creatures making the most of the sugary harvest, drunk on their last days.

If I live to old age I wonder if Autumn will always be captured completely in one memory of repeated days.

Walking through the front door, school bag in one hand, violin case in another, coat slung round me somehow. I was resentful of their heavy companionship, hungry for milk and biscuits. I spect the door slammed, the 30 second early warming system for those within -not through temper just eagerness to get on. Drop the encumbrances I have just carted a couple of miles and gather speed as I walk down the corridor to the back of the house trying hard to ignore the presence of a silent and waiting piano.

Even if the breakfast room door is shut, I will know what activities are taking place. There will be damp warmth emanating from the kitchen. Steam and smells and the sounds of activity. Bubbling, water splashing, metal against pan, wooden spoon resting after testing for viscosity.

Depending on the produce it will be Chutney, or Jam, or Wine.. As I get into the kitchen I will be greeted by some acerbic but welcoming comment and maybe hear some light profanities and dark mutterings, probably, not aimed at me. The dog's wet nose will insist I stop and greet her, as she is welcoming me. A cat may deign to open an eye before receding into a snooze by the fire, punctuated by the occasional thoughtful flick of the tail.

A bonus might be all that and some baking too, so the spices used will give me a clue. Ever the Sorceress the mixtures may change depending on whim and availability, creativity unleashed through necessity.

Warmth with subtlety, sarcasm and strength, applies equally to Autumn and Jam , Wine and Chutney. And My Mother.

Lawn Mower ballet

2008-09-18T21:50:00.002+01:00

This week, whilst sitting in a red room listening to a lively debate with 4 other people, I was unexpectedly the sole witness to a lawn mower ballet.

The Dancers were determined looking men with stubble, in bright orange clothing wearing the sort of earphones designed to be worn near Harrier JumpJets

The movements themselves were simple, smooth and strangely elegant. At speed they were completing a figure one after the other that was like an S on its side, with one following about 12 feet after the other, around the corner of the building.

In 2 minutes they had precisely cleared 2 lawns and then disappeared as swiftly as they arrived. And the over powering noise of the lawnmowers ceased. Efficiency with artistry.

You might think that it odd that I was the sole witness to this. Of course this might have been a hallucination on my part, and for one moment I did think of carting myself off to see a psychiatrist.

But then I realised of all the people in the room, the only other woman had her back completely to the scene.

Its a shame they missed it, it was surreal and surprisingly beautiful

Fate - Freedom, Buddha, Einstein, Mum

2008-09-18T21:45:00.004+01:00

I love Radio 4. I mean it.

This isn't an emotion lightly held, I really love radio 4 ( 'cept Today which I can not abide. I don't want "ner ner ner, got you now! argument in my bedroom as I wake up)

I love it because it gives me so much STUFF to play with. I learn so much from it. Time in the car isn't wasted, its either think time, sing time, or listen to the Radio. If I tune in to Radio 4 there, I am highly likely to be given something to think about and take away something to learn, or enjoy, better still and usually, both.

On Radio 4 one morning this week, a debate about America and slavery and freedom, amongst other things delivered this quote from an African American

"You are free once you take responsibility for your fate. "

I loved that phrase. It made such sense to me (who has always had luxury of freedom of movement) Immediately I heard the last lines of a poem by Colonel Lovelace, introduced to me by Mother.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

It's all in a state of mind, which brought to the fore another poem from my childhood and endless debates with my Mother, who introduced me early to the concept of the discipline of mind, and another poem the last verse of which is this:

Life battles don't always go
To the stronger or faster man
But sooner or later, the man who wins
Is the fellow who thinks he can

Certain amount of audacity in that isn't there, a sense of belief without arrogance. Tricky balance.

So I'd had a happy for me, meander around my past and thoughts and beliefs I hold or don't or have learned, when literally as I came to a Stop at a give way junction some miles later my reverie was halted, with an astounding thought from the side.

You are free once you take responsibility for your fate

So going back to the quote I stopped listening to my thoughts and just mused on the phrase. I thought ( and still think) that I understood what the speaker meant. And yet for it to be meaningful in the way I was finding it meaningful, I had assumed a very specific definition of Fate. Not the definition that events are inevitable, but a wider definition.

So not this meaning:
destiny: an event (or a course of events) that will inevitably happen in the future

but something nearer to this,
"I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act; but I do believe in a fate that falls on them unless they act. ( Buddha)

Or possibly beyond it somewhere.

If I hadn't already had a (believed) shared understanding of what Fate is, I could not have accepted the statement he made. How often do we assume a shared understanding, when there isn't one, because we use the same words. And how often is there a shared understanding, left unknown - because the descriptions are different.

This took me somewhere else which I couldn't quite grasp whilst navigating roundabouts and an angry driver. And then I arrived at the office.

Saved by work!

Thanks for the thinking, Mum.( and Radio 4)

....

Looking for alternative definitions of Fate this evening I happened upon this :

Concern for man and his fate must always form the chief interest of all technical endeavors. Never forget this in the midst of your diagrams and equations. ( Albert Einstein)

Wave harvest

2008-09-09T21:32:00.004+01:00

They both started out not really knowing where they were going but up for a challenge. Then it was fun but hard then it was hard but rewarding with some fun. The journey wasn't learning about the music.

"I wouldn't mind winning and I wouldn't have been able to say that before this. Its all right to say that I want to take it to the end and see where I can go"

"I've won anyway cos I've learned so much."

He wasn't robbed.

A delight for me was Maxim Vengerov replacing at short notice one of the other judges... Ha! big bonus. Given up playing now, he teaches and conducts. Shame, sublime.
About 12 years ago he was in an advert that was really only shown in cinemas. I forget what the product was, it might have been Coco from Chanel.

Anyway he was in the Waves on an amazing beach. playing a bit of Beethoven'sViolin Concerto as a serenade. Obviously this advert was made JUST for me.

Maxim also needed a few more greens as a child - just a little bit short.... perhaps I am picky

Another amusement was the Radetzki March. (audience conducting here too) This is ancestral whistling music for Ocelot calling and it works a treat every time - sustained rhythmic high notes.

They are compelled. Hard to whistle when laughing... worth the concentration to see their consternation, strong little wills.. Very Funny

Which is just as well, because tomorrow I may be pressed with my chin against my knees curled up tight in a localised black hole.

Oh well . It's worse than that its Physics Jim!

tra la la

Waving and NOT (quite) drowning

2008-09-02T21:19:00.000+01:00

Dancing down the aisle gleeful because he was conducting Opera!! He lost the violins, twice in similar phrasing but he caught them again. Obviously this was Goldie, my new hero. And he wasn't pleased with his performance, rightly.

Everyone tonight taking part was very serious about what they were doing. They were having fun in that "eeek this is scaring me" kind of way, being brave, by staying with it. This hasn't been about comfort zones, certainly not the last two weeks. Their comfort zones are about 4 valley's behind the mountain range they found themselves in and no time to worry about the height, BREATHING has become a technical skill.

The quality of the feedback in this programme has been a masterclass in it's own right. He knew what he did and was able to appraise it. The judges were straight, respectful, encouraging and wanting the best. The mentors were not fluffy either, if they thought more could be given they said so. They too were competitive on behalf of their person and supportive and real.

Right at the beginning the weak spot of the entire programme Clive Anderson, asked the two opera singers firstly what they wanted from a conductor, the response: sympathy, passion, flair, inspiration.

Goldie was saved by the orchestra as was Jane Asher...

OOOh next week...

A dream reality

2008-08-12T22:39:00.001+01:00

Whilst I am by no means an addict of TV, I can and do go weeks, sometimes even months without watching it, I have also been known to change plans if I am taken with something

Tonight, flicking, whilst waiting for the kettle, I came across Maestro on BBC2. It's about celebrities of all shapes and sizes learning to conduct an orchestra. It's wonderful!

I found myself smiling all the way through the programme. Even doing something that was strange for each of them, their real personality shone through. They all did it their way. So Jane Asher came across as a serious perfectionist, Jon Snow as mad etc.

The one I am now rooting for ( though I guess others could take my fancy next week) is Goldie.

He was in a different class today. Even though he can't read music, he found his strategy to track the patterns on an orchestral score, listened to his mentor and put himself completely into the job at hand. No half measures, no staying in the safe lands, but risking himself and being himself.

I actually didn't see who was conducting when I heard the music for the first 30 seconds, engaged as I was in an activity involving pain killers and a loud and not very pleased cat.

BUT the orchestra sounded completely different, the audience enjoyed it and the orchestra clearly did too as they responded to him. What a feedback mechanism an orchestra is!

And he maintained it too.

Playing in an orchestra is the ultimate in team playing I think, even better because it doesnt involve sport. HA! But the adrenalin rush of a concert and a hard piece is hard to beat..and I am remembering this as if it was yesterday, rather then decades ago.. THRILLING

The conductor's role is an interesting one. All the musicians are excellent in their own right. They all choose to play together as together they can achieve more. Good orchestras can and do manage without one. Another, usually a violinist, may step in and lead from the front, or a soloist likewise can operate in this way too.

They are no mere metronomes either, as their interpretation of the music and understanding of the musicians adds a dimension that the composer can only guess at on writing.

It is generative. And when it works, magic happens. Some people are never lucky enough to experiencec this. I see it often at work, and its equally thrilling.

This is one reality show I would love to take part in. What luxury.

I already know what I will be doing the same time next week. The cat will get her medicine early and lump it

My Heroes: Two have died but one still lives

2008-07-09T11:34:00.000+01:00

Heroes, you come across in books. I have my real life heroes, people who have appeared, taught me something ( whether I knew I need to learn, or was prepared to learn it, is ANOTHER matter) and in the process taught me something else. They are unsung to the world at large and it is probable in most cases that they are unaware that to me they are heroes. Heroes they are, and they are all around me.

Then there are the ones from books who are real too. A long time ago I read Good to Great by Jim Collins, about companies that get good and sustain it over years and years and years to become great companies. He described a number of factors that were common to the handful of companies he and his research team decided passed the entry bar they had set for a great company. One of these characteristics was labelled the Stockdale Paradox (I am told it isn't a paradox, but I am not a scientist and therefore the label works well enough for me)

A description of this can be found http://www.jimcollins.com/lib/goodToGreat/ch4_p83.html

He was a flier, tortured and held captive, for years during the Vietnam War.

“This is a very important lesson. You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end—which you can never afford to lose—with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”

Admiral Stockdale
You do need to have faith that you will prevail AND you do need to face the current situation as it is, not as you would like it to be, but as it is. The faith supports a personal resilience the brutal facts support decisions about how you can deal with your current situation.

To me this seemed second nature. Use of the word Brutal seems highly militaristic, but he was an Admiral and they were truly brutal facts that he was facing. Maybe the use of the word Brutal was a function of the time in which he was operating too, and also a flavour of the time Jim Collins was writing his book and the companies he identified, living in the land of " it's a jungle out there" and operating from a mindset of siege rather than opportunity, retaining for oneself, rather than sharing with others too.

The Admiral had an effect on me and I wanted to find out more about him. Web is full of stuff, and Wikipedia is a good start and his own website.

One very Admirable, Admiral.

Cecil Lewis author of Sagittarius Rising and one of the founders of the BBC

I picked up a book a long time ago in a bookstore at a railway station because I was bound for a long journey. I picked the book by its name! A whimsical choice that took me completely by surprise. It is about the exploits of a WWI flying ace. It has the most breathtaking and real descriptions of flying I have ever read, which has inspired a goal - not yet embarked on - to learn to fly. Literal by the "seat of yer pants stuff" for which you'd need a cool head and a sense of adventure. He joined the RFC from school underage and survived the war becoming an ACE in the process. There are lots of reviews of the book on the net, Amazon has most. The best parts where he really comes alive in his writing, are the adventures and descriptions from above. Though he clearly approaches and experiences life as a series of exploits and adventures, his element is the air and his place is in the sky at speed, maneuvering.

He was an interesting person to read about, as seen from the centre of his own universe.

As with Admiral Stockdale above, after reading about him I wished I really could have met him. But I had prematurely decided on both their deaths, and was and am very frustrated with myself when I read later at different times obviously,that they HAD just died!!!

Monty Roberts - The Horse Whisperer man

Breaking in horses, is the way that for hundreds of years worldwide man has been able to subjugate and control horses. Break is a brutal word. Monty Roberts is not alone in believing there has to be a better way, but he probably is the most famous. His life is one of contention, he maintains he was abused as a child by his father and his siblings maintain that he was not. He believes he has an affinity with horses and his methods are improving the lives of horses (and people worldwide)

He starts from a premise of respect, that the animal has to choose to work with you and that choice does not come about through coercion. Messages might be very clear about consequences, but the consequences are clear and accepted by both sides. By choosing the horse maintains dignity and his own spirit. He has written many books, and he, or a ghost writer, writes in a simple voice, old fashioned, homespun - nevertheless sincere.

This respect for the intelligence and sense of the horse has saved his life at times, when the whisperer listens to the horse and is guided by their insight.

He is tough, he thinks, ultimately he is kind. He is confronting the brutal facts and has faith that he will prevail, he is living in his element and having an adventure.

A few years back I was standing outside a bookshop and noticed a sign that read he was giving a reading and signing books that evening at a local hall. I stared and stared at that notice for probably several minutes because I really could not believe my eyes.

I was not disappointed.

Oh to live in the canopy!

2008-07-06T17:07:00.000+01:00

Much to the annoyance of others I like the trees to grow tall in my garden.

When I look out of my bedroom window at the dawn rising or at the antics of the weather that day, I do so through the veil of branches from a Flowering Cherry Tree. When I hear the rain at night I hear is as it bounces off the leaves, or patters on the twigs or slides down the branches for a drip drop rhythm onto the ground below. I could tune that out and hear the water in the guttering, or tipping against the roof, but hearing the rain through the leaves is the best way for me. The sound is dampened, its percussive nature given more subtlety and variety simply because it is not as harsh.

I could live in the trees (provided I could have regular hot baths and access to reading material) I like the green light, I like the play of shade. I love the fact that one part of the tree can be completely still and another experience some turbulence, probably external, but who can know.

Today I saw something close up that I know happens but you can not see from the ground.
A rather determined blackbird had decided he wanted something. As I looked out the window, at eye height in the trees was I with a shiny healthy blackbird. In his sunshine yellow beak against the green leaves he had a cherry. This Cherry was almost as big as his head, glowing like his shining beady eye, and was a glossy scarlet red, plump and full of juiciness. He held it firmly and was apparently standing in the midst of a large leaf, and looked all around him - turned to me, barely gave me a second thought (maybe he calculated that the chances of me leaping into the branches for his fruit were too slight to worry about). He was both very pleased with himself and also prepared to protect his booty. His beak for a swag bag, he turned once more and despite the theft of it's fruit, left swiftly without disturbing the tree

Brilliant

The writers of Dr Who understand my Dad's idea of heaven

2008-06-29T10:16:00.000+01:00

My Father had his own views of how Heaven would be - I am trying to recall what tense he used and I think he was ambiguous . He had no doubts about it's existence but that it was centred around the person. It made sense to me instantly, far more believable then an old man up in the clouds. It wasn't hard to accommodate it along with all the other things I was believing at the time. This belief has lasted. As a belief it is one I am fond of. When Heaven happens is another matter, I think my Dad was talking about after death but I am not certain he was. He was, I suspect musing out loud and he was more interested in making me think, rather then being attached to what I did think (well not about this!).

The last few weeks I have finally got back into Dr Who. I left it emotionally more then a decade or two back. Accidentally I saw the Forest of the Dead and the Library and I was utterly entranced. I have seen subsequent episodes now which have all been good but this was in a different league. I read A LOT and I know what I likes! I don't have any pretensions of being literary, but this shone out as the most exquisite writing, scripting I have seen for a very long time. Sometimes even when you are not an expert in something but you come across excellence, you notice it. It shouts at you somewhere and sometimes there is a physical reaction, like a tingling or goosebumps. I knew nothing about Ice Dancing, would occasionally watch late at night mainly for the background music and then saw Torvill and Dean and knew they were in a different league. I have seen some nice furniture and then touched a craftsman made antique and KNOWN it's excellence without reference to a text book. These episodes did that to me. There were one or two lines which made my heart miss a beat.

The thing that entranced me though, was something else. It was a connection, a voice from the past or across the great mists of time. The thing I LOVED was the idea that a Father had placed his ill child in a library so that she wouldn't be bored/lonely and could continue to grow.

A tale of two boxes

2008-04-26T22:13:00.000+01:00

It's thinner then the previous model

..And they aren't pleased

Pretty annoyed about the box too. Any new purchase that comes in a box is a playground, it should be just left casually about for them to attack, snuggle in, smear with scent and use as a castle to defend and launch sudden attacks from.

I failed them. Even though it is a very light new machine I don't have the abdominal muscles ( sliced ) to be able to lift things up, so the easiest way to get it out was to slice open the top and rip all the way down the side so that I could slide it out. Instead of being pleased at my combined use of an opposable thumb (or two) and some preplanning they are frustrated that their game has been changed.

One of them forgot and leapt from a chair top onto the side of the box - to make space I have fashioned it to maintain a box like shape. She pretended she was testing her "sudden and unexpected free fall in the dark" technique. The other looked away but I saw the whiskers trembling.

They will find a use of it, no doubt when I come downstairs tomorrow there will be evidence that it once existed all over the house

And whilst they are doing this I also know that their minds will be turning to how they can make best use of the thin replacement on the trunk. I just hope it doesn't involve more MMB .

Still reeling from having gone from 5 terrestrial channels to over a 100..

Wonder if I will start watching it more ?

Cats to exercise

2008-04-26T01:08:00.000+01:00

Cats have enjoyed the delights of the warm laptop to snuggle up to for a couple of weeks now as I enjoyed the delights of the iplayer, which is a marvellous thing. I particulary like watching Holby when I have a bout of insomnia brought on by a whizzing mind.

Cats approve of laptops, warm thing, human stays near it for long periods bringing more warmth.

No more! family is visiting, I shall have to get a tv in to go with the salad and fish and of course no "pickly shit" - would take too long to explain.

It is well and truly spring now, cherry tree is in blossom, time they went outside and caught something that didn't arrive out of a packet

Cats like visitor, another warm bod and spring board, and another to play their feline mind tricks on

Reasons to buy a new tv

2008-04-12T12:47:00.000+01:00

Because you are interested in the latest technology ?
Because you need the tv because you watch it all the time?
Because the one you have is an old one that is not digitally aware?
Because you want to play Call of Duty on it?

2 of the above are true 2 are untrue

and the decider was this

I came home yesterday, turned the telly on to catch the news before bed, started out towards kitchen for some tea and was arrested by the strange noise coming from my tv.. the sound that a million years ago I would hear when trying to tune my Granny's tv into the alternative itv channel she could nearly receive that had Catweazle repeats on it.

Only my tv is tuned in properly, the 3rd Nephew made that happen.
No, one of the feline owners of my house had peed on my tv

So I will now buy myself a new tv, but this was sooner than I would have done, the other reasons not being strong enough.

Wrestling Silently

2008-03-09T16:22:00.000Z

In the bath reading I listened to the cats at play on the landing, the sort of play that shifts from friendly to deadly on the turn of a paw. Today it was done silently. When I say silent, all I really mean is that the sound of a rugby scrum on the wood only came from the paw swipes and tumbling, the foul language was being held in check. Perhaps ( as I didn't see it) this was some sort of judo.

I have wondered about this since. One of my cats was definitely the model for the cat in Shrek ( apart from colour) big sad pleading eyes and claws that can eviscerate small mammals - and humans when she is stating "Right I am really very annoyed now" - in one smooth swift and unexpectedly vicious moment. When they are silent is it worse, or not? Is it serious practice play so they have to concentrate or are they both so angry and tight lipped they can't speak?

They are not going to tell me. Certainly not right now, one of them is snoring and the other is watching me type so closely that her nose is resting on my little finger

When she is being this cute she wants something....

The Invitation

2008-03-08T12:14:00.000Z

Sometime ago I came across this poem/verse/writing - I don't recall how or who, though several of my friends know of it, I dont know how it slipped between us all. I read it and recognised it deeply. It is the start of a book which was a very personal account of someone who was coming to terms with "stuff" as we all do and she wrote almost as a stream of consciousness what she wanted.

The Invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

The Invitation. Oriah Mountain Dreamer

If I had to sum it all up the poem speaks to me of two things only, Integrity and Commitment. And is brave enough to say that integrity sometimes means having to break with something because it is no longer right, it's not blind as loyalty can be.

It is scary as the BIG STUFF in life can be even when thrilling.

They know they are at the centre of the universe

2008-03-08T11:27:00.000Z

So, another day another blog. The sun is shining over my valley outside, the fruit is quietly rotting in the bowl and my head is in about 5 places. Down from the 25 yesterday and the 50 the evening before, this is restful.

If I can just get to 4, I'll get out of bed and feed them.

That's selfish isn't it? They have a permanent supply available to them and successfully operate the "buffet snacking when they are hungry" approach. What they really appreciate is the ritual of me calling them to something fresh and placing it in front of them. I am rewarded with the odd flick upward of a tail, or a nudge of acknowledgement, well done chatelaine you are doing what you are here for. Then the heads go down to eat and each are lost in their universe and I no longer exist.

Independent, fierce, brave and undemanding, capable of deep affection and loyalty, always thinking and always always ready for mischief. What better real companions could you ask for?

We orbit eachother, the pull of warmth for gravity ensuring connection with a lot of independence.