The Woman in Black.

I wonder who the woman is who appears in all my dreams these days. Whatever the scenario, she’s there – somewhere on the periphery, playing no part, just being there.

Her face and body are completely hidden, enclosed within a long black cloak with a voluminous cowl, and yet I know she’s a woman. She looks to be slightly taller than medium height and has an elegant bearing. She never speaks.

Is she looking out for my interests? Has she come to take me home? Or is there some boringly psychological interpretation? I expect there probably is.

Mad, Not Bad.

I posted a problem on the Firefox forum earlier, and it wasn’t long before I got a reply. It was straight to the point and answered my concern perfectly – couldn’t have been better. The contributor’s username was ‘Madperson,’ and it had me wondering how many intelligent, capable people around the world think of themselves as ‘mad.’

Hiding Away.

I wrote a short post recently about how the fatigue problem seems to be accelerating certain physical signs of ageing, and how I’m now tempted to hide away. Thought I was joking? Not quite. Here’s how it works.

For the purpose of this issue, people fall into one of three categories:

1) Those whose opinions of me are well established and secure, and who won’t give a toss what I look like. I don’t need to hide away from them.

2) The great generality of people whose opinion of me – if they have one at all – is of no consequence. I don’t need to hide away from them, either.

3) A tiny, select few whose opinion of me is either tentative or unknown, but whose approbation I would be happy to have. They’re the ones I have to hide away from.

Get it now?

I said I needed to lighten up, didn’t I?

A Little Incongruity.

A pair of British sisters were today recognised by the Guinness Book of Records as the world’s oldest siblings. One’s 108, the other 105.

Imagine being somebody’s kid sister at 105.

Reasonable Observation or Unwarranted Rudeness.

I was weighing up the options with regard to scotch in the supermarket yesterday, when a woman of around fifty approached and started to pluck quantities of alcopops from the shelves. I found myself observing her hair, her make up, her mode of dress and her general demeanour. In the process, I was coming to some tentative assessments as to the type of person she was, or at least the stereotype she appeared to represent.

I’ve no idea whether I was right or not, but that isn’t the point. The point is, I really shouldn’t do that sort of thing, should I? At least not at such close quarters. Or should I? Do we all have the right to observe and assess others, as long as we come to no fixed conclusion and cause no harm with what might be an inaccurate opinion, and as long as any exercise of judgement is understood to be subjective?

*  *  *

I could do with lightening up. The fatigue is weighing a bit heavy today. And one of my neighbours is causing me a measure of consternation. And it won’t stop raining!

A Thought on Darkness.

Helen’s change of name to Melanie has engendered some discussion on the quality of darkness. Let me quote my favourite line from Poe again:

And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable Dominion over all.

This is true alliteration – not merely a coincidence of initial letters, but the suggestion of an overall tone. It illustrates how we in the west view darkness: as being associated with decay and death. We have a tradition of burying our dead beneath the earth where they decay in darkness. And we go further: we associate it with ‘evil.’ Light is the place of angels, dark is the place of devils. It’s inherent in the Christian presumption of duality.

But maybe it isn’t quite that simple. The colour of autumn leaves is the colour of decay, a process which begins in the high branches closest to the sun, and is completed on the ground in full daylight. And yet both plants and animals have their genesis in dark places – the one under the earth, the other in the womb. Even the Old Testament teaches that everything began with darkness. Darkness is the place from which life flows.

So maybe there is no duality, but only an unbroken continuum. Dark and light are essentially part of the same thing. It can be argued that both plant and animal only prosper when they break through into the light, but that’s no reason to dismiss darkness out of hand as something inherently bad. If it’s the natural medium for genesis, maybe it’s also the natural medium for rebirth when necessary. And maybe we all need some measure of rebirth now and then. In that sense, darkness is just as positive as light.

It’s a complex subject, and like all subjects of a spiritual nature, it eventually enters the realm of the unknowable where reason has no dominion.

On Lava Bread and Vegetarian Sensibilities.

Lava bread (seaweed) is considered something of a delicacy in parts of Wales. I tried it once. Just once...

But I got a little ditty out of it:

The Lady Bella went to sea

And met some friendly fishes.

They gave her lots of seaweed, 
Spread on lots of sea green dishes.

‘What’s this?’ the Lady Bella asked

‘Am I supposed to eat it?’

‘Of course,’ a friendly fish replied,

‘There’s nothing much to beat it.’

‘It doesn’t look quite nice, you know,’

Said Bella, gently frowning.

‘It looks like what the cows might leave
On fields, all soft and browning.’

‘If that’s the way you feel, my girl,

We’ll leave you to your sailing.

Our piscatorial pleasantries

Are clearly somewhat failing.’

And so dear Bella journeyed home

And felt a little thinner,

But that would soon be put to right

With battered cod for dinner.

Evening Light.

I went for an unaccustomed late walk shortly before eight this evening, and was almost startled by a quality of light that I haven’t seen for a while. The sun always yellows as it sinks, but at this time of the year it stays strong and colours the vibrant, early summer growth with a power and richness that commands rapt attention.

It reminded me of my days as a photographer, when I would often work late on commissioned jobs to take full advantage of the good light. When the resultant pictures appeared in print they always stood out for the strong, mellow quality of the light, and the extended shadows that spoke of the world turning and another long day being almost over.

The Good, The Bad, and The Pretty.

The Good

An ice cream van finally turned up in Ashbourne, so I got to have proper creamy, vanilla ice cream for the first time in a long time. Bit expensive, but it was worth it.

The Bad

‘Did you have a good Jubilee weekend?’ asked the woman in the bank – chirpily!

‘No.’

As if!  I didn’t bother to expand on the combination of feeling ill, not being entirely inclined to the royalist persuasion, and the horror I felt when I discovered that I'd disappointed the loveliest of ladies. Would she have understood? (Would she have wanted to hear it...)

The Pretty

There was a little Chinese girl asleep in a buggy. Does anything come much prettier than that?

*  *  *

I’ve saved the best ’til last. I queried the price of Famous Grouse scotch in the supermarket because it was on two shelves at two different prices. The upshot was that I was allowed to have a bottle at £2 less than the offer price, and it was even cheaper than the store’s cheapest whisky. That’s what I call a red letter day.

I suppose it might be worth mentioning that I feel a bit better today, too.

Compounding the Problem.

This fatigue problem I have, whatever might be the cause, seems to be accelerating certain aspects of physical ageing. That’s all I need, right? So now I feel a growing urge to hide myself away. Not that there are many people to hide away from, but it’s the thought that counts.