Things and Stuff

Jul. 18th, 2025 10:32 am
smokingboot: (individualism)
[personal profile] smokingboot
Too many phone calls to make. The NHS keeps making all these appointments for me to have vaccinations. First it was the shingles one, which I still haven't rescheduled (because I know that the moment I phone to do that, they will remind me that I haven't had my Covid booster this year) now it's the pneumococcal. All this because I am perceived to be more at risk. The surgeon warned me that they were going to be pestering me for the next decade, but I thought that was just the yearly mammogram. Apparently there's more to it than that. I know I should be grateful and am trying to be, but injections! Pah!

Meanwhile, looks like the government is keeping its manifesto promise of lowering the voting age from 18 to 16. Loud is the harrumphing. While I can see that a 16 year old may be too immature to understand the ramifications of their vote, and yes, greater understanding with age is an expectation, I wouldn't say election results bear these ideas out. It took supposedly mature individuals to vote for Brexit, Johnson, and Truss, and now many of these same supposedly mature individuals are gathering behind Nigel Farage and Reform. There's never a guarantee that a 20/40/60/80 year old will vote wisely, even given a universal value of wisdom. I think it was Jefferson who believed that an educated citizenry is necessary for the survival of a democracy. There's a need to teach people how government works as well as the responsibilities of democracy, and we just don't do it, we never did. That's where the problem lies. We're lazy and tribal and find politics dull unless someone's knickers are involved. It's only when things go wrong that we shift our butts into gear, often too late. The main weakness with this new legislation is that perhaps 16-18 is an easily propagandised age group, very vulnerable to social contagion and media influence. But hasn't everyone had similar issues? I remember times when women voted as their husbands told them to, and an old friend of mine recalled to me how as an adult back in the 70s, he was taken to his first polling booth by his dad who also told him where to put his X. Now he doesn't vote at all.

Sweet Summer Child

Jul. 18th, 2025 08:22 am
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I had left some old clean kitty litter trays out the back because I intended to put them in the garage but forgot. Rain had come and filled them, and in one was a drowned bee. When I saw her twitching faintly I scooped her out and tried to coax her with some sugar water, but she wasn't interested. She preferred to sit on my hand among the clover flowers in the heat of the day, and I got to see close up that she was a red tailed bumblebee, cleaning herself thoroughly while her matted fluff and dripping wings dried in the sunshine. Her pollen baskets were drenched flat along her legs, but eh, work lost can be replaced. The sun beat down on us and I was happy. She crawled up my arm towards my elbow, and arrived at the rolled up cuffs of my sleeves. Suddenly the bee was slow, slower, stopped.

Oh no, I thought, it's been too much, she's - then she took off, bright and buzzing into the sky, all that beaming blue. And she flew just fine.

Just goes to show that one bee can make a great day.

But yes, those trays are in the garage now.

Century Road

Jul. 17th, 2025 07:51 am
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I am only calling this post Century Road because a friend has identified the photo below as one of the parties at her house there. Early 90s I'm guessing. I gather this must have some sort of 18th century meets Gothic Rave, but have absolutely no memory of it.



My mother's gift of a watch does not go with any other part of my outfit. That top needs cinching. Why am I clutching a plastic bag?

Of the folk in and around the photo, the gent in the wig lived happy and well off and died the same way beloved by his partners and friends, the other found himself a long term partner, created a family, pursued his genius, and rumour has it became something of a gentle recluse, recoiling from the clamour of everything. The lady who remembers Century Road found her own muse in art and left London for the peace of Kent, her then husband later got into and out of Scientology, and even now spends his time on social media presenting the world with videos from youtube channels with names like Truther777 and WhatTheyDontWantYouToKnow.

And the idiot in the middle, with her eyes closed and her Marie-Antoinette make up? She had a few falls but she found true love and good friends, travelled like a bird, wrote a bit, and turned out OK.

The Valley of Lune

Jul. 15th, 2025 07:49 am
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...is beautiful whether you wander it, or just look at it through the glass of a champagne flute from a hot tub. Guess which option we went for? 😁

We met some dear mates and enjoyed a time of brilliant warmth on every level; sunshine, great conversations, fab if damaging cocktails. The morning after my birthday, I woke early and wandered out to look across the way. The sheep were not up then and the farm down the hill had not brought out its horses but the light was bright and warm already, and a large solitary rabbit lolloped 'across my path' as elders might say. It was so big and at ease I thought it had to be an escaped pet. Then it sat up and turned its head and I saw the white backs of its ears tipped with black, no rabbit but a hare and bold as brass. The folklore connecting hares with witchcraft and magic was prevalent in many places but none more so than Lancashire, and it makes special sense in a place named after the moon.* The last time I saw one was at the entrance to the venue for my hen night celebrations, when it just stared at me. This one may have noticed me or not, but wasn't concerned either way. I watched it for a long time.

I have some special memories of this weekend that won't do with pinning down in words, so I'll just have to keep them safe and for once trust myself not to forget.

*The most popular theory for the Lune's etymology has nothing to do with the moon. It comes from the name Iolonus who appears to have been a Celtic god of meadows/clearings and was respected around here. This deity is only known about from three dedicatory inscriptions, two of which were found in this area. I like this because it's poetically apt:

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Working on Core Values with my therapist today and the first one she started with was 'Hope' and my reaction was interesting.

Leaving aside the meaningless platitudes (I hope you have a good journey, a nice day, whatever) - no, not meaningless, but almost - there for sociability and politeness, which are important, but not with any particular meaning. Anyway - leaving those aside, what does hope mean for me?

So much of my thoughts around the word are tied to a god I don't believe exists and a faith which shaped and still shapes me, even though I no longer hold it to be true. "We have this hope, as an anchor for the soul" is from Pauls letter to the Hebrews, and is why many sailors used to tattoo an anchor on themselves. It was that point of stability, and a hope that they would return home.

Searching for the bible reference then leads me to https://becomingchristians.com/2025/03/19/hope-as-anchor-of-the-soul-what-does-it-mean/ where I see the following:

Picture yourself as a ship in the middle of the ocean.
Now imagine trying to face a storm without an anchor.
The waves hit.
The wind screams.
You try to stay afloat, but you’re completely at the mercy of the storm.
That’s what life feels like without hope.
And that's where I hit a problem. The practical, autistic part of me wants to say 'you can't drop an anchor in the middle of the ocean - it's too deep. And in a storm in the middle of the ocean, you don't want an anchor, you want to run with the storm as much as possible to lessen its power".

I get what they're trying to say, but it just digs at me when someone doesn't understand language well enough to know why a metaphor doesn't work. Obviously, the post continues, you need to put your faith in god, the steadfast anchor.

And maybe that's why I don't really resonate with the word - it's not a core value for me at all. Maybe I'm lucky enough to have never been in a situation where hope was all I had, but it feels like the antithesis of agency, and that is absolutely one of my core values. I have control over my own actions, and reactions, and I have agency in most circumstances - again, I acknowledge my privilege in being able to say that.

For me, hope is what's left when you've done all you can, and it's now in the lap of the gods. I was going to write its external salvation rather than internal - but it's not even salvation - it's the hope of it. There's no ability to act on hope.

This isn't a bad thing, by the way. Not from my perspective, at least. I don't live my life without hope - I live my life as much as I can assuming that I will never need to hope.

Back to Paul - but 1 Corinthians 13 this time:


 

And now these three remain; faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love.


That I can give a resounding Amen to.

 


Three Strangers

Jul. 7th, 2025 10:41 am
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I remembered one of my old poems today in the wake of the Erin Patterson judgement (https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/live/cm26eq093myt)

Three Strangers

Three strangers come in from the wild
Their feet are wet and bare
They smell of leaves, of muddy sheaves
And the earth breathes in their hair

Now the first bears a scarlet bonnet
With spots crusted like cream
One trembling bite on a merry night
And forever more you’ll dream

Now the next is tall and shining
Cherub white and sweet of smell
And will take you straight to the final gate
Though it lead to heaven or hell

Now the final one stands quiet
yet his foot be swollen round
Though he looks so plain, do not test his fame,
Or sleep ever underground

Three strangers by the pantry door
From soil and field and tree
Never give them time, never bid them dine,
Or they’ll stay longer than thee.

And because I got excited, tried to paint the three.



The fly agaric looks like a flying saucer. This would be great if it was deliberate instead of just throwing acrylics around cos I like how they feel.

Mistakes before Bedtime

Jul. 6th, 2025 07:01 am
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[personal profile] smokingboot
I don't know what it's called when you've got to meet someone and you can't relax or focus on anything else til it's done. Ridiculous really, and a bad night's sleep to add to that.

Part of it is R being away. It's only for the weekend but I didn't help myself with some true crime investigations and reels from accounts with names like LatinosAgainstSpookyShit, which make me laugh but are still a mistake before bedtime. (https://www.facebook.com/reel/1397123721491275) Anyway, the result was a highly coloured rather uneasy night.

R's away on a whisky tour. This was touted to him by a couple of friends a while back and he wasn't going to go, but the guy who arranged it caught Covid so R stepped into his shoes last minute. He's up on Islay now, which looks at once pretty and and faintly reminiscent of The Wicker Man.








The ferry trip sounded wonderful, all strong winds and mists that wrapped the ship, real journey to otherworld stuff. This I enjoy. Though I like whisky, distillery tours don't cut it for me, but I am definitely lamenting the delicious langoustines he described having for his dinner.
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