Husband and I sat and watched our recording of the very last episode of Downton, minus the adverts, on Sunday evening.
What a masterpiece of knots unravelled and loose ends tied up, either in the 'there and then' or, if not, in the suggestion of happy endings to come. Just what you want from Christmas television; well, what I want anyway and is that so terrible! The last series was terrific too, in my estimation, after, I felt, some of the over-melodramatic scenes of former episodes.
Reading some snooty reviews in our otherwise excellent Catholic Herald magazine, I feel that I want to tell those critics that they've entirely missed the point of Downton. It was not, essentially, an historical drama, it wasn't about chronological accuracy or exactitude. It was about people, their lives, their relationships, their stories.
Its characterisations have been excellent and the acting superb. The photography, the settings, the world which has been created for us on a Sunday evening, have lifted us into another life, one which has brought real interest and delight. It will be sadly missed.
Thank goodness that we had this Christmas special to relish, to cherish the resolutions and to share in the satisfaction of a story well-told and well ended.
Tuesday, 29 December 2015
Wednesday, 16 December 2015
About 'Mary's Meals' (Take 2)
Two days ago, at three minutes to midnight, I finished reading a book which tells the story of the amazing charity named above. The book is called ''The Shed That Fed a Million Children''.
It was easy to read in one sense but very hard in others, dealing as it does with such sad stories of poverty and hunger in terribly difficult situations.
There is tremendous hope in the book though, as ways of really making a difference in the lives of so many have evolved from the efforts of all the dedicated people involved.
If you have a moment, perhaps you could check it out on-line and maybe you might decide to become one of the countless number of people who have decided to help to feed the hungry children of our world.
Husband and I had recently decided to support this charity with a monthly donation. Now I discover that my housekeeping money has stretched to feed not just 20 plus children a year but 40 plus!! How lovely to have increased my extended family as I shall now think of them.
The children have their meals in school, so bodies AND minds are fed. As a Mum, Gran and retired teacher, there is something especially pleasing to me in that.
Postscript
It was easy to read in one sense but very hard in others, dealing as it does with such sad stories of poverty and hunger in terribly difficult situations.
There is tremendous hope in the book though, as ways of really making a difference in the lives of so many have evolved from the efforts of all the dedicated people involved.
If you have a moment, perhaps you could check it out on-line and maybe you might decide to become one of the countless number of people who have decided to help to feed the hungry children of our world.
- It costs £12. 20 to feed a child for a year. (I just checked on google and this is crossed out and now reads 'two children').
- 93p of every £1 donated goes directly to aid.
Husband and I had recently decided to support this charity with a monthly donation. Now I discover that my housekeeping money has stretched to feed not just 20 plus children a year but 40 plus!! How lovely to have increased my extended family as I shall now think of them.
The children have their meals in school, so bodies AND minds are fed. As a Mum, Gran and retired teacher, there is something especially pleasing to me in that.
Postscript
- I haven't mentioned the number of children our donations are feeding in order to boast, because, honestly, the amount isn't mega-bucks; it's only £25 a month, so less than £1 a day and a lot less than it costs us to feed husband, son-at-home and me.
- I've figured out the crossing out of one child to two children! The government is doubling any contribution to this charity for one month up until the 28th of this month. So this means the 40 children are just for December but that's good anyway.
Sunday, 22 November 2015
About giving and giving in
Let us learn to give
but not to give in.
This should probably read
'Let us learn when it is right to give, and then, give.'
and 'Let us learn when it is right not to give in, and then, not give in.'
but, of course, it's not so succinct (or poetic)!
I add this because there are times when it is right not to give
and, conversely, times when it is right to give in (or so husband says, anyway!)
but not to give in.
This should probably read
'Let us learn when it is right to give, and then, give.'
and 'Let us learn when it is right not to give in, and then, not give in.'
but, of course, it's not so succinct (or poetic)!
I add this because there are times when it is right not to give
and, conversely, times when it is right to give in (or so husband says, anyway!)
About realising our own worth
We are not extras but main players
in the film of our lives.
In our own lives,
we will always be a part of the team.
There is no substitute's bench.
I realise that this may read as being somewhat egocentric, but my purpose in writing it is to address the problem that people like me may have of always feeling that everyone else is more important than we are, or that we won't be picked for the team, that there will always be someone who is better than we are, that other people's ways of doing something are more likely to be right than ours; (or as I have put it before, in my case, forever self-doubting, looking for affirmation, being a pain in the neck!!).
If you are a bit like that, I hope the words above may help.
in the film of our lives.
In our own lives,
we will always be a part of the team.
There is no substitute's bench.
I realise that this may read as being somewhat egocentric, but my purpose in writing it is to address the problem that people like me may have of always feeling that everyone else is more important than we are, or that we won't be picked for the team, that there will always be someone who is better than we are, that other people's ways of doing something are more likely to be right than ours; (or as I have put it before, in my case, forever self-doubting, looking for affirmation, being a pain in the neck!!).
If you are a bit like that, I hope the words above may help.
Friday, 20 November 2015
A postscript on the soup
Today, I added a sweet potato as well as a parsnip to the veg and it was really nice, we thought.
,
,
About 'cold calls': a post script
After the 'oh so cool, calm and collected' account of my dealings with the above, two days later my poise, such as it is, was dented by a call on my MOBILE, would you believe! (How do they find our numbers?!)
A voice, which addressed me by name, as far as I can remember, before I could say anything, launched into "I believe you've been involved in an accident which wasn't your fault".
Well, I just found myself putting the phone down immediately, in real annoyance; the civil and studied politeness disappeared through the window!
The outrage was compounded by the fact that not only was it lunchtime, a much treasured time in the home of this branch of the early-retired, a group of which husband and I are grateful members, on top of that, the call interrupted "Bargain hunt"! I rest my case!!
PS I would like it known that the said programme is, of course, our only recourse to daytime television and is time-shared, be it noted, with eating. (Otherwise, I'd never get anything done!)
A voice, which addressed me by name, as far as I can remember, before I could say anything, launched into "I believe you've been involved in an accident which wasn't your fault".
Well, I just found myself putting the phone down immediately, in real annoyance; the civil and studied politeness disappeared through the window!
The outrage was compounded by the fact that not only was it lunchtime, a much treasured time in the home of this branch of the early-retired, a group of which husband and I are grateful members, on top of that, the call interrupted "Bargain hunt"! I rest my case!!
PS I would like it known that the said programme is, of course, our only recourse to daytime television and is time-shared, be it noted, with eating. (Otherwise, I'd never get anything done!)
Monday, 16 November 2015
About dealing with 'cold calls'
My first tactic, when I've realised the nature of the call is, ignoring the caller's opening gambit, to say, politely and calmly, "What do you want, please?" If he or she persists with the spiel, I persist with, "What do you want please?!"
If the caller continues, not having recognised that this particular approach is unlikely to achieve much, I say, again, very politely, "I'm not interested, thank you; good-bye." and put the phone down. I must add here that nothing incenses me more than an enquiry as to 'how I am'! I feel like shouting down the phone, "What's it got to do with you."
I feel heart-sorry for the poor folk who are reduced to trying to earn a living in this way and have no wish to be rude. I really wish that someone would tell them that all we want (or don't want usually) is to know the purpose of the call, not an enquiry as to the state of our health!
All I can say is that this is the most successful tactic I've come up with so far and I hope it may be of use to someone else.
If the caller continues, not having recognised that this particular approach is unlikely to achieve much, I say, again, very politely, "I'm not interested, thank you; good-bye." and put the phone down. I must add here that nothing incenses me more than an enquiry as to 'how I am'! I feel like shouting down the phone, "What's it got to do with you."
I feel heart-sorry for the poor folk who are reduced to trying to earn a living in this way and have no wish to be rude. I really wish that someone would tell them that all we want (or don't want usually) is to know the purpose of the call, not an enquiry as to the state of our health!
All I can say is that this is the most successful tactic I've come up with so far and I hope it may be of use to someone else.
Tuesday, 20 October 2015
A very quick, easy and cheap soup (which tastes surprisingly good, too, we reckon)
On Fridays, having had fish and chips or some such meal at lunchtime, I'm always looking for a way to sneak veg into husband's, son-at-home's and my diet at teatime. Soup and sandwiches form the pathway and this is the soup.
Carrot and Celery Soup
Quantities:
I always reckon about 4 ozs (120g if you must) of veg per person.
Ingredients:
1. The outer stalks of celery
2. Some carrots.
(For the three of us, that's about 2 celery stalks and 3 medium or 2 large-ish carrots.)
Method:
1. Wash and chop the celery.
2. Peel, rinse and chop the carrots any old how.
3. Place in a saucepan with some water and a little salt and pepper.
(Hint, add less water than you think because you can always add more hot water to bring it to the consistency you like at the end of the blending.)
4. Bring to the boil and then simmer until the veg is softish. (Approx. 30 mins, I'd say.)
5. I pour this into a large-ish and fairly tall plastic jug to blend with my hand mixer.
(This stops it splashing everywhere and makes it easy to pour into the bowls.)
You can use any veg, herbs and spices you like. Sadly, onions and some other veg, and spices in general, don't agree with us very well but I usually use a fairly large parsnip with the other ingredients in the winter because I'm all for seasonal food.
PS I have tried 'sweating' the veg, as advised by Delia (Smith), for whose recipes I have a great deal of respect, but I can't taste the difference and this way's a lot easier (and, let it be whispered, doesn't cause as much heartburn - or as it seems to be known now, reflux!).
PPS I use water because I rarely have stock in and don't buy any processed cubes. I can't tell a great deal of difference but that may be my lack of discernment and expertise.
PPPS Husband even likes it, so success all round!
Carrot and Celery Soup
Quantities:
I always reckon about 4 ozs (120g if you must) of veg per person.
Ingredients:
1. The outer stalks of celery
2. Some carrots.
(For the three of us, that's about 2 celery stalks and 3 medium or 2 large-ish carrots.)
Method:
1. Wash and chop the celery.
2. Peel, rinse and chop the carrots any old how.
3. Place in a saucepan with some water and a little salt and pepper.
(Hint, add less water than you think because you can always add more hot water to bring it to the consistency you like at the end of the blending.)
4. Bring to the boil and then simmer until the veg is softish. (Approx. 30 mins, I'd say.)
5. I pour this into a large-ish and fairly tall plastic jug to blend with my hand mixer.
(This stops it splashing everywhere and makes it easy to pour into the bowls.)
You can use any veg, herbs and spices you like. Sadly, onions and some other veg, and spices in general, don't agree with us very well but I usually use a fairly large parsnip with the other ingredients in the winter because I'm all for seasonal food.
PS I have tried 'sweating' the veg, as advised by Delia (Smith), for whose recipes I have a great deal of respect, but I can't taste the difference and this way's a lot easier (and, let it be whispered, doesn't cause as much heartburn - or as it seems to be known now, reflux!).
PPS I use water because I rarely have stock in and don't buy any processed cubes. I can't tell a great deal of difference but that may be my lack of discernment and expertise.
PPPS Husband even likes it, so success all round!
Tuesday, 22 September 2015
About, I suspect, a little known and unusual aspect of using lipstick
I've never used a great deal of make-up but I've always loved using lipstick so I was fascinated to be told by one of my friends that everyone who does so, unknowingly shapes the end in a unique way.
I was delighted by this because the end of all my lipsticks gradually forms into what, to me, is a beautiful curved surface which, until then, I had assumed was the case for every other lipstick user.
Well no; apparently, this is not true; some end in flat surfaces, some in a point and, I now imagine, in a infinite variety of shapes. Ask your friends about their lipsticks. It could be an interesting study.
(I have to admit a sneaky sense of vanity that mine are so artistic as it's not a quality with which I'm generally associated!)
Postscript
The only other person I knew whose lipstick end looked remarkably like mine was - my Auntie Joan; co-incidence or what!! Could it be a family trait??
I was delighted by this because the end of all my lipsticks gradually forms into what, to me, is a beautiful curved surface which, until then, I had assumed was the case for every other lipstick user.
Well no; apparently, this is not true; some end in flat surfaces, some in a point and, I now imagine, in a infinite variety of shapes. Ask your friends about their lipsticks. It could be an interesting study.
(I have to admit a sneaky sense of vanity that mine are so artistic as it's not a quality with which I'm generally associated!)
Postscript
The only other person I knew whose lipstick end looked remarkably like mine was - my Auntie Joan; co-incidence or what!! Could it be a family trait??
Saturday, 29 August 2015
About whistling a happy tune (from The King and I")
We should try to be calm and fight nervousness;
our lack of confidence can make others uneasy.
Wednesday, 26 August 2015
Sundry thoughts on living in the moment
Be happy in the moment.
You can only live in the present
when you let go of the past.
All life is a gift, every single moment.
Nothing can be taken for granted.
Remembering that may help us, possibly,
to live more fully, here and now.
(A question, food for thought;
might it also help us to accept loss
if we really realised that nothing is guaranteed?)
You can only live in the present
when you let go of the past.
All life is a gift, every single moment.
Nothing can be taken for granted.
Remembering that may help us, possibly,
to live more fully, here and now.
(A question, food for thought;
might it also help us to accept loss
if we really realised that nothing is guaranteed?)
Monday, 24 August 2015
Thoughts on thoughts
Thoughts are like fledgling birds,
fluttering in the nests of our minds.
We send them out as a mother bird
pushes her chicks out of the nest,
to sink or soar but to give them
the chance of life beyond our brains.
fluttering in the nests of our minds.
We send them out as a mother bird
pushes her chicks out of the nest,
to sink or soar but to give them
the chance of life beyond our brains.
Saturday, 22 August 2015
About looking at a Monet calendar
From a distance,
the trees, branches, leaves look distinct.
the trees, branches, leaves look distinct.
Close up, they are smudgy, daubed, unclear,
with raggedy edges.
How like life; especially other people's lives.
Oh yes, we think; black and white, right and wrong;
but, close up, how humbling - how little we know.
Friday, 21 August 2015
About seasons
The universe is spinning, cyclical, elliptical,
bringing seasons, tides;
Winters, Summers; Springs, Autumns;
the rainy, the dry; the high, the low.
Our lives need seasons;
famine, feast; ordinary, extraordinary.
People without seasons in their lives,
who can have anything they want,
any time they want,
seem to become bored, restless;
numb to sorrow, joy;
lost in superfluity,
in a confusion of profusion.
bringing seasons, tides;
Winters, Summers; Springs, Autumns;
the rainy, the dry; the high, the low.
Our lives need seasons;
famine, feast; ordinary, extraordinary.
People without seasons in their lives,
who can have anything they want,
any time they want,
seem to become bored, restless;
numb to sorrow, joy;
lost in superfluity,
in a confusion of profusion.
Wednesday, 19 August 2015
A late-night conversation
Sometimes, as we're going to bed, I try to tell husband something to do with my jottings, having just looked at my page views. BIG MISTAKE as he invariably manages to say something upsetting or annoying, as they do. (Sorry if this is sounding husband-ist - or am I sorry? Probably not, actually, because you're all mostly well able to fend for yourselves from what I've seen!)
Anyway, the conversation went something like this:
(Apropos of some maddening comment)
Wife to husband
I knew you'd say that!!"
Husband to wife
"Oh, it's a God-thing, is it?"
Wife to husband
"No, it's a being married thirty-seven years thing!!"
PS
Husband even laughed.
Touche, eh! Ooh, I was pleased.
Anyway, the conversation went something like this:
(Apropos of some maddening comment)
Wife to husband
I knew you'd say that!!"
Husband to wife
"Oh, it's a God-thing, is it?"
Wife to husband
"No, it's a being married thirty-seven years thing!!"
PS
Husband even laughed.
Touche, eh! Ooh, I was pleased.
A quote from Lewis Carroll
"One of the deep secrets of life is that all that is really worth the doing is what we do for others."
Sunday, 2 August 2015
Number one favourite piece of (classical) music in all the world - plus -
Believe it or not, having finally posted yesterday's item on this subject, what should come on Classic FM this evening but my all-time favourite piece of music, namely the second movement of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony.
I have never tired of it. Its swirling rhythms wrap themselves around my soul. It ebbs and flows and pulsates with controlled passion. I just love it.
While I'm on the subject, perhaps I'll add the next two or three.
Second on my list has to be Bach's Double Violin Concerto, an incomparable piece of music for two soloists, as far as I'm concerned. I bought an LP in my teens with David and Igor Oistrach as soloists; their playing, a conversation, to-ing and fro-ing between father and son. The music is truly exquisite, each movement, a gem. (PS I still have the LP, which is a good job, as I had to check the spelling!)
Third on my list is the first movement of Brahm's First Piano Concerto. I heard this for the first time, in my teens, listening to the proms on the radio. I was completely bowled over, and in school the next day, having asked the man who played the piano for our music lessons about it, was amazed to watch him launch into the fantastic main tune. (In the piece, you have to wait an annoyingly long time for the full dramatic and powerfully percussive theme to enter.It's definitely worth the wait though!)
Lastly, tonight, I'll end with number four of my top classical pieces; Prokofiev's First Symphony, The Classical. It must be one of the happiest pieces of music in all the world, I think. Every movement is perfectly proportioned, beautiful, light, joyful, gorgeous. If you try it, I don't think you'll be disappointed.
I have never tired of it. Its swirling rhythms wrap themselves around my soul. It ebbs and flows and pulsates with controlled passion. I just love it.
While I'm on the subject, perhaps I'll add the next two or three.
Second on my list has to be Bach's Double Violin Concerto, an incomparable piece of music for two soloists, as far as I'm concerned. I bought an LP in my teens with David and Igor Oistrach as soloists; their playing, a conversation, to-ing and fro-ing between father and son. The music is truly exquisite, each movement, a gem. (PS I still have the LP, which is a good job, as I had to check the spelling!)
Third on my list is the first movement of Brahm's First Piano Concerto. I heard this for the first time, in my teens, listening to the proms on the radio. I was completely bowled over, and in school the next day, having asked the man who played the piano for our music lessons about it, was amazed to watch him launch into the fantastic main tune. (In the piece, you have to wait an annoyingly long time for the full dramatic and powerfully percussive theme to enter.It's definitely worth the wait though!)
Lastly, tonight, I'll end with number four of my top classical pieces; Prokofiev's First Symphony, The Classical. It must be one of the happiest pieces of music in all the world, I think. Every movement is perfectly proportioned, beautiful, light, joyful, gorgeous. If you try it, I don't think you'll be disappointed.
Sunday, 26 July 2015
About wanting to share favourite pieces of music
Is it just me or do many of us feel the desire to tell others about the things we really love, in the hope, perhaps, that we will find someone who shares our passions? For as long as I can remember, music has been one of the great joys of my life, as it is for so many people, I'd say, and I certainly find that having friends who feel likewise is marvellous.
My first memory of knowing the composer of a specific piece of music dates from around the time I was about seven. We had been invited to tea by one of Dad's friends (that, in itself, was a rare and special occurrence; tea with another family!). This friend had a terrific bass voice and was a big man in every way (he was in the police force, a thing of awe to us children). I loved hearing him singing the hymns from the back of church, where he always sat.
Anyway, that Sunday afternoon, he played records for us on his radiogram and told us the stories. The one I remember is The Thieving Magpie overture and, to this day, whenever I hear it, I can see the courtiers chasing up and down the castle stairs trying to find the King's jewels (I think that's the story but could be wrong. It was a long time ago!) I went around for ages saying that my favourite composers were Rossini and Verdi, which was quite funny coming from a seven year old who hardly knew any others!
Well, as I'm unlikely to make Desert Island Discs (possibly my all-time favourite radio programme), I would really like to share my list of fave-raves on occasional posts, on the grounds of, and in the hopes that, there may be some people who might either know and love them already or might want to listen and see what they think.
My first memory of knowing the composer of a specific piece of music dates from around the time I was about seven. We had been invited to tea by one of Dad's friends (that, in itself, was a rare and special occurrence; tea with another family!). This friend had a terrific bass voice and was a big man in every way (he was in the police force, a thing of awe to us children). I loved hearing him singing the hymns from the back of church, where he always sat.
Anyway, that Sunday afternoon, he played records for us on his radiogram and told us the stories. The one I remember is The Thieving Magpie overture and, to this day, whenever I hear it, I can see the courtiers chasing up and down the castle stairs trying to find the King's jewels (I think that's the story but could be wrong. It was a long time ago!) I went around for ages saying that my favourite composers were Rossini and Verdi, which was quite funny coming from a seven year old who hardly knew any others!
Well, as I'm unlikely to make Desert Island Discs (possibly my all-time favourite radio programme), I would really like to share my list of fave-raves on occasional posts, on the grounds of, and in the hopes that, there may be some people who might either know and love them already or might want to listen and see what they think.
Monday, 20 July 2015
Why no post for ages - fighting our County Council - and losing
(I started writing this a few weeks ago after not having posted anything for about 6 weeks, hence the title. I've just found the time to check and finish it.)
For nearly two years, we, a small group of carers, families and supporters have been trying to do all we could to raise awareness of and halt, if at all possible, our CC's plans to end Council Day Service provision for adults with a learning disability (LD). It has been time-consuming and draining and, sadly, we have failed.
Our son's centre, or "My place", as he called it, will close in July. We have been through a long and gruelling process of assessment and, with the help of a lovely and very capable social worker, he has ended up with private day provision which will suit him and with which he seems happy. It is run by ex-staff from the centre and is attended by others who were his friends there. This is the only situation with which our son would be happy. He is acutely shy and would be completely withdrawn with strangers.
When full, the Centre provided for 125 service users and our son loved it. He went for over 23 years. It catered for the full range of disabilities and everyone found their own place within it. It enabled families to keep their relatives at home, rather than in residential care, because, at the centre, they had their own world, 5 days a week from 9 till 4, which allowed otherwise very stressed carers to cope during the rest of the time.
We now know that plans were made, probably beginning in the early years of the last decade to deliberately run the centre numbers down. Referrals were no longer made or information given to families whose children were leaving special education. If information was requested, Day Services were shown in a bad light, even described as 'institutionalising'! How terrible was that and the very opposite of the truth, to boot!
We had a state-of-the-art home for 18 adults with a LD who had no families. They were gradually moved out into private residential places and were no longer able to access day service for financial reasons. (The home has been demolished and an expensive private care home has been erected in its place - surprise, surprise!) This, to me, was the saddest part of all of all these manipulations.
The CC held a so-called consultation. By a series of minor miracles, we found a solicitor and barrister who were prepared to act for us. The consultation result was massively in our favour. It was overthrown by the Council anyway, so no surprise there. Our case went to a high court judge last September who, on seeing the Council's promises, which included a second consultation (ha ha), decided not to proceed with it. The second travesty of a consultation was held over Christmas, most people were too disillusioned to respond to it, and,of those that did, nearly all voted against closure. It was overturned again, an absolute sham, as we had always suspected.
There were only about 20 people using the place by then as the atmosphere had deteriorated drastically, and understandably, as the staff, who have been marvellous throughout, were naturally demoralised beyond belief, seeing their livelihoods disappearing and the people they had cared for so brilliantly and lovingly, cast adrift. Also, it suited the authorities to run down the quality of provision to give families more reasons to find other opportunities as their loved ones, in some cases, became very depressed, seeing their friends leave and others become increasingly distressed as numbers and activities decreased.
We know that this situation has been replicated up and down the country and not just for the learning disabled. So many genuinely needy people have seen their life-lines taken away and, no matter what glib excuses are churned out, we know the cause is financial. There are many deep and complex reasons for this and it's not my intention to even try to come up with any answers. I just wanted to tell the story. I know it's way too long and don't expect many people will read it but it's out there now.
What I would like to do is follow this with the letters and statements which I have written over these last two years, to the councillors and to our local paper. They are much more succinct than this and hopefully tell the tale better or at lest show the feelings better, and, mercifully, more briefly.
For nearly two years, we, a small group of carers, families and supporters have been trying to do all we could to raise awareness of and halt, if at all possible, our CC's plans to end Council Day Service provision for adults with a learning disability (LD). It has been time-consuming and draining and, sadly, we have failed.
Our son's centre, or "My place", as he called it, will close in July. We have been through a long and gruelling process of assessment and, with the help of a lovely and very capable social worker, he has ended up with private day provision which will suit him and with which he seems happy. It is run by ex-staff from the centre and is attended by others who were his friends there. This is the only situation with which our son would be happy. He is acutely shy and would be completely withdrawn with strangers.
When full, the Centre provided for 125 service users and our son loved it. He went for over 23 years. It catered for the full range of disabilities and everyone found their own place within it. It enabled families to keep their relatives at home, rather than in residential care, because, at the centre, they had their own world, 5 days a week from 9 till 4, which allowed otherwise very stressed carers to cope during the rest of the time.
We now know that plans were made, probably beginning in the early years of the last decade to deliberately run the centre numbers down. Referrals were no longer made or information given to families whose children were leaving special education. If information was requested, Day Services were shown in a bad light, even described as 'institutionalising'! How terrible was that and the very opposite of the truth, to boot!
We had a state-of-the-art home for 18 adults with a LD who had no families. They were gradually moved out into private residential places and were no longer able to access day service for financial reasons. (The home has been demolished and an expensive private care home has been erected in its place - surprise, surprise!) This, to me, was the saddest part of all of all these manipulations.
The CC held a so-called consultation. By a series of minor miracles, we found a solicitor and barrister who were prepared to act for us. The consultation result was massively in our favour. It was overthrown by the Council anyway, so no surprise there. Our case went to a high court judge last September who, on seeing the Council's promises, which included a second consultation (ha ha), decided not to proceed with it. The second travesty of a consultation was held over Christmas, most people were too disillusioned to respond to it, and,of those that did, nearly all voted against closure. It was overturned again, an absolute sham, as we had always suspected.
There were only about 20 people using the place by then as the atmosphere had deteriorated drastically, and understandably, as the staff, who have been marvellous throughout, were naturally demoralised beyond belief, seeing their livelihoods disappearing and the people they had cared for so brilliantly and lovingly, cast adrift. Also, it suited the authorities to run down the quality of provision to give families more reasons to find other opportunities as their loved ones, in some cases, became very depressed, seeing their friends leave and others become increasingly distressed as numbers and activities decreased.
We know that this situation has been replicated up and down the country and not just for the learning disabled. So many genuinely needy people have seen their life-lines taken away and, no matter what glib excuses are churned out, we know the cause is financial. There are many deep and complex reasons for this and it's not my intention to even try to come up with any answers. I just wanted to tell the story. I know it's way too long and don't expect many people will read it but it's out there now.
What I would like to do is follow this with the letters and statements which I have written over these last two years, to the councillors and to our local paper. They are much more succinct than this and hopefully tell the tale better or at lest show the feelings better, and, mercifully, more briefly.
Friday, 17 July 2015
About not judging a book by its cover or an apple by its colour - and on interviewees
I love sayings in general, such as "Don't judge a book by its cover", ie, don't judge by appearances; but even as I write this, I become aware that we often do and in certain circumstances, it can be an appropriate response. (This only goes to show that for every so-called 'rule', there's probably always a case for the opposite to be true!)
The trigger for this post was my morning apple. It looked a bit greenish and not very appetising to tell the truth but apple after porridge is the order of the day (or should I say breakfast) so it was consumed - and turned out to be delicious. Now, how often has the reverse been true! I've eaten many a beautifully red and luscious-looking specimen, only to be sorely disappointed. The proof of the apple, as of the pudding, is definitely in the eating. (Now there's a really good saying!)
As to interviewees, well I've known situations when the good interviewee is definitely not the man - or woman - for the job. Some people can 'talk a good job', as they say, but cannot come up with the goods; whereas others cannot seem to do themselves justice in the interview situation.
I once worked with someone who was an excellent deputy head but wasn't offered the headship when it became vacant, even though the school knew his abilities. Shortly afterwards, he was appointed as head of another local school where he was the second choice when the first choice withdrew. That school was not achieving brilliantly at the time. He totally turned it round and, in reputation and results, it eventually superseded his original school, which began to lose its former high status, I'd say.
Oh dear for them, and how very gratifying for him, I always thought. (How very naughty of me, I know.) They had a good apple in their hands but let him go. Here we are then back at books and covers - and apples - would you believe; sometimes dull beats flashy and greenish beats red, eh.
The trigger for this post was my morning apple. It looked a bit greenish and not very appetising to tell the truth but apple after porridge is the order of the day (or should I say breakfast) so it was consumed - and turned out to be delicious. Now, how often has the reverse been true! I've eaten many a beautifully red and luscious-looking specimen, only to be sorely disappointed. The proof of the apple, as of the pudding, is definitely in the eating. (Now there's a really good saying!)
As to interviewees, well I've known situations when the good interviewee is definitely not the man - or woman - for the job. Some people can 'talk a good job', as they say, but cannot come up with the goods; whereas others cannot seem to do themselves justice in the interview situation.
I once worked with someone who was an excellent deputy head but wasn't offered the headship when it became vacant, even though the school knew his abilities. Shortly afterwards, he was appointed as head of another local school where he was the second choice when the first choice withdrew. That school was not achieving brilliantly at the time. He totally turned it round and, in reputation and results, it eventually superseded his original school, which began to lose its former high status, I'd say.
Oh dear for them, and how very gratifying for him, I always thought. (How very naughty of me, I know.) They had a good apple in their hands but let him go. Here we are then back at books and covers - and apples - would you believe; sometimes dull beats flashy and greenish beats red, eh.
Tuesday, 14 July 2015
About 'funny ways' and 'wabi-sabi'
Could it be true that most of us are awkward and/or difficult in one way or another?
When I first moved to the area in which I have lived most of my adult life, I was much taken with a local saying; "We've all got 'us funny ways". This was good for me because I've always been over-conscious of, and embarrassed by, my funny ways. (Yes, I do admit I have a few!! Husband, of course has NO funny ways, although he will accept that he's not perfect, for which admission, I suppose I must be grateful!)
If only we could learn to accept our own imperfections - funny ways, if you like - and those of everyone around us and train ourselves to see our own and others' gifts and strengths, surely life would be so much easier - and happier. I've written a few posts about this topic so I suppose it must be dear to my heart. Maybe I'll never achieve that goal but I can hope that it helps to keep it in mind every now and again.
PS
In recent times, I've heard and read a little about a Japanese concept called wabi-sabi so I decided to look it up on google.
In Wikipedia, it is described as a Japanese world view, centred on the acceptance of 'transience, impermanence and imperfection'. It is an aesthetic of 'beauty that is imperfect, impermanent and incomplete'.
Briefly, 'wabi' is to be satisfied with a little ....... (of anything) and 'sabi', 'the bloom of youth'. Wabi people are 'free in their hearts' and their ability to 'make-do with less' is revered.
These are just a few of the snippets I read. There is so much to chose from, some of it couched in lyrically poetic language. It really is a highly interesting and beautiful set of ideas to me and I'd recommend it to anyone else who might be interested.
When I first moved to the area in which I have lived most of my adult life, I was much taken with a local saying; "We've all got 'us funny ways". This was good for me because I've always been over-conscious of, and embarrassed by, my funny ways. (Yes, I do admit I have a few!! Husband, of course has NO funny ways, although he will accept that he's not perfect, for which admission, I suppose I must be grateful!)
If only we could learn to accept our own imperfections - funny ways, if you like - and those of everyone around us and train ourselves to see our own and others' gifts and strengths, surely life would be so much easier - and happier. I've written a few posts about this topic so I suppose it must be dear to my heart. Maybe I'll never achieve that goal but I can hope that it helps to keep it in mind every now and again.
PS
In recent times, I've heard and read a little about a Japanese concept called wabi-sabi so I decided to look it up on google.
In Wikipedia, it is described as a Japanese world view, centred on the acceptance of 'transience, impermanence and imperfection'. It is an aesthetic of 'beauty that is imperfect, impermanent and incomplete'.
Briefly, 'wabi' is to be satisfied with a little ....... (of anything) and 'sabi', 'the bloom of youth'. Wabi people are 'free in their hearts' and their ability to 'make-do with less' is revered.
These are just a few of the snippets I read. There is so much to chose from, some of it couched in lyrically poetic language. It really is a highly interesting and beautiful set of ideas to me and I'd recommend it to anyone else who might be interested.
Friday, 10 July 2015
Some more thoughts
My thoughts are like birds,
Flittering and twittering
Around the branches of my mind.
Sometimes it seems to me that we are all
The 'walking wounded' in the field-hospital of life.
Flittering and twittering
Around the branches of my mind.
Sometimes it seems to me that we are all
The 'walking wounded' in the field-hospital of life.
Wednesday, 29 April 2015
Some more thoughts from my notebooks
For me, truth is the key in the lock of life.
Do we all need an editor? (I know I do.)
The salient point;
The point on which all things turn.
Mankind? Man-unkind!
Do we all need an editor? (I know I do.)
The salient point;
The point on which all things turn.
Mankind? Man-unkind!
Sunday, 12 April 2015
'On His Blindness' by John MIlton
This is my second favourite poem in all the world.
Like 'Everyone Sang', it was from our school syllabus and I have always loved it.
On His Blindness
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait"
What is it about these words that makes them so moving? How can we even begin to comprehend this great poet's burning desire to create, to fulfil his talent, despite his failing sight and his anguish at the prospect of such a terrible loss? To need someone as his scribe, to amend and retouch by having to listen to someone else read his work to him over and over again must have been desperately hard for him to bear.
His thoughts, as expressed in the middle section, from the words "to serve therewith my maker" to "exact day labour", do not reflect my own picture of God, I must say. Much as I feel this desire to write my own bits and pieces and much as I believe in God, the God I believe in is neither a chiding nor an exacting God; absolutely the reverse in fact.
I'm not even sure about "who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best." I cannot visualise God as placing yokes upon us but see our trials and difficulties as coming from the vagaries of our individual circumstances and choices and many other complex and probably unknowable aspects of our lives.
My belief is that by just living our lives and doing our best as often as we can, we achieve what really matters, both for ourselves but, even more so, for God, our all- and ever-loving parent.
The last line, of course, says everything; what an unbelievable consolation for us all but, let us hope, most especially for Milton.
Like 'Everyone Sang', it was from our school syllabus and I have always loved it.
On His Blindness
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait"
What is it about these words that makes them so moving? How can we even begin to comprehend this great poet's burning desire to create, to fulfil his talent, despite his failing sight and his anguish at the prospect of such a terrible loss? To need someone as his scribe, to amend and retouch by having to listen to someone else read his work to him over and over again must have been desperately hard for him to bear.
His thoughts, as expressed in the middle section, from the words "to serve therewith my maker" to "exact day labour", do not reflect my own picture of God, I must say. Much as I feel this desire to write my own bits and pieces and much as I believe in God, the God I believe in is neither a chiding nor an exacting God; absolutely the reverse in fact.
I'm not even sure about "who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best." I cannot visualise God as placing yokes upon us but see our trials and difficulties as coming from the vagaries of our individual circumstances and choices and many other complex and probably unknowable aspects of our lives.
My belief is that by just living our lives and doing our best as often as we can, we achieve what really matters, both for ourselves but, even more so, for God, our all- and ever-loving parent.
The last line, of course, says everything; what an unbelievable consolation for us all but, let us hope, most especially for Milton.
Tuesday, 24 March 2015
About anchors - anchoring and being anchored
Wife to husband to wife
I am your anchor and you are mine.
I am your anchor and you are mine.
Wednesday, 18 February 2015
Why create? Beethoven's dedication on his Missa Solemnis
Many years ago, I heard someone quote these words on the radio. I have never forgotten them.
Vom Herzen,
möge es wieder, zu Herzen gehen.
This reads, literally:
From the heart,
might it again, to the heart go.
My reading of it is this:
This comes from my heart.
Would that it might, in your heart, find a home.
Where does the desire to write, sculpt, paint, compose come from? Who knows!
All we can say, if we have that desire, is that it is there and longs to be fulfilled.
Our lives may be crazy, mixed up, certainly far from perfect in all sorts of ways, as was Beethoven's, but this does not seem to prevent us from wanting and being able, to some extent at least, to bring some small or large, or in his case, achingly beautiful, powerful and moving work of art into being.
I can think of no words that, for me, could possibly come closer to the heart of artistic creation than those of Beethoven's. He encapsulates, in eight short words, all that I could ever hope for; that is that words which have come from my heart could find their way into another's.
Vom Herzen,
möge es wieder, zu Herzen gehen.
This reads, literally:
From the heart,
might it again, to the heart go.
My reading of it is this:
This comes from my heart.
Would that it might, in your heart, find a home.
Where does the desire to write, sculpt, paint, compose come from? Who knows!
All we can say, if we have that desire, is that it is there and longs to be fulfilled.
Our lives may be crazy, mixed up, certainly far from perfect in all sorts of ways, as was Beethoven's, but this does not seem to prevent us from wanting and being able, to some extent at least, to bring some small or large, or in his case, achingly beautiful, powerful and moving work of art into being.
I can think of no words that, for me, could possibly come closer to the heart of artistic creation than those of Beethoven's. He encapsulates, in eight short words, all that I could ever hope for; that is that words which have come from my heart could find their way into another's.
Thursday, 12 February 2015
About why 'no comments'
This may not really require an answer but I feel I'd like to try and explain.
It seems that many people expect a blog to be a two-way communication but, for me, as I said at the outset, I always intended my jottings to be messages in a bottle, to be sent out to who knows whom.
I imagine that people who like to look at blog-posts, make a decision to read or not to read, based on a title and maybe a sentence or two. The hope is that someone who is attracted to follow a particular blog is in tune with the sort of things that the author likes to commit to the e-waves.
So why no comments then; two simple words may explain; they are EGO and FEAR. Ego is somewhat of a failing in my background and I know I've been tarnished with its brush. (I'm fairly good at hiding it because I know it's a most unattractive quality but I know it's there!)
If I received complimentary comments, I know they could so easily go to my head and I could become even more carried away with myself than I am already. As to fear, uncomplimentary or even rude comments would upset me more than I can say and certainly more than they should, and possibly/probably cripple and stifle the truest voice that I strive to find and use.
So I hope that explains my choice. To anyone who has read anything I've written and has felt a sense of communication and understanding, I say, I couldn't be more pleased. It is, after all, why anyone wants to write, surely; to give and to be received.
It seems that many people expect a blog to be a two-way communication but, for me, as I said at the outset, I always intended my jottings to be messages in a bottle, to be sent out to who knows whom.
I imagine that people who like to look at blog-posts, make a decision to read or not to read, based on a title and maybe a sentence or two. The hope is that someone who is attracted to follow a particular blog is in tune with the sort of things that the author likes to commit to the e-waves.
So why no comments then; two simple words may explain; they are EGO and FEAR. Ego is somewhat of a failing in my background and I know I've been tarnished with its brush. (I'm fairly good at hiding it because I know it's a most unattractive quality but I know it's there!)
If I received complimentary comments, I know they could so easily go to my head and I could become even more carried away with myself than I am already. As to fear, uncomplimentary or even rude comments would upset me more than I can say and certainly more than they should, and possibly/probably cripple and stifle the truest voice that I strive to find and use.
So I hope that explains my choice. To anyone who has read anything I've written and has felt a sense of communication and understanding, I say, I couldn't be more pleased. It is, after all, why anyone wants to write, surely; to give and to be received.
Wednesday, 4 February 2015
Some thoughts which have come to me over the years
Life should be something which you build ;
not just something which you allow to happen to you.
Do you sometimes feel that you are
walking on the eggshells of life?
We are all figures
in the landscape
of each other's lives.
Greed is the spectre
at the feast of my life.
The world is full of flawed folk
(and I'm one of them).
About the copper beech tree - and a poem on trees in winter
I have always loved looking at the sky through the branches of trees.
Walking to school as children, we passed a beautiful copper beech tree, just around the corner from our street. I used to love the blue and white of the sky and clouds through the copper coloured branches and leaves of that tree especially.
I remember my dad explaining that these trees first appeared in the 1800s after a period of particularly strong sun activity. I don't know if that's true but I was fascinated by it, long before I'd heard of Charles Darwin and his theories of evolution. It seemed perfectly logical to me, especially as my dad had told me and I had great faith in him.
Many years ago, while looking through my then front window, across the green to the flats and the trees which lay beyond them, this poem began to form itself in my head as I gazed at them.
Trees in Winter
You, in your world of black, skeletal structure,
Etched in rare fragility,
Against the pale, winter-blue sunlit sky.
How you move on my horizon,
Beyond the angled outline of homes,
Their brick walls warm and clay colourful
By the sun's good grace.
Walking in these February days, I feel the same love for the trees, gauntly spread across the sky, and find that they mean as much to me today as they did all those years ago.
Walking to school as children, we passed a beautiful copper beech tree, just around the corner from our street. I used to love the blue and white of the sky and clouds through the copper coloured branches and leaves of that tree especially.
I remember my dad explaining that these trees first appeared in the 1800s after a period of particularly strong sun activity. I don't know if that's true but I was fascinated by it, long before I'd heard of Charles Darwin and his theories of evolution. It seemed perfectly logical to me, especially as my dad had told me and I had great faith in him.
Many years ago, while looking through my then front window, across the green to the flats and the trees which lay beyond them, this poem began to form itself in my head as I gazed at them.
Trees in Winter
You, in your world of black, skeletal structure,
Etched in rare fragility,
Against the pale, winter-blue sunlit sky.
How you move on my horizon,
Beyond the angled outline of homes,
Their brick walls warm and clay colourful
By the sun's good grace.
Walking in these February days, I feel the same love for the trees, gauntly spread across the sky, and find that they mean as much to me today as they did all those years ago.
Saturday, 31 January 2015
About actORs and actresses - and 'guys'
I have to confess to a irritation with, and dislike of, a trend of recent years to call actresses, as I've always known them, actORs (and yes, they really do seem to stress the 'TOR' bit!).
Why, I wonder, has this come about? It seems to be part of a trend to underplay the differences between, and complementarity of, male and female and yet, for me, these are part of the wonder of life itself.
Do actresses who wish to be called actors, not realise that they may actually be implying, albeit unwittingly, that the title 'actor' is of more value and worthy of more respect than that of 'actress'. Surely that is the opposite of the ideals of equality in difference that we should all affirm.
Whilst it is true that there are no equivalent feminine versions for words such as doctor, director and many others, where there are, surely these are part of our linguistic and cultural heritage and should be treasured and valued as such.
Could it be the same issue in those areas where girls/women seem to feel they have to emulate male behaviour in order to compete with, be the same as or even 'best' the boys/men? By its very nature, this attitude seems to undervalue the intrinsic worth of all people, be they male or female.
While on this tack, I should also say that I really don't like hearing the word 'guys' used to address women (or even men, for that matter) as is so often the case today, particularly in the media.
Of course I want to be recognised as a person in my own right first, but am proud to be a woman and happy to feel that my person-hood is, in some very intricate and mysterious way, filtered through the lens of my womanhood.
Sadly, I can see no obvious modern term which would be generally acceptable to most of us today. 'Ladies and gentlemen' is somewhat old-fashioned and staid maybe, as is 'folks' as a generalised term. Would that there were.
We know that there are still serious issues of inequality between men and women and even, sadly, injustice and ill-treatment of women by men, and maybe even, in some instances, vice versa, but generally, where this is not the case, can we not learn to value each other for what and whom we are.
It would be wonderful to live in a world where men and women do not feel that they have to compete with one another but one in which we can all learn to live in harmony with, and respect for all, in order to build up rather than try to cut each other down.
Personally, I love the concepts of femininity and masculinity and believe that to enhance these aspects of each man and woman could only help to make the world a better place.
Why, I wonder, has this come about? It seems to be part of a trend to underplay the differences between, and complementarity of, male and female and yet, for me, these are part of the wonder of life itself.
Do actresses who wish to be called actors, not realise that they may actually be implying, albeit unwittingly, that the title 'actor' is of more value and worthy of more respect than that of 'actress'. Surely that is the opposite of the ideals of equality in difference that we should all affirm.
Whilst it is true that there are no equivalent feminine versions for words such as doctor, director and many others, where there are, surely these are part of our linguistic and cultural heritage and should be treasured and valued as such.
Could it be the same issue in those areas where girls/women seem to feel they have to emulate male behaviour in order to compete with, be the same as or even 'best' the boys/men? By its very nature, this attitude seems to undervalue the intrinsic worth of all people, be they male or female.
While on this tack, I should also say that I really don't like hearing the word 'guys' used to address women (or even men, for that matter) as is so often the case today, particularly in the media.
Of course I want to be recognised as a person in my own right first, but am proud to be a woman and happy to feel that my person-hood is, in some very intricate and mysterious way, filtered through the lens of my womanhood.
Sadly, I can see no obvious modern term which would be generally acceptable to most of us today. 'Ladies and gentlemen' is somewhat old-fashioned and staid maybe, as is 'folks' as a generalised term. Would that there were.
We know that there are still serious issues of inequality between men and women and even, sadly, injustice and ill-treatment of women by men, and maybe even, in some instances, vice versa, but generally, where this is not the case, can we not learn to value each other for what and whom we are.
It would be wonderful to live in a world where men and women do not feel that they have to compete with one another but one in which we can all learn to live in harmony with, and respect for all, in order to build up rather than try to cut each other down.
Personally, I love the concepts of femininity and masculinity and believe that to enhance these aspects of each man and woman could only help to make the world a better place.
Thursday, 15 January 2015
About fairy tales / The Princess and the Pea
This is a really strange little story which has always intrigued me; why, I'm not quite sure.
STORY
Late one night, in the middle of a bad storm, a young lady knocked at a castle door and asked for shelter.
She said she was a princess.
She was given a very soft bed for the night which had seven mattresses piled up upon each other.
In the morning she complained that she had had no sleep and was black and blue with bruises from the very uncomfortable bed.
The bed was examined and was found to have a pea underneath the bottom mattress. It was decided that the pea was the cause of all the trouble.
This was supposed to show that she was a true princess and she married the prince (there's always a handy one of those in a castle, isn't there) and they lived happily ever after.
MEANING
Only a true princess would have been so sensitive to a small pea under so many soft layers.
Although she sounds like a complete pain in the neck and could well turn into a shrew of a wife, let alone a Queen, in truth, genuine sensitivity is one of the most attractive aspects of a person. No-one really likes an insensitive person, as long as we're talking about sensitivity to others and the world in general and not just sensitivity to ones own wants and desires. The latter would indicate a spoilt brat, to be avoided at all costs.
DEEPER MEANING
A bad conscience is a stone in the shoe of our lives.
Have you ever noticed how you cannot walk even a short distance with the smallest stone in your shoe. You balance (precariously, in my case) on one leg, feeling very foolish and wondering who's watching you, remove and shake your shoe upside down only to see the smallest stone fall out and you think, I can't believe that little thing was causing me so much pain!
So it can, and maybe should, with conscience.
Whatever the awkwardness and embarrassment involved, it is ALWAYS worth removing that stone and shaking it out of our lives.
STORY
Late one night, in the middle of a bad storm, a young lady knocked at a castle door and asked for shelter.
She said she was a princess.
She was given a very soft bed for the night which had seven mattresses piled up upon each other.
In the morning she complained that she had had no sleep and was black and blue with bruises from the very uncomfortable bed.
The bed was examined and was found to have a pea underneath the bottom mattress. It was decided that the pea was the cause of all the trouble.
This was supposed to show that she was a true princess and she married the prince (there's always a handy one of those in a castle, isn't there) and they lived happily ever after.
MEANING
Only a true princess would have been so sensitive to a small pea under so many soft layers.
Although she sounds like a complete pain in the neck and could well turn into a shrew of a wife, let alone a Queen, in truth, genuine sensitivity is one of the most attractive aspects of a person. No-one really likes an insensitive person, as long as we're talking about sensitivity to others and the world in general and not just sensitivity to ones own wants and desires. The latter would indicate a spoilt brat, to be avoided at all costs.
DEEPER MEANING
A bad conscience is a stone in the shoe of our lives.
Have you ever noticed how you cannot walk even a short distance with the smallest stone in your shoe. You balance (precariously, in my case) on one leg, feeling very foolish and wondering who's watching you, remove and shake your shoe upside down only to see the smallest stone fall out and you think, I can't believe that little thing was causing me so much pain!
So it can, and maybe should, with conscience.
Whatever the awkwardness and embarrassment involved, it is ALWAYS worth removing that stone and shaking it out of our lives.
Sunday, 11 January 2015
About fairy tales / The Princess and the Salt
I have had a lifelong interest in fairy tales, why, I'm not quite sure. It's the meanings hidden within them, I think, that fascinate me. It's a theme I'd like to think of as a strand I could write about often but as I have only one piece of paper left and this is the first item on it, here goes.
What follows is an outline of a story which I remember from primary school but have never been able to trace. I love it.
THE THREE PRINCESSES
There were three princesses named Anina, Belina and Carina. (My names)
Their father, the King, wanted to find out how much they loved him. (Is this sounding familiar?)
The first two made up extravagant answers. (They really weren't very nice characters at all.)
The third daughter said that she loved him as much as the salt in her food. (In fact, she was the only nice one of the three.)
The King was furious with her and she was banished.
The elder daughters were pretty horrible to the King, showing their true colours.
The youngest heard about this and came back to the palace and managed to find a job in the kitchen.
And yes (you've guessed it) she cooked him a meal without salt. When it was brought to him, he raged about it and sent for the cook.
His daughter revealed herself to him and explained what she'd done and he understood what she'd meant all along.
The two baddies were banished and the King and his only truly loving daughter lived happily ever after.
..................................................................................................................................
(A student of the history of literature could probably tell me that there's a common source of world stories which have inspired our greatest writers through the ages. Son no.2 once found a similar tale to this from an Italian source.)
..................................................................................................................................
The meaning for me in this is as follows:
King-foolish-vain.
Older sisters-flattering-avaricious-uncaring-false.
Youngest-won't lie-knows true values.
Salt in food-preserves-gives taste-flavour-savour-is earthy-can purify-protect-heal.
What can it say to us?
Be truthful-don't listen to flattery-know true values-stay grounded-value purity.
Husband has just added "Be the salt of the earth." Oooh! Impressive, what!! And this even pre-dates Shakespeare.
What follows is an outline of a story which I remember from primary school but have never been able to trace. I love it.
THE THREE PRINCESSES
There were three princesses named Anina, Belina and Carina. (My names)
Their father, the King, wanted to find out how much they loved him. (Is this sounding familiar?)
The first two made up extravagant answers. (They really weren't very nice characters at all.)
The third daughter said that she loved him as much as the salt in her food. (In fact, she was the only nice one of the three.)
The King was furious with her and she was banished.
The elder daughters were pretty horrible to the King, showing their true colours.
The youngest heard about this and came back to the palace and managed to find a job in the kitchen.
And yes (you've guessed it) she cooked him a meal without salt. When it was brought to him, he raged about it and sent for the cook.
His daughter revealed herself to him and explained what she'd done and he understood what she'd meant all along.
The two baddies were banished and the King and his only truly loving daughter lived happily ever after.
..................................................................................................................................
(A student of the history of literature could probably tell me that there's a common source of world stories which have inspired our greatest writers through the ages. Son no.2 once found a similar tale to this from an Italian source.)
..................................................................................................................................
The meaning for me in this is as follows:
King-foolish-vain.
Older sisters-flattering-avaricious-uncaring-false.
Youngest-won't lie-knows true values.
Salt in food-preserves-gives taste-flavour-savour-is earthy-can purify-protect-heal.
What can it say to us?
Be truthful-don't listen to flattery-know true values-stay grounded-value purity.
Husband has just added "Be the salt of the earth." Oooh! Impressive, what!! And this even pre-dates Shakespeare.
About how much we know (or think we know)
The more I know, the more I know I don't know.
The less I knew, the more I thought I did know.
Have you ever noticed that some people are inclined to consider themselves experts on one particular subject or another with which, really, we'd say they have had very little experience.
When I was expecting my first baby, a lady I knew, who'd had one son, was very happy to give me all sorts of advice and, even worse, to frequently recount the rather grim experience she'd had of her one and only labour (which was why, I strongly suspect, this remained the case).
I have to say it made very little impression on me and I went into that procedure quite blithely, expecting it to be a bit of a doddle because I'd read the books and been to the classes and really thought I knew the score.
Needless to say, it didn't quite pan out as expected but I survived and even went on to have more children but never considered myself to be an expert in the matter of childbirth and was very loathe to give much advice to anyone unless asked. Those friends of mine with more than one child have mostly seemed to feel the same as I do.
Despite bringing up a family and surviving life thus far, there aren't many things on which I feel qualified to pronounce with authority; hence my opening mantra. (This isn't the case with opinions, you understand. I'm up there with the best of them in being more than happy to share those, as anyone who knows me will confirm; more's the pity, they'll probably add with a grimace!)
When you think that someone of the stature of Isaac Newton, I think it was, could write, "If I have seen further than most men, it is because I have stood on the shoulders of giants.", it behoves most of us to view our own knowledge as partial and limited.
The older I become, the more I cringe about some of the attitudes I spouted forth upon in my youth. I can only hope that my friends have as poor a memory as I have. If so, it may explain why they don't seem to hold it against me too much. (Maybe we could learn to see that as one of the blessings of getting older!)
The less I knew, the more I thought I did know.
Have you ever noticed that some people are inclined to consider themselves experts on one particular subject or another with which, really, we'd say they have had very little experience.
When I was expecting my first baby, a lady I knew, who'd had one son, was very happy to give me all sorts of advice and, even worse, to frequently recount the rather grim experience she'd had of her one and only labour (which was why, I strongly suspect, this remained the case).
I have to say it made very little impression on me and I went into that procedure quite blithely, expecting it to be a bit of a doddle because I'd read the books and been to the classes and really thought I knew the score.
Needless to say, it didn't quite pan out as expected but I survived and even went on to have more children but never considered myself to be an expert in the matter of childbirth and was very loathe to give much advice to anyone unless asked. Those friends of mine with more than one child have mostly seemed to feel the same as I do.
Despite bringing up a family and surviving life thus far, there aren't many things on which I feel qualified to pronounce with authority; hence my opening mantra. (This isn't the case with opinions, you understand. I'm up there with the best of them in being more than happy to share those, as anyone who knows me will confirm; more's the pity, they'll probably add with a grimace!)
When you think that someone of the stature of Isaac Newton, I think it was, could write, "If I have seen further than most men, it is because I have stood on the shoulders of giants.", it behoves most of us to view our own knowledge as partial and limited.
The older I become, the more I cringe about some of the attitudes I spouted forth upon in my youth. I can only hope that my friends have as poor a memory as I have. If so, it may explain why they don't seem to hold it against me too much. (Maybe we could learn to see that as one of the blessings of getting older!)
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