Tag: life

Written on my phone

The Norfolk post

Everything that I have written for the last two years has been written on my phone including another blog which I have on blogger. That is not about poetry or literature

I would not have believed it possible to do this on a phone and it’s just a Motorola cheapy.

I have learned a lot from that but I’m hoping to be able to use a computer again soon. I would have been very surprised it was possible to do it.

And thank you so much to my regular readers whose efforts have kept me going and catch me writing through this time.

So in my house technology has been a wonderful help

Walking on forever,so we think

Everyday we walk upon our path

Where did it start, who told us to do this

Thinking life’s forever, blind to death.

We must keep moving whilst we have our breath.

Somewhere on the way we learn to kiss

Everyday we walk on the same path

We all travel to the same address.

Imagined heaven, who can can bear the bliss?

Thinking life’s forever,blind to death

Who made demons, full of ancient wrath?

We know the target, we never think we’ll miss.

Everyday we walk on the same path

Forgetting that in Eden snakes did hiss

The wanderers of the world cannot desist.

All we do not want, we must resist

Everyday we follow our own paths

We think this life’s forever blind to death

Down the other side of the mountain

From the high peak of the middle years

We walk downwards slowly but it’s clear.

We lose our parents siblings other kin

Who will now agree we are born to win?

Our bodies stiffen while we’re yet alive

Who will die,atone,does God decide?

From the man he takes the caring wife

The heart itself will harden in the strife

Last Man standing is a bag of bones

In his grave the king decays alone.

Where ‘er you walk….cool gales shall fan the glades

Even sauntering through a concrete junglecan be like meditation.Being present to the people you meet like the checkout person,the waitress in the coffee shop,letting your dreaming mind wander over the faces of the people walking by and dogs walking on a leash with a mother and baby,the plants,the cleaners.. so many faces..being present is possible and better than ruminating over past troubles.

Drink your coffee outside,gaze and fall into a trance…it’s spring now and we can smell the soil changing with the sun and almost sense the bulbs pushing through into the small enchanted world of a planter in a busy mall in a town centre.

Of course I find it hard to be like that if I am rushing to achieve some goal.We need to be somewhat like clouds floating through the sky on the wind..without effort.I keep telling myself

If I can walk through a puddle or two and remember other watery joys;see reflections in the water and admire the poor trees ,in solitary planters. yet growing there even in such a place then a town centre can be a place to wander as the mind digests recent happenings and ponders on the mystery of existence[Don’t talk on your mobile as you walk if possible as that will ruin your walk and annoy the real people you pass]…I .take a look at them in all their assortment.. wish I coculd photograph them.

This is what I do… you may have a different way of being in such places…roaming and wandering are not so easy for city dwellers

but we can find a way…imagine we are on a sea shore or in a wood…

Everyone Fails. Here’s How to Pick Yourself Back Up. – Guides – The New York Times

https://www.nytimes.com/guides/working-womans-handbook/how-to-overcome-failure

it turns out, learning to fail is a skill like any other. Which means it takes practice. Here’s how you can approach a setback so that — to paraphrase Cardi B — when you’re knocked down nine times, you can get up 10.

The Working Woman’s HandbookThe workplace still isn’t equal. Here’s how to dodge landmines, fight bias and not burn

Stormy heart


When the windows shattered
And the splinters flew in
He just made for the back door
And left me
not knowing where to begin.
When the shards of glass hit me
And pierced my vulnerable skin
He was already going
Leaving me
feeling he was an inhuman being.
When I fell down covered in glass and bleeding,
And the storm raged on,
I didn’t look round because
I knew,I knew,I knew,
I knew he would be gone.
Suddenly peace came, the storm had quite
disappeared..
It was all over so quickly
Not as murderous as I feared.
My wounds were bad,I have to confess.
I had no bandage
Nothing with which to dress.
With an old towel I cleaned my blood
Then I lay me down to pray.
Since that day,no storms come this way.
My wounds are healing
I have just one thing to say.
When the storm was so bad
He left me all alone…
but strangely since then
all is peace and calm.
His absence has become
almost a balm.
But I hear stories of fierce storms rising up
In towns and villages
Not too far from here, where a wandering man appears.
Seems like he’s running to get away
From some storm
But he takes it with him
He gives it form.
So when the windows crashed in
glass flew at my face
he left me all alone
In what he thought
was a very dangerous place.
Did he not pick me up
and carry me outside?
No,my daughter,he left me alone;.
But since then
I lost a great burden…
And I lost a great feeling of shame.
Rise up,you women,bleeding and torn.
For on days like this,a new resolve is born.
While you live don’t accept all the blame.
Don’t live so long as I did,in fear and in shame.
Rise up and find that calm
In the eye of the storm…
On days like this
a new woman is born

On forgetting we are using metaphors and other fascinating thoughts

  • The most obvious confusion between metaphor and reality is when society labels emotional/interpersonal problems/divergence from norms of society as mental illnesses.In the USA childdhood disobedience is now a mental illness and there are many similar crazy  notions.Homosexuality was labelled as a mental illness for years but no longer.
    Now if you are suffering terrible anguish in various forms it may help to be told it is an illness… or it may make you worse.I am sure that often excess fatigue,personal characteristics like overworking constantly,not eating well,being distressed by the state of the world are very common but there are no blood tests nor any other tests to identify such as being illnesses.Though often physical illnesses casuse mental distress and depression either directly or because of shame and anxiety and other reactions to being ill for a long time.
    The writer Thomas Szasz identified this confusion many years ago.If you disagree and say how can medication help unless a person is ill then I’d say that the placebo effect is one reason and another is that if someone is exhausted and needs to rest then medication maybe helpful to give them a little peace.
    Gerard Manley Hopkins,A Jesuit priest and a poet seemed to be given a job in an Irish University which was exhausting and debilitating but owing to his vow of obedience to his superiors in the Jesuit Order he could not change his life except by dying… so he thought.
    The poet Gwyneth Lewis who has been the National Poet for wales wrote a book[Sunbathing in the rain] about her severe bout of depression.In the book she seems to be claiming that there were personal mistakes and decisions in her lifestyle and job which led her into depression.She saw it as necessary for change.However she did use medication in spite of feeling it was a spiritual turning poimt which she needed to get back onto her true path or vocation in life.
    Her mother had been depressed frequently when she was a child and so she would have learned by this as a way of problem solving.
    Also despite her immense intelligence she had failed to realise that abandoning her strong hopes to have a child [given the age of her husband and the need to earn a living] was going to cause her huge distress.In fact marrying someone who has been sterilised seems unusual for w young woman who wants children.But it is sometimes reversible and maybe she didn’t think so far ahead.
    This blindness to our own feelings seems to lead many of us astray.
    We sometimes get clues to our hidden feelings in dreams or we could find someone to talk to when going through a major life decision.
    Some people don’t know that grief and mourning exist and are stunned when they feel sad and often their families criticise them for “not coping well” Coping here seems to mean remaining happy and calm all the time;this is a selfish demand on a bereaved person or anyone really.
    I also noticed over the years that many famous people suffered from depression but when you examine their lives they seem to demand too much from themselves and be afraid to ask for help
    .Poor Sylvia Plath wanted to be famous which she is now but alas she is dead. It’s hard to know why she felt the need to work so hard except her upbringing was one where acadenic excellence was valued and why she married someone with no obvious way of providing support either financial or emotional… when it got tough he ran off… but who knows why? The point that interests me is that she was compulsively driven to achieve… and she did so much in her short life… but was it worth it?
    We all need to examine our life to see if we are acting stupidly.
    But when worn out mentally it seems thinking is a mistake whereas simple manual work is beneficial as is being outdoors or being with kind undemanding friends…. and if a person has few friends coping with emotional trauma is much harder.This affects people who move to another state or country.And older people moving house even can bring on mental confusion.
    And if we are people who find friendship and intimacy hard then it’s likely that we will suffer more from any problem we run into.
    Finally,is the idea of a vocation for each of us of value?We each have unique gifts plus a need to earn a living.It depends on many factors outside our control whether we can find a job that combines these.Many poets and writers work in menial jobs to earn a living and then they write at night.[Teaching seems to sap creative energy.]
    Other people don’t feel they have a calling but train for something they feel will earn a living in a way that suits them.Electricians and plumbers are in great demand…
    And apart from finding our own true needs we need to contribute to society in some way.And to have a feeling of enjoying being alive which is perhaps denied those millions in Asia who make our clothes,i phones and other goods.

My mind unfocussed

How like a dream this world appears to me
My mind unfocussed spreads itself about..
No details, just an outline I can see.
And vagueness dimly fills me up with doubt.

The early sun made joy rise in my heart
As I looked out upon the gardens gold.
Of nature and each season we’re a part.
As with patience we let all our self unfold.

We are as nothing in the vast space of this sky
Where stars send light from deeps of long ago.
And yet despite my nightmares I shall try
As fears make fences if we don’t say No.

We have to make our dreams a home on earth;
from where creative thoughts are given birth

The dark blue skirt has flown and I am all alone

The skirt that I wore,that I wore,that I wore

The dark blue skirt that I ,I I wore,wore wore.

I wore no hat

The skirt that I wore to your, your, your  funeral service

Your funeral,the skirt I wore…that day,that live long day..

The skirt that I wore has vanished away

Since the old man decided  he’d die.

It hung very well,very well indeed

It hung very well,shall we say?

It hung very well  and draped elegant I pray

When the coffin came inside,came inside ,inside…

An now it has gone,like a flag  torn from its pole

It’s gone to its home high above

Across the blue sky,it  seemed to want to fly

On that very hot day, on that day, I say.I say!

When we sent you,my dear,far away,far away

It’s not a surprise   that  the skirt has flown so gay.

For such was its nature and way,oh,its way ois own way

The colour was so stunning

Black yet blue,becoming…

It turned the heads of the men,oh the men

So instead of saying,Sorry!

They said,May we meet tomorrow?

And this to my widow’s weeds,Indeed.indeed,indeed.

.Oh,leave me alone, like a toad under a stone

I’ll never love a man again,again,again,again

I have given away my heart

And  the deep hole is full of hurt

It pains me to think he has gone.

Has he gone?

No,don’t go.

Has he gone?

No,oh no ,John

I saw him in his chair

But my hands passed through like air

And empty was my  fond embrace..

Yet smiling was his face as he saw me dressed in lace

A wedding he wanted it to be,in my dreams,

my dreams and schemes

But it was but a sad  yet well right end

To the time  here on earth that he did spend

Spend,spend,spend

A working and a  loving for a while.

So if you see me smile,I do not you beguile

I  am dreaming  about what  gives me joy  yet truly hurts

That divine dark blue skirt and  my jacket of jet black

Have gone in search  of him,yet again,again

So high in the sky, with the square root of minus pi

For ever they will fly,they will fly, oh fly!

A sign of  heavenly love

Yet  heaven was not above

But down here  with my dove.

A weeping I’ll ever be,

For I shall never feel or see

his tender touch on me

A weeping and a wailing for a year.

His foot on the stair, his benevolent ,wide eyed stare

Oh,love,oh love,my dear.

Oh love where have you gone?

You were a  kindly one

For ever I’ll be rent

My skirt tore into two

After your big do

So out of the window it flew,oh how  it flew

And  now I’ll never see

My skirt and mon ami.

In desolate devotions I shall be.

Adieu,mon petit.

You were such a darling treat.

Till  we meet again

Tot ziens

Later, my dear  one

I too shall be gone but will  we meet again?

The killer instinct

Mass lightning bolts light up night skies by the Daggett airport from monsoon storms passing over the high deserts early Wednesday, north of Barstow, California July 1, 2015. Picture taken using long exposure. REUTERS/Gene Blevins - RTX1ILBY
Mass lightning bolts light up night skies by the Daggett airport from monsoon storms passing over the high deserts early Wednesday, north of Barstow, California July 1, 2015. Picture taken using long exposure. REUTERS/Gene Blevins – RTX1ILBY

Sometimes we get struck by lightning and sometimes we are attacked by a human being.But beware.I have a good friend, a woman,who looks quite slight.A man attempted to assault her some years back.What did  she do?She nearly strangled him… and he begged for mercy.Sp beware of slight frail women.. with adrenalin high they might kill you should you attack them.It’s a natural phenomenon,like  a storm

Willingness to live our given lives

I wrote this poem a few months ago but although it has attracted many readers I’ve never been quite contented with it so I have tried to change the parts that seemed not quite right to me.

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The pathways to the heart are learned by love

And those who  find this knowledge never lose.

Though virtue and her graces help us from above

All  we  see are hills and rocky views.

With willingness to cross the  seas of mud,

To drag ourselves  through  tangled briar-filled woods.

Our soul  shows us the  truth and  what is good,

For trees that looked quite dead are now in bud.

With flowers kissing feet and gnarled toes

Encouragement is  finally received

And as we smell the fragrance of the rose,

We know  our gladdened  hearts were not deceived.

For Virgil, fortune favours those with steadfast feet.

The journey may be long,the end is sweet.

Note:The saying “Fortune favours the brave” is attributed to several people..Virgil,Pascal,Montaigne are ones I have found

I cannot find your face

When you are far,
so
far
away,
The longest night,
The shortest winter day,
will be places where
I
might die.
The heart’s interior
no-one else
Can view.
When you are lost,
I cannot find
your face…
Its outline on the pillows,
My fingers shaped to trace…
The new design,
the stellar rhyme,
Where have you gone?
You slipped from out my arms.
You slipped away.
Was night or day
Ever cut by such a narrow line?
In your embrace I lay.
You seemed so strong.
Yet,sighing, took the path away.
I can’t see where
Is
it
night?
Or is it
day..?
I tried to write
to bring white light,
It’s dark, and still.
I long for you to come.
Oh,will we ever quite
Find out our way?
Or is that pure illusion?
As we stagger through
the wandering furrows
in the fields
They shoot us down.
What is this confusion?
The war goes on
The world goes round
The mirror gapes at each new clown.
But in a crack, a seed may grow..
I can’t see you,
But yet,it’s so.
.

Having to collect mail with underpaid postage; it is from a Charity.

bike by pub 4

On Monday I got a card through the door saying someone had underpaid postage so their letter was not delivered.I  managed to get down to the sorting office today.It was from Friends of the Earth.So I refused to pay £1.54 to take it.

I just rang FoE and they said it was a letter asking me to increase my monthly donation.I decided to cancel my donation as it’s the only way to stop this recurring.I  am weeding out a few of these donations as I will probably have less money in the future or even this month!

I shall continue ones like Medecin sans Frontiers

Do not give money to an appeal asking you to text a certain number because when I did this they phoned and demanded a monthly amount.The man was extremely skilful.This is really a serious problem for people especially older ones.

I have also got cunning schemes from supposed insurance companies on my mobile now…

Sometimes there is a moment

swirlySometimes there’s a moment in life when you know something is utterly wrong, that your life as you have known it might become something other,something alien.This happened to me in late February 2014 when I took my husband to buy some shoes.

For it seemed he had given away all of his shoes but one pair.It might seem obvious to a practical dreamer like myself that in the winter a man needs two pairs of shoes,in case snow or rain attacks one pair.But  he knew better than I did what he really needed

He never explained.He was really a very quiet man but at the same time an extravert affectionate person.He didn’t share my need to help  or amuse others by explaining why I had done something.That .was one big difference between us.The bigger one was that he was a man and I am a woman,

The shoe shop was crowded but we had no plans to go anywhere else.Then I felt sick.He eventually found a pair he liked;he rejected my suggestion he should get two pairs which turned out to be a wise decision though I had no way of knowing it  on that day.I was like an animal that smells a new scent in the air and has no idea whether to run or to get closer

When we got home I knew:something is going to happen but to which of us?And when? And now I know a I sit here with the deep but almost invisible,indecipherable scar on my Viking  face looking at the mantel shelf where 60 or 70 letters and cards of condolence stand,I know that it was to  both of us but I am the one left behind; the one who arranged the music for the funeral;the one who answered  the  letters .And I am the one who saw death enter,a black shape moving like a dancer across the threshold behind the bold woman who took our lives and tore them apart.As if she were under orders.As if there were no choice.

Precious treasure

The brightness of this sweet spring light,
The songs of birds whose brood take flight.
I love to take these earthly pleasures,
To fill my mind with precious treasure.

The conversations with my friends,
The closeness only death will end,
To share my life with those who care,
How could we have better fare?

Those who suffer pain and grief,
From whom love’s stolen by a thief,
Let us take them to our hearts,
So their healing path can start.

Those who fear friendship and love,
Who set themselves at too low worth,
Do they know how courage grows
Through acceptance of our woes?

Life is tragi-comedy.
Love may be the remedy.
Yet if we give our hearts away
We shall have grief and pain to pay.

But if we lock our hearts up tight,
And keep all feeling out of sight,
We will wither like dead leaves,
Of our whole life we’ll be bereaved.

So choose your path with care and thought;
Never be by lies distraught.
Each human is as gold to me,
So with great love, I end my plea.

Bother me no more with reveried bliss

No sight is like the rising of sun

When promises of dreams seem clear and still

My heart though sore ,can fancy love has come

Without hard times and exercise of will.

No morning is without new dawn of hope

When all our conflicts may be put aside.

Imagination is far flung in scope,

Never noting dreams may fraughtly lie.

No love is like my long lost love for you

Once known,once felt,it settles in the heart.

Yet I do believe love can be found anew

But only when the lost true love departs.

So bother me no more with reveried bliss.

Go leave me with my life,though all’s amiss

In my end is my beginning

We were  both staring at what was hurting  our shared boundary.

What we had in common was a pasting of grammar and  some full stops from the  old church organ..

not much help to a pair of  old fools.

especially when it was just a mouth organ from a bizarre barre ballet shop in Covent Garden

We were speechless  like  a pair of  cowardly  sheep up a mountain  in  Wales

.Not a baaa baaa between us.

Up till then nothing  had come between us except rhymes or reams of  blotting paper

Well,there is a saying:neither rhyme nor reason  and we certainly had no reason….

I’m only teasing.

We were as irrational as the square root of two.i.e.rational in the wrong  sort of way.

Unexpected, like almost everything in this life, but full of seasoning.

Rationality was  initially based on proportion then subsequently on distortion

and later contortion into  the field of the imaginary

.Everything is imaginary … that’s oblivious to me, anyway.

And everything  is abstract too.

Except lions in the zoo and me and you.

Shall we call it a day now?

I  am happy with my sentence of a week in the wilderness.

Call that a sentence?

No arguing, as you may be persecuted and scolded at an auction sale.

And that is  only the end of it all.. we lost the beginning in the womb of time.

Well,may be you can remember In my end is my beginning

Mostly they work out of sight

coloured tree and sshadowI am unsure if I’m suffering from trauma.
Or from eating a dish of beef korma.
I felt shaky all day
As if I were prey,
But the doctor says,Who’d want to harm y’?

I am unsure if I was confused
By a man whose two eyebrows were fused.
He got it in one,
By the beard was undone.
I scratched his face,just to bemuse

I guess mother feared the Old Devil
And the drunken orgies at his revels.
She warned he had hooves
And about how he moves.
Though he can seem quite charming and civil.

But it’s real men who cause us dismay
As on us sweet women, many prey.
They may fast and pray too,
And cry,How do you do?
Run from “good” ones without more delay.

For saints do not boast of their might
And how they have reached to the most dizzy heights.
They are self forgetting and plain
Use no-one for their gain.
Mostly they work out of sight

My Xmas Round Robin

Hello Everyone

I thought we should join in this round robin idea this year

What a fantastic year it has been for me personally.I’ve averaged 100 viewers a day on my blog… in fact I  now have  three blogs counting the ones on “Living happily  with paranoia and the measles ” and “Eff  off i’m writing my dreck and  other crap poetry”

I’m not surprised as my poetry and art is well above what most  human beingss can achieve,but then I do have an IQ of 200.6731 and an eye for colour and form.In short I am a genius as you have already notiiced.

I have readers in Japan and Russia and even in the Ukraine… perhaps whilst they are shooting aieoplanes down.I’ve had readers in Jordan and Israel  but so far Gaza  has eluded me possibly the Wi Fi is shot  just now but I hope they soon begin following my blog.. and that  the Israel intelligence are not following me or  it or anyone of you as they are very adroit with new technology

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This  writing  has been  so   good for me  during all the crises and  we  have  also managed a surprising feat by both getting cancer at   exactly the same time.And not to be outdone by me having a rare type of angina,my spouse has now got congestive  heart failure which is not as yet quite total but who knows? That gives a certain frisson to life.

We have experienced the wonders of our two local hospitals biopsies,surgery, haemorages,plastic surgery,  and I really won the prize  when i had 22 injections of local anaesthetic  under my left eye without screaming.. I hummed instead.They say many folk refuse to have it but I had no idea.And it was not as bad as the emotional suffering by a long walk.

I had often wondered what boxers felt like after a match and I now feel it  ought to be totally  banned.

.

The  adventures of the prick [Thanks,doctor]

“ Prick me again,my darling.I love you whatever you do,

My bottom is numb and you sprained my thumb.

But what hurts is that you called me Sue.”

The surgeon is very good and plays

“Bridge Over Troubled Waters” as he works.Plus he spoke to me every five minutes to keep my brain going and my heart strong.Undeterred by all these episodes we decided it might be best  to get divorced in October  but ,having caught flu,  broncitis.sinusitis and a  severe UTI we are still together though what we are is not quite what it was,if you see what I scheme.We also now have rats.So far they are still wild but am hoping to tame them and give them a new home as my husband is afraid of getting too attached to a cat.I just hope the rats don’t  want sit in my knee as we watch Foyle’s War and old films after supper.Will they need cutlery I wonder?

Somehow we have kept going   yet are wondering if  a  double leap off Beachy Head might have been less painful and would have saved the NHS a lot of money and cut down the number of old folk in Britain as we are told daily what a pest we are….. just like the rats in a sense.

I had to drop  the art class but here is a drawing I did when there.

 Near home

Unfortunately owing to my auto-immune disorder I have never borne any  fully mature fruit,however judging by other people’s round robins it appears to be a good thing.There seem few contented families in the UK.It makes me wonder where we all went wrong  being so happy  in our simple lives fifty years ago playing with the tar between the cobbles in the road ,skippint rope and catching frogs.

If  our relatives are working they are stressed out and tortured and if  unemployed they are despised and ignored.. If they have children then they have to teach them to write and read by 3 months and  they must at Uni by the age of two.

If they  have none they are  wondering whether to use artificial means and in general mostly they wonder if  life is worth living with no family ot whether to become transformed into another as yet unknown gender and demand the right to marry and adopt.

With sadness we look at  our  beautiful world and wonder if Eve  should have chosen a pear for her first meal instead of that damned apple.Snakes alive

And for those who harp on about family values,I say

Were Adam and Eve married?

And who did their children marry?

So we are all illegitimate descendants of incestuous matings.

Maybe that is the reason for the state of the world.

Well,we have not built an extension,had a new oven or car

Though I did buy a new millk pan and a satchel in which to carry my new  touchscreen chrome book

And an android  phablet too… I admit it was Black Friday that tempted me.

We have no cloakroom or  ensuite and we have not fixed the shower

We have not converted our loft or built a gazebo in the garden

We have taken no holidays nor even a one night break

so i am sorry to have to say I have nothing  more to add to my newsletter

Just to say,2015 will probably be much the same blend of joy and woe as   each year is.

But hope  for  all of you the joy will be the bigger part.

With much love,Katherine and John

A madness of philosophers

London Town’s in a nutshell,England,and

Forty, he liked Wittgenstein,miles from Oxford’s Spires.

The river ,Russell’s life is so,
Thames flows through them both
and, I’m not sure which I like more,
He had litttle heart,except the one
Embroidered on his sleeve
What kept him circulating ?
Which makes,Wittgenstein was true
to himself,a very cold person.
London Town is,Wittgenstein suffered, covered
By miles,emotional and mental pain,miles of road.
One of,he fought in W.W.1,these is,a good
account of, the M40
and if that one,he gave away
His wealth,the way you don’t,
You may say,he did not kill anyone,
Degrees,of torture inflicted on detainees,
Degrees bestowed in ancient halls of learning.
Westminster’s part of the same syndrome
[ My son has been killed in Afghanistan.]
He was made,to stand in ice cold water.Oh, Lord,
By good,Good News for Terrorists.Three Men.
So now he is,The Pied Piper,
Someone,different,a Someone.
Was the Bible all Good News?
And next life,Pied Beauty is my favourite,
He is moving poems on greased wheels.
To a huge,he did write but was not published,
And exciting gathering.
He is going to get,after death, a Ph.D,
For driving,Jesuits madi
Did not realise how,
Tony was up the Tree
Was he waiting for the Crucifixion?
Mandelson’s knot is untwisted,
Bothering Wittgenstein and Hopkins
Two suffering men who wrote.
Can I mention the simplicityof Yeats too?
But is it Art,
All other things apart?

It can be our scars which hold us together

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One reason I recalled this thought was because someone I know is terrified of having a cataract operation.Without running someone down for being afraid,nowadays this operation is very short.As it is the lens in the eye which is damaged the surgery does not go inside your eye.The lens is at the front.
But don’t criticise yourself if you are afraid because the eyes are near the brain and anything happening there causes an instinctive revulsion.I nmost cases it takes about 15 minutes for the op.
Why I know about this is that I have,like Gordpn Brown,suffered from detached retinas.The right one was severe and I had stitches in my eyeball when I woke up.They were underneath my eyelid so felt painful.Despite this at best I could read onlt one letter o n the chart used for eye testing.Now I can’t read any at all.
Luckily the other eye was not as bad.The treatment consisted of making wounds on the retina with an ice probe or a laser.These wounds scars,The scars hold the retina back in place.So I can see because of the scars.
My only problem is the jelly in the eye split in two so I see the world with a black line horizontally across everything
I imagine that many more new techniques are coming in.But don’t moan about a cataract operation…. just watch out for strange flashing lights and unmoving grey spots when you look out… then go strai.ght to an eye hospital.Don’t wait at all.I was blind in one eye in 4 hours from the first synptoms.I had no idea.
Still,it’s fascinating to me that surgeons actually create scars which help people like me to see.
And I wonder if as a symbol it may have wider application.
After the year of recovery [ the eyeball is deformed by the surgery for one year]I decided to go to an art class and then took up amateur photography… to create memories for myself.Then I got a computer much against my own wishes.But it turned out to be a good idea.

The why of the house

 

 

0114-0006The phrase “the window of opportunity” seems not wholly satisfactory
Admittedly you can see through a window unless you have thick net curtains but how many of us would be able to leap out of the window and seize the opportunity by the throat,if you see what I mean? And if you were in the attic you’d be dead before you got there…so what we need are “doors of opportunity”

The problem with that is you can’s see through a door unless it’s either got a window or is a glass door..So if you want success try living outside in a transparent tent where nothing will get in your way if anything passes by and your will get free publicity
I expect the phrase was made up by someone who writes speeches for politicians.
If you want a to succeed you must grasp the windows of opportunity as they go by and squeeze every last drop of rum out of them [try the tygers of wrath too]
She was only a little window but she was the window for me
Do not ask what your windows can do for you but what you can do for your windows.
Look through the windows and seize the day.Unless it’s a dark night in which case visit a brothel if they have windows
And one day all our children will be able to choose their own windows..red,yellow ,……………..mix your own…..free windows ..
Windows are the eyes of the house
Don’t be shy if opportunity peeks into your window.Peek right back at it…
Ich bin ein Window! Moi aussi.Ma femme!
Where is she now, the rich widow of my opportunity?
To look or not to look.Out of a selection
Never close the door in case someone wealthy passes by on the other side.and merely glances at your window.
Now is the Window of our discontent made gloriously plumper with our sunny walk
One good window deserves another.
I’ll be your window, if you open your door
Windows,they ought to be taxed I say.
Windows.. they give you an illusion of being in the sun but did you know we can see in…and we saw you and the mirror on your ceiling…anything to say in your pretence?

After he left me

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After he left me.I walked slowly and blindly.
Unknowingly, I  had entered a grey desert of rocks and stones
Not a person nor a house
Not a flower or a tree…..
Seemed like no-one else in this whole world was alive.
Inside my womb I carried our child.
Solemn with that weight and crushed by grief
I kept on my way.
Though my time had not yet come,
I realized the child was about to be born
I was aided by a faceless
doctor.who informed me
that my child was dead.
Casually he tossed it onto a heap of bodies
I am not Jewish ,but it reminded me of a Death Camp.
Deserted,I gave birth in a Death Camp.To a dead baby.
The doctor vanished and I lay inert like one of the grey rocks that were heaped about.
My heart felt like a stone
I had no food or drink but no desire arose.I lay unmoving
After a week I rose to my feet knowing I must leave or die.
Going over to look at my dead child at last,
I saw with astonishment,
he was alive.Alive!
I picked him up
And held him tenderly.
He’s alive,but what am I do to?
Still there’s noone around in this eery landscape…
But at least my child is alive.
Like the Israelites out of Egypt,I shall have faith in God
And I will keep walking until I die if need be.
My child is alive,is loved.
A miracle has  occurred.

I walk on

The Stan saga.. a letter from Mary,author of “Wittgenstein’s cats”

Source: Kathryn

A letter

The Pilchards.

23,Sweetnames Avenue

Knittingham

Near Nottingham.

England

Dear Jane

Hope you are keeping well in this unusually cold spring weather.

Stan has had flu.It made him so bad tempered and waspish

that I took up the Duraglit polish and got him to polish all the brass,

except the front door knob, as that doesn’t come off.

Mind you,it made the bedroom smell odd… a mistake,perhaps.. so I sprinkled lavender oil around.

He seems to get thinner and I seem to get fatter.

So our average w eight remains constant.

What a relief.I’d like to be weighed as a married woman.Can you believe this..

I’ve got chilblains! It’s those dratted blood vessels of mine.

Still,I polished some old plum colored leather boots  and wear them in the house.

We seem to be doing polishing frequently here.. boots,furniture,apples.

How is your new book “Nonsense:A.N.Whitehead and Lewis Carroll” coming on?

Hope it’s progressing….to a nonsensical but true ending

I’ve got a new book of poetry coming out in April [from Polar bears publishers]

It’s called,”An unpolished performance.”

My fourth book on Wittgenstein‘s cats is almost finished.

And the publishers can’t wait for the photographs…I’ll get a friend to do those for me!!

It gives me a change from all that polishing.

I’ve begun to talk to myself out loud…. in the street.Just seeing if I can still do my old Lancashire accent.

I suppose it might  worry people but no one has said anything as yet.They may be afraid.

“That which is unsaid can,nevertheless,still be heard.

Stan is still involved romantically with Anne, our next door neighbor.

I can’t blame him as chilblains and Wittgenstein not very romantic.

When I think of how we used to be,it makes me smile and feel sadness too.

I wonder if I can find someone new for a romance,myself… someone with Asperger’s syndrome

possibly…as I’ve just been diagnosed.It’s quite common in mathematicians.It may be an advantage in concentrating a lot

I need a boyfriend with weak eyes as my clothes are all full of moth holes and I’m damned if I’m going to buy new ones.

I can’t see well enough to darn but I’ve sewn the holes up neatly thus giving a strange pleated effect to my clothes.

On my merino wool knitted trousers, one hole was right on the ass.It looks now as if I’ve been shot in the rear…

but I can’t see it.So it does not exist.Sometimes in the past I would iron on those motifs like

butterflies…but I think it would look odd having a butterfly just there…. or indeedanything else like wild ros

I could make a little sign saying”Keep clear,from my rear.This is a hole where a moth scored a goal.”

Still,not many people are going to look there now I hope…. I seem to have stopped knitting but am still drawing.

Meantime I’ve just ironed some of my winter clothes as it’s dank and  chilly and am planning to iron all my pink and blue knickers now as I believe it kills any germs left when you wash at 30 deg.I got those colours in case I should

change sex or is it gender?I wonder if I should iron the sheets?Could I do it while they are on the bed?

I don’t wash them much as it wears them out and me too. I am going to take up baking again because Stan is getting so thin.

I fancy a Russian cheesecake as it had a lot of protein in it.

I have a genuine Russian cookbook and also am waiting for a delivery of a

Jewish cookery book as I have lost mine..no it fell down onto my head last week

God only knows where that came from.

but I believe there were good cheesecakes as Jewish cooking has much in

common with Russian,perhaps because once many Jews lived in Russia.I just

made friends with one here….he is charming and like me he hates golf.

I have got almost all the Penguin cookery books ever printed but mislaid a

few.In fact it’s quite hard to get into the kitchen

with all these books on the shelves.And a little food.I was comforted to read that the parent’s of John Burra,the artist,

had books piled every where in their large house….and he was very untidy too.

So all I need is talent and practice and I’ll be an artist.

After all,anyone can be untidy but not everyone will practice their Art.

I’d like to practice the arts of love.They say you should love your neighbor as yourself,

but personally I prefer the neighbor or even the milkman to myself.

Meanwhile I’m happy with Emile our cat and my 500 photos of Wittgenstein. I shall make Stan a lemon sponge pudding.

That is the love he wants…Food.”If music be the food of love

I’ll cohabit with a pure white dove.

And while he coos and sings for me.
I’ll try not to :fall out of the tree,
Get stung by a bee,
Have psychotherapy
Make more enemies,
Let my thought free,
Hurt my knee.
Let moths frighten me.

 

Well,time for some tea.

Now Jane, please write to me soon.

I love to see your so strangely beautiful handwriting alluring me to open the letter and to hear about Whitehead and Cambridge and all the weird dons. I hope it’s not too damp and cold there near that river.

Keep warm and make a note of any intriguing happenings to relate to me. And anything beautiful you can see or hear.I hope Edward is writing regularly..where is he doing his research now… did you say Stanford?Maybe you should install Skype..then again,perhaps not as you would have to wash your hair too much… and comb it too…perhaps we could wear wigs.

Do write soon,dear one,Love always,Mary.

 

Getting better each day

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Dr Ioulios Palamaras [an expert at Mohs surgery and other skilled techniques]He is not paying me BTW

World class dermatologist with a good sense of humour

Well maybe it was worth 22 injections of anaesthetic  to be cured [or is it healed ?]by God,nature and a human being with special skills

But which glasses to wear and how many pairs?

I have a fancy for teal coloured frames but I can’t go outside yet!

Meanwhile the cats seem to have no problem…wonder what they want?

images kits

photo big specs

Yes we used to wear big spectacles once upon a time… they were sometimes too big

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It’s a cat’s life alright, they need no sunscreen nor hats..Why,I could wear the cat on my head if only she would keep still!Maybe two would be even better.cat-reading-book2_zpsac56a3ddMaking good progress here.She’ll soon have her D.Phil [Oxo] and then  her own office too.photo 3 specs

I wonder how many pairs of spectacles  I can wear at once and will they get me onto the right track in life?

p15

Life is sometimes very painful  but we forget when time passes and we are grateful for the surgeon who saves our life…but never put elastoplast over a deep incision… it took me an hour top recover from rcat-reading-a-book-with-glasses-600x384emoving this the pain was so bad…I put it on so I could wear my specs.Never again.I’ll just get a guide cat instead.She will know how to get to Cafe Nero…

It shall be so

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Gently dancing in the sun
Wildflowers grow;
they bloom,
are gone.

With no thoughts,they have no cares;
Yet their lives are gentle prayers.
May I walk in such a way
That I am alive to this day.

So I see with widening view,
And joy and sorrows embrace too.
Then my time will come, like yours...
And of us nothing  endures.
As to the earth our bodies go,
All are one;it shall be so

Feeling bad

I must confess that the world situation plus a few personal things are making me feel very low and I didn’t feel like writing anything here..but I love alphabets and the history of alphabets so I loved the poem by Karl Shapiro

Shame.. is it the most painful emotion?

I don’t know if it is possible to answer this question.Shame is definitely distressing.Guilt is painful but I believe it usually relates to an act or something we said to hurt someone whereas shame is related to our whole self,our existence as a person… and if we feel bad about that then we do suffer.
I am just rambling on but what comes to my mind are occasions when we have been out with some friends eating a meal in a pub or restaurant when one of a couple starts to tell of all the bad things the husband or wife has done.Is this because they can’t summon up the courage to talk when at home?
And some of the things were criticised about were ridiculous.. like a wife who had had a Freudian analysis in about two years berated her husband who had begun before her and still not finished.As they were well off it wasn’t the financial aspect.But is that not sadistic to reveal your husband’s lengthy therapy to others who are not that close…
The very fact that this woman did that made me wonder how deeply her own therapy had gone.. which seems to imply I expect people to be improved morally by having psychoanalysis.I am unsure why I think that except that if you have dealt with your own neuroses ,your shadow etc.,one might imagine you’d have more sympathy for others’ struggles… and thus be a better person…. in general..
I can’t put down many examples because I would not want anyone to recognise themselves but I do wonder about the ethics of blurting out criticism of a friend or partner in front of acquaintances.
If you genuinely wanted help, and both agreed ,it might be better.. just to share a problem to put into words a shaming doubt
This leads me to something like the following idea…Why do we treat so called loved ones worse than other people?I believe it might be because we expect more from them,perhaps irrationally get angry or anxious when we don’t get our expectations met. I have a friend who tried to hold her husband by her fantastically good cooking.Unfortunately he had grown up with a mother who had servants and he was completely unaware of her efforts.I knew as I was also just married and doing a lot of extra work… but my husband had to travel a long way to work so that was my contribution.I had enough energy then to cook and entertain people… not cook the people,cook for them,I mean…..
Ahaa,that makes me laugh…
Once I opened the oven door and a flame shot out and set my hair on fire…I never knew about cleaning the oven properly as my mum was a single parent of 5 children and never had time for cleaning.Cooking,sewing,knitting.. yes… sheets changed .. yes..
Maybe I should have used my brain!
I went back into the living room and carried on serving the meal.
Maybe that’s why my hair has gone wispy…
What makes us feel shame?Is it rejection? That a friend no longer likes us? But they may be rejecting us because they fear closeness and intimacy with anyone,not just us.So they move on from flower to flower like the butterflies…As they say, what people do and say might tell us more about them than about us… possibly.
I suppose some people feel shame if their dad is sent to jail but others regard it as normal..Some feel shame if they wear second hand clothing but that is fashionable now.. to go to jumble sales in wealthy areas where people change their wardrobe every . year..
Well.I’ll leave it there for now and embroider it later.i meant brood on it later.