Saturday, August 25, 2012


Neil Armstrong.
i've got into a habit of sleeping with the beeb on...i prop up my iPad and listen to the news and sometimes podcasts and generally fall asleep.then i wonder why i dream of wars and bombs. this woke me up last night, the passing of neil armstrong. i'm a lunatic, you see. the moon rules me. i marvel at the fact that he actually walked on it. what a moment. i don't need to bang on about it, though. obviously. we all know what a giant leap it was.
i liked his family's tribute: 
"For those who may ask what they can do to honour Neil, we have a simple request. Honour his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink."

and i love this excerpt from That's The Way Life Is, a blog i found this morning by mistake. 


“You were once wild here. Don’t let them tame you.”
~ Isadora Duncan

I had almost forgotten it - the feeling that only astronauts and children know. That feeling of pure uninhibited flight, of wings disguised as arms, toes pointed heavenward touching the cerulean sky; spinning in orbit, seeing the world for the very first time; being pulled back to earth only to take flight again. I had almost forgotten it.

Time has a way of taming us. Our eyes become familiar with life’s terrain and we become immune to so much beauty, to potential, to fallen dreams that need mended wings to fly. We work around what we are lacking for fear of the pain caused by mending what is broken – or simply for lack of knowing how to fix it. And eventually what we once knew is all but forgotten, a hole in our hearts, a feeling we can’t really distinguish anymore. We have become tamed.

I had almost forgotten it – the thirst for life that I once knew. The feeling that I belonged, that I had a purpose, that life had something planned for me, and the passion for the possible that once stirred deep within. I had almost forgotten it. I was almost tamed.

let's not be tamed too much, then. 
and dream of impossible things being possible. 
neil armstrong did.
"The dream remains! The reality has faded a bit, but it will come back, in time”Neil Armstrong

toodely toot, y'all and bisous X.X.X. dreamy, golden ones all about ya x j

Tuesday, August 14, 2012


                              "This life disappears only very quickly
                                       Like something written in water with a stick." - BUDDAH.

I’ve been rattling around the empty house, unfocused, nibbling on bacon, Bram’s pate, chocolate biscuits (in that order) withering (and wilting) into a bland but persistent white fear about upcoming responsibilities, my psychosis, my job, my future, about being a mother, a teacher, a grown up generally. The holidays are ending. And they were too good to be true. They glimmer around me like a retreating lightning storm at the rim of the hills. I can still smell the rain. I am sulking. I want them back, please thank you very much.

Eventually I settle onto the bed in the spare room with the Dalai Lama’s sage "Advice On Dying" if only to remind myself of the impermanence of all things (especially holidays),  how important The Moment is and, although irritating, a virtuous mind.  These pious reflections are sobering and enlightening but seem to unravel spectacularly around friends. And whisky. As I discovered on Monday morning after a particularly boozy Sunday lunch chez Julie and remembered we had cut my hair clean and quite remarkably off. To just below my ears. I staggered to the mirror, giddy with horror and a hangover from hell, to discover, with lashings of relief, I actually like it.  It’s short. Very short.  And square. Very square. In fact, a little too square as Louise sweetly pointed out last night.

It’s time for another chocolate biscuit. Winter is still here. The hills are tinder dry already, heralding a revoltingly dusty summer season around the corner, the white heat days when the dust overtakes your car.  But for now, the jasmine is flowering and scenting the house, very delicately. There is sweetness to this in so many ways.


I want to go back to the magic forests of Meru, where the air is sweet and clean, where the Colobus’ eerie howls echo in the mist. I want to go swimming in the marble sea again under glass still Zanzibar mornings, swim out to the boat, into the sun. I don’t want to be here. I’m ready to trade in my horse. Call an ambulance. Or hide my horse. Play No Woman No Cry and turn the volume up at  the "everythingsgonnabealrighteverythingsgonnabealright" bit. right. there you are.

These long quiet hours are taxing to the spirit as are the ghosts and Veronica’s fresh flowers in the old room. And capital letters.

“right. enough uf zat. rauss rauss!"( sound tracked to some eye watering Wagner.) sweaty German alter ego man steps in. or is it my dead mother? "there’s no blood. you’ll be ok. chin chin. toughen up.  there are starving children in somalia and thank your lucky stars you're not Syrian".
thank goodness for that then.

(above pic found at the beautiful and poignant blog and it's true that i want those things.)

toodely toot, y'all. bisous X.X.X. flittery, faffy, frolicky ones x. j.