Beauty and the Olympics

The sun stayed out long enough today for my friend and I to enjoy an afternoon in Greenwich Park drinking Earl Grey tea and strolling among the tall mauve lupins. My friend noticed my newly (professionally painted) toenails and commented on how pretty they were. We spend a long time saying goodbye (mainly because we couldn't decide on whose car to take on our next outing) and trying to decide what to do the next time we met up. The trouble is London is an amazing city filled with an infinite number of interesting places to visit. It is also close to counties like Kent and Essex, and of course, the sea. We finally decided to visit Dungeness, both admiring of the industrial emptiness of the place. 'I thought you would like to visit somewhere prettier and picturesque'. said my friend.

Dungeness has its own beauty. Places by the sea do not have to look like St Ives or Lulworth Cove. Just as architecture does not have to be handsome Georgian houses or iconic buildings like the 'Shard' to be beautiful. Or women tall, blonde and size zero. Or men who look like George Clooney or David Beckham. I am always struck by the beauty of Battersea Power Station and the Nuclear Power Stations of Dungeness stir the same admiration in me.

My friend nodded. 'Me too. But make sure you wear some open-toed sandals so that I can admire your toenails if all the industrial beauty gets too much for me.'

http://www.dungeness-nnr.co.uk/

A more conventional beauty spot is Greenwich Park, sadly scarred at the moment by the preparations for the Olympics.

http://www.royalparks.org.uk/parks/greenwich-park

As the games get nearer I am trying to stir up some enthusiasm even going as far to enter a ballot to be allowed to buy tickets that have been allocated to Greenwich residents. But in all honesty I am not waiting for the opening ceremony with baited breath. I resent not being able to drive through the park each day and so missing the opportunity to witness the small changes that nature makes over the weeks to the flowers and the trees. I resent the heavy traffic I now have to sit in every morning. I resent the nightmare it is going to cause me on my journey to work this summer. I resent the blot on Blackhealth that the work has resulted in. I resent having to apply for parking permits in order to park at my home for the duration of the games. No doubt once they start I will be able to enjoy some of the hype and the sychronised swimming. Oh and the gymnastics with the ribbons always gets me going. There are some benefits I will enjoy. Take the new river crossing....flying over the Thames in 'gondolas'! I can't wait to try this out.

http://now-here-this.timeout.com/2012/06/19/sky-high-club-emirates-air-line-opening-date-announced/

And I will be in Woolwich town square with my grandson to see the Olympic flame pass through. Well why not? If you can't beat em blah blah blah.

 http://www.royalgreenwich.gov.uk/info/200131/greenwich_2012_community/1170/olympic_torch_relay_through_royal_greenwich

Hug

Watching the England fans celebrate last nights win got me thinking how little opportunity we have to express ourselves in such a overtly and noisy manner. There is a certain childlike exuberance to the screaming, yelling, jumping up and punching the air behaviour that was replicated in pubs, bars and living rooms up and down the country. And the hugging. Lots if adults hugging. Lots of men hugging men.

Hugging is a wonderful human interaction. Although intimate hugs are non sexual, non threatening - just human touch. Hugs congratulate, commiserate or even just greet someone you like.

On Sunday I was at work and my children gathered at my place before they went to visit their father for Fathers Day. While they were getting ready they allowed my grandson to play outside on the shared lawn. As he was making his way down the path in his football kit he met another boy, a couple of years older than him, also decked out in a football kit. The other boy was with his dad and they were returning from Sunday morning football practise.

'Hello' they said, each taking in the different football kits. 'Fancy a game?' my grandson asked. The older boy asked his dad if that was OK and on receiving permission the two boys, who had never met, enjoyed a kick about for a half hour. My son, who was watching, said the older boy was a skilled footballer and showed my grandson several footie skills.

My son told me that when my grandson was called in as it was time to go he heard the following conversation;

Older boy - 'Can we play football again?'

Grandson - 'Yes. But I don't live here. My nan does and I'm just visiting.'

Older boy - 'I don't live here either. Just visiting my dad. He lives here. I see him every other weekend'.

Grandson 'OK, lets play next time we are both here'.

And then my son told me the two boys hugged and said goodbye.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hug

Millions and millions of years would still not give me half enough time to describe that tiny instant of all eternity when you put your arms around me and I put my arms around you. ~Jacques Prévert

Everybody needs a hug. It changes your metabolism. ~Leo Buscaglia

You can't wrap love in a box, but you can wrap a person in a hug. ~Author Unknown

Hug Department: Always Open ~Author Unknown

I love hugging. I wish I was an octopus, so I could hug ten people at a time. ~Drew Barrymore

There's something in a simple hug
That always warms the heart,
It welcomes us back home
And makes it easier to part....
~Johnny Ray Ryder, Jr., "A Simple Hug"

Arm ourselves for war? No! All the arms we need are for hugging. ~Author Unknown
I will not play at tug o' war
I'd rather play at hug o' war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs....
~Shel Silverstein

A hug is a handshake from the heart. ~Author Unknown

You can't give a hug without getting a hug. ~Author Unknown

A hug delights and warms and charms,
that must be why God gave us arms.
~Author Unknown

Hugs are the universal medicine. ~Author Unknown

A hug is a great gift - one size fits all, and it's easy to exchange. ~Author Unknown

Happiness is an unexpected hug. ~Author Unknown

...A hug is an amazing thing
It's just the perfect way
To show the love we're feeling
But can't find the words to say....
~Johnny Ray Ryder, Jr., "A Simple Hug"

If you're angry at a loved one, hug that person. And mean it. You may not want to hug - which is all the more reason to do so. It's hard to stay angry when someone shows they love you, and that's precisely what happens when we hug each other. ~Walter Anderson, The Confidence Course, 1997

There's nothing like a mama-hug. ~Terri Guillemets

A mom's hug lasts long after she lets go. ~Author Unknown

Hugs grease the wheels of the world. ~Author Unknown

Your hugs and kisses are like the stars that light up my life when things get dark. ~Author Unknown
A hug is worth a thousand words. ~Author Unknown

Every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back. ~Maya Angelou

Have you hugged yourself today? ~Anonymous

A hug is two hearts wrapped in arms. ~Author Unknown

I don't discriminate - I'm an equal-opportunity hugger. ~Author Unknown

Hugging has no unpleasant side effects and is all natural. There are no batteries to replace, it's inflation-proof and non-fattening with no monthly payments. It's non-taxable, non-polluting, and is, of course, fully refundable. ~Author Unknown

Hugs don't need new equipment,
Special batteries or parts -
Just open up your arms
And open up your hearts.
~Johnny Ray Ryder, Jr., "A Simple Hug"

A hug is like a bandage to a hurting wound. ~Author Unknown

Never wait until tomorrow to hug someone you could hug today,
because when you give one, you get one right back your way.
~Author Unknown

A hug is the shortest distance between friends. ~Author Unknown

http://www.freehugscampaign.org/

My Naked Women

On waking up he looked round my bedroom and asked me why there are so many naked women in my room.

Why indeed?

I love men. I much prefer to spend time with men than with women. For one I find that I laugh more with men. They are just funnier than women and I am funnier when I'm in their company.

Usually men smell good. I mean the pheromones not the aftershave although I do sometimes get a whiff of an ex partners aftershave (Obsession) and I am, in my mind, instantly back in his arms. Speaking of smells I recently purchased two vintage scents on eBay simply to revisit memories. One was the scent my grandmother used to wear (Yardleys Fressia) and long since discontinued. When I opened the bottle it was as if my nan had stepped into the room -  so powerfully did the smell bring her back to me. I then closed the bottle tightly and gave it to my dad, her son. His wife rang me a few days later to tell me he had taken the bottle into the spare room and a few minutes later she could hear him sobbing. That night they got out all the old pictures and discussed long forgotten memories and it was wonderful to have nan back for a few hours. The other vintage scent I bought was the one I wore in the 1970s (Panache...classy eh?) and when I sniffed it I was instantly transported to the time of my first love, loosing my virginity and being irresistible to the opposite sex. I spent a wonderful few hours being 17 again.

I love mens bodies. The muscle formation, the tight bums, their hairy chests and their bits and pieces. But I do not want them on my bedroom walls.

The naked women on my bedroom walls are beautiful and serene and quietly sensual. My favourite is 'My Senses' by Chekirov.

http://www.originalpaintings.com/talantbek_chekirov.htm

I wake up and the first thing I see is this beautiful woman drying herself after taking a bath in preparation for the day or the night. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edgar_Degas

Then there is my mystery woman. Who she is or where she is from I have no idea but she too is preparing for something or someone. She waits so patiently.

Filling my bedroom with naked women was not intentional - it all came about by chance as all rooms should. Not planned, not co-ordinated but just becoming the place to be for its user. My bedroom is also filled with books and shoes but all anyone ever notices is my naked women.

ignorance is bliss...and sometimes desirable

Major life events are still being recorded by my grandson in his little diary. However when I asked him if he had entered the news that Chelsea where the Champions of Europe he replied 'no, I'm only writing the important stuff'. This confused me as he had felt the fact they reached the finals as important and recorded that event in his diary but I thought no more about until my daughter told me of a conversation she had had with him.

'Mum, will I die when I filled up all the pages of my diary?' he asked her.

'What? No, of course not' said my daughter.

'What happens then? When I've filled it up? said my grandson.

'I'll buy you a new one'. my daughter told him.

So it would seem that he thought when he filled in the last page of his diary that would be the end of his life so he had started rationing what he wrote in it. But wouldn't it be wonderful if at the end of your life you could just buy a new one? Of course if you were very rich you could buy a good successful life, one in which you had brains, beauty and robust good health. If you were poor and could only afford the life of an unhappy, unloved ugly old crone you are hardly going to make the purchase are you? Or are you? Is life that desirable? In that case lets say you can buy the new life with good deeds. The more good deeds you have done the better life you could buy. If you had been a selfish cruel person all you would be able to afford is the life of the ugly old crone. Eventually the world would be filled with beautiful, clever and healthy people. Oh dear, that sounds like religion with a dash of eugenics....moving on.

Last weekend we spend a wonderful day at a 'Make Merry' event on a local common where
we enjoyed a variety of live music, dance and exotic food. A couple of days later we were driving past the common (one of several where I live) and I pointed it out to my grandson saying 'That's the common where we were making merry the other day' and he asked me why it was called a 'common'? I, incorrectly it turns out, told him that common land belongs to everyone. This is apparently a misapprehension that has persisted since at least Tudor times, when land would have been used for communal farming and domestic practises. Now it means Common land is a piece of land in private ownership, where other people have certain traditional rights to use it in specified ways, such as being allowed to graze their livestock or gather firewood. And in 2012 have festivals, funfairs, circus', football practise, kite flying, dog walking and general merry making it would seem. Anyway getting back to my wrong answer to his question - that a common belongs to everyone - he asked why the Earth isn't called the Earth Common as the Earth belongs to everyone. Now this is were I am blissful I was ignorant of the facts. If I'd know I was wrong it would have been oh so easy to explain why some people own parts of the Earth and why some counties wage wars in order to own parts of the world but I didn't know I was wrong and said that we just called it Earth for short.

Driving him home the other day I, slightly frustrated at my grandsons occasional inconsiderate behaviour, said to him 'you are a bit of a user your know'. 'Yep - lots of people have told me that' he replied nonchalantly.

Oh to be 6 years old and full of curiosity and self worth and having the ugly truth hidden from you.

Is This So?

The last year has been a difficult one in regards to work. Like many people in today's economic climate we have not known if our jobs were safe, or if we would all have to take on different roles at a lesser rate of pay. This has meant that myself and many of my colleagues have been operating on a knife edge in an atmosphere of distrust for months. We were eventually put out of our misery and told what our immediate futures would be - some of us are to remain employed on our current grades and others are being 'deleted'. The news was given in a shambolic, haphazard and uncaring way. Late on a Friday afternoon emails were sent with an attached letter with the news we had been either 'assilimated' or 'deleted'. So late in the afternoon was this email sent that many of us were out on visits and unable to access our emails and heard the news via the grapevine - but not which letter we had been sent. There were many tears of anger, frustration and fear. Those of us who have been 'assilimated' are under no misapprehensions - we all know our time will come and this knowledge, and the misfortune of some of our colleagues, meant that there were no celebrations, just guilty relief. This little scene is being played out in organisations all over the country. It was shocking and saddening to hear that an ambulance is called, on average once a week, to the building I work in as some poor employee has collapsed from stress. Only last week a young man had his breakdown in a lift. Not a lift breaking down you understand - but a young man who broke down sobbing, curled up in the foetal position and
refusing to leave the lift. Eventually he was encouraged out and led to a waiting ambulence. 

Several of my colleagues are off sick with stress related illnesses. One young girl has had a stroke. Several have cancer. Two have died in the last year (although they died from cancer and not stress they are much missed by their friends and colleagues who have to 'carry on regardless'). Several people have already been made redundant and the gap they have left is huge - and those left behind have to pick up the slack. Those left are often frazzled, nervous, anxious and short tempered.

Yet in all this madness I have managed to find some calm and inspiration. Take this week for instance. I attended a 'Storytelling' session and the person running it was a charismatic, enthusiastic teller of stories. It came as no surprise then to find that he was a writer, a journalist, a social worker and amazingly, for 10 years, a Catholic priest, but hey, no ones perfect.

One of the stories he told us was a story called 'Is that so?' which it transpires is a Zen Koan. A Koan is used as a test of a Zen student's ability. The master is not looking for a specific answer but for evidence that the disciple has grasped the state of mind expressed by the kōan itself. The Ex Preist didn't mention Zen at all, in fact he set the story in a small village in Western Ireland and Hakuin was a local man called Finbar, must respected by the villagers for his wisdom.

Is That So?

A beautiful young  girl in the village would spend a lot of time with Hakuin. She would sit and listen to him and relish his knowledge and wisdom. She watch him as he read or cooked or chatted to his neighbours and she admired him greatly. As did all his neighbours who respected him greatly. One day the beautiful young girl announced she was pregnant. Her angry parents demanded to know who was the father. At first resistant to confess, the anxious and embarrassed girl finally pointed to Hakuin, the Zen master whom everyone previously revered for living such a pure life. When the outraged parents confronted Hakuin with their daughter's accusation, he simply replied "Is that so?"

When the child was born, the parents brought it to Hakuin, who now was viewed as a pariah by the whole village. He was ostracised and tormented by his former friends and neighbours. The beautiful girls parents demanded that he take care of the child since it was his responsibility. "Is that so?" Hakuin said calmly as he accepted the child.

For many years he took very good care of the child and continued to be treated badly by those who had once respected him. Until the beautiful girl could no longer withstand the lie she had told. She confessed that the real father was a young man in the village whom she had tried to protect. The parents immediately went to Hakuin to see if he would return the child. With profuse apologies they explained what had happened. "Is that so?" Hakuin said as he handed them the child.

When he finished telling the story the Ex Priest asked me what my response to it was. For me it was about the shifting power of acceptance. How do explain to a stranger your own feelings and experience of acceptance? For me it has never been 'Is that so? but 'If you say so'.

The Ex Priest also shared some great quotes:

'Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world and all there ever will be to know and understand.' Albert Einstein

'There are those that look at things and ask 'why?' I dream of things and ask 'why not?' Robert Kennedy (paraphasing George Bernard Shaw).

'This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognised by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievance's complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy' George Bernard Shaw

'Never underestimate the impact which the story of your life and work can have on this organisation or the wider community - good or bad' the Ex Priest.

He also shared this poem - Begin Again by Brendan Kennelly

http://www.experienceproject.com/stories/Like-A-Good-Quote/2245241