Carting the horse.

I’ve had a pronounced scoliosis (there’s a joke there but someone already did it ) since I was twelve. It has given me a lot of aching-whilst-baking over the years but I’ve always been pliable, and with yoga to strengthen the supporting muscles I’ve probably had less back trouble than people with nice straight spines. Yesterday morning (or possibly Saturday when I fell asleep in an awkward position on the couch whilst watching ‘West Wing’) something went wrong and I found myself stuck on the edge of the bed in considerable pain. It helped to have an experienced osteopath to ring once I could let go with one hand; at least she could be reassuring and explain what was happening, but there’s not a lot she can do until the inflammation goes down and I can’t take anti-inflammatories because they are all aspirin based and contra-indicated for asthmatics. Fun. 

It’s a well known fact that you should be careful what you wish for. Last week I was out every day, twice on two occasions. It was lovely to see friends, but I got anxious because the writing project I have set myself to complete was not getting any time.  It crossed my mind that I needed a reason to stay home. I did add: ‘a reason that doesn’t include asthma, or bronchitis or galloping necrosis please’ but forgot to mention back pain. Yesterday I couldn’t sit still in any useful position, couldn’t focus on thinking what to write; could only wriggle, whimper, and long for distraction. I watched episodes of ‘West Wing.’  As usual I am seeing something for the first time that most have almost forgotten about. It is so good. My only quarrel with it is that all the White House staff from the president down are good, honourable, attractive and cuddly people - it really can’t be like that can it? The Republicans in it aren’t nice. I wonder how the writers got away with that? They can’t have wanted every republican in the country switching off. 

Chinese New Year begins 31st January. The Year of the Horse.

The spirit of the horse is recognized to be the Chinese people's ethos – making unremitting efforts to improve themselves. It is energetic, bright, warm-hearted, intelligent and able. Ancient people liked to designate an able person as 'Qianli Ma', a horse that covers a thousand li a day (one li equals 500 meters).

Strengths
People born in the year of the horse have ingenious communicating techniques and in their community they always want to be in the limelight. They are clever, kind to others, and like to join in a venture career. Although they sometimes talk too much, they are cheerful, perceptive, talented, earthy but stubborn. They like entertainment and large crowds. They are popular among friends, active at work and refuse to be reconciled to failure, although their endeavor cannot last indefinitely.

Weaknesses
They cannot bear too much constraint. However their interest may be only superficial and lacking real substance. They are usually impatient and hot blooded about everything other than their daily work. They are independent and rarely listen to advice. Failure may result in pessimism. They usually have strong endurance but with bad temper. Flamboyant by nature, they are wasteful since they are not good with matters of finance due to a lack of budgetary efficiency. Some of those who are born in the horse like to move in glamorous circles while pursuing high profile careers.  They tend to interfere in many things and frequently fail to finish projects of their own. 

I have an issue with this. My ex was born in the year of the Horse, is good with money, could never be accused of flamboyance or of talking too much, and he always finishes projects. Genghis Khan was also born in a Horse year and I don’t think many would claim he left much undone.  

Addendum: although the above information was found on  a  Chinese tourist site it seems someone has it wrong because according to another site my ex and our son are the sheep or goat, which goes to show nothing can be trusted. My second daughter is the Horse in the family, and she isn’t like Genghis Khan or Oprah Winfrey (another Horse) either. 

I continue to be fascinated by it all; horoscopes, astrology, tea-leaf reading and so forth. All signs of the creativity, the diversity yet uniformity and connectedness of the human mind. Sort that sentence out.

Twin Peaks

At last I got to find out what 'Twin Peaks' was all about, 24 years after its first airing. In my defence I wasn't watching TV in those days - well, hardly at all. The three children were - children, and more interested in books  (god! when did that go out of fashion?) Anyway, TP didn't show in our house, so when a friend lent it to me last week I thought it was some sort of US soap, like Dallas, and wasn't going to bother. Then I saw there was a murder and - oh well, I never can resist a good murder. Into the hole it went.

Good grief it's weird! 

And now I understand why my friend was seeking cherry pie. Nothing good in these parts sadly. I should look out a recipe.

Sky, Dizzy-dog, and poetry.

I love sky-scapes. I was trying to take a photo of Dizzy-dog who is now back on form - so much so that her tiny body hardly shows up against the sand, especially as she runs very fast. That blob down by the water is not her - at that distance she wouldn't fill a single pixel.

We've been very lucky with the weather, no floods, little rain, not much ice and no snow so far, although there is snow visible on the hills across the firth. Life toddles along very comfortably. I'm getting back into writing mode, aided by the Tuesday group. Hearing other people's work does stimulate the lazy muse in me. My friend Tom is trying to get a hundred or more poems into some sort of order to have them put into a book. I hope he manages it because his experiences with his bi-polar chemistry and the journey he has made along that path is worth reading. Also, and more importantly, because his poems are often quite beautiful.

The poems that come out of us are manifestations of our being. This ponderous statement, perhaps fit only for Private Eye's 'Pseud's Corner,' started as something of an 'Aha!' revelation after I'd been listening to folk reading on Tuesday. Their poetry reflects their nature. Our newest member has already had a considerable success with her work, I remember how much people who bought her collections enjoyed what they found therein. One reader told me that she took Eileen's books with her wherever she went because the way Eileen translates events, landscapes an people into poetry helped her to see her own life in a different way. Eileen's poems are delicate traceries of imagery, as light as a newly spun web, containing what I can best call 'atmospheres,' little gaseous clouds of mood and meaning. They never thunder or assault but they share an experience in a way that endures. I am in awe.

Men friends.

I go out with three men. This isn’t as exciting as it sounds. In real terms it means I meet and have lunch somewhere with three men friends individually and on a regular basis. One is a bi-polar Buddhist (perhaps I should say: ‘bi-polar and a Buddhist.) Another has had a couple of debilitating illnesses for many years and claims he is somewhere on the Asperger’s spectrum, although I find him kind, considerate, and a good listener which can’t be said of all people with that problem. The third is frankly weird. I think he is definitely on the Asperger’s spectrum, way up there. All three have been married and all three, I think I’m right in saying, find life on their own is just fine. One loved his wife very much but she died and a subsequent relationship went very sour; another had a marriage that broke up long ago, I’m not sure why; the third, unmarried and without even a proper girlfriend right up into his fifties, was suddenly engulfed by a German woman with a good heart but an over-bearing presence. She died and he went through a period of mourning which was at least 8 parts shock at having his life turned upside down to begin with, then into that shock crept real grief  and painful sorrow as he saw his inadequacy as a husband. Once he got through that he became much happier and is able to acknowledge he prefers living on his own. 

I write all this because I find men’s emotional lives don’t get much of an airing  and they go through as much as women do, just in a different way. Sounds obvious, but I think it needs saying. The conversation is different too. With the women it tends to be about emotions, relationships, obvious stuff, which is OK by me as long as I get a chance to chip in. With the men it can be philosophy, religion, literature, or anecdotes from their past in occasionally bizarre occupations, traveling Europe, getting work as and when money became a requirement; traveling in India, South America, Norway; working for CERN; being a warden and guide for a Scottish castle, living on a small island on the West Coast of Scotland; becoming manic on one continent then waking in a psychiatric hospital on another continent with no idea how he got there, and so on. I enjoy this.

2014. A good start.

Happy New year to all those out there who do or do not read this blog. My son noticed a new trend on Facebook over the New Year - not the usual high spirited 'Happy N Y' messages but more in the lines of: '2013 was a cr*p year. Let's hope 2014 is an improvement.' For young people people  times are definitely hard, and, as the number of folk needing food banks testify, it's getting harder right across the age-and-socio-economic spectrum. Sad. Also deeply frustrating. If Alex Salmond gets his way and Scotland becomes independent it will be the fault of certain MP's in Westminster who don't seem to care. There now, I have just broken my big New Year Resolution not to speak my opinions aloud!! 48 hours that one lasted. Well done Carol.

The really good news is that Dizzy dog is back with us. Her owners left at 5am in the morning of New Year's Day, arriving here in time for lunch. Dizzy was loud in her insistence that duck is just what a convalescent needs to build her up again. She looks like a thestral (for literary reference see Harry Potter: 'The Order of the Phoenix') or, as granddad said, she could be marketed for a supermodel. She is skeletal, but in good voice and almost back to her cheeky self with an amazingly neat scar right down her midriff and no need to ever have to worry about bringing up a family. 

I was proud of the meal I cooked for us: choux pastry balls (so easy) stuffed with Boursin and smoked salmon, or Stilton and pear, laid neatly out with watercress and pickled pepper. A 'palate cleanser' (not to be outdone by the hotel restaurant) of raspberry, blueberry and jasmine tea; duck over apple and orange slices with roasted sweet potato, shallots and aubergine, celeriac puree and roast pots. Inevitably this was followed by Christmas pudding because we didn't eat it at Christmas and everyone likes it. Followed by collapse of chef into chair and reviving coffee made by daughter.

No photos. I haven't cooked a large complex meal for so long I was  too obsessively nervous about timings to think of finding the camera. 

Once more the traditions have been observed, with some new ones coined, like eating one's Boeuf Wellington off the kitchen floor. A good friend who likes a drink or two, or three, invited me to lunch Boxing Day. She bought everything from Mr. Marks and Sparks for ease, and to facilitate her drinking down a rather good red, but the red wanted more attention than she was able to give it so got its own back by causing her to misplace the tray containing the cooked Wellington. It tipped off the work surface, landing with a splat and a wail of horror. I'm not fussy. We scooped it up, ate it with no ill effects, and her dog cleaned up the extra left on the floor.  

Yesterday I had a quiet drink with another friend in the only hostelry open in town, Gaelic coffee for me, beer for him. We got quite giggly and told silly stories of bye-gone times. His included the sad tale of his grandfather who committed suicide when he realised his golfing days were at an end. At 96 you'd think he could just have sat around and waited!

Sanders got my Angel from last year - Power. She served me well so I was pleased for him. I got a puzzle: 'Birth.' Huh? Daughter got 'Peace' and 'Joy' (felt moved to choose two) and granddad got 'Surrender' which he took with a slightly raised eyebrow. It's just a game but can have an appreciable effect on the psyche. My first email of the NY was a kindly rejection from a poetry magazine, the editor saying she 'wasn't quite sure enough' about the poems I had submitted. I thought it was a Bad Omen, but as I  had already decided my ambition lies more in the field of fiction perhaps I can take it as a Sign instead!