I missed the chance of saying Merry Christmas. Late. As usual. Turns out that a lot of people I know procrastinate just as shamefully as I do-so a very late Merry Christmas, and I hope that everyone ate too much, drank too much, filled the swear box to overflowing...and there you go.
But New Year's-that is a different story. I wish everyone a very happy, healthy, prosperous and (reasonably) trauma-free 2018. I expect that everyone will be celebrating tomorrow night, in one way or another, in company or solo. Me, I will be celebrating-solo.I'll be watching some of the huge load of stuff I saved over the past few months (just tape everything. You can always go back and delete it later. I always do. So why bother? Beats me!).
Or-I might just start wading through the 2,000 plus emails that are languishing in my inbox. Most of them are absolute garbage, and can be deleted. But-ah, but-there are some that are good to read and keep. Or even read and delete. But to get to those, I have to trawl through a load of crap. Oh, joy. My delete finger will be getting a workout. In fact, I should probably email Microsoft and say thanks for the carpal tunnel.
If this year has been as traumatic for you as it has been for me, let's all drink a toast to burying 2017-down a hole, never to be seen or heard from again. I've had eight years like that-and I'm determined that I won't be making it nine years. I doubt that my constitution can stand it.
I'm not even making any New Year's resolutions-because I break them within the first week of the new year. We can make resolutions any time-why wait until the end of the year, when our stress levels are through the roof, and we promise ourselves that we will do things that we probably will never do? So-no resolutions.
Well-maybe just one: I promise myself that I will not carry 2017 over into 2018. It's the start of a new year, and I really, really need to learn to leave the past where it belongs: in the past.
I remember years ago, when I tore the ligament in my ankle (very, very nasty and painful), but didn't want to go to the hospital. Hospitals are bad for you: full of sick people. So I went along to a Chinese acupuncturist and herbalist called Dr.Chen. He was around 85 years old then, so he'll either be dead now or very, very, very old. Chen needled me, gave me some Chinese herbs, and told me that my biggest problem is that I'm unable (and/or unwilling) to let go of the past, and I'm carrying that into my present, as well as making myself a miserable future. He said that in China even something that happened a moment ago is in the past, and they know to let go of it and not dwell on it again. And he said that he got to a very healthy 85 by living by those principles.
Okay, so-whatever. That was good advice, I was maybe - 20 or 25 at the time - and did I follow it? Oh, hell no-since when do I follow anyone's advice-even my own?
So Happy New Year. Celebrate. If you're on your own, celebrate that, because there are worse things. Trust me, I know this from experience. Celebrate, release the past as much as you can, do a ritual-if all else fails, just get loaded. You'll pay for it on New Year's Day-but who cares?
Saturday, 30 December 2017
Tuesday, 12 December 2017
In a galaxy, far, far away...
Somewhere there are people with manners and intelligence that is measurable into double figures. Somewhere there are men with both balls and brains. But this is Britain-so somewhere isn't here, that's for sure. Did you know that people tried to put on the nativity (plays, films, television) but they couldn't do it?
They couldn't show the nativity because they couldn't find three wise men and a virgin.
Well, obviously.
I know that Christmas is stressful: people spending too much, the joy (yeah, right?) of shopping, what to eat, where to shop-and so on. Plus, people suddenly turn even more Neanderthal than usual when it comes to the sales. Just ask those who have been beaten to a pulp because someone else wanted the same item, and was willing to kill for it.
That is the downside of Christmas. And, although there are some pretty bad memories of Christmases past, I still find it a magical time of the year. Why? Who knows? Maybe after so many years I'm developing the British disease known as brain death.
I remember when I was a child (yes, I can remember back that far. They had invented the wheel by then), being driven around our neighborhood and looking at all the decorations outside the houses. Lights, beautifully done, trees decorated-one house had a Santa and his reindeer, the sleigh, the whole business, beautifully lit. When you're a child, all the lights and decorations are really impressive. You only become jaded when you grow up.
I can remember decorating the tree, and wanting to put the angel on top-but I was too short, so someone else had to do it. We even had tinsel fights: there was tinsel everywhere, even on the tree (eventually).
What I remember best was Christmas dinner. All the cousins sat in one little area while the adults got loaded on-well, anything alcoholic they could get their hands on. I had an uncle Artie, who was an alcoholic, and he would doze off mid-meal. That was the sign for all us kids to take stuffing balls, bread rolls, anything we could find-and hurl them at him. When the adults weren't looking, it was a food fight. It was great fun for us-but not so much fun for Artie.
We had our first snowfall in London this year. Sunday it came down in sheets, lasted for hours, and made it impossible to go out and do anything. I watched, because I love watching snow fall-it's the aftermath (black ice) that I don't like very much. So I sat and watched for awhile. It was beautiful-and then I watched some of the shows I taped months ago, promising myself that I would catch up eventually. Most of the time I tape stuff and then end up deleting it months later.
It's mostly clear now, although a lot of pavements are still very slippery. It's also -3 Celsius, which is-bloody cold. And I'm on my way to Tai Chi. Let's see how well I do after two days of doing nothing. Fingers crossed that I don't fall and break something...
They couldn't show the nativity because they couldn't find three wise men and a virgin.
Well, obviously.
I know that Christmas is stressful: people spending too much, the joy (yeah, right?) of shopping, what to eat, where to shop-and so on. Plus, people suddenly turn even more Neanderthal than usual when it comes to the sales. Just ask those who have been beaten to a pulp because someone else wanted the same item, and was willing to kill for it.
That is the downside of Christmas. And, although there are some pretty bad memories of Christmases past, I still find it a magical time of the year. Why? Who knows? Maybe after so many years I'm developing the British disease known as brain death.
I remember when I was a child (yes, I can remember back that far. They had invented the wheel by then), being driven around our neighborhood and looking at all the decorations outside the houses. Lights, beautifully done, trees decorated-one house had a Santa and his reindeer, the sleigh, the whole business, beautifully lit. When you're a child, all the lights and decorations are really impressive. You only become jaded when you grow up.
I can remember decorating the tree, and wanting to put the angel on top-but I was too short, so someone else had to do it. We even had tinsel fights: there was tinsel everywhere, even on the tree (eventually).
What I remember best was Christmas dinner. All the cousins sat in one little area while the adults got loaded on-well, anything alcoholic they could get their hands on. I had an uncle Artie, who was an alcoholic, and he would doze off mid-meal. That was the sign for all us kids to take stuffing balls, bread rolls, anything we could find-and hurl them at him. When the adults weren't looking, it was a food fight. It was great fun for us-but not so much fun for Artie.
We had our first snowfall in London this year. Sunday it came down in sheets, lasted for hours, and made it impossible to go out and do anything. I watched, because I love watching snow fall-it's the aftermath (black ice) that I don't like very much. So I sat and watched for awhile. It was beautiful-and then I watched some of the shows I taped months ago, promising myself that I would catch up eventually. Most of the time I tape stuff and then end up deleting it months later.
It's mostly clear now, although a lot of pavements are still very slippery. It's also -3 Celsius, which is-bloody cold. And I'm on my way to Tai Chi. Let's see how well I do after two days of doing nothing. Fingers crossed that I don't fall and break something...
Friday, 8 December 2017
Icicles on my bicycles
This is definitely brass monkey weather. If you're new to this blog, there is a saying over here that it's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Brrr...my friends over the Pond will laugh at me, since it just about goes a couple of degrees above zero (Celsius)-but hey. Cold is cold.
'Tis the season to be maudlin. I see so many miserable people while I am out and about: bad tempered, grumpy, weepy, and all the rest of the seven dwarfs. It's most definitely Christmas.
I'm gearing up for the holiday by just keeping my head down-the best thing I can do over here, since Trump the imbecile seems determined to start a war with North Korea and another one in the Middle East. Americans are targets here anyway-but do I get a lot of abuse, or what? I'll have to say I'm Canadian. Better still, I'll just point to my throat and say I have laryngitis-for at least a year, or until that oaf in the oval office either leaves or dies. Isn't life becoming really, really interesting?
Another couple of weeks and Tai Chi finishes for this term; that same week I go to see my physiotherapist, and we will see how well I'm doing with my exercises. I've been really off balance since the surgery, and fighting hard to get back what I lost after all those complications-so we'll see how I do. You'll know when I know-unless it's bad news, in which case I will have to hide for awhile-possibly forever.
I had a long talk with my friend Jane, whom I've known for more than twenty years. I said that I really feel socially inept after eight years of being in battle mode. I haven't had time to even think about anything else but surviving, let alone making friends along the way. Her suggestion was to wait until January, when everyone is weeping over the overdraft, and the bills that will be coming in January-either that or they'll be seriously hung over. Then, she said, go find some classes. Go back to the museum and listen to some lectures. Go find something I like to do, or a skill I would like to learn. That's good advice. Of course, hang gliding is out of the question-so is anything that could cause me to smash myself up or keel over. I'll be thinking about that over the next few weeks. I'm close to making cleaning the kitchen and doing the laundry spectator sports-so I've got to get cracking and do some housework before my dust bunnies have litters. Oh, to live in a place where there's no dust (yeah, dream on).
We're pretty much up to date. I went to see my friend in Essex yesterday (ah, Essex-Braindead Central), and saw the results of a really bad crash: this car had the driver's side completely wiped out. I don't know if there were fatalities, but I did see two men fighting it out as I was walking past. You couldn't miss it-I had to step past it to get to my friend's place.
'Tis the season to be fighting. If I can stay out of trouble, I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile-I'm off to Starbucks. I heard on the news this morning that Starbucks is opening one store every nine days in China. Every nine days-how about that. Tempting, but no, Iceland seems to be a much better bet, don't you think?
'Tis the season to be maudlin. I see so many miserable people while I am out and about: bad tempered, grumpy, weepy, and all the rest of the seven dwarfs. It's most definitely Christmas.
I'm gearing up for the holiday by just keeping my head down-the best thing I can do over here, since Trump the imbecile seems determined to start a war with North Korea and another one in the Middle East. Americans are targets here anyway-but do I get a lot of abuse, or what? I'll have to say I'm Canadian. Better still, I'll just point to my throat and say I have laryngitis-for at least a year, or until that oaf in the oval office either leaves or dies. Isn't life becoming really, really interesting?
Another couple of weeks and Tai Chi finishes for this term; that same week I go to see my physiotherapist, and we will see how well I'm doing with my exercises. I've been really off balance since the surgery, and fighting hard to get back what I lost after all those complications-so we'll see how I do. You'll know when I know-unless it's bad news, in which case I will have to hide for awhile-possibly forever.
I had a long talk with my friend Jane, whom I've known for more than twenty years. I said that I really feel socially inept after eight years of being in battle mode. I haven't had time to even think about anything else but surviving, let alone making friends along the way. Her suggestion was to wait until January, when everyone is weeping over the overdraft, and the bills that will be coming in January-either that or they'll be seriously hung over. Then, she said, go find some classes. Go back to the museum and listen to some lectures. Go find something I like to do, or a skill I would like to learn. That's good advice. Of course, hang gliding is out of the question-so is anything that could cause me to smash myself up or keel over. I'll be thinking about that over the next few weeks. I'm close to making cleaning the kitchen and doing the laundry spectator sports-so I've got to get cracking and do some housework before my dust bunnies have litters. Oh, to live in a place where there's no dust (yeah, dream on).
We're pretty much up to date. I went to see my friend in Essex yesterday (ah, Essex-Braindead Central), and saw the results of a really bad crash: this car had the driver's side completely wiped out. I don't know if there were fatalities, but I did see two men fighting it out as I was walking past. You couldn't miss it-I had to step past it to get to my friend's place.
'Tis the season to be fighting. If I can stay out of trouble, I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile-I'm off to Starbucks. I heard on the news this morning that Starbucks is opening one store every nine days in China. Every nine days-how about that. Tempting, but no, Iceland seems to be a much better bet, don't you think?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)