The sad tale of a boy and his beloved budgie.

This morning I was going over to the morning staff briefing at school when I was stopped by one of my year 7 special needs pupils.

“You’re my science teacher,” said he.

“Yes, I am,” said I.

“My budgie died last night,” said he.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. I really am,” said I.

“You’re a scientist, can you make it live again?” he asked.

Oh my gosh, thought I, and then answered…

“I’m sorry, but no, that’s just not possible. Once something has died then it is dead and science can’t bring it back,” said I as gently and kindly as I could.

“But if I brought it in could you do that thing?” he asked while making gestures with his fingers suggesting heart massage.

“I’m sorry, but that would be way too late. That has to be done straight away. I’m so sorry he’s dead and died last night, but there is nothing I can do,” said I.

“Are you sure? You’re a scientist,” asked he.

“I’m sure, and I’m so sorry. If I could bring your budgie back to life I would. I can see how much you love it and I’m sure he loved you so much and appreciated your love. Wherever he is now he’s proud of you, I’m sure,” said I.

“I think I’ll give him a funeral tonight,” said he.

“I think that would be lovely. You can tell him how much you loved him and he’d like that. I’m just so sorry you’re so sad and there’s nothing I can do.”

“That’s ok. Thank you.” said he.

I had tears in my eyes and my heart was broken for this young chap, most probably his first bereavement.

I don’t know where his belief that I could undo nature for him has come from, and I hope I haven’t let him down too badly for his trust in me to disappear.  I don’t know what I have done to gain such wonder and respect.  I wonder if his view of me is of a kind of Dr Frankenstein, able to reanimate the dead, or as someone who can resurrect the dead.

I really wish I could have done something for him and his budgie, to ease the pain of a young, loving heart.

Now I’m home from school, I have let those tears fall.  Tears of sadness for his sadness, the loss of something he loved very much, the memories of those I’ve lost that I’ve loved, pets and humans.  Tears of sadness that I’m unable to share my beliefs about it all with him too.  Tears of sadness that I have no one to turn to for physical comfort in the form of cuddles.

I’m feeling a little sorry for myself.  I’m single.  I have been for a very long time now.  On nights like this I really wish there was someone I could turn to for a cuddle, some reassurance for myself, someone to do a little TLC for me.  As it is, I’ll have to make do with cuddles from the cat when he’s finally feeling in a cuddlesome mood.

That’s the story of the day…nothing else can compare to it, and it puts other things a tad into perspective doesn’t it?

Autumn blackberries

Bramble28Aug12 © Angela Porter
Bramble © Angela Porter
5″ x 3″, pen and ink.

Plucking blackberries from hedgerows bursting with the deep purple-black fruits of the bramble are memories of childhood.

Taking care not to prick fingers on the thorns, or get clothing snagged and torn upon them either.  There were also the sticky burrs of goose-grass to avoid too.

It was all worth the hours of effort, however.  Blackberry and apple pie, blackberry crumble, bramble jelly, and the blackberry wine my father brewed (if he could steal any away).

Blackberries were frozen by the plastic gallon re-used ice-cream tub to be used for Sunday desserts through the winter months too.

All of these things created once the blackberries had been washed in salted water to bring out any maggots that had burrowed their way into the fruits.  If I caught sight of one single maggoty thing, I couldn’t eat any more of them, and eating them straight from the bramble was not an option for me.  It’s no wonder I’m a vegetarian!

A free harvest that I no longer take advantage of, but may manage to do so this year if I can pluck up the courage to go by myself in to the countryside to do this.

Yes, I do mean courage, as I’ve become a bit of a recluse once again, not going out into the world where there are other human beings to encounter me.  A long, personal story that is, but one I hope to change with time.  The gist is I’ve allowed myself to be hurt by other people over the past few years.  Things I was once involved with have gone by the by and I’ve not managed to replace these social activities with others.  Oh, I do go out.  I am involved in things, but the people I encounter are, generally, more acquaintances than anything else.  I still seek and search for a sense of belonging in this world.

Even as I think back to childhood blackberrying, I remember that I was often alone even though the rest of the family were there, all chatting and laughing and playing amongst themselves while I was generally excluded, unless it was to be the butt of someone’s joke.  Always funny for them…

Funny, the memories of blackberrying, and collecting bilberries, or whinberries as they are also called, are still ones of pleasure – the pleasure of the food produced as a result.  Bilberries are small, blueberries, native to Britain.

Folklore

There’s plenty of folklore surrounding the humble bramble and it’s fruits.

“Throughout much of Britain there was a widespread belief that blackberries should not be eaten after a certain date.” [Vickery]

This date may have be that of the first frost, as then they become the Devil’s fruit  and are not fit for humans to eat .

Michaelmas (29 September) or  Old Michaelmas (11 October)  relate to the biblical tale of  Lucifer being thrown out of heaven for his proud, covetous ways by Archangel Michael (Isaiah 14:12).  It is said that Lucifer landed in a bramble bush and cursed it, which is why people won’t eat blackberries after Michaelmas, saying variously that:

  • they have the Devil in them
  • the Devil peeps over the hedgerow and blasts them
  • so the Devil may have his share
  • the Devil spits on them

Hallowe’en (31 October) or All Saints’ Day (1st November) are also dates given as the cut off for blackberry consumption.  As well as the reasons given above, this date also relates to the following:

  • they have the witch in them
  • the witches have peed on them
  • on Hallowe’en the puca has crawled on the blackberries.

“From a scientific point of view, blackberries contain a high concentration of bitter tasting tannins which over time accumulate in the fruit. Old Michaelmas day falls late in the blackberry season making berries picked around this time very bitter. To make matters worse, as autumn arrives the weather becomes wetter meaning the fruit will contain more fungus spores. This will not improve the taste either.” [BBC Nature UK]

Brambles were sometimes planted, or placed, on graves, one belief being that they stopped the dead from walking.  Another reason is that they kept the sheep off the grave.

A superstition in Wales was “When thorns or brambles catch or cling to a girl’s dress, they say a lover is coming.” [Roud]

References:

BBC Nature UK, Nature folklore uncovered

Roud, Steve “The Penguin Guide to the Superstitions of Britain and Ireland”, Penguin Reference, 2003

Vickery, RoyOxford Dictionary of Plant-lore”, Oxford Paperbacks, Oxford University Press, 1995

Seasons Musings 2011

The end of the Autumn Term is always one filled with very mixed feelings for me, if I allow myself to dwell on things or to notice the differences between myself and others.

I usually am quite different to others in the way I seem to live my life, that’s for sure. At this time of year, with all the messages from the media, retailers and society I feel the separateness even more. The materialistic nature of our society, and at this time of year the materialist selling machine kicks into overdrive.

The main message seems to be that you can’t possibly be happy and loved unless you are in a relationship, surrounded by family and friends and have spent a small fortune on gifts and food and drink and decorations, wear a particular brand of clothes or perfume or aftershave or jewellery, look a particular way (impossible unless you are air-brushed and digitally altered or starve yourself silly) or, or or…

Also, let us not forget the pressure to not disappoint others by not getting them the latest gadget or gizmo or designer clothing or accessories, whether you can afford it or not, and this is overwhelming, unless you are aware of the pressures upon you.

Another message is that if you have this or wear this or smell this way then your life will be magical and ecstatic and filled with love and you’ll be irresistible to others portrayed, others portrayed as the ultimate beautiful people.

The main selling point is that of an ideal partner, family, friends and life; a perfection we can’t possibly maintain except for fleeting moments; life is a series of good times and not so good times, even for the incredibly wealthy. Neither money nor fame bring happiness; if they did, we’d never hear of depressed and suicidal wealthy and/or famous people. No matter what things we own or how we dress or what we do or where we go, they cannot bring inner peace and contentment, not for more than a little while.

We’ve become a society, generally, which says I love you by how much we spend on someone, not by on how we treat others.

It is at this time of the year, when businesses whose business is to get you to part with your money, get you to buy into the belief that nothing says I love you more than spending a lot of money on you.

Am I cynical? Probably. Oh, I know that not everyone is like this, that there are people out there who understand what gifting is about, but the majority have been infected with the consumerism/materialism virus.

Being a long-term single person, one who has blood family that she’s not close to (which equates to having no real family) and friends who have their own families, then this time of year can be very difficult. Add to that the bad memories of the past that can surface as various events or pressures are felt related to this season, and a deep tiredness that saps me of my emotional resilience, I can find it very difficult to cope with this particular holiday.

I associate this time of year with huge childhood disappointments. This disappointment wasn’t with what gifts I had or how much money had or hadn’t been spent – I was always appreciative of the gifts given. No, the disappointment was always connected to my hope that Christmas would bring a wonderful change to my life; that there would really be peace and love and goodwill to all, including me.

It never happened.

By mid-morning the magic of waking and finding the house be-decked with fairy lights and decorations overnight by Father Christmas’ fairies that lived in the central heating system and the surprise of the presents at the end of the bed were replaced by arguments and name-calling, destruction and bullying, which only intensified as the day went on and tempers became more and more frayed by tiredness and food and drink.

By Boxing Day everything was back to normal, the only difference were the twinkling lights, tree, tinsel and trimmings.

Christmas became a season of false hopes and false promises.

That never changed as I went through adulthood. Oh the parties could be fun, but generally ended in drunken fights – verbal or physical – between other party-goers always spoiled them

The expectation of sitting and watching Christmas TV with no conversation after dinner was tedious and boring for me. Or the annoyance at the long ago ex-partner turning up drunk and late for the first Christmas dinner in our new home together. I’d spent all morning preparing and cooking the meal, and by the time he got home it was all dry and over-done. I’d nibbled my way through my food waiting for him (and got through half a bottle of very good port). He wolfed it down, dashed upstairs to be sick and then spent the rest of the day in bed sleeping it all off.

Not all have been sad or bad.

I had a good day a few years ago when I volunteered to help the chef at a half-way house run by the Salvation Army. There were lots of laughs that day.

There was also the year where I ‘rescued’ a friend from a long walk home after his fiancée had chucked him out at 10am on Christmas morning because her son had complained that my friend hadn’t shown enough enthusiasm for the son’s gifts. I ended up cooking an Indian banquet before taking him to his lodgings in the evening.

And last year, heavy snow meant it wasn’t possible to go anywhere, and so the pressure was off me. I spent the day engrossed in art and reading and music.

There’s also my acceptance that Christmas, as a religious thing, means nothing to me. It’s allowed me to be happier at this time of year than in the past. I still feel the pressures from outside.

This is a turning point in the year; Christmas more-or-less coincides with the Winter Solstice which heralds a return of the light and the possibility of growth in the coming months. The Solstice brings change and the opportunities for personal growth. The Sun is at it’s weakest at this time, though its strength is gradually reborn and grows in strength over the coming months. It’s a good time to let go of things that have ‘died’ in our life in order to make space for new things to come into our lives. My attitude towards this time of year is one of those things that needs to change, my resilience to the external pressures needs to be strengthened, and there are some things I need to let go of in order for this change to occur.

Despite all the work I’ve done on myself, on how I view things, becoming comfortable with who I am and my life, I still find this time of year difficult. All the comments like ‘Oh, it must be so lonely for you at this time of year, with no one to spend Christmas with’ (what about the rest of the year?) or the avoidance of the subject (by me as well), and seeing people in large groups eating and drinking and laughing and I’m on the outside looking in, or that’s how it feels.

It’s not the eating or drinking that can get me sad, more the lack of human company. However, that is a feeling that isn’t confined to this time of year – it’s an all year round thing.

I know I tend to keep myself distant from people; I’ve been hurt too often in the past. I do need to learn how to risk a little of myself in order to form connections with others. That is a longer term goal than just for one day of the year, however.

I think that this year I will revel in my solitary time, take the time to rest and recuperate, to do nice things for myself, learn to give to myself for a change and look at where I need to learn to accept from others too. It’s time to remind myself that I am comfortable in my own company, that I’m not lonely, that my life has meaning and purpose and it’s a good time to look at what I do have in my life and to be properly grateful for it. It’s a time to find the strength to avoid noticing what is missing according to the fairytale the media weave for us surrounding what happiness is and what we must have to be happy.

Perhaps, it would be a cathartic exercise to write my own version of A Christmas Carol – past, present and future – maybe calling it a Solstice Carol or a Yule Carol. 

Almost the end of the Summer break…

Prehistoric Fertility 2 – A work in progress

Prehistoric Fertility 2 WIP © Angela Porter 2011

Dimensions – 23x30cm, approx.  Silk fibre needle felt on a black felt background.  Embellishement with beads, metallic and Japan threads, and custom-made sequins.

Photographs never seem to do my work justice, simply because I’m not a photographer.  There is no idea of the shimmery nature of the work, the way that the gold Japan threads used to outline various parts of the needle felt define the shapes and provide a channel along which the colours seem to flow like oil on water.  There is no sense of the texture and heights/depths that the needle felt has brought to the work, nor to the patterns and textures the beads give.  The colours still look garish in the photograph, yet in the actual piece they are more subtle and muted.

I have spent many hours on this so far – around 30 I would guess.  Every moment has been a pleasure, and I’ve even caught myself looking at it and smiling at how well it is working out – unusual for me as I’m my own worst critic, and it’s a step forward that I can appreciate the beauty in my creative work.

Last day of the holidays

It’s finally arrived.  Today marks the end of my freedom to a degree.  Tomorrow I return to work, to a structured day and all the ups and downs that go with the job that teaching is.  My time for art and other pursuits will become very limited.

I had a list of things to do over the Summer, and I’ve achieved few of them, however I have achieved other things, and that is good.  What is better is I’m not beating myself up about the tasks undone.  There’ll be time to do them…

I will miss the slow starts to the day, the spontaneity of trips and visits and time with friends.  Friday afternoon I spent with a friend in a local cafe-bar, drinking, talking about art and other things, working on art, having nice food and laughing before going to take the weekly meditation class I lead.  I will miss the opportunity to do those kinds of things.

On the positive side, it won’t be long until the next school break, and there are the weekends too…

There’s definitely a coolness in the air in the mornings and evenings.  It’s a feeling I associate with the coming of autumn, the return to school, the start of the new academic year and a sense of hope of better things to come, a hope that was usually misplaced, and still is.  However, I still hope that a new school year and a new term will bring new attitudes, opportunities and good achievements.

This year, the new attitudes must be towards myself and my expectations of me and how I react to the poor attitude/behaviour of others.  The Summer break has allowed me to relax, to become who I am meant to be.  I like this person, I like the contentment within me, I like the confidence that comes with it.  What I don’t want is to lose this with the stresses and strains of teaching.  There’s a challenge!

One of the tasks left mostly undone over the Summer was too look for an alternative career/job, one that will allow me to use all my personal skills/talents/gifts in a positive manner.  I’ve been stumped as to what to do, and looking around at available jobs there is nothing that seems to fit me, well not yet.

So that’s another task for the coming weeks – to keep looking at available jobs, to seek advice, suggestions, to continue the audit of my personal skills to help me focus on what  I could do.

I have been thinking about training as a hypnotherapist.  The biggest stumbling block for me is finding the money to pay the fees.  I’m making enquiries about that…so finger’s crossed!

The incipient return to work has been causing some anxiety and worry with me.  My meditation this morning was filled with thoughts of things that need to be done, ideas as to what to do, worries about things that cause me emotional pain …

A clowder of cats and a kindle of kittens

Some Memories from Primary School

Yesterday, while looking for a particular book, I stumbled upon a copy of “A First Aid in English, Revised Edition”.  I’d forgotten that I’d bought this book several years ago simply because I stumbled upon it on Amazon and it brought back warm memories of primary school.  I remember with fondness enjoying working through it, working neatly in my English book, while left to my own devices while everyone else in my class was practising for the competitions for the Urdd Eisteddfod.  I wasn’t with them as I wasn’t deemed good enough for any of the competitions; my accent was too English, I was too clumsy and uncoordinated to dance or act, and was told I couldn’t sing either.  So, I was left with maths and English work to do in the classroom by myself.

Fond memories of being left by myself?  Yes, that is the case.  I have always enjoyed learning, working, and producing beautifully written notes/work.  I guess this was something I could excel at when everyone else thought I couldn’t excel at anything else.  Also, I had and continue to have a love of words and phrases, and the First Aid in English fed that love.

Other fond memories crop up, such as being able to choose a photograph from a huge, numbered collection to use to inspire story writing.  This could be done once the set work was completed and while others will still working on that.  I’ve occasionally remembered about this activity and thought I could use it now as a source of inspiration for creative writing.

Anyway, once I found the book, I had to sit with pen and paper and work through some of the exercises, and found great pleasure and comfort in doing so.  I realised how much I’d forgotten, and how much the book seemed to have been cut down compared to the one I used when I was in school, but that may just be the warping effect of time on the memory.

I know, it’s sad, but it’s also true!

Similes

And this is where the title of this post comes in!  Clowder is apparently derived from clutter, which would describe a pile of cats all together, very much like a furry cloud!

Kindle is more obscure, coming from Old Norse ‘kynda’ which meant ‘to kindle’.  Maybe it’s just a cute sounding word to describe a pile of cute cuddly kittens making apt use of alliteration.

Holly

English Holly (Ilex aquifolium)

Holly © Angela Porter 19 Dec 2010

Etymology

The word holly comes from the Old English ‘holegn‘ which became the Middle English ‘holin‘, which Tolkien fans will recognise – Hollin was the name among men for the land of Elves that thrived to the west of the Mines of Moria, known as Eregion, and it was famous for its holly trees.

In Welsh holly is called celyn.  In Terry Pratchett’s ‘Soul Music’, Imp Y Celyn is the lead singer of The Band With Rocks In

Folk names for holly hulver bush, holm, hulm, holme chase, holy tree and Christ’s thorn.

Holly decorations

Holly is one of the most striking objects in the winter woodland with its glossy leaves and clusters of brilliant scarlet berries. It is very much connected with Christmas in many Western cultures. From very early days, it was gathered in great quantities for Yuletide decorations, both of the church and the home. The old Christmas Carols are full of references to holly.

Christmas decorations are said to derive from a Roman custom that involved sending gifts to their friends during the festival of Saturnalia which occurred in mid-December. Strenae, twigs of holly or laurel with sweets fastened to them, were a popular gift. Boughs of holly and other evergreens were also used as decorations. Evergreens are symbolic, of course, of enduring and renewed life as well as a way to encourage the return of vegetation at the end of Winter.

The Christians were quick to adopt holly for their own celebrations, with the holly representing the crown of thorns that Jesus wore, the berries symbolising drops of blood. A medieval legend asserts that the holly sprang up from the places where Christ walked, hence the name Christ’s Thorn.

Old church calendars have Christmas Eve marked ‘templa exornantur‘ (churches are decked), and the custom is as deeply rooted in modern times, whether you celebrate Christmas, Yule, the Unconquered Sun, or the return of the light, as it was in either pagan or early Christian days.

Childhood memories of ‘trimming up’.

As a small child, I can remember going to bed on Christmas Eve to an ordinary home.  Generally, we were in bed early –  6pm on a school night, 7pm any other night.  On Christmas Eve, my parents used to keep us up until gone 7pm just to try to get us all to sleep through the night – I am one of six children, the second oldest.  I’d be blamed for everything, including the indecently early hour of waking on Christmas morning.  We’d make our way downstairs, bags of gifts in hand, and we’d be amazed!  The stairwell was lit by twinkling fairy lights.  The front room was sparkly with shimmering tinsel, metallic versions of fancy paper-chains, and the lights, baubles, lametta and tinsel on the tree.

As a child this was magic!  It was, in many ways, the best part of the day.  We were always told that the the fairies that lived in the central heating did the work of decorating, but as we grew up, we took our places to help the ‘rents decorate, as well as taking part in the toast at 10pm to members of the family past and present.  Even when we were all young adults, the house was never decorated before Christmas Eve, and even when we all had moved away to our own homes we still returned on Christmas Eve to decorate for the ‘rents.  I still believe the rest of the family do so now.

Holly superstitions

It is said to be unlucky to cut a branch from a holly tree; it should be pulled off instead.

Old stories advise people to take holly into their homes to act as a shelter for elves and fairies who could join mortals at this time without causing them harm. However, it must be entirely removed before Imbolc Eve (31st January) as just one leaf left within the house would result in bad luck.

In Somerset, it was considered unlucky for holly to be brought into the house before Christmas Eve, and then only brought in by a man.

In Herefordshire and Worcestershire, a small piece of holly which had adorned a church at Christmas time was regarded as very lucky to hang up in your home, even though the domestic decorations had to be burned as usual.

Pliny tells us that if holly is planted near a house or a farm it would repel poison, deflect lighting and protect from witchcraft.

Pythagoras noted that the flowers would cause water to freeze and if the wood, if thrown at any animal, would cause the animal to return and lie down by the wood, even if the wood did not touch the animal.

A good crop of berries on holly is still said to be a sign that a hard winter is on the way.

Holly uses

Holly wood is heavy, hard and white-ish and it was used for the white chess pieces, ebony being used for the black.

In the 1800s, weaving looms had holly wood spinning rods; holly was less likely to snag the threads being woven as it is a very dense wood and can be sanded very smooth.

Peter Carl Faberge used holly cases for his famous Easter Eggs, as well as small objects such as hand seals.

Holly is also used for veneering.

  1. www.wikipedia.com
  2. www.botanical.com
  3. homepage.ntlworld.com/blackbirdhollins/articles/Holly%20tree.htm
  4. “English Folklore” J Simpson and S Roud

Interwoven

 

Interwoven 1 © Angela Porter 2010

 

Interwoven 2 © Angela Porter 2010

 

Artistic endeavours

Above are two of my latest pieces of art, both worked on black card using Uni-Ball Signo metallic gel pens and Cosmic Shimmer iridescent watercolours.

The bottom one has a chain of circles/links that was inspired by looking at a La Tene or Early Celtic Art neck torc.  The rest of the patterns/shapes just flowed around the circles.

I’ve enjoyed doing these.  They give me a chance to just relax, go within myself, create and find some peace and pleasure during days when life seems a struggle at times.  Abstract art is perfect for me in doing this.  I tend to call these things ‘doodles’, but others see them as ‘effortless pieces of art, very creative and imaginative, a sure sense of colour’.  Perhaps because it is easy for me to do I find it hard to see why others would find it ‘precious’.  But as it flows from within, it does tend to be personal, and perhaps an outer representation of my inner emotional ‘weather’.

Feeling jaded, tired with teaching

This week the emotional weather has been very changeable, though there’s been a very tired and jaded weather system lingering.

I am tired and jaded with my job.  I have found it hard to get enthused about anything this week.  I find the constant disrespectful, confrontational, aggressive and/or histrionic attitudes wearying in the extreme.  There seems to be an almost constant battle that I have to fight in order to do my job.

It’s not all gloom and doom, however.  There are bright, sunny periods, where pupils with a willingness to learn, the grace to show kindness in their speech and in attitudes to others, and those full of joy to be around me.  But they are increasingly being overshadowed, once again, by the others.

I feel so much empathy for the pupils who are stuck in classes full of their peers who dominate the groups, disrupt the lessons, and carry an atmosphere of unsettledness in so many ways with them.

I’m beginning to really understand that I am too kind, caring, gentle to work in such an environment for much longer.  My kindness and gentleness make me a target for these aggressive, disrespectful, histrionic teens.  They see me as weak, pathetic, perhaps even too controlling of the class, or trying to be.  I want all to do well, to learn, to gain something positive from my lessons, and I know I expect way too much of myself in this, or perhaps not of myself but of them.

However, is it really too much to ask to have a polite response when asking a pupil to do something such as ‘get your pens and book out please’?  Is it too much to expect that I won’t be greeted with a volley of abusive language or a strident statement that either I’m picking on them, or I have an attitude problem.

I guess I should feel lucky that it’s just words and not furniture or knives or guns that are hurled at me.

Some of you may think it’s my fault I get treated like this.  I don’t think so.  I have to be true to myself.  When I’m not, then its so obvious that things get worse.  My kind, caring, empathic nature suits me working with children with special educational needs and these children rarely give me problems and respond and appreciate my nature, generally. There’s always an odd couple who don’t respond.

My issues are with mainstream pupils who generally don’t appreciate the kind, caring, supportive, encouraging approach.  Their attitudes mean I tend to distance myself from them to protect myself, though I try to help those who want my help, so long as I’m not having de-fuse situations about to explode, deal with disruption and so on.  Sometimes I feel more like a peace-keeper come baby-sitter than a teacher.  I’m absolutely sure it was never like this when I started teaching many years ago now.

Are my particular skills, talents and gifts being made the best use of  in work?  Definitely not.

Career change needed?

All of this has added to my personal problems that I am working on; and in many ways it delays me carrying out the personal work that I need to do by overshadowing that.  My biggest problem is what on earth could I do other than teach?  The other problem is that of financial security; I have a permanent contract, so I have as secure a job as is possible in the current financial climate.  However, the biggest problem is what else could I do?

What I think are my particular strengths, such as art, writing (that maybe doesn’t come across in this blog), a quickness of mind, an innate intelligence, true empathy for others, a deeply caring and kind nature, an ability to speak well and to entrance audiences, I have no particular qualifications for, nor do I have the time nor financial resources to return to university to gain them.

It is a right pickle …

But at least I get time to lose myself in art or writing or reading or playing my flute or meditating, activities that help to bring me peace and joy, and some of which others can gain joy from too if I share them.

Memories of my father’s passing

Something else that seems to have affected my emotional weather this week was the fact that it was the anniversary of my father’s passing.  Two years ago on the 10th November, around 9:20pm, I was sat with my father during the last moments of his life on Earth.  I’d most probably spent more time with him during the 8 months he was in hospital than for the rest of my life.  In fact, I spent more time with him during this time than I did with other human beings.  It was an interesting time; he had Alzheimer’s as well as cancer and diabetes and arthritis, and just old age.

His last evening on Earth was one where he struggled to breathe, where he was in and out of consciousness, and was very agitated.  I spoke to him about things I’d done, things I planned to do, and I was very tearful as I knew he was slipping away, even if the medical staff, my mother and other members of the family thought he’d be there for months longer.  There was a smell in the room, and I just knew it was time.

I’d never seen a real dead body before, let alone been with a person coming to the end of their mortal days.  I was scared, worried if I’d be a strong enough person to stay with my father through it.  I’d always told him I’d be there with him if he wanted me to be, whether he understood me or not.  As it happened, I was strong enough.

Despite his extreme confusion thanks to the Alzheimer’s, in the last few moments of his life he knew who I was and was able to say some things that meant a lot.  He knew he was dying and about to pass away and he wasn’t scared.  I asked him if he wanted me to stay with him, he said yes.  His passing was peaceful.  After speaking it was only a few minutes before he quietly slipped away, and I observed/felt things that have since helped me on my spiritual path. In fact, I experienced many things while visiting my father that gave me and still give me cause for thought.

After he passed, the room was filled with a feeling of such love, not sadness.  The sadness was that he was so ill and suffered so much before he passed.  I didn’t feel relief, just love and a sense of peace.

For that I thank my father deeply.  I feel he granted me a great privilege to be present as his passing, so many seem to choose to pass away when their loved ones have taken leave of them, and to witness so much I can’t, as a scientist, explain yet makes sense to me as a person finding their way along a spiritual path on the Earth.  I’d like to believe that my father is on the next stage of his spiritual journey, whatever form that may take.

What has surprised me is that my mind has wandered back to that time in the past few days, and it has brought up tears with the memories.   I believe I did my grieving in the months my father was declining towards his passing, and though I had tears for a day or two afterwards I think it was more to do with emotional exhaustion.  His passing left me with a need to adjust my spiritual beliefs, to re-examine them, and I used my bereavement leave to do this.

I have wondered if these memories are what I’ve used as an ‘excuse’ to avoid facing up to issues with work …

Happy All Hallows Eve (Hallowe’en or Samhain to you)!

Hallowe’en

Punkie3 © Angela Porter 2010

Well, it’s that time of year again isn’t it?  And it’s another time to consider the truth vs. “The Truth“.  “The Truth” is that this is an ancient pagan holiday, mainly thanks to the writings of Frazer in ‘The Golden Bough’ where he cites this as The Truth, yet there is little evidence if any for it being so (see Hutton “The Stations of the Sun’ for more details)!

There were fairs and courts held in ancient Ireland at this time, a time called Samhain by them.

The Venerable Bede writes that this time of year was known as ‘Blod Monath’ which means Blood Month – the month where all unnecessary animals were slaughtered to save fodder and the people would feast on the parts that could not be preserved.

The truth is that it’s actually more of a Christian celebration in origin!  Today is the eve of a major Catholic festival – All Saints Day (1st November) which dates from the 8th Century.  All Souls Day (2nd November) was instituted around the year 1000 as a day to pray for the dead.  In England since the 19th Century, and increasingly in the 20th and 21st Centuries, it has gained a reputation as a night on which ghosts, witches and fairies are especially active.  Why this should be so is debatable, and returns to the truth vs. The Truth.

Different sections of society have claimed it for their own, or are rejecting it as being their own.  Who is right?  Everyone!  One thing is certain, Hallowe’en is big business, especially in America, and increasingly so here in Britain.

There are many traditional events and activities here that are overshadowed by the sheer bad behaviour and malice that a minority seem to partake in with delight.  It is an aspect of this time of year that I dislike…and I don’t need to say any more about that.

I do think it’s good that children can face their fears in a safe, measured and fun way.  We all like to be scared in a safe environment; if we didn’t then the horror films and books and games wouldn’t appeal to us.  It’s part of growing up, learning to manage our fears, to indulge in imagination, to experience a different world of wonder.  It’s not just Hallowe’en that allows children to explore this; the traditional fairy stories aren’t all sweetness and light are they?

As to it being a festival that promotes evil and satanism, well, I don’t think so.  Those who would be drawn to such systems would be regardless of Hallowe’en, lets be honest.

As much as I can be pedantic about ‘the truth’ and I like to know where the traditions and beliefs have come from (the scientist, researcher in me will not be denied), I also know that traditions change and evolve over time.  What is important, perhaps more than anything else, is that traditions link us together.  We can be sure that we are not the only ones having fun at this time, indulging in shared events, and it is that sharing that reaffirms that we are all connected in some way.

Auragraphs

Auragraph for Liz © Angela Porter 28 October 2010

Auragraphs are intuitive works of art that result from a sensitive person ‘tuning into’ another person’s energy, aura, being.  The colours, shapes, symbols and patterns all have meanings that can be interpreted, giving an insight into the recipients personality, life, and potential.  I’ve been experimenting with them for the last couple of months, and yesterday I was showing them to people at an open day at a local spiritual organisation.

A couple I had already done found their way to the people they were meant for.  Orders were taken for another couple, and all the proceeds are going into the organisations funds as donations.  It was an interesting experience for me in many ways.

Giving the interpretation (reading) for the recipient was interesting, and it was nice that they were so right.  Working with someone who wants one done for them and allowing the images/shapes to flow on to paper – just as sketches – and talking about why they are appearing and what they mean, and getting feed back on that was very interesting.

The two ordered have only been done as sketches; they will take around 12 hours each to complete, so that will keep me busy, as will writing down the readings for those verbally given will be interesting!  I really do need to carry my digital dictaphone with me more often I think.

The Ghost Train

Punkie1 © Angela Porter 2010I actually made it to the Pontypool and Blaenavon Railway yesterday, after the open day at Treforest.

I didn’t arrive until around 5:30pm and most of the visitors had been and gone.  I did get to read one story to one family.  And that was fine.  Though I did enjoy winding up small children in a nice way, as well as saving them from the scary vampire who was stalking the carriages!  I do hope I’ll get to read some more stories today …

I really enjoy story telling /reading.  It’s another shared activity that bonds people together, allows them to make connections, and it’s also an opportunity for imaginations to be used, something that isn’t done so often these days.

This may be my last time at the railway, however.  I find the connections I once thought I had there are now very weak, if not non-existent.  Things change, which leads me to …

What All Hallows Eve Means to Me

Autumm Leaves © Angela Porter 2010

I always think of All Hallows Eve (Hallowe’en to you!) as mid-Autumn.  It certainly is this year; the world is wearing its coat of glorious flaming Autumn hues!  I love it when I drive along through a flurry of leaves blown off the trees by a sudden gust of wind.  The warmth of the colours envelops me as I journey around the world, a warm memory is being stored to see me through the cold, dark days of Winter.

The Earth is preparing to sleep through those Winter days, taking a hard-earned rest before coming to life again in the Spring.  All that is unnecessary, finished with, complete  is being shed, the falling leaves being symbolic of that.

As this clearing out happens out in the world of Nature, so it happens within.  It’s time to look back on the year, to give thanks for what is complete, finish that which is almost complete, and let go of that which is finished, has served its purpose, that we have outgrown.  In doing so we make space in our lives for further personal growth.  And this is the potted version of how I relate to this particular spoke on the wheel of the year.

For me, it seems the railway is to go.  My SmartCar and all her problems have gone.  I may soon be finished with counselling … but we’ll see about that, there’s still my self-image, confidence, self-love to be worked on.  I’m not sure about anything else, but that will become apparent as time goes on.

Punky Night – A Somerset Custom

Pumpkin3 © Angela Porter October 2010

It’s Punky Night tonight
It’s Punky Night tonight
Give us a candle, give us a light
It’s Punky Night tonight!

This is one of the verses of a song changed by children as they carry their ‘punkies’, or Jack O’ Lanterns around villages in Somerset, England, UK and, in times past, begging for candles.  In the village of Hinton St George, Punky, or Punkie, Night is the last Thursday in October.

Other variations on the verse include,

It’s Punky Night tonight
It’s Punky Night tonight
Adam and Eve would not believe
It’s Punky Night tonight!

It’s Punky Night tonight
It’s Punky Night tonight
Give me a candle, give me a light

If you don’t, you’ll get a fright!
It’s Punky Night tonight

It’s Punky Night tonight
It’s Punky Night tonight
Give me a candle, give me a light
If you haven’t a candle, a penny’s alright

It’s Punky Night Tonight!

If you want to sing-a-long with the words, visit “The Punky Night Song” webpage!

The threat of something not nice happening if a person didn’t give the children something compares to the more modern tradition of ‘trick or treat’.

Punkies are made from a mangold-wurzel, or a large turnip, in a similar manner to modern Hallowe’en pumpkins.  The top is cut off, the insides scooped out and designs are cut into the outer skin, leaving a thin membrane intact.  Scary faces are common, but there are many examples of more creative designs.  A lighted candle is then placed inside to shine through the cuts.

Despite the usual assumptions that this custom is an ancient one, there is little evidence of its existence before the C20th.  Various nights in late October served for this custom, but Hinton St George eventually settled on the last Thursday in October.  At one time, it seems to have been a simple house-visiting custom, but members of the local Women’s Institute reorganized it in the mid twentieth century.  It is now celebrated by a procession of children carrying their punkies, and a party where prizes for the best designs are given, a Punkie King and Punkie Queen are crowned and money is raised for charity.

A local legend purports to explain the custom’s origin.  One version of the legend is that the village menfolk went to Chiselborough Fair, and got too drunk to find their way home.  Their wives fashioned lanterns out of mangold-wurzels and went to fetch them.   There are variations on the tale, in some the menfolk make the lanterns, in others the drunken menfolk are scared by the lanterns scary faces believing them to be ghosts of dead children returning to the Earth until Hallowe’en.  The neighbouring village of Lopen claims the custom (and legend) as their own, and other villages have started their own punkie nights.

As a child, I remember helping to carve Jack O’ Lanterns from swedes.  Pumpkins were not a common item then.  It wasn’t easy work either, and my father usually took control of matters very quickly, at least by hollowing out the swede so that we could carve the designs into the shell more easily and with less likelihood of us cutting off our fingers, or worse!  The smell of cooking swede pervaded the house once the candle was lit; whenever I smell cooking swede I get get flashbacks to childhood Hallowe’en, before it became dominated by ‘trick or treat’ and the various forms of antisocial behaviour that occur on that night, and the surrounding nights.  We had our own Hallowe’en party in our home, with local friends visiting with us.  The living room was decorated with blood-red crepe paper streamers, home-made black bats and spiders and webs.  Candle light was the order of the evening.  We made ghoulish food that involved a lot of food dye!  Ducking apples, bobbing apples were always played. And the climax of the proceedings involved the  delivery and display of Captain Blood’s Cake, dripping with blood-coloured icing and ghastly green writing and a single candle placed in the middle of the cake.  This heralded the beginning of ghostly and ghoulish stories.  They would start with a tale about Captain Blood, and then would go onto other things as we children would exercise our imaginations to tell tales, add to the tale being told, and scaring ourselves with what we found most fearful.  It must be said there was a lot of laughing as well!  These were perhaps some of the best times of my childhood … even though I was most probably too shy to tell the tales, my imagination would run away with me and everyone would make fun of me, and I still bear those scars today, finding it hard to tell stories, write tales, be imaginative.  I’ll get over it though.  I will.

The drawing of a pumpkin punkie was done using a very fine technical drawing pen (0.1mm) and watercolour paints on cartridge paper.  The sketch was completed very quickly, the painting took a little longer as the white purry-furry one wanted to help/hinder by demanding cuddles and fusses!   I then fiddled with it in GIMP2 to make it more vibrant in colour, more blurry and better looking than the original!  I have a couple more done that I’ll use to decorate any entries I do about Hallowe’en.

  1. Steve Roud, “The English Year”
  2. Punkie Night at information-britain.co.uk
  3. Punkie Night at Monstrous.com
  4. It’s Punky Night! at wyrdwords.vispa.com
  5. Ronald Hutton, “The Stations of the Sun”
  6. Punkie Night at wikipedia
  7. Jack o’ Lanterns at wikipedia
  8. Jacqueline Simpson and Steve Roud, “A Dictionary of English Folklore”

Folklore, a Fall and Storytelling

Yesterday evening, I travelled by train to Merthyr Tydfil where I was giving a talk.  My lil Smartiepants is still poorly; I’m awaiting a call back from my mechanic to get her fixed.  Anyways, on the way out I grabbed ‘The Folklore of Discworld’ by Terry Pratchett and Jacqueline Simpson and thoroughly enjoyed reading it again during my journey there and back again to Merthyr.

‘Some of the things in this book may well be familiar, and you will say ‘but everybody knows this’.  But the Discworld series, which on many occasions borrows from folklore and mythology, twisting and tangling it on the way …’

And that is what I love about Mr. P – the way the familiar is just twisted enough to fit into somewhere else, with humour and a sense of ridiculousness, and often with quite a deep perception of how things work on our world, and plenty of chuckles along the way.

‘…there are some things we shouldn’t forget, and mostly they add up to where we came from and how we got here and the stories we told ourselves on the way.  But folklore isn’t only about the past.  It grows, flowers and seeds every day, because of our innate desire to control our world by means of satisfying narratives.’

And don’t we live, or re-live, our lives by stories, by narratives?  When we relate to others what we have done, what we have experienced, what ‘they’ said, or share our thoughts and memories we are relating a story.  I know in my day job I often teach in a story-telling kind of way, and I try to tell enjoyable and memorable stories.  I love to hear other peoples’ stories too.  Stories about us will be passed down through the generations, changing subtly with each re-telling, just as folklore always has done.

And folklore and stories have power, more so than the mundane reality of the truth.

‘But there is the truth, and, then again, there is The Truth, in the face of which truth can only shrug and grin.’

People prefer, generally, to believe the fantastic, and to add mystery to something that is ordinary.  And I can relate an example of this in action.

A few years ago, while walking across the old Severn crossing, I fell and hit my temple on the ground.  A silly accident, I was bending over my bicycle to see if I could sort out the gears that had stuck in one place, next thing I know my face had made intimate contact with the tarmac of the path.  This old bridge is bouncy, especially when heavy lorries shudder their way across, and I think two must have crossed near me at the same time and set up an extra big bounce that unsettled my balance.  Once I’d recovered my composure, I could feel my eye swelling and I decided to ride my bike back to my car, load it in and then get home asap, which I did safely..

That afternoon I ended up in A&E having a head x-ray as my eye had swollen shut, I had a wonderful black eye beginning to develop, but the emergency phone advice service insisted I go get my head checked out in case I’d managed to crack my skull.  I hadn’t, but by the next morning I had a black eye that was really black and the bruising extended from my eyebrow to below my cheekbone!  It was an absolute corker!

Monday morning came, no pain, but the eye was even more spectacularly black than the day before.  I had to go to school, and on my arrival the headteacher, chair of governors and other staff were concerned that I shouldn’t be there.  I explained that it looked a LOT worse than it was, that there was only a little bit of pain if I touched my temple ‘just there’ and I had had x-rays and was fine.

When I went to my class to do registration, they were shocked with my appearance and asked what was happened.  I told them the truth – the fall, the trip to A&E.

Did they want to believe it?  No.  One 16 year old lad was convinced I’d been out ‘clubbing’ in Cardiff and had got involved in a fight (me? fighting? no way!!! I’m way to gentle and kind for that … I’m very peace-loving).  I said, no, I don’t ‘do’ night clubs, nor do I fight.  He wouldn’t have it, so I went along with him, making up answers to his questions.

“Who hit you?  A man or a woman?  Did you know them?” he asked.

“A man, over six foot tall and built like a brick out-house, and I didn’t know him,” I replied.

“What did you do?  ”

“I hit him back.  I knocked him out.”

“You knocked him out? Really?  What happened to him.”

“Yes. Really.  He’s still in hospital I think.”

“Wow.  Were the police there?”

“Yes, they were.”

“Did they arrest you?”

“No, they saw that he hit me first and I just pushed back in self-defence.  They let me go.  And he’s not pressing charges as he doesn’t want it known he got knocked out by a woman”.

“Wow.”

By the end of the week, there were all kinds of stories circulating about how I got my black eye.  I’d been ambushed by a pack of ninjas who I’d fought off but one got a lucky kick in at my eye.  I’d got shot by an arrow as I was taking part in a medieval battle re-enactment.  A Viking had caught me in his head as I was axe-fighting with him.

I had told each and every pupil the truth, that I’d fallen and hit my head.  But not one of them wanted to believe the mundane truth.  The wanted The Truth – a story with excitement, mystery, amazing powers or luck or magic.

The first lad accused me, on his last day of secondary school, of lying to him.  I said I never had, wondering what he was on about.  He said I’d never had a fight in a club (duh!).  I reminded him that I had told him the truth, but it was too ordinary for him to want it to believe it to be true.  He’d helped make up The Truth and preferred to believe that.  He accepted that!

So, there lies the power of narrative, or stories, of words … it can be used for entertainment, for fun, for good things.  However, it is used by others for manipulation, deception, to gain power over others and to do bad things.  And it can change, and be changed, depending on the point of view of the storyteller, their cultural background, their own beliefs and morals … and we can change our own stories too, which is an entirely different set of ideas!

We may not be able to change the events of our lives, but we can change how we view them, how they affect us, how we feel about them and our reactions to them.  In doing so we can change our reactions to similar circumstances that we come across now and in the future, so changing our ‘story’.  It’s not easy, it takes a lot of effort and a lot of courage to face these situations, to face our reactions to them, and then to view things in a different way, something I’m learning about in counselling.  It’s not easy as the inertia of The Truth as it applies to such situations is great, and the truth may not be apparent as all we have our our memories, emotional responses that memories can trigger in present/future experiences so that we are no longer bound by our old, negative, automatic thoughts and responses.  It’s not about making everything in the past lovey-dove, it’s about finding a way to deal with life without automatically blaming ourselves for other peoples attitudes, responses, actions.