We watched the chimneys at the decommissioned Cockenzie Power Station being demolished on Saturday. They touched, then fell together.
Years ago, a friend had two huge pieces of art in transit. Each was on chunky canvas, about two metres square. I loved them before I even knew what I was looking at. One featured a crane; yellow, powerful, enormous. It looked limited, a tight muscle ready to be directed in careful dance. The other was the red rivet and line detail of treated steel: a new building emerging amidst city shadows.
Autumn’s my favourite. Colours, light and air are incredible and fashion wise I pull on a sweater and exist in a micro-climate within it, basically becoming a talking, typing, ball of wool with heavily mascara’d eyes til May.
This year the garden’s giving the first proper feedback from getting more love. I peer out windows or wander out – just to see if anything’s grown or changed. It’s like meditation or gazing at your sleeping child – everything else fades away and only the tunnel visioned and detailed peaceful engagement is left.
Linking up this week with the stunning How Does Your Garden Grow series at Mammasaurus
Sometimes, when we’d really like someone to change, we can be willing them on and unknowingly blocking them.
Anyone I’ve known who ever changed (including myself) did so because of a big shock; a lambasting, gargantuan shock of the hand grenade in the mind variety; the type that obliterates then rewrites whatever went before.
Willing someone to change isn’t enough. Stepping out of a space to allow change to happen is, perhaps, a gesture of acceptance and hope.
And gently freeing yourself from the barbed wire is an act of love.
To read more about #52and39 click here.
Ubuntu means two things, as far as I know.
I first knew it as the name of a free operating system on a PC my husband built to prove to himself that no matter how hard Apple and Microsoft tried, they couldn’t catch his maverick ass.
Ubuntu’s also something pre-dating computers and globalisation. It’s something more important. It’s an ancient African word describing a humanist belief: a philosophy that humans are connected by the bond of a shared story and the power in openness to one another, like in a marketplace.
You can find out more about Stockbridge Market and its traders here.
I’m thinking a LOT about self sabotage.
I’m thinking about how I’ve elaborately protected myself from failure by subtlely self- sabotaging goals to such an extent that, it seemed, they just weren’t meant to be.
I guess it’s my age. I’ll be 39 tomorrow. If I’m lucky I’m a little under the halfway point in my life. I have some big dreams to make come true between here and the elegant in repose (with CostCo truffles) death-bed scene. So I have to be really honest with myself.
What are the blocks?