I’ve never seen a Scottish Autumn and Winter as beautiful, so far, as what 2016’s given.
The beauty in these seasons is going a long, gentle way to keeping breathing through the humanity shitstorm we’ve seen happen around the world this year. It’s easier to believe we’re not all doomed when nature’s on its best behaviour.
As my own shield and sword, I’ve added focus to health and work ethic. These things help my locus of control stay internal so fear doesn’t breed with downtime to create mischief.
Everything else is weather.
More info on #52and40 here.
Internalised misogyny’s kinda like the rat who lived in our back garden. Every now and then it poked its head out of a small hole in the dry stane dyke and scared the living shit out of me (but thrilled the dog).
For soooooooo long I believed the rat was simply a large mouse. Then, faced with faecal evidence to the contrary, I spent some time simply telling myself the rat was a large mouse and willing away memories of the enormo-shits by the bird feed in the shed. Denial can be a really handy part of adjusting to an unpleasant reality, can’t it?
I did not want the rat to be as big a problem as it was – so I simplified it away and mentally minimised it to make it easier to think about. La la la la la la.
Meantime, the rat had babies and I grew unable to continue deluding myself that the big pink semi-ropes intermittently hanging out the wee wall in the garden were anything other than rat tails. Then, the sight of a rat climbing the 7ft clematis trellis turned out to be a moment even Instagram filters & wine couldn’t soften.
We are now minus a shed and a rat colony. We found out the rats were living under the decrepit, old, rotting shed (very low air miles to the bird food) so it was time for the lot to go.
I’ve talked a lot about the rat now and not so much about internalised misogyny, haven’t I? If you’d like to read me talking about internalised misogyny for reals, I’m chuffed as a rat in a slop bucket to say you can do just that on Bella Caledonia this festive season.
I’m dreaming of a non-line Christmas
Just like the ones we used to know
Where purses jingle
And footsteps mingle
And we all go shopping in the snow.
I’m also dreaming of a socio-political re-org for Scotland which ejects a Daily Mail state of mind for the rest of time. And a plan for my big writing project more cohesive than, ‘yes, I might need to change the whole thing again. Hmmmm.’
Clarity will come. Meantime, the thing to fill the void with is art, air, light and laughter. And non-line shopping.
More info on #52and40 here.
I’ve known folk who did everything for change and, at the end of short and happy lives, died.
When change moves at a glacial pace it’s hard to know what the point is.
I think the point is to make your life a laughing one full of hopeful risks and challenged potential anyway, even if the only payback is a clear conscience.
A clear conscience is a radiant experience, after all.
Change is drip-fed right up till the millisecond the damn breaks against the pressure.
Maybe change is closer than we know.
What’s all this #52and40 malarky anyway? Read all about it here.