Tuesday, 22 October 2013


I am thinking about cups. As an avid reader of Regency Romantic Fiction (in my TEENS) I learned that to be 'in his cups' meant the would-be ravisher was drunk. Cups is a suit in the Tarot deck, which is an ancient and rather guilty memory, because to have dabbled in Tarot Reading  is a stoneable offence in the Old Testament. which I was once commanded to swallow whole, but now do not. On the grounds that if I couldn't do terrible things to people, God, who is Love, wasn't about to do them either. I brush my Tarot dabbling aside along with the Regency Romantic Fiction, as something left behind in my teens, and about as meaningful. 

There's that lovely phrase from the 23rd Psalm, 'My cup runneth over.' My youngest self, that spent hours working with words, interpreting them as pictures, imagined  something like a flood in a chalice, and wonder what it was running over.... The literalism of young children is delightful, but something to be occasionally wary of... 

I should be working, but I am patently not. The house must be fit for habitation by Thursday at 7pm when Ray and I arrive home with Ursula, our house guest for six weeks. Ursula is a friend of my friend Ruth, with whom I spent a lovely vacation in Zurich and Locarno the year before last. The Icelandic Poppy seeds I bought in the Botanical Gardens in the middle of Lake Locarno bloomed magnificently this summer. I may have a photo to post, because I'm sure, if you're still reading this, you'd like to see it. (Aside)

Cups. I was actually thinking about the half-full cliche that defines an optimist. What was I going to say?

Oh yes! Half-full and still filling.


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