Re-imagining

Today is my seventy-second birthday. 

Born in 1950, from my first awakening to the concept of age, I have known:” In 2,000 I will be fifty!”How distant, impossible to summons, in those far-off days as a ten-year old, how such an advanced age, in a new millennium would be! And here I am, twenty-two years beyond, waving to the child inside, smiling. 

“It’s OK. Yes, hold the dream, it’s coming. “

My Aunty Mary was matriarch of my then-family. I am pictured here, a babe on her knee. The years took their toll, and I guess I am she, now. The depository of wisdom. The teller of stories, the bearer of the sacred flame of family,  that will be acknowledged and passed on, or buried, like treasure. 

The anscestors that I re-imagine for my grandchildren: the Pitts were gypsies originating in Italy, refugees perhaps from a long ago pogrom. The Cooks, Somerset men: immigrants from Ireland via Wales. . Swansea, I believe. 

Great-great -grandma cursed a rose, Aunty was a witch … story after story, growing in the telling. A distant uncle emigrated to America and vanished. Leonard Cook died of TB in ‘46 after fighting in the war, and reappeared as  a ghost long after. 

Update. Yesterday  I took the ferry from St Maws to Falmouth with daughter Kate, Darren, and their sons Frank, 6, and Alfie, 4. It was a wild ride, but now, just hours later the October sea is calm and blue, the rain gone. 

That, I think, is just how it is. 

October Flowers

Politically Naive

I used to believe that politics was fundamentally values-driven. 

Pick a bunch that mirror your values most closely, I thought. Then I became politically active. The local group of my (Labour) Party, did indeed reflect my values. They were thoughtful, compassionate, willing to work to save our community, our nation, our planet, from the greedy, unethical, unjust and uncaring forces of rampant consumerism. 

Our values were judged unelectable, and I quit. 

Older and wiser now, I see political parties for what they really are. Power-hungry and in league with big business. The cause of the kind is lost, and my country has become a lost cause. 

We are literally on the brink of social, environmental and economic collapse, and I am helpless. 

I realise I am now perpetually on the losing side. I bow to that. 

February In Devon

So here I am, holed up in a centuries old Fishermans cottage in Brixham South Devon.

It has been an amazing week. Right up until today the Sun  shone brightly from clear blue skies and the sea has matched the sky in colour and stillness.Just look:

 My list of things to do was very short, top of it was: " nothing'."  A goal I largely managed to achieved. 

I came without a car, so on at least one day, I managed to hit my steps goal, by donning boots and walking along the coastal path to Berry Head. (See view above...)  I chalked up keeping a regular time for prayer and reflection, previewing the DVD series for Lent, talking to a Salvationist about faith, eating really good fish and chips, rediscovering Philip Larkin, and watching four back-back series of "Friends". 

I loved the harbour, and was fascinated by two features in particular, being a history buff. The first is a replica of a 16th century ship, "The Golden Hind" famously  Captained by that rogue, Sir Francis Drake. 

I was particularly taken with the balcony adjacent to Drake's cabin. I can see him now, with a mug of foaming ale, watching the dolphins play whilst he took a break from relieving unfriendly nationals of their valuable possessions. All in a good cause, I assure you. 

I knew, of course, of the "Glorious Revolution" of Nov 1688, that put an end to the romantic incompetence of the Stuart Dynasty, and gave us the stolid and predictable House of Honover. I am not that taken with William, so I took impish delight in upskirting a King. (Probably the most flattering aspect of the statue, by the way ... ) 

Judge for yourself: