L is for…

… Love

Here are some things I love that begin with L

Lighting. – I did a little post mentioning my love of the softer season’s evening lighting but I’m also mad about LAMPS! I have a growing collection of the weird, the wonderful and the beautiful!

Longfellow – The beauty of his words very often nearly drives me over the edge!

Lakes – Particularly the deep blue pools in the Pyrenees

Licorice-I’m quite mad for the stuff!  It has to be hard – tear – with- your- teeth licorice. The sort that you can buy in little bags… cuttings…

Learning- I’m fascinated by the world and it’s people!  Sometimes I wonder why we/I bother to research something,my tendency towards nihilism creeps in. Then I realise that I have a genuine love of knowledge and of learning.  And sometimes it’s okay to do something for its own sake.

Lemon – Generally love lemons!

Literature- I couldn’t live without it. Oh… and Languages… I love to learn new words in any language. I’d like to be fluent in all the European languages,ancient Greek, Arabic and Latin!

Hmmm… Overall, L is looking kinda like a lame excuse for a post.

Apologies to any who visit!

 

 

J and K…

Bear with me o

kay?

(I know it’s cheating but sometimes you just have to take a shortcut.)

Here’s mine…

J is for Jesus. Mostly, if you reaA2Z-BADGE [2016]d the gospels, a very likeable chap. Mystical, yes. Unpredictable, very. Would you have hung out with him? And if you would… for what reason? Because no doubt about it, he was pretty rebellious…and exciting… Would you have enjoyed the drama? Would you have liked it that he caused a stir? Would you have been attracted by the cool magic stuff? Would you have been drawn to his intense love and his wisdom?

C.S Lewis had a lot to say about the matter and I leave his famous quote about Jesus here. It’s a good one to ponder…

“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God. That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

H is for… (clue: they’ll rot your teeth)

… HARIBO!haribo_starmix_160g

Despite German company, Haribo making their first gummy bear in 1922, they didn’t hit the US market until the 80s.  I assume that it must have been even later getting to the UK, which explains why I don’t recall them being here when I was growing up.

When I was young, I thought that it was only kids that ate sweets. Adults were WAAAAAY beyond all those sugary jellies. Chocolate; sure, chocolate was different because there were obvious degrees of something like choco-sophicstication… Which explained how it was that whilst we kids dribbled and drooled over Milky Bars and Animal Bars, the grown ups could nibble sensuously on a Cadbury’s Flake and eat things like After Eights in a bubble bath.

So it is, that nearing 40, I am still waiting for that crucial, transitional moment, when I can look at a strawberry shoelace, or a bag of Tangfastics, with a sense of disgust.

Deep down, I just want to be a grown up with a penchant for 80% cocoa, fairtrade, dark chocolate made from hand selected beans grown in sustainable developments in deepest darkest Ecuador. Instead, I go mad for a jelly fried egg, and sometimes crave a cola bottle.

Now. apologies for ending a lighthearted post on a downer, but in keeping with the confessional nature of my H post, I must admit that I can rarely allow myself the delights of any of it, as my choices nowadays are generally (and spitefully) governed by Anorexia Nervosa.  Bastard illness. haribo bears

 

 

 

 

G is for Guns…

n’ Roses…

Yep. Little old me. Who’d have thunk?

In my mid teens I discovered rock. And unfortunately for my parents, it wasn’t of the geological variety.

I literally fell in love with Guns n’ Roses.

There were others of course. I had flings with Aerosmith and Def Leppard, flirted heavily with AC/DC and Nirvana and occasionally eyed up Motorhead; but in truth, the sound of Slash’s searing guitar riffs, the crazy versitility of Axl’s FIVE OCTAVE vocal range, stole my heart.

In the years between then and now, I’ve played the field more times than Man U. I’ve been seduced by Opera, persuaded by Pop,  lured by Classical, grabbed by Grunge and utterly captivated by my eventual partner, Country.

There are moments though, when a certain smell, a kind of summer car heat, a particular road, when I think of them. Like the memory of a first love, I am filled again with a hunger for that tender, youthful craving for some wordless void that only music can begin to voice.

 

E is for Evening Sunlight…

That fleeting time when the wordless glory of the evening sun dashes against the bricks and the hedges, the streets and the people; firing the land with its last red breaths and, for one trembling moment, the humdrum earth of … Continue reading

D is for Dreams

I’m not talking about the type that you have at night… although I sometimes dream so vividly that they will cast shadows across the consciousness long into the day… No. I mean the dreams that I might have stuffed into a tiny corner of my mind many years ago.

Even before Anorexia poisoned the greater part of my mind, I think I’d stopped dreaming properly. I was a ruthless gardener, pruning without sentiment, uprooting indiscriminately. No sooner than the fresh stem appears, I cut it off. tiny-seed

For the purpose of this post, I’m laying my secateurs down. Curiously, I have to really squint to see the tiny beginnings of dreams. Some so small I can’t even identify them.

One is to travel. Preferably across the US… in a truck… with a camera and a guitar.

Another is to live abroad for a year

One is to recover from this illness and then serve others who are plagued by it.

And I’d really like to have a craft business, or a coffee shop.

Oh… and I want to write a book… or two…

Then there’s one I can barely see, is a dream I fear to admit. The dream of all dreams. The dream that almost everybody has. I screw up my eyes and exhale as I blow away the seeds… If I admit it, it might not come true…

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