Just a minute to breath,
Just a minute to sing,
Just a minute to smell the flowers,
Just a minute to smile at your neighbour,
Just a minute to love yourself,
Just a minute,just a minute,
It might be all you have today,
When the words don’t fit our mood,then try music,
It relaxes,soothes,exists as a partner in life.
When the thoughts cause us anxiety,then try music,
It’s irons out the controversies in our mind,
Music can,and does,make such a difference,
Give it a go,please.
As I stepped out into the mist on those harbour walls at Bude,I felt sure I spied a mermaid,nestled in the rocks beyond the spit.But my imagination had,in previous visits,been vivid,lucid to the point of annoyance to those in my party,so my reticence seemed to annoy her.
“Did you see her”,I bellowed to them on that trip to the Atlantic,and they all said ,”Your crazy,there’s nothing’s no there,yu spent too much time dreaming and listening to music and now your gone crazy,your maze you are”,that was said by Tommy Hawken,but it could have been said by Pete,Rob,or Mike,they all had that one impression,I was a dreamer.Now,on this occasion,I looked up into the sea,as the Atlantic roared ,as the white foam engulfed my dogs as it rushed in.You change,you see,when you visit there,when you accept that you can approach the sea there without any visible clues because the mist descends into the sight lines ,obscuring us ,or our visible ,objective clues.So,when the mist descends on the Hrbour,artistic types get their already overactive imaginations fuelled wth legend and mermaids and sea monsters and a whole treasure chest of wrecks that come to life once again.
As the dogs barked at the waves,they roared back at them,as if to say,”hold your fire little guys,and get back into your kennels or you will regret those barks .”Never had I seen the sea so mystical as on that day,and she beckoned me to come forward .At first,I hesitated,then as if you i d received an injection of courage,and I moved forward to try to get a closer look.As I did,I tethered the dogs to the bench at the base of the observation Tower-they happily stayed there ,as this was less of a fear to them now.As the mist appeared to rise,I still hesitated,and my fear was alarming.As I did,my mind asked me questions:”What could I do for her,what did she want with me,and finally,why did I see her and my mates as a child didn’t,and now,why did I still see her,and everyone else on the seashore didn’t.?
Things are often observed at the same time by the same people,but their subjective response is often at variance as I’ve often felt.For example,we all see homeless people in our large towns,we observe them in shops doorways.However,our subjective response will be different.As someone who has sofa surfed in life,I know just how close we can be to being homeless.and I know that objectively and not subjectively.However,it might be that we observe the homeless person and we have never been in that place.Initially,we might just not think about it,judging the person who is homeless as someone who has made bad choices.However,if that person had lived in an area where unemployment was extremely high,then he or she might have a different opinion of the reasons why someone is sleeping in a shop window.
That stark example isn’t the whole story of course,but it does shed a little light into what we see,how we react to it,and why some don’t see unless a life change affects them.So,in my imagination on that day,I really saw that mermaid,and I heard those waves protecting her and I saw her beckoning to me to come and see the sea monster .
As the mist lifted that day,she had gone and I looked on and thought that I had been privileged on two occasions .Some of us aren’t so lucky,you see,we don’t have an imagination ,we don’t have much hope.Yes,we might have all the materials goods that you could shake a stick at and our security ,if,indeed it is based on that,will always block out imagination.As I ,many decades ago,slept on the sofa,going from one friends flat to another,I still had my imagination intact.To many,that might seem a risk in life,but I made that choice ,and I was happy in it.
Life ,as I see it,is a wonderful thing,but an artistic vent is not the lot of everyone,and I know that ,so,I still loved Tommy,Mike,and Rob,as they are good men who saw the world in their way did.Sometimes,we have to celebrate our differences in life.Artists don’t want to get a passive audience,they want a reactive one.
Thank you to “The Mermaid of Bude”.If your ever in Bude when it’s really misty,maybe you will see her as I did,beckoning to you.
Rustling beneath the opened window of my bedroom,the well rehearsed dawn chorus reflect the busy lives of the feathered creatures of the populations that inhabit my garden.That song from Disney:”Whistle while you work”,simplistic in nature,but a tonic to boring activity ,lends itself to the scene that I’m observing right now.Its Saturday morning,it’s late June,2017,and it’s somehow quite a security blanket for me to listen to their songs of counterpoint ,their non bitter and very sweet symphony.Before the organised sounds of my creative life start to take root in my mind,I like to soak up the sounds of the birds,accompanied by the rustling of the trees at the end of the garden.Like that peace ,that forever England,that sense of the place that my forefather fought for in a very different time.
There are punctuated,intermittent sounds above of light aircraft going to places that I don’t know.When I was a child,I used to wonder about those who flew ,and I had a fascination for flying that would,I know,be the same with many of my friends on my sink estate where I lived.There,you always felt that there might be something outside of your existence that must be better,safer,more tangible than the Cornish unit that rattled that was cold and damp and 1950s.Funny,I can’t ever remember hearing the birds when I was a child,and really,I can’t for the life of me think why.Yes,I remember the sounds that the North coast of Cornwall brought to me,a safety blanket then,but with prickles inside to warn me that you couldn’t really sleep ,you had to be aware.
So,now,in this moment,this for many but not for me,banal recollection ,I hear the birds as they use the natural acoustic to let us hear their best symphony ,it is my comfort blanket as such.Comfort blankets remind us of a time when we needed reassurance ,but emotional comfort blankets can take many different forms.Maybe my brutal honesty might be too much ,and I dare say it has been ,but I truly think that we all need an emotional comfort blanket.Yes,it can take the form of many different manifestations,but if we possess it,feel it,inhabit it,then it can go a long way to helping us live a better life ,one that is more I. Tune with who we are.
So,back to the birds,they are working,but they are happy,and although that huge corporation that is Disney doesn’t really do altruism,it does ,at times,provide emotional comfort for children and their parents,and when the children are long grown up and left the nest ,their songs still linger in the consciousness of a soppy old Cornishman.
This is my muse for this Saturday,June 24th,2017.
Thank you .This is a picture of the first Moog,no,it’s far from the mini moog that Stevie used in the Motown albums of the 1970s,but music has been my thing and I wanted to share this picture .Nowadays,electronic music ,through computer software allows for extremely small devices to achieve wonderful sounds,but somehow,I reckon that they don’t match up to the birds outside of my window now.
From burning tower blocks,to Brexit talks,I think,sometimes,
From stuff that happens ,from life that just keeps moving,I wonder.
As the sun rises each day,as the life we all hope to lead sometimes falters in its own wake,I wonder,
Because sometimes,I hope,I feel,in all my hope,I’m realistic ,life can sometimes not be a fantastic.
But,as life is our life t,,I have my spunk,my ignitions,my premonitions,my imaginations ,my moments,
I am something,as long as I’m in the room to speak,then life is,to me at least,real.
Sometimes,it’s hard,this that no called life,it’s .ucked up ,but it’s never without hope,does ybreed u hear me,never never never.
So,I’m a sad old git,but I’m an hour nest old git,and I’m not afraid of f says no exactly how I feel.,
You see. I , believe in you humans,or in the majority of you .
Sometimes ,just sometimes,I just have to write my muses,and you,my friends,just,sometimes,read them.
Peace to you all.
An explosion of sound greeted me as I viewed the harbour walls at Bude,
From vantage high and safety second,I let the waves penetrate my heart.
As mist shrouded that day,invisibility stamped its presence,
Only I knew the Atlantic was angry,maybe angry that anyone was there.
So,it talked to me,taunted me to come closer,”go on boy”, but. Wasn’t fooled,
A lifetime of watching has made me cynical of its power you see,and I never turn my back.
Out to see,fresh breakers start to build,like walls of concrete,reinforced from the Americas,
They contain the spirit of Poseidon ,the mermaid’s potion ,the passion of Christ,the self denial of Theresa,
But,it never denies itself the last wave,the last crash into the harbour walls,that energy,that noise,that roar.
So,that afternoon mist round Bude harbour,that unBudafull ,that unbirthday day in wonderland,
It never said it was Budafull,it never did,you see,it just is what it is,the Atlantic.
So,it’s like this,I’m training for a fun run,well the people who watch me training get a lot of fun out of it !To me though,it’s quite serious,deadly to be exact,but that is me,I tend to take things that I sign up for seriously.My run isn’t until October ,but I reckon that you can’t leave things too much to chance if your going to complete it in one piece and with a modicum of self respect as regards your time.Now,I know what your saying,what’s a 59 year professional couch potatoes who is happier chewing life’s cud clutching a glass of Proscecco more than a water bottle doing trying to do an extremely bad impersonation of the Mo-bot.?
Well,it all started after I had partially got my ver bowel surgery in October of 2016,and it seemed a good idea to mark the anniversary of this life changing event,by doing something completely out of character.When I first made my tentative shuffles because what I was doing then couldn’t be defined as running while on holiday on the aisle of Purbeck earlier this year at around Easter.Yes,those first flowerings of activity lacked water and growth was painfully slow in the first few weeks.As my pace ,almost imperceptible to me picked up,I began to imagine that this shuffling might just become less boring than watching paint dry.At this point,I have to mention that as a child,my only joy in running was either the 60 yard or 100 yard dash as it was affectionately called.Anything that augmented that didstance was considered long distance to me.So,as you would realise,my patience for this shuffling was sorely lacking as I trudged around the roads of my Dorset town.
Now,as Easter is long gone and with it the start of Summer has allowed me to feel that the two or three outings of training per week (that is enough for my neighbours to have to endure ,as the sight of my bulging tummy isn’t exactly a work of art)are finally reaping some benefits to my activity levels.As if to begrudge this device that tracks all my steps,what I eat and drink,probably the number of times I wish that I could divert to the pub ,I find it’s observations of my progress -you’ve just walked the distance from your home to India type thing,or you’ve circumnavigated the sea f tranquillity on the moon ,but without a space suit and a capsule-quite intrusive really.However,like all inventions from our friends across the pond,you have to admire their obsession with goals and statistics that you would never have thought of had it not been for their religion us fervour in supplying you with these “goals”.
So,it’s June now,and I’m going to tell you that my running is so easy now that I’m like a gazelle,but that would be a fantasy,because I’m not.However,I can,with the wind behind me ,and the Pub at the end of the 10k”achieve the not too bad time of 52 mins for the 10k.Now,there is the small matter(well,rather large really)of my weight,but ,by October,I hope to line up with the rest of the good people of Bournemouth and out linings areas to run the 10k for my charity.
Now,it’s a hour since I completed my run,and I feel alright,but I wonder ,just like life,wether there will be ups and downs with my training.Really,as long as I’m willing to do the miles ,I should complete this distance in the time,and I will look forward to that very much.
Thank you for your attention ,and this is by blog post for today.
Things in yesterday that took all day to get done,now can be achieved while this blog post is written.What I mean is this:Monday,that tradition day for washing,the preparation,the sheer labour of getting cloths cleaned and ready to wear again could take most of the day.So ,as I write this ,I reflect that labour saving devices really have chanced our emphasis,our concentration can be diverted to other pursuits of a more personal nature,where we can allow the washing machine to do its work,while we just get on with things.
Wether those things be our work,our leisure,of just more time to ourselves,it’s certainly true that technology has improved the
Lot of so many people in the world.
So,all that time spent in washing ,using a ringer etc etc,where did it all go?Well,for me,it went on more piano playing,more more more more of everything other than washing.
So,here endeth my muse for the day and the washing machines ne finishes its cycle and I go off to check on it.
It’s hot tonight,oh how we complain,
It’s hot tonight,anyone would think we need someone to blame,
It’s hot tonight,it’s such a shame,
It’s hot tonight,I feel drained,
It’s hot tonight and I’m being a pain,
It’s hot tonight,I’ve no idea how and why,
All I know is that it’s hot,
It’s hot tonight,but the fact is ,I’m alright,
You know,really,I’m alright,
Yea,I reckon that I might eventually get to sleep,
So,I’m alright,even though it’s hot tonight,
When I think about it,
I wonder why I’m fussing about it,
Do yI u ever wonder why you moan so much?