Skip to main content

The Living Years

 I’m not sure if this will resound with anyone but being a bit of a music and lyrics junkie/tragic I often find inspiration from songs so I thought I would share some of them with my friends. Scroll on by if it doesn’t. Here’s the first from “In the Living Years”

Every generation

Blames the one before

And all of their frustrations

Come beating on your door…


… So don't yield to the fortunes

You sometimes see as fate

It may have a new perspective

On a different day

And if you don't give up, and don't give in

You may just be okay… 


You know how the rest goes … 


I’ve been doing a lot of beating on that door this week. I’ve been doing my fair share of blaming: Oh my goodness! I have been angry at the world; at Presidents and Prime Ministers and corrupt politicians and aaaaalllll the people I don’t even know who’ve played a part in my feelingstuckwithoutanycontrolandjustmadashellness, and I’ve even been mad as hell at Brené Brown even though I carry her book in my bag and listen to all her inspiring talks! I want so much not to feel like spewing and spitting and kicking the shit out of people who have just the “right” words all the time but the truth is I just want to be angry and yell at whoever caused this shit but …


When I have saner moments, when I see a sparrow at my feet asking for a few crumbs of my biscuit; when I teach a ballet class and real humans actually turn up and try really hard to do stupid and often very challenging exercises because they too have to have an outlet for this frustration; when I catch a stranger’s eyes connecting with mine and lighting up over the top of their mask, it gives me a tiny thread of hope that maybe, just for today, I will be ok. We will be ok. We will get through this … today … 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Granny's Hands Granny’s Hands           Hold my hand Granny Tell me again How many times is seventy times seven And what does forgive mean Tell me again.   Granny’s hands have spots all over Tell me again Why does the sun make everything better When tomorrow comes Tell me again.   Granny picks Rosemary and Lemon Verbena Everything smells Of Lemon Verbena Teach me again Granny Those easy lessons Of making things better With Lemon Verbena   Children can live on ripe pomegranates Pork crackling snacks  fresh Apple Pie Two late husbands and burying two children and yet, I only once saw her cry.   The way to fix things was to Unpack your cupboards “Sadness will go,” Granny would say. “Sadness can’t live in nice tidy cupboards,” But what do you do with it? Pack it away?   Granny’s hands were soft and gentle Rough and wrinkly At the same time   Hold my hand Granny Tell me again How many times is seventy times seven times seventy times …

Silken Stuff

Silken Stuff She buys a scarf, a memory of  the places that they used to go She ties it all around her head And every time she wears it now The little slip of silken stuff Reminds her that  She was enough He brings a scarf from faraway  A little slip of silken thread He tucks it in his leather bag Between his business shirts and stuff Amidst the sights and fantasies And all the places that he’s been She knows that even faraway She’s been remembered on that day And that she is enough So many times he goes away Till every country is the same Hotels Dinners Meals And deals Shaking hands  Exchanging names Playing endless corporate games Before he boards the last flight out His trusty PA must sneak out And thrust into his attaché A packaged slip of silken stuff A “memory” of his time away To let her know he thought of her And that she is enough Soon she has so many scarves So many memories  His, not hers And all reminders of the times She’s been alone  With nothing but  A “leave a message a
Constancy There are days I ache for constancy. This thing that seems just out of reach. As I walk in the shadow and abiding presence of the Cape mountains which appear to be so eternal; so consistent in their very being; unchanging; constant, I’m reminded that even they are changing almost daily.  But Dan Simmons, the well known American author writes: “Mountaineers know that all mountains are in a constant state of collapse – their verticality being inescapably and inevitably worn down every moment by wind, water, weather, and gravity – but.”   As I contemplate this profound statement, I allow it to change my perspective. It has to. I am forced to accept the inevitability of change. I have no choice in the matter and this disturbs me. I don’t want things to change: I don’t want my children to grow older; It makes me very uncomfortable seeing a beautiful heritage building demolished only to be replaced by some bleak monstrosity: the result of overly progressive urban planning. I certai