Summertime

The first time ever that the Met office have given out a heat wave warning!

Daughter#1 and I escaped to the beach... we took our books and worked on creating a new unit syllabus, much more fun than sitting in a classroom.

The beach was deserted, the tide low, the groyn threw shadows across the sand and the gulls swooped overhead as we worked, laughed, shared a sandwich, paddled and cherished our sharing moments.

Thoughts linked by modes of Time

It's funny how quickly life gets back to normal, as if nothing momentous has happened. This must be a defence mechanism, otherwise we should surely go mad with harbouring every fear and worry accumulated over the years.

The final term is drawing to an end and the long summer break will soon be here. Time to regain acceptable fitness levels as I have missed many training sessions.... muscles tighten, motivation sinks, ASICS wait in mute reproach... how hard it is these days get back on top form.

I leave at the weekend for a holiday in the Mediterranean sun with my husband (yes, I am of an age when I have one, not a 'partner') and we will celebrate our 35th anniversary - another marker of the passing of time.

Time is a gift ..... our lives the result of what we create with it.

Gratitude

Thanks be, Son#1 is on the way to recovery.

I cannot find enough words to express my thankfulness but am minded of G.K. Chesterton, who maintained that thanks are the highest form of thought and gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.

My son is ill. Nothing could focus my mind more quickly, or make me more aware of the triviality of daily life and its petty problems.

I utter platitudes, find reassurance in nonsense, waver between hope and despair. I promise all things if he recovers.... I beg that pain and suffering be heaped on my own head... I make bargains with the Unknown, Unknowing, Unseeing Power.... I don't know how to pray so I send out desperate words to whatever There Might Be.

My son is ill. Please make him well again.

More daydreams

Recent thoughts of Bangkok brought to mind other memories....

Beach house for sale

I used to live in a little house in Thailand. Life there was very simple for me because, as a foreigner, I was able to enjoy the advantages of the 'banana life' without being affected by the economic and social constraints faced by the local people. My work with the poorer children and their families in the community prevented me from seeing life through a rosy glow and I was very aware that even paradise has its serpents.

But during this time I learned how little I needed to live comfortably and happily - one sheet for the wooden platform bed, one saucepan in the lean-to kitchen, no cups (but plenty of glasses that had been given free with bottles of the local hooch!), one knife, a few bent forks and spoons - but absolutely NO ornaments, pictures, books, flowers, rugs, cushions or any of the other paraphernalia that fills my home and my life in England.

It was extremely liberating to be so unburdened by possessions, to live so simply with such freedom from the trivial decisions that demand so much of my time and attention in a house full of 'things', no matter how beautiful or useful. I now wage a permanent battle against clutter. I have a series of stages of removal - from downstairs to upstairs, from upstairs to attic, from attic to charity shop - that make clearance far less painful and create a serene spaciousness in my home.

Sunshine

Whenever the sun shines, I go to pieces. Nothing gets done, TO DO lists are ignored, work is barely tolerated and I begrudge every minute that I can't be soaking up the rays.

I blame my years away from England's temperate climate for this obsession. To lie on a tropical beach, lulled by the rythym of the waves, totally at one with the sun and the sea and the sand in a meditation that engages every sense, gives true meaning to my worship of the sun.

Closer to home, sun-soaked coves hidden between craggy Devon cliffs, or sheltered pebble hollows sculpted by the seas of the sweeping Sussex coast, or springy beds of meadow grass on the Downs are equally tempting. Or there's always the back garden...

Daydreaming

I went into the garden to practice tai chi, but was lured by the sweet song of a blackbird and a too-ready glass of wine to sit in the sunshine and drift into one of those out-of-time moments that lift you into a different reality… to Bangkok, walking down Charoen Krung, the old centre of silversmiths and gemstone dealers, genteelly shabby, displaying racks of yellowing silver and countless strings of multi-coloured pearls, amber, coral, jade…. ahhhh, the jade! …. quartz of every hue, carnelian, topaz, thrown together with sapphires, rubies and emeralds, their brilliance hidden under an ever-present layer of dust.

... that dust of the city which permeates every pore down to the very fibres of being, so that long after you have returned home the musky sourness of the streets and the sewers can creep up and catch you unawares.

Although the city is not quite my favourite place in the world it’s where I most often return in moments of reverie, to the pavements of Ratanakosin, the heady mix of utter poverty and obscene wealth, things familiar yet so unknown.