Solitude and Loneliness

I drove home yesterday saying these two words to myself, thinking about them. They mean nothing if you say them quickly, you have to draw the words out as you speak stretching the vowels out like an endless Sunday afternoon.

At first they seemed to mean the same thing - being alone, and they do, physically but the difference is emotional. In solitude are happy to be alone, if you are not, then loneliness creeps in. Having lived on my own for 35 years I have been both. It didn’t matter where I was - I have been lonely amongst friends at a crowded dinner table, the conversation whirling around me like a hurricane with me at it’s still centre insulated from from it all. I have also found a peaceful sense of solitude in the centre of a city, just sitting watching the crowds mill around me. The same in the countryside, where I lived. On a quiet evening I would often take a bottle or two of beer and drive out to a spot at the edge of the hills at dusk. From there I could look out over the Lothian countryside and beyond to the Firth of Forth. As the darkness crept in and the lights came on I would sit, sometimes in solitude, sometimes in loneliness but always at peace with the world around me.

Those days are long gone now. The world turns ever changing and I change with it. The difference at least for me, from those days is of course an emotional one - love. Since I fell in love and we got married the loneliness has gone. I can be anywhere in the world, in a crowded airport, or on an isolated empty beach and there will always be someone else with me, there is a connection between us that is independent of physical space. It breaks occasionally when we fall out with each other and then that aching emptiness that is loneliness for me seeps back but that is rare and part of being in love, reminding me that love is something you do as well as what you feel.

Solitude. Loneliness. Peaceful, beautiful words that connect with what is deep within me.

Memories

I have been looking at old photographs. I think it is good to look back occasionally to remember where I have been, the people I have met and the things I have done. I am lucky of course that nothing truly tragic has ever happened to me but even if it had I think like Dr Phil that we should still remember, should accept what has happened because it is these things that make us who we are now.

On the odd occasions when I do some digging in the garden I am always fascinated by the roots of all the plants growing down together twisting and mingling. One earth but a million different paths. We each have a taproot of experiences stretching back from now twisting and burrowing in and around everybody elses lives. We all live in the same world yet no two of us, no matter how close, share the same past.

Looking back I have also noticed that Nicola and myself are people that are not afraid of change. At least not afterwards! There are different kinds of people out there. We used to live in a small village and there were people that were happy to spend their whole lives there. Village life is special but it is not for me - I get the urge to break out now and again, to do something different, to go somewhere else. None of these changes would have been posible if I did not have a good root system of experiences stretching back through the past. It is these that have allowed me to grow up and out into the future each time . . .


I built a small shed once. It was painted green and had a roof of wild flowers and herbs. I have left it behind now but one day I’ll build another one.

Mist

Saturday 9.46am

There is something comforting about a misty day. Some days I want to look out upon distant vistas full of possibilities. On other days the world seems just too big, too full of insurmountable problems, and on days like these I need to be cocooned and feel safe from it all.

Coming home does that and I get the same feeling when walking surrounded by mist. The world becomes much smaller as I walk protected within my little bubble of light. Sound is muffled and all I can see are faint shadows, hints of what might be out there. There is a childlike innocence here as well because the ethereal shapes out there could just as easily be fairy castles as trees and rocks.

Within my bubble there is a brightness as the light is diffused and comes from all around, the colours yellow and green glow as if lit from within. Gone are the harsh shadows of reality. Here in my little patch of Scottish Autumn or New Zealand Winter I feel as if I have stepped off the train of life for a while and can draw breath, relax a little and gather myself ready to continue on with life . . .  




“So what becomes of the little boys who run away from home. The world just keeps on gettin’ bigger when you get out on your own.” Tom Waits

Porridge

Sunday 6.53am

Porridge always reminds me of snow. When I was younger, as soon as the first few flakes began to drift down, if it was a school day my mum would be up early making porridge. I would wake to the distant clonking of the wooden spoon on the side of the pan and the radio talking away in the background as she listened to see if schools were open or closed and if the buses were on time. After a while she would pop her head round the bedroom door to say "don't rush to get up, it's been snowing there'll be no school". I would already know about the snow as soon as I opened my eyes - the light is different. Even through the curtains you could see the brighter than usual whiteness outside and of course it was also oh so very quiet out there . . . . just the occasional hiss and crunching sound of car tyres as someone slowly went off to work.

Downstairs the kitchen would be warm with an orangy yellow glow, slightly hazy with condensation from the kettle and the porridge glooping away in it's pan. My mum is traditionalist and so our porridge was always made on the stove with just rolled oats, a pinch of salt and water. Into our bowls it would go in big ladlefuls, milk would be poured round the edges and white sugar piled on top so you ended up with what looked like a small snow capped volcanic island in a milky sea. It was so hot that you could only eat from round the edges and because the bowls were cold, if you poured your milk carefully your island would float and spin around. Nowadays I just have milk, no sugar but I still feel happy if I can get my island to float on the milk.

And then once we were finished, my sister and I, mum would want us out of the way so she could tidy up. So it was off outside for us dressed in jumpers, duffle coats, knitted gloves and welly boots (gum boots you might call them). And the world outside would be crisp and white and still and our cheeks would soon glow and burn with the fire of life within us as we rolled giant snowballs, the biggest ever . . . .

The Sea

Sunday 9.00am

I love the sea. Or rather I love the seaside, the coast. I have lived in various places but always seem to end up near or at the coast. It feels right somehow. I think it is because I like to know where I am in space. When I enter a building or an apartment or room the first thing I usually do is look out of a window, again to pinpoint where I am in the surroundings. And it is the same with the coastline - the sea is over there, the land is over here, and so I am here positioned relative to them. I feel secure knowing where I am, having a touchstone if you like.

But the sea itself is a different matter, I have no wish to be on it. I like to have my feet on the ground. Splashing around at the beach is ok but as you go further out, the shallows of the continental shelf that the the land sits on eventually drop away and the deep ocean begins. And the thought that I could be suspended there in the ocean with an unknown vastness beneath me containing who knows what, - that I find scary. It is an echo from childhood I think of that fear when getting into bed that there may be monsters at the bottom so you cannot slide your feet down. It is funny isn't it how these things remain with us into adulthood, lying hidden just beneath the surface and yet affecting our daily lives in subtle ways.

Life is never dull when you have childhood fears.

Sometimes even Jack Johnson isn't enough

Wednesday 9.00pm

Tiredness is a killer isn't it ? Been doing too much lately and I am very weary. I just want to sit and stare into space but all the parts that make up family life keep nagging at me to get done. And to make matters worse, in an effort to get some space I have been staying up later and later at night and so just end up tireder in the mornings. When it gets like this, eventually something happens that is just too much and everything suddenly collapses.

It was one of those occasions recently. It started well, Nicola and I went out to the farmers market and did some shopping. But of course it took longer than expected and when we got back home there was still lots to do. And then it happened. Nicola discovered that I had forgotten to do something that she had asked me to and would now have to do it herself. That was that final straw, she got angry, I couldn't see why, and pretty soon we were growling at each other from separate rooms.

It is all fine now of course, but it makes you think. And what I think is that we have a very strong relationship. If we had had a lot of nagging annoyances with each other lying just under the surface what would the outcome have been.

I am glad that we don't.


(At least I don't - perhaps I should ask Nicola . . . . . .)

Secrets and Truths

Sunday 9.34am

Seems I stood still too long and got tagged by Jo. I have to reveal six previously unknown things about myself. This is difficult because most of what I am is on the surface anyway and any stray thoughts that pop into my head will fall straight down and out of my mouth. Actually this is probably the place to start with . . . .

No 1 - I cannot keep a secret. If you do not want anybody to know, don't tell me because I'll bring it up again at the most embarrassing moment. Oh, and if we are in a restaurant don't say (women are good at this), don't say " don't look, but you see that man behind you . . . " because I will look and I'll probably stare as well!

No 2 - In college I was top of my group in wire bending. (with pliers that is, not my mind)

No 3 - I do not believe in science, I think it is just another way of looking at the world and has got way above itself being worshiped almost like another religion. Science your time is nearly over and in the future we will view the world in a completely different way.

No 4 - I cannot handle dirty plates being left lying around. If we eat in front of the telly, I have to take my plate back to the kitchen rather than put it on a table or the floor. This is handy for everybody else because I have to clear their plates away as well.

No 5 - I like cats to come into our bedroom but not televisions, (no, not even if there is a programme about cats on - you cannot fool me)

No 6 - I do not drink spirits. I drink gallons of tea and living in Hawkes bay drink a lot of wine ( it is compulsory ) but my most favourite drink of all, at the end of a days work is beer and in particular Deuchars IPA. You cannot get it here but Founders Tall blonde is a good substitute - drink some now.

and No 6a - I have mentioned this to Kathy already but the toilet roll has to have the loose end coming down the back of the roll as you look at it.

Now to tag another couple of people ( it should be six but I cannot be bothered ), Nicola of course even though she is a bit miffed at me being tagged before her, Kerrian of course, although she'll be frantically sewing at the moment for the upcoming Holly Hospice extravaganza thingy and will hate me for it.

I am supposed to post the rules as well but you know what they are . . .

Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful

Wednesday 8.50pm

I am a great fan of the handmade, I like things to bear the marks of the maker, to not be completely perfect. Beauty lies in the small imperfections that we all have and it should be seen and heard and felt in the things we produce. These things are what we should surround ourselves with, both beautiful and useful things as William Morris said. And talking of useful, don't we live in incredible times. I always find it amazing that I can talk to somebody on the other side of the world. And I can read people's thoughts from all over the world as well, or I can write down my thoughts and blog them and people anywhere in the world can read what I have written. Or I can even write a book and with a little knowledge of word and PDF files have it professionally printed and a single copy delivered back to my letterbox. And having said back here that I might do just that - I have. Now I have no aspirations to be author, it was all an experiment for myself really, but if you want to have a look you can download it for free or get the book for just the price of the printing and postage.

And my next project? A star chart to encourage and help people to floss. (I am tired of nagging them)

Back Again

Saturday 3.45pm

It was dark inside but still I entered. I had to, my mission dictated it. "Track her down" a voice deep in my head kept repeating, "If you really want your previous life back, you have to do this". So I walked guardedly through the doors and allowed the atmosphere inside to enfold me. It was crowded. Deep repetitive music throbbed all around and coloured lights were everywhere. The hypnotic images on a row of large screens in the distance caught my eye and drew me onwards, inwards to the very heart of the room. Carefully moving through the crowd I kept glancing at the faces around me. Everyone seemed dull, empty, zombie-like almost, as only an overexposure to recreational drugs or in this case modern technology can cause. It was easy to succumb, I was already disorientated and moved ever inwards. Trying to get me bearings, I stopped briefly in front of one of the screens and of course, it happened. In an instant, as I stopped a woman locked on to me and began to thread her way through the crowd. Muttering under my breath "Keep moving" I did so and she lost interest once more, scanning the crowd around her for easier prey. They were everywhere, I could see that now. Predators, given away by their sweaty desperate expressions, unhealthy pallor, and too tight clothing they moved through the crowd picking us off one by one. This was their honey trap, and I was no match for it.

But as I turned to leave I noticed a gap in the crowd to one side, beyond the silver and chrome. Intrigued, I moved towards this still point amid the cacophony and realised I had found my objective. Ignored by those around her she sat on a table, aloof, quietly separate from all around. Approaching hesitantly I stood and watched her for a minute. Quietly dressed in a simple black number that contrasted sharply with the surrounding garishness, she seemed to be asleep. Unknowingly I had reached out a hand and as I gently caressed her skin she awoke instantly with a flash of light from deep within. I withdrew in awe, this was where real power lay.

Of course, having been seduced by the exotic charms of an Apple MacBook, I didn't buy it at Noel Leeming. I went to somewhere much less scary - Dick Smith.

Now all I have to do is work through the psychological trauma of spending so much money in one go . . . . 

Science

Monday 9.19pm

There were once two tribes who feuded constantly. The cheif of the Waimarama tribe had a champion, their cheif Te Mata O Rongokako, he was unbeatable. The men of the Herataunga tribe just did not know what to do against this man, but an old woman spoke up. Let Te Mata meet our chief's daughter Hinerakau, her beauty will soon turn his mind from war she said. And it worked, he fell in love, and decided to woo Hinerakau instead of fighting. But the people of Heretaunga had not forgotten his past evils against them and persuaded Hinerakau to set him many difficult tasks to prove his love for her. These he all accomplished easily until the last. Te Mata, she said, our tribes live so far apart, you on the coast us here on the plains. If you really love me you should eat through the hills that seperate us and we could meet more often and more easily. Te Mata took a huge bite out of the earth, but choked on a rock and fell down dead. He still lies there today on the skyline, surrounded by the beautifull cloak that Herekau had covered him with before leaping to her death from the cliffs, for she had fallen in love with him in return.

As people we seek an explanation for the world around us. Stories provide this explanation. Science of course, though never described as such, is just another such set of stories.

Do not believe everything you are told.

Dawn Chorus (and cat legs)

Thursday 2.30pm

It is 5.30am on a Spring morning. The sun is rising but hasn't yet made it over the horizon, the sky is grey and the air has a chill to it here in the garden but it is not unpleasant. A new day, my day off so there is no pressure. The rest of the family is asleep apart from the cats who have been fed and are out here with me ears twitching. We are surrounded by sound.

As you may have realised, I am a very visual person. My head is full of pictures. When I talk my hands move to describe what I am saying into the air between us. And if you talk to me I construct a vision of what you are saying and then describe it back to you to check that I have understood. If I want to remember something I'll write it down or draw a picture. I see the patterns, colours and shapes around me, first, before anything else.

But when it comes to relaxation, then music and sound is much more important. When I look at something, my brain is full of questions. How did they do that? Why did they do it like that? How would I have done the same thing? But music cuts past all of that, going straight to my emotional core which seems to be just below my breast bone, in my centre. Poetry too does this for me, evoking feelings rather than thoughts, but music is quicker and more direct. To me, modern living places too much emphasis on thinking, we need to make time for feeling as well. It would make us all more balanced people. Those few minutes spent outside in the morning do it for me.

Jack Johnson says in one of his songs "You don't always have to hold your head higher than your heart."

I like that.

Notebooks

Saturday 7.10pm

For years now, on and off, I have kept notebooks. Less formal or demanding than a diary they are a place to put things. What things? Anything and everything in fact - ideas, appointments, shopping lists, sketches, handwriting practice, my thoughts on life and the answers to those quizzes and questionaires you find in self help books.

Like dream catchers they allow me to put things down in writing before I forget, and the very act of writing encourages and helps my ideas become more organised, more real. The ones from the past become little snapshots of what I was doing and how I felt at the time. Like music, reading one will take me back to a particular time and I can feel what I felt like then, what I was doing, even what my hopes and aspirations were. A couple of posts ago I listed what makes me happy and one particular notebook has the same thing written years ago  along with my wishes for the future. Written on the edge of a hillside in the Scottish Borders, long before I met Nicola, I find the entry particularly poignent because reading it I can feel exactly how I felt then and you know most of what I wished for has come true. (the rest I am still working on).

I have three notebooks on the go at the moment, one for work, one to keep track of money and my newest one above, is for everything else. Well four actually - my computer is also a notebook - I am writing this on it now, but the the paper ones will always be there as well.

Notebooks. Everyone should have one.

Me and the Ducks

Saturday 2.48pm

It was lunchtime on one of those still, grey days. Just me, the ducks, and the park. There I was sitting eating my cheese sandwich, just idly thinking, feeling a bit down. "Wouldn't it be great" I thought "if I didn't have to go back to work this afternoon, If I could just sit here all afternoon like the ducks." But of course one day I will be able to, because I have thought this way in the past and things inevitably change. I sat thinking of the past for a while, the places I had been, the things I had done since - there has certainly been change, and for the better as well.
And a thought rose up through it all. When I do look back one day, what would I like to be looking back upon? Myself feeling miserable? or the experiences I had on my way there?

Obvious really.

Reality

Tuesday 3am

Nothing seems real. I am sitting in a rented house on the other side of the world from home, surrounded by unfamiliar things, living out of a suitcase really. My sleeping patterns are all mixed up - here I am awake at three in the morning, my head bunged up, hayfever I think, but feeling like I am not quite here, not quite anywhere really. A ghost.

This was an unexpected trip, arranged at short notice due to my fathers death. His illness and death came upon us quite quickly really, not unexpectedly as I have said, but the quickness of his going into hospital, his slight recovery and then rapid decline and death all seemed to happen quicker than I could respond to. The funeral of course was arranged and over in a few days and again this made it almost impossible to be here even if we could have afforded the trip. I should have been here of course and would have liked to have been, but did not realise this until afterwards. Moving so far away from home I knew something like this was bound to happen eventually and I think I really said goodbye to him two and a half years ago when we left.

So now we are all gathered to scatter Eric’s ashes and say goodbye, and I feel detached from it all, like arriving during a film, not quite sure who is who or what the plot is.

Birdsong

Saturday 10.15am

I am in the north of England. In an enclosed garden in a small village called Horncliffe. It is peacefull here, not quiet because I am surrounded by noise but somehow just as it should be. I notice a constant background humming and gradually realise what it is – bees, hundreds of them working away in the flowers that are all around me. And birds too are everywhere, sparrows, blackbirds, thrushes, rustling close by and then more and more distant past the wood pigeons in the woods fading into the distance. But no traffic noise. In Havelock like most places no matter what time of day or night it is there is always the constant rumble of cars, but here off the beaten track it is absent and I feel much more relaxed for that. Just as Edward Thomas described in Adlestrop years ago this background of birdsong is such an English sound. And it is part of me too, part of my englishness that I will carry everywhere deep within me, and no matter where I live.

The rain comes on, a summer shower of sudden heavy, wet raindrops and I go back indoors, carrying the birdsong with me.

The Bigger Picture

Thursday 3.32pm

I was stacking a load of firewood recently when I discovered this on the side of one. Like a Chinese watercolour landscape of bone white trees in a marsh, it reminded me of the scenery at Tokaanu wharf when we were on holiday there.

Sometimes it is amazing what you see if you just take the time to stop and look.

Inspiration

Sunday 9.39am

Having watched a few episodes of Kitchen Nightmares I am reading Gordon Ramsay’s book “Playing with Fire” just now, and am really enjoying it. As an entertaining biography, a self help book, and a business book it works on several levels. Far from being the swearing bully he was portrayed as by the media some years ago, he actually cares, has been there and knows his stuff –he is certainly inspiring me at the moment.

This particular sentence jumped out at me –

“Finding great talent, looking after staff and nurturing their talent is what we do well. Losing good people is symptomatic of only one thing: truly crap, appalling and abysmal management. “

I mean if you pay so little attention to those working for you that you do not know they are unhappy, that they see no future with you, and then when they leave it comes as a complete surprise - what does that say about you.

A fragment

Saturday 8.24am

A single pair of head lights moves silently towards me through the pools of gathering darkness below. I lean back against the car bonnet and sip beer from a bottle, watching. From my vantage point on the side of this hill the horizon is a bright line ahead, dark ragged clouds cross the sky above and the colour is draining out of the land below. Dusk is just beginning.

The wind buffets me insistently, bringing the clouds closer as a fresh, clean dampness that I can feel on my face and hands. And see too in the droplets forming on my jumper. I shiver contentedly. All around is the quiet tearing sound of the sheep eating, always eating, and on the wind, a distant bird cry.

I feel . . . grey. Like the darkening land that I, even in my melancholy isolation am part of. And content as well. This is how it is. Other people live life whilst I stand on a lonely hillside drinking beer and watch the dusk settle in.

A fragment of a memory, more a feeling really. It was brought on by a single scene of a solitary whale leaping in a deserted marineland pool, in of all things, a car advert.

Autumn 2

Thursday 8.08am

There is chill in the air. The morning is misty and damp. Quiet. Still. Autumn is here again. This is the time of year when I feel most connected to the natural world. It is a time of woodlands and fields, rich earthy smells and the sight of your misty breath coiling away into the air. I can hear birdsong outside and hidden rustling noises in the leaves and undergrowth. Compared to Scotland, Autumn in Hawkes Bay is but a brief passing moment. By nine or ten o’clock in the morning the sun is up, the skies are bright blue and the mist is all burnt away. I struggle to get up for work in the dark at the moment but once I am up and cycling to work I’m grateful for it, because I would miss this time. Autumn is a time of change – the dusk of the year, and a sad time too – hard times are coming and not all of us will be here to see the spring. It is harvest time, fruit is being picked and stored, plans are made for next year. Some people are good at this of course with savings and provision for the future but not me. Try as I do, the present always gets in the way and the future has to wait. But Autumn has a feeling of acceptance about it as well, what is done is done, there is little point in worrying about the past. Make plans, yes, and I will keep plugging away at it, but will also enjoy the moment for it is all so brief and quickly forgotten.

At the moment I just cannot seem to get this song, Beautiful Haze, out of my head.

My Wedding Ring

Thursday 8.12pm

I love jewellery but only on Nicola. Like a fashion designer dressed in black this is the only piece I wear – my wedding ring. A simple plain circle of 9 carat white gold, it has aged beautifully. It did not always look like this, when new we were told that white gold was not silver enough and had to be plated in rhodium. But a thin veneer of brittle respectability was not what I wanted on the symbol of our marriage, so shortly afterwards, when it got quiet at work I polished all the rhodium off to reveal the gentle yellow silver of the gold underneath. And now two years and nine months later, eleven and a half thousand miles away, just like me bearing the marks of life it looks even better. I often meet people who are approaching twenty or thirty or forty and dreading it, but why ? life is, and will be, and in the end is all too short – celebrate it now.