Dipping a toe in the water!

This isn't a picture of a younger me - I was never cute. I was always too grimy to be cute.

BUT this is quite a sweetly appropriate photo as I'm dipping my toe in Blog Pond for the first time in eons. Look how shallow & safe the water is - it looks cool too! Water wings are handy if you're not sure what you're doing - I guess the bipolar equivalent is diazepam. Well it is for me ;-) I'm going to try paddling for a while until I can swim again.

What have I learnt about life recently? Grab what you can, when you can & whilst you're still able. I'm talking about opportunities. My experience of bipolar is that bad 'episodes' usually teach me something. This episode's homily could have taken the form of 'I wish I'd done such and such when I was younger", but instead it appears to be following the route of, 'whilst there is still breath in your body, try to grab what you can, when you can.' I somehow managed to get close to death a couple of times recently and I'm guessing that this is why Madame Bipolar is trying to proffer a whole life lesson.

As my son is still having problems with troubles, I've been teaching him a poem that I know off by heart. I know that you will know it too - I think everyone should have a copy of 'Still I Rise' by Maya Angelou lodged in their brains.

Clucking Around a Petrol Station!

This gadzookingly cool postcard was sent to me by Kate McKinnon during the Postcardian Quest. I'm so lucky to have this FABULOUS resource at my fingertips, as do you if you follow the link. It's a collection of the coolest images sent to me by some of the most beautiful people on Planet Earth. My original idea was to incorporate them into an altered book, but the words & names need to be preserved too, so they reside in an immensely grand postcard collector's album along with letters & paper titbits which relate to the Quest & Ovarian Cancer Action. It's an heirloom - maybe one day my heirs will donate it to an auction in aid of ovarian cancer. The Quest will go on...

Don't forget - this is what every woman should know!

It's poetry time again! Dear Reader, don't go sloping off. I try not to run a school room here.

I'm relying upon a commentary by the writer Molly Peacock for help in describing 'Filling Station' by one of my favourite poets, Elizabeth Bishop. They both say things so much more succinctly than I.

Elizabeth Bishop is often described as the painter's poet - she also has a lovely sense of humour. In this poem, she's finding solace in a petrol station!

I'll let Miss Molly take over for a while: 'When you can't make sense of the world in any other way, merely to describe what you see before you leads to understanding.....After all, when you are at a complete loss as to how you came to be where you are, to describe what is before you is the beginning of restoration....The unexpected result of training your eye on detail is that the world becomes beautiful simply because it is noticed & therefore appreciated.'

Miss Ditzey's back and what does she have to say? Somewhere there's a Mother Hen clucking around this filling station. Even the oil cans are fussed over by her unseen hand.

Though not always present, 'Somebody loves us all.'

The Bad Hair Day Code

I'm trying to climb back from a bipolar slump. I don't like to bore people with tales of what life is like if you're a bipolar babe - thankfully when one has spiralled down to the point of no return, one is usually too incapacitated to do anything other than pull the bedclothes ever tighter over one's head, so one couldn't write anything anyway! Sighs of relief all round :-) One can't keep people out of the loop completely though - my family & friends do need some explanation as to why I occasionally disappear from view.

We all develop different strategies of dealing with bipolar swings & mine are particularly irritating because I push people who are close to me away by being flippant & by denying that there's anything wrong. The crash comes & members of my close circle say gently that they did try to warn me - unfortunately I either didn't hear or I wasn't listening.

I'm also a difficult patient because I argue, joke & make light of things - I do my best to switch the focus away from me. I think I do this because I don't perceive myself as being a person - I am merely a thing with a series of human roles: wife, mother, daughter, listener, advocate, etc. Whatever was me was destroyed a long time ago. Please, please don't feel sorry for me - I only mention this for the purposes of illustration. I've never asked any fellow bipolar babe if they feel divorced from life in this way - it wouldn't surprise me if some of us feel that we can only participate in life from the sidelines. That's just the way it is for some of us.

Usually I refer to my bouts of depression as 'blips' & those that include suicide attempts as 'slumps'. I'm being dragged out of a slump this time & I'm fortunate that I'm being monitored via a daily visit from the wonderful health care team who are looking after me at present. Inspired by the hood-proof hair gel, I've now been allowed to add a new term to the monitoring lexicon - 'a bad hair day'. This covers days when one's concentration goes into hiding; when even the smallest things seem mountainous. The positive aspect is that one is at least trying to do something helpful because:

Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp;

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren’t lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.

Dorothy Parker

Sometimes it's essential to be frivolous. Being frivolous is not necessarily frivolous :-)

An Empty Paradox

I'm having a Paula Rego time at the moment which is a state of mind so hard to describe other than by telling you it has a Paula Rego-ish feel. Motor away from the state of my mind and have a look at Paula's work in the Tate Gallery and in The Saatchi.

Like it or loathe it, one thing is certain about Paula Rego's work and that is the fact that you cannot ignore it. So, as there is an etching by Paula on the cover of the poet Amanda Dalton's book, 'How to Disappear', methinks this is a good example of a paradox.

The title poem is extraordinary & it too reflects my current state of mind, but can I find an example of it on the net? Noooooo! Well that's not quite true because I found one copy, but it was on a site so sharply bleak that I backed out as quickly as can be.

It's a beautiful poem - taut, haunting & another 'sticker' that I would try to persuade you to read over & over again if only I could find you a copy. Dang, dang & double dang!! I can take you by the hand to the Poetry Book Shop to meet Amanda and her poem 'Cut Off', but as I can't find 'H to D', I'm going to leave Aunt Jennifer in the Life's Candle slot.

I've only had my copy of Amanda's collection of poems for a week, but I've been utterly faithful to it ever since, which is a reasonably rare occurence for me. Her work is extraordinarily visual & accessible which are qualities that I greatly appreciate because, not only am I'm a slow thinker, but I'm very lazy too. So lazy in fact, that as I can't find a copy of the poem nor a painting that I'm allowed to paste into this entry, the paradox remains unillustrated!

How's that for saying something about nothing :-)

Aunt Jennifer's Tigers

I'm not up to full Blog Speed yet so please forgive my plodding pace whilst I ease myself back into training.

It's time for a new poem in Life's Candle ( which is down there in the right hand column) & the one I would like to share with you is a poem that is embedded in my mind. 'Aunt Jennifer's Tigers' by Adrienne Rich is short, but it will say a multitude of things to you.

A lot of people have written thousands of words about this poem - some good, but much twaddle. I no longer spend much time reading 'lit.crit.' because my life is getting shorter by the minute plus I have this egotistical habit of knowing what I myself think. In any case, no matter what is written, no essay will ever be as powerful as this poem.

I always think of Rousseau's painting when I read about Aunt Jennifer. The tiger doesn't remotely resemble the imagery of the poem, but the expression of the painting tolls a bell I can't ignore. Anxiety?

Henri Rousseau 'Tiger in a Tropical Storm (Surprised!) 1891

A Poem for People Who Don't Like Poems!

A copy of 'Poetry' by Marianne Moore is permanently pinned to one of the corkboards in my study. When I began the reading adventure that led me to give part of my heart to poetry, I struck gold by coming across this one at an early stage in my journey.

As I've mentioned before, I use poetry as a sieve. I use it to make sense of things which are elusive. Here comes another metaphor - it helps me to sew thoughts & feeling into comprehensible strands.

Marianne Moore is a poet that I often turn to. She's a very special tutor.

Second Post of the Day - Aspens & THE Rockin' Girl?

My beloved mentor & one of my 'aspens dear' has kindly awarded me the 'Rockin' Girl Blogger' Award. I've just managed to add the logo to the right hand column & it's landed above dear Dorothy. Don't you think that Dorothy would have been the EPITOME of a Rockin' Girl Blogger?

Did you know this about the beautiful aspen tree?

Lying under a tree, a good friend read 'Binsey Poplars' to me when I was 18. He was cute!

I thought you might like ' The Thought-Fox'?

Anyone who is creative will absorb 'The Thought-Fox' via osmosis.

'Warning' - JJ's poem for Winifred & others of her ilk

Everyone in the UK knows this poem so why we should all want to do these things, but overlook the matter of where we might be forced to live is a puzzle.

Jenny Joseph, please step forward & take a bow for 'Warning'.

I need some images for this. Back in a moment or nine.

Incidentally nine is my number - what's yours?

Red is my favourite colour so red & nine are totally sublime!

'The Hug' by Tess Gallagher

I have a lovely poem for you today. It was incredibly hard to find a legible copy online & this is the best that I can find at present.

'But when you hug someone you want it
to be a masterpiece of connection,'

Isn't that perfect?

Will the world disintegrate?

Yeat's poem, 'The Second Coming' grows more pertinent day by day.

How to cool down using the warmth of 'Amber'

Amber Stacks Chain Bracelet

I have a poetry habit & I'm not ashamed to admit it. If I've had a bad day, I'll hit the book shelves ( not literally of course). If I'm so happy I could dance, I trace my finger along the spines of my books & hook one of my friends out.

Why? Because a poet will have felt similar feelings & thoughts and what I can't put into words, a poet can. My brain is always trying to explain things to me about myself & other people and poetry is the sieve I use to contract all the words surging through my brain.

Whilst I was looking for something else, I discovered this poem today - 'Amber' by Gillian Clarke It's food for your Inner Jewellery Hunter!

the bad news & the good news

Prom Queen I

I'm going to go all literary & pretentious on you - you have been warned :-) So that's the bad news done & dusted!

The good news is that I'm not going to ask you to read my own poetry - that would be too, too cruel. Something else that will bring you much relief is that I'm not going to unveil any of my own weedy works of 'art'. I'm not a sadist. In fact I'm really rather kind. Whilst all others are swatting & missing wasps, I'm the one that gently encourages said jasper to leave via an open window or door.

(Note to self - I must remember to tell everyone about my maternal grandfather who completely lost all composure & decorum whenever a wasp was in the vicintity. Neither must I forget to relate details of the day when a wasp had the temerity to approach when afternoon tea was served and Grandfather, armed with a rolled up copy of the Telegraph, swatted & flailed like a thing possessed. Unfortunately he only succeeded in shattering Grandmother's tea service, scattering shards of porcelain, Proustian madeleines & almond wafers in his wake. Another of Grandfather's party tricks was the skim-whack. The Telegraph would past so close & at such speed that the hair on your head or arms slightly bristled. This was usually followed by a sharp sting from the wasp that Grandfather had irked. I cannot recall any occasion on which Grandfather was himself stung, but the rest of us certainly suffered on his account. )

(Further note to self. You are a fool - you've just told them all about Grandfather & his battle against the mighty wasp!)

(Final note to self - I quite like talking to myself when I should be blogging. I hope this is a sign that I'm on the road to fulfilling my ambition of becoming a member of that happy breed, the great British eccentric. As I've always said, I want to be Margaret Rutherford when I grow up.)

To go back to wheresoever it was that I started, it's my intention to add a poem & picture each month to this docu-log. There may even be the odd quotation - I love a good quote & in my opinion, Dorothy Parker is the Queen of Quotations! In Cyber Land one can, to an extent, be whomsoever one wants to be, so I've decided to be the curator of a vast gallery & library. From this massive resource, I want to select a few of the things that I love & wish to share. It's just a little thing that I want to do. It might seem self-indulgent & pompous, but art & literature are my two of my favourite methods for dealing with:

"A poor life this, if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare."

Whatever you are doing, I hope you can find some element of fun in the doing of that thing.

how to embarrass your grandmother with William Blake.

Foxglove Necklace

My dear friend Jean has urged me to relate a story from my childhood, but before I begin, jump over to Jean's blog and have a good wallow in her wonderful words. Amongst other things, you can read about The Ruse, Paul Yates, scuba diving, divine jewellery and on 8th April, 100 things to know about Jean. Jean is very kind to me & she's encouraged me to write a list too. My brain is so tiny that it doesn't have room to think of too many things at the same time so given this limitation, I'll have to lay my facts before you a few at time.

1. I once kissed a man who told me my hair was the colour of a tawny owl's feathers. I believe that men who come up with compliments like this should be encouraged.

2. Eleanor Romy was named after Eleanor of Aquitaine ( my heroine), my step grandmother, Ella & my mother, Romy. These are sensible reasons.

3. My daughter Lula was named after a dog & my son's favourite teddy bear. Indeed 'Lula' was his first word. Loopy's real name is Georgia Alice ( which she hates) and in her case she was named after my dog, Georgie Girl. These are not sensible reasons. To avoid confusion between Georgie Baby & Georgie Dog, we decided that we would give the babe a nickname. This seemed a reasonable solution. James & I couldn't think of anything suitable but when Tom suggested Lula we cheered because it suits her perfectly. BTW Tom's intuition was spot on. I have never met anyone who is as Lulaish as Lula.

4. I embarrassed Ella with the help of William Blake. I was always allowed to rummage through my grandmother's library of books. I fell for 'Songs of Innocence & Experience' with my favourite poem being this. I knew it off by heart. When I was circa nine, I was allowed to attend one of my grandmother's afternoon tea parties. She asked me to recite a few lines of poetry to her friends. She'd been reading Walter de la Mare, John Masefield & Tennyson to me & was probably expecting a few lines from'The Lady of Shalott'. But OH NO!! Ms Dangerfield gave a perfect rendering of 'The Sick Rose' instead. I was still allowed to read any book I liked, but it was decided that I needed fresh air when my grandmother was entertaining so no more poetry recitals for me!

4. I am not ticklish.

5. I know a lot of gossip about the Pre-Raphaelites. In my opinion, a man who has his wife exhumed because he wants his poems back, is not fit for polite society. I would tell you who this was, but I fear that I have bored you so much that you're probably asleep by now. I don't want to disturb you whilst you're slumbering so I'll save my tittle-tattle for another day.

Sweet dreams!