Categories: uncategorized
Date: 18 September 2005 19:28:21
...four hairy males, if you count Miffdog and cat. Do the last two count though - as they've both had the 'snip?'
The fledgeling came back to visit: Midweek to pick up more of her things ( I sneaked a carrier bag of Tesco's bits n'bobs into the luggage) and for the weekend. Finding the course absolutely exhausting and seemingly none too sure about the other folk on it. The group dynamics are quite interesting - differing between gender . Apparently there are so few boys that - to quote Ms Miff - they've 'bonded' together quite quickly into one little colony. (Fleeting visions here of hairy, baboon-like adolescents burping, thumping their chests and scratching each others' fleas). The girls, on the other hand, are tending to form into numerous little (and potentially poisonous ) cliques. It was ever thus, I reckon. Probably goes back to the stone age, when the hairy hunters clubbed together to burp, thump their chests, scratch their fleas and boast about their latest exploits with the friendly neighbourhood sabre-toothed tiger. Whilst the ladies kept the home fires burning and bitched about, men, woad, and agonized about whether 'my bum looks big in the lastest mammoth skin over the shoulder sleeveless tunic.'
Maybe it's the fledgeling leaving home, but the approach of autumn isn't exactly filling me full of joy and delight this year. Strange that. I've always thought of myself as a winter person. Normally I love the long, dark evenings - enjoy curling up with a cup of cocoa , a good book and the cat. As someone who's never really found it easy to find summer clothing to suit me - I look forward to the time when I can pull my tried and trusted woolies out from storage. Not so now. I'm more inclined to forget the 'mellow fruitfulness' and focus, unhealthily on draughts and decay. The inevitable musing on one's own mortality.
This may be due to personal circumstances. Apart from the MIL situation - there are several older folk I know who are battling with illness and the inevitable isolation that goes with it. I find myself listening and watching a fair bit - and it's interesting to see the differing attitudes people have towards the inevitable. Some, like MIL rage against it - to the point that the the quality of life they could yet have slips away. Others like the lady who's been newly diagnosed with a potentially life-threatening condition are realistic about their limitations but within these try to keep going as much as they can. And yet others, like the very sick member of our congregation I visited yesterday display a quiet bravery that I hope I'll show when the times comes for me. Know what a 'quiet spirit' means now. At risk of descending to using cliches - it fairly took my breath away. And I'm so glad that I took Mr Miff's advice to ring the bell - and not just dump my obligatory bunch of flowers on the doorstep and sneak off.
Lest I'm starting to sound like Florence Nightingale reincarnated, let me say that I'm NOT looking forward to tomorrow's train journey up to the sunny midlands to visit MIL and SIL one little bit! Even the prospect of several hours (with the train operator concerned at LEAST a couple if not more!) with nothing to do but read a good book or daydream fails to appeal.
(Come to think of it - Lady Godiva probably dreaded the approach of winter as well!)