My favourite things 2

Now for my favourite things--
The sight and sound of the sea--in all its moods and colours,
a breezy afternoon,
the weight of a baby on my shoulder,
a warm hug,
the feel of a warm dog under my feet,
browsing through a book store all by myself,
music, music, music--different for differing moods
a comfortable bed when you are so tired,
reading old childhood favourites,
jamming with the kids,
looking across a room at my husband knowing he'll find the same thing funny.
Well, those are some of my favourite things. What are yours?

Favourite things

I had wanted to write about my favourite things. But somehow I just can't put it in the same post with these beautiful, haunting words below.

These I have loved:

                     White plates and cups, clean-gleaming,

Ringed with blue lines; and feathery, faery dust;

Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust

Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food;

Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood;

And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers;

And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours,

Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon;

Then, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon

Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss

Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is

Shining and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen

Unpassioned beauty of a great machine;

The benison of hot water; furs to touch;

The good smell of old clothes; and other such—

The comfortable smell of friendly fingers,

Hair’s fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers

About dead leaves and last year’s ferns. . . .

                                                Dear names,

And thousand other throng to me!  Royal flames;

Sweet water’s dimpling laugh from tap or spring;

Holes in the ground; and voices that do sing;

Voices in laughter, too; and body’s pain,

Soon turned to peace; and the deep-panting train;

Firm sands; the little dulling edge of foam

That browns and dwindles as the wave goes home;

And washen stones, gay for an hour; the cold

Graveness of iron; moist black earthen mould;

Sleep; and high places; footprints in the dew;

And oaks; and brown horse-chestnuts, glossy-new;

And new-peeled sticks; and shining pools on grass;—

All these have been my loves. 

This passage is from the poem 'The Great Lover' By Rupert Brooke.

fireworks10,
originally uploaded by suemamma.

At the pre-school I teach at, there is a Club for the young mothers, which was the brain child of the owner/founder of the school. She felt that many of the young mothers needed support, encouragement to bring out their talents, a place for them to let their hair down and bring them out of themselves. She felt that indirectly helped the children. Besides, young mothers with children in the same age group, got to meet and could compare notes and see they weren't alone in dealing with some of the problems they may encounter. Even once their children leave the school, they have the option of continuing in the Club. We teachers are de-facto members of the Club. Besides we have all had at least one child who studied there :)
Anyway today, the Mother's Club had their Diwali celebration, with a light lunch with Bhelpuri and mithais too. I was there to dance Dandiya with young girls, many of whom are only a bit older than my children! But after that I somehow feel OLD, even though I know I kept up with them quite well. I somehow felt that I should step to the side and let these young girls have their space and its their time for their place in the sun.
Well, a little music and solitaire is guaranteed to make me feel better.

Some pictures of my Dobe. She's over 10 years now.



Her own sofa--out on the verandah.

Being an (guitar-playing) old lady!

I received this as a mail from an old friend recently. I felt it so so right that I had to share it.


"The other day a young person asked me how I felt about being old. I was taken aback, for I do not think of myself as old. Upon seeing my reaction, she was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that it was an interesting question, and I would ponder it, and let her know.

Old Age, I decided, is a gift.

I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.
I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?
I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ... I will.

I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.

They, too, will get old.

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.

Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)."

Well youngsters out there, that's why I am really glad I never again have to be a teenager again --at least in this life :)

While doing Transactional Analysis, a question that was raised was who was a favourite hero/heroine who's character influenced you. As I was reading L. M. Montgomery's 'Anne of Green Gables' series again, I thought about that again. My absolute fave character, who I identified with so much, was Jo from the Little Women series, especially as she was in 'Little Men' and 'Jo's Boys'. As I thought about it, all my best-loved characters were girls/women who tried hard to be cheerful and were basically feminist, whether Louisa Alcott's Jo, or L. M. Montogomery's Anne or Pollyanna (who somehow got bad press in the US later for some reason) or even Jane Eyre. These books are still a favourite read whenever I want a mental boost.
So, who are your favourite childhood characters?

A Tag

I was tagged by Eve about my eccentricities—if any.

After much thought, I have come up with two.

1. Cigarette butts and burnt out matches are dirty I know, but for me it’s almost like a phobia. I used to feel pukey. But I’ve sort of forced myself out of that!
2. I keep things away very safely---and then I can’t find them!!!!!

I promise you Eve, I did try to come up with some more, but there isn't. I'm not obsessive at all--truly. But I am considered eccentric around here because
1. I don't bother to dress up like everyone else
2. I'm not in the gossip league,
3. I'm not a regular church goer;
In fact, I am not much into any of the usual pursuits of women, particularly of my age, around here.
So Eve, you can judge how eccentric I am :)