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Expressing Freedom In the English Countryside

A city girl hands down, I do love getting away to the country now and again. Not surprisingly so, since I was born and raised in rural Southwest Georgia. There is something about the simplicity of unspoiled space, relatively speaking, that’s peaceful, except for the white-knuckle car rides on narrow, windy paths that are considered roads.

Go figure, this is England, where country lanes are so narrow that dear life depends on how you take every crook and turn and whether you have the skills to reverse as far as is necessary to somehow edge by a Range Rover that is too big for the road on its own or drive sideways on the hillside to squeeze by. Thank God for folding wing mirrors. Now what about a car that can fold without being hit and then unfold again? Sorry I digress; that’s the Jetsons, isn’t it? 

Anyhow, off to Somerset we went last weekend to Babington House to celebrate my birthday. I know, I know, that was weeks ago. Never mind, we like to celebrate as much as we can around here.

And that we did, arriving just in time for the cool of autumn, as good of a time as any, if you ask me, to get a fresh start. Though a scarcely 20-year-old hotel and members club, which is part of a worldwide hotel group, Babington House, including its grounds, is anchored deeply in English history, which segues back to the country.

History traces the land back to a medieval village, where there was a church and manor house, however, the present house was built circa 1705.  Though it has undergone many renovations, it wears its charm and character well.

The first morning during breakfast, I sat looking out over the grounds, and couldn’t help thinking how the property, the land was so very representative of the English countryside. The sun spilled over a small hill in distance, highlighting the dew stained grass. The grounds an uneven plane, just enough for children to run free and frolic, seemed to call out to them or to anyone who wanted to express freedom at its most basic.

That’s us! After pulling on our Wellies, off we went to explore the English countryside.

 

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Paying Tribute to Gloria Naylor: My Muse

A friend sent me a Facebook message asking if I had heard of the death of award winning author Gloria Naylor on September 28, one day before my birthday. I had not. Feeling a bit out of the loop, I went online and met all the condolences head on, reflecting for a good while.

After I came out of my stupor of sadness, I began to remember Gloria Naylor fondly from receiving Bailey’s Café as a birthday gift in 1992 from my BFF to discussing Mama Day, in particular, at my first book club in Albany, Georgia, to meditating and conjuring her up as my muse during a writing exercise meant to improve my own writing skills. Bear with – it really happened.

Anyhow, though I never met her, over the years, I have been privileged (in and out of interviews) to answer several questions asked of writers: what are you reading, what are you writing and who is our favourite author? In other words, which writer has most influenced/most inspired you? The answer to the first two questions naturally varies but the third one has always been the same—Gloria Naylor.

On that note, however, outside of North America, some interviewers and questioners had to ask Gloria who? But upon mentioning The Women of Brewster Place, which was made into a movie, the author’s repute became unmistakable.  An amazing author, Naylor has a way of getting into the reader’s bloodstream, if you ask me, heightening the senses in an indisputable way, even of those who thought she was a bit too deep.

Just a few folks from my book club of yester years said as much but even they couldn’t refute the heart racing, eye popping, ear permeating read of Mama Day, which combines the supernatural and the natural in a genuine yet gripping way.

As one writer asked in a workshop I was in years ago, how does she (an accomplished writer) do it, make you smell the scene, even taste it. Hopefully, she had the chance to ask Naylor, but if she didn’t, all she has to do is study an excerpt from one of her novels. Check out this one from a chapter towards the end of Mama Day:

“When I reached the dogwoods on the west side of the road, the throbbing was beginning to turn into an iron vise in the middle of my chest. I put one foot on the paved road and glassy needles splintered throughout my brain. The house was wavering in front of my eyes. The road felt like water under my buckling knees. It was impossible to cross over, make it up those porch steps, and into our room. I did it. But I was too cramped to even unbend my body on the bed beside you.

 “The worst thing about the blinding pain that finally hit me was the sudden fear that it might be the end. That’s why I gripped your shoulder so tightly. But I want to tell you something about my real death that day. I didn’t feel anything after my heart burst. As my bleeding hand slid gently down your arm, there was total peace.”

Extraordinary, every single word of it, don’t you think. Makes me want to re-read the novel, not only for old times sake, but for the future, too. I could use some inspiration nowadays. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. Bear with.

In the meantime, I join many others, her family, friends, fans and followers in celebrating the life of a literary great—Gloria Naylor, who will undoubtedly live on in the hearts and minds of millions. May her work continue to inspire young and old writers alike. Actually, let’s make that older, much more appropriate for me.

 

 

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Taking Time For Me: Time For A Run

Why Do I Run? Precisely, that is what I asked myself yet again this morning at the sound of my alarm. Couldn’t I just stay in bed this one time, snooze and finish off my dream, even if it was a disturbing one? Without the ending, I could be haunted for hours. Still I agreed for Paul to open the curtains, allowing daylight to pour in. I threw back the covers and pulled myself out of bed.

Instantly my right foot felt heavy and went into a muscle spasm. In the meantime, my mind sent jarring messages to it and to my achy abs and then turned its attention to all the many urgent things we had to do today—try to negotiate a reasonable appointment from a car dealer who puts customer service last, check on Daddy, order groceries (non-perishables; fridge/freezer dead), chase the repairman, write a blog, just to name a few. Why run?

Ignoring the chatter I grabbed the massage roller thing a ma gig. You know the one, its called posture pro and meant to work on anything thoracic. Admittedly, it works on feet, too.

That done, I dressed and stretched, still feeling lifeless and continued to wonder why I was torturing myself. But outside, as I sucked in the fresh river air, basked in the cool of the London morning, it hit me as clear as day that I run for one reason only. All the rest are fringe benefits. My reason: It’s called me time, as simple as that.

To this end, I even ditched music to avoid any distractions. Anyhow, as I got into my stride, the other runners, walkers, folks going to work, the publican rolling beer barrels across the private road, began to fade into the background. In moments I was in my zone, no longer aware of my temperamental foot, fussy abs. etc.

At first my mind continued to search for reasons to feel listless. And then the tears pushed through, hidden behind sunglasses, of course, as I remembered my mother’s recent death. But when a sensational breeze swept over me, it conjured up memories of her life and suddenly, the tears dried up and I felt myself smile.

When she and my aunt, her only sister, were avid walkers, it occurred to me that they might have been getting in their me time together. Otherwise, there was always someone else around.

Before I knew it, I was coming to the close of my three-mile journey. And though I toyed with extending the run, I had slipped out of the zone that quickly.

Now, I felt my racing heart, the energy flowing through me, the urge to get on with my day. Still, cooling down and stretching, I remembered the run fondly and the other two earlier in the week. Then all the stuff on my to do list started pouring in and jockeying for position-me, me, no me, etc. Not to mention that the world was abuzz. A cyclist nearly ran me down without even saying excuse me, and a yappy dog thought he should have exclusive use of the boardwalk.

Putting the thoughts in their place, the dog and the cyclist behind me, I looked ahead to the next opportunity for time for me—just me. That is why I run.

 

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Vote: It’s A Serious Matter

It is no secret that I don’t think Donald Trump is the right person to be elected as President of the United States for a number of reasons, but the main one is that he is not qualified. He doesn’t have an ounce of legislative experience. But despite this and all the rest that he doesn’t have, he’s a serious contender.

My heart still splits when I drive up behind a car with a Trump for President Sticker on it (in the US) or when someone supports him on social media as the only real choice. Unbelievable!

A few weeks ago, a dinner guest of mine, who knew someone who claimed to know him, said he is a nice man really. He is just being a politician, that’s all. Really, I said, not to mention what else I said.

Still, I was prepared to keep my opinion private until now. Why now? First, as a writer, it is my business to speak out responsibly. And next, some Americans, particularly African Americans, are questioning whether to vote at all or not. Really? Yes, really!

At least two C-list celebrities, an little known rapper and Mariah Carey’s ex, have said that they will not be voting—there is no one to vote for they insist. Really!

Then I came across two normally reasonable writers who not only suggested that they might not be voting but also offered what they thought was good reason. One wrote that voting is not our voice in a democracy; the other wrote that there is no lesser of an evil to vote for, not voting for Hillary Clinton does not mean voting for Donald Trump. He will not vote for evil. And both these writers denounced the American political structure and then went on to expound on why W.E.B Dubois didn’t vote in 1956.

He said, “I shall not go to the polls. I have not registered. I believe that democracy has so far disappeared in the United States that no ‘two evils’ exist. There is but one evil party with two names, and it will be elected despite all I can do or say.”

With all due respect to democracy, and Dubois, this is not 1956. This is 2016, and certainly remnants of the problems America had in those days might some times feel more like the problems relived than they do remnants, but here is the thing,  voting is a serious matter, especially this November.

Why? In short, it is voting that puts a candidate into office and also that keeps one out. Let’s be real. This is not reality TV; this unusual bid for the White House is a serious matter and has to be taken as such.

Recently, I read an email from Georgia Representative John Lewis (no relation), in which he wrote: “Silence in the face of injustice is another form of injustice.” Hence, this blog!

And that’s when it occurred to me that people who don’t vote are remaining effectively silent on the matter. And there can’t be any justice in that. Not to mention it is the right to vote that puts us at the table to vote in the first place.

Why would we waste that? As such:

  • Like or Lump Hilary Clinton, she is not to be compared to Donald Trump. Whatever she has said and/or done in the past, Hilary is a bona fide candidate with experience as a Senator in her own right, and she has served as Secretary of State, and has demonstrated that she can at the very least work with others and on behalf of others.
  • The President of the US is a world leader and must, I reiterate must, be able to work cooperatively with leaders around the world.
  • The office of President is not a platform for espousing hatred and dividing its citizen. It is the office we look to for hope and unity.
  • Furthermore, the job of President is a real job, requiring real experience, at least knowledge and understanding in policymaking for the sake of its citizens, all of them, not just a handful.
  • Finally, electing the President of the US is not a game, albeit there is a lot at stake. But to debate whether to vote or not as if it is game, is unreasonable, particularly when the stakes are so high. It is a serious matter. Vote!

For more reading on the matter, check out this article.

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Returning to the Peace of Discovery

Around this time last year while on a Nordic tour, I beamed photos and features from my smart devices to social media, not only excited to discover new worlds but also pleased to share with supporters, friends and family, too.

Thinking back, I recall a sort of peacefulness about that holiday, about how I felt wandering around that part of the world, a place that is often portrayed as insular. So when friends and family alike cautioned that I should take care, I rather thought they were being overly cautious. In my travel experiences, even if a destination’s reputation has been called into question, particularly over xenophobia, I tend to give it the benefit of the doubt, unless there is clear and present danger.

But post the Brexit vote, the racial unrest in the US, the insane politics there too,  and the terrorism in France, this year’s holiday on Spain’s south coast felt uneasy. Not that there were any incidents there, none that can compare to the conditions mentioned, but nowadays all destinations seem questionable as a result of chaos in the world.

As an American expat living in Britain, I am acutely aware that the metaphorical band aid that once covered the deep wound of xenophobia has come unstuck. Of course, Brexit is about a lot things and some insist that prejudice is not one of them, even in the face of increased hate misconduct here. In the aftermath of the vote in London, there was a steady stream of graffiti against some European nationals and choice words to others from places as far away as Africa and Jamaica.

For everyone, however, one thing has become clear and that is that the world is overrun with an intense fear, which salts the xenophobic wound, now weeping of hate for some and a disturbing uneasiness for others.

In the latter camp, I find even the coolest of places uncomfortably hot. Sadly, worry has a way of wandering with me, wherever I go, often to the upset of physical and mental health. But that’s another blog. Watch this space.

Meanwhile, let’s get back to Malaga, Marbella, Estepona, Ronda, etc. my trail on the Costa del Sol. Admittedly, it was not an escapist holiday, not the fault of the pretty, bustling region, but it was a reasonably enjoyable one.

Per the guidebooks and reviews on and off social media, it is a fun place for sun seekers, though it was windier than anticipated and it rained on the day we left. Never mind, London ceased being rainy for our return. The folks are friendlier than in the average place and even welcoming to those who don’t speak a lick of Spanish. And the food of Andalusia isn’t bad at all, depending on where you go. One place worth mentioning is Las Brasas de Alberto in Estepona. If not for the Iberian Pork, then go for the house wine. You’ll be glad you did.

Also, sadly for me, there wasn’t much emphasis on food intolerances such as gluten, though organic everything was abundant. Never mind, I needed the comfort food to manage the slower pace of life and to try to catch a bit of the carefree reigning spirit there, which was much needed while navigating the narrow streets of Ronda in our little rental car.

Gee whiz, glad that is over, the bumpy ride that is. As for the holiday, it’s over too, but the desire to discover new worlds remains deep within. May acceptance and assurance as a way of life return with a force, one that sweeps the world, bringing many peaceful holidays for years to come. Now that’s cool.

 

 

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Discover the World with Mispronunciations

People mispronounce words all the time, don’t they? And not only when it is according to accent, e.g, American English, British English. The old you say tomat(e)o, I say tomotto. That is not really a mispronunciation. It is a matter style, if you will. High time some folks come to grips with that. Never mind.

Anyhow, I am talking about words whether in English, French or Spanish and so on, that have the same pronunciation – most of them proper nouns, of course.

The ‘s’ in words such as Cannes or even Paris is silent, for example. But who is to know this unless they really know the cities, right, or the language. Wrong, the most savvy of travellers don’t always get it, right. I should know.

So when someone gets it wrong, what then? A) Ignore the faux pas, while feeling embarrassed for their ignorance, B) Correct them promptly, at the risk of being rude, C) Weave the correct pronunciation into conversation, quite politely.

I have been on both ends of all three answers and in the middle, too, watching on during such slip-ups. But in an early experience with this sort of thing years ago, not having been too far outside of Georgia, I mispronounced, okay I botched the word Bethesda, as in Maryland, only in the company of one friend, and her blunt correction left me marred until this day. Her voice, the weight of a strict teacher’s is still in my head. Needless to say, B is the wrong answer.

Then what about A? Wouldn’t it be best not to say anything? Your friend or associate will stumble upon the truth, sooner or later. Not necessarily. A few years ago, still a green expat, if you will, I pronounced Newcastle, as in England, New Castle, as in New York, time and again, until one bold person resorted to B, in a rather hit me over the head sort of a way. Shocked that A, no one had told me politely after all that time and miffed that B, when they did, they were rude, I refrained from pronouncing strange words, so I thought until recently.

In a casual conversation, I chatted easily about something I thought I knew about. After we had changed the subject, my associate so very cleverly and graciously weaved back to it, asking a question about the town/city I spoke of, pronouncing it correctly. So what do you think of Mar-baya, she said as in Marbella, Spain?

The rule here is that the two ll’s in some Spanish words such as Marbella, sound a bit like a ‘y’. Ok, how is an English speaking person to know that unless they have studied Spanish? Actually, though true, it is irrelevant to the point, which is well summed up in an apropos James Joyce quote.

“Mistakes are the portals of discovery.”

As for me, best get on with discovering, with a view that some tactful person will help me see (C) my way through it.

 

 

 

 

 

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Gems of Wisdom Handed Down

If you do everything now, you will have nothing to look forward to.

You can’t buy class.

 It’s better to buy one good thing that will last instead of several cheap things that will fall apart.

These are things that one friend’s momma, grandma and great grandma used to say. Such priceless words of wisdom often come in handy when we are in a pinch. But sometimes they’re just words we live by or not. In any case, some of the things that our ancestors say to us stay in the alcoves of our minds from generation to generation and in a round about way keeps them, even after they are gone, alive and fresh in our hearts and minds.

Read more in the Huffington Post: Elders Leave Traces Behind. Now for that cup of coffee to access more of those gems! Why don’t you grab one too and share your favourite gems of wisdom right here  or on the Huff Post.

 

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Heeding from the Book of Elder Words

With ill-advised politicians playing on the national stage about now, we are starving for some wise words, and action, too. I know I am.

If only we had the likes of Solomon about now. Aside from his 700 wives and 300 concubines (1 Kings 11), there hasn’t been a man credited with more wisdom. From his prudence in the dispute between the two mothers over the live baby (cut the child in half. Honestly, but it turned out well. Read for yourself: 1 Kings 3:16-28) to the Proverbs that are accredited to him, his words continue to epitomise fairness the world over.

But unless we reach for the Bible regularly or have the recall of Malachi (that’s my father) we don’t always have these words in mind when we need them. Sometimes we just need wise words to pop into our head, like before we leave someone in a lurch or throw a temper tantrum, on a world stage, for example. What can we do? Short of remembering all the wise words contained in the Bible, a hard task even if you are reading the Bible In One Year, via Holy Trinity Brompton’s app (I should know), refer to the Book of Elder Words.

Yeah, that’s the one. It lives in your head and your heart, too, and comprises words from the elderly that come to mind almost always in the time of trouble. More to come on this very thing later in another, more in-depth blog, but for now in the midst of national confusion, I thought I would share with the politicians and anyone who cares to listen a few of my favourites from this wise old book.

In a pinch, in the time of trouble, in need of advice, I have heeded some of these words, if only silently and graciously, sometimes hearing them echo throughout the day and the night, mind you.

Many of them are, of course, from my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, teachers and so on. But regardless of their origin, the thing about elder words is that, in whatever language them come in, they are handed down from generation to elusively and seem to put us on the same playing field when wielded, even though playing is the last thing we ought to be doing right about now.

Ah, ha! That’s one from the book. Alas, more wise words

  1. When you know better, you ought to do better.

  2. You are too old for that… You complete the sentence.

  3. You started this mess, now you need to finish it.

  4. Winning is not everything.

  5. By now you should know that lies always catch up with you!

  6. Don’t you learn anything from your mistakes?

  7. Well, at least you have your dignity.

Umm, really! I don’t know about that last one. What about you? What are some of your favourites from the Book of Elder Words? Do tell!

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It’s A Matter of Perspective

Life is a matter of perspective. Of course, there’s more to life than perspective but how something is viewed can determine much about it.

Let’s take the Thames, for example. While running alongside it three times per week, if rain permits, I find the air coming off it energising. It beats the stuffy air of a gym any dry day, and certainly that of running along a road, where there are cars and so on. It edges out running in a park just slightly, only because I have to go quite a distance to get to the park when all I need to do is go a few yards to reach the Thames nowadays.

But let me be clear, I don’t find it appealing. Sure the buildings around it catch my eye, some of them more than others, but the water itself is rather murky. Sometimes while stretching, I stare at it and am able to see beyond its obscurity, but for the most part, it is dim water to me.

A change of perspective, however, got me seeing a much more attractive river, one where boats can sail smoothly, well on certain days, where the water can flow and shimmer, even under cloudy skies. Friday I decided to take the River Bus instead of a taxi to Embankment and walk from there to Covent Garden to meet Paul for dinner and theatre.

So glad I did. For starters the ride took my focus off the problems of the world and got me concentrating on life on and alongside the river. As much as I’ve seen The Church of St Mary, it was picture pretty from the Thames and the Albert Bridge was even more impressive than when running or walking on it.

The Thames Under Cloud
The Thames Under Cloud
The Albert Bridge Up Close
The Albert Bridge Up Close

You see it is all about perspective. Now to put perspective to the test with real life experiences! With the uncertainty of Britain since Friday’s decision to leave the EU and the upcoming presidential elections in November, I’ll have plenty of opportunities to look at life from a different perspective. I might need to stand on my head to catch a fresh glimpse of these two world events but hey, it’s a different perspective.

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Disheartened: Five Tips to Emerge

1) Go for a run alone, walk, do whatever you do, just get active. That’s what I did this morning, I went running after Britain voted to leave the EU. And as my mind was thinking, trying to understand the seismic shift that was made overnight seemingly, I didn’t feel any ways tired. Quite different from what I felt sitting on my bed staring at the talking heads on the television.

An American expat, who doesn’t have an official say in elections here, I had a lot riding on the decision, like all decisions made here, and in the US, too, where I do have a say. But sometimes just getting used to the thoughts in your own head before going head on into a debate or a drawn out commiseration with others informs a healthier discussion, a healthier you.

2) Accept the change. Acceptance of a change is not the same as embracing or supporting it, it is more about coming to terms. What does it really mean? Some broadcasters referred to the decision as a divorce from Europe. Well, unless you can over turn a divorce, and you probably wouldn’t want to, best to accept it to avoid a long drawn out disaster? And figure out what it really means and how to reinvent.

Of course, on a national level the consequences of the Brexit decision will unfold, but what does it mean today? Also, on a personal level, what does it mean now? Whether jubilant or disillusioned or somewhere in between, don’t rush to judgment or operate in fear of the future. Take it one day at a time and use acceptance to steer your course.

3) Take responsibility. Responsibility comes with winning. Now what? Someone has to steer the course and let’s pray the winners have a plan and a jolly good one. But responsibility comes with losing, too. Sore losers storm off, take their ball and go home. My goodness that is the last thing we ought to do right now. Otherwise, the winners take all, not only the important decision, but heart and soul, too. But let me be clear, I support David Cameron’s decision to pass the baton, which doesn’t mean quitting if you ask me, but it means accepting reality. It’s a game, if you will, that he did not win so how can he possibly coach the next round. Surely, there is someone more suitable for that.

In the meantime, he can take responsibility for the country now and keep it stable! Who can argue with that? As for the rest of us, we could gain from getting on with business as usual, too, as best as we can.

4) That’s the next tip. Get on with business as usual. We can all do that. That’s partly why I went running. Surely, had I stayed stuck in front of the television, I’d still be there in shock. Yet, I am out and about minding my business.

In a personal kerfuffle, I remember getting on with business and a family member angrily saying how can you do that at a time like this. I remember thinking if I don’t, I’ll become stagnant, toxic and so on and more harmful than helpful to the cause we were fighting. To me, getting on with it is a bit like acceptance, not supporting or going with the crowd, but continuing to do the right thing, even under a dark cloud. Of course, watch the market (s) and so on but people stall things and people, by George, start them too.

5) And finally, about that debate, that commiseration, relate to somebody. If you are like me, you work alone. And at times such as these, working alone can be lonely. After checking out what’s on social media, phone a friend and go for a coffee. Can’t reach a friend, go for a coffee alone and make new ones. Just relate! Umm, great thought. I think it is time for a break.