Where This Was Really Born

This is pasted from my IE notepad from back in January, where this blog was really born.

At 7 past 2am on a windy January night the germ of this blog was born but not really because I am not tekkie enough yet to make an actual blog for Chrissakes! So in the meantime IE notepad will have to suffice. And I will have to learn A New Skill.

Whystart a blog?

To improve my typing skills and try to identify why there are plural typing skillssss and not just one typing skill. Maybe you get another typing skill level if you add a freshly trained typing finger, like a game of Quake. Pinky added, congratulations you have just achieved a further typing skill, proceed to “Begining Thumbs”.

2) My psychiatrist (seriously!) and a number of other people have said that it’s good to have a creative outlet. I do knit sporadically but only in straight lines; I can’t go round corners yet and I just won’t learn either. This limits my garment-crafting options somewhat and even the very kindest of my friends are wearying of the scarves already. Pottery, the most traditional of creative outlets is one of the more shocking assaults you can make on the environment according to my husband, proud owner of a fume-belching Jeep Liberty. We live in Ojai, CA, a town awash in artists and chi-chinkily thigh-deep in pottery already. Poetry is too spare for me; I’m no good at it and am more your blahblahblah type free-spender of words. (Words eh, gotta love ’em puppies, and free as air). I’m a word-whore and will peddle them any-old-where I can. A good word I just learnt is “tmesis” which means kind of a cut’n’shunt of two different words that seperately just aren’t doing what you want them to do, like “any-old-where” or “abso-bloody-lutely”.

3) Am a recently diagnosed bipolar person who wants to “reach out” to other bipolar people (streeeeeeeetch – there you are!) across the great, blue ether and, do what exactly? I’m buggered if I know. Perhaps that will reveal itself as I go on.

4)I suspect wanting attention is a goodly part of it.

5)My (lovely) husband, Dave is snoring like a small wardful of ill bears with congestive nose failure and I cannot take it any longer so have repaired to my children’s playroom looking for distraction. Blogging! It seems to be the answer to the question I’m not even sure I asked.

6)It is the middle of the night when I’m usually at my most ambitious and a Neurontin is just not doing the sleepy trick it did for me so ably this afternoon. The kettle is descaled, the cat vomit I nearly broke my neck on outside the bedroom door has been cleaned and my be-vomited foot disinfected to my exacting standards of puke free feet. There is nothing else to do but start one’s blog.

7) I want to learn A New Skill. Must…stop…being…hopeless…Luddite-lubber!

8) In the emailing department I rate Poor and Sporadic, corresponding with my friends with numerous epic-length emails after protracted fallow periods as if I were practicing a system of email crop rotation . This is a lazy way of communicating without having to be known as a round-robbiner (Does anyone even say round-robin any more?)

10) I have a strong ascetic need to discipline myself to tasks. It may be to do with being Scottish, and further (and windier), from the Outer Hebrides, flourishing hotbed of the elsewhere fading Free Church. While not a regular attendee myself, my father’s family always were and I think the traditional island rite of getting blootered on Saturday night and HAVING TO, no question about it, MAKING yourself fall, still legally drunk, into the pew on a Sunday morning to approximate hymn tunes and hear about hell, is a dicipline that is writ with brimstone into the genes of island families over the generations. And then Bible-study after lunch and then church AGAIN at night (going at both ends it’s called, leading to the common but oft misunderstood exchange, “Did you go at both ends, then Murdo-Iain?” “Aye, I did right enough Alec-Iain, How’s the head?”. Discipline indeed.

11)Having been advised by books and magazines and the US healthcare establishment that having a “creative outlet” is very healthy (and, in Ojai, has recently even become essential if you are to be allowed to live here) I’ve developed an indelible mental impression of a kind of creative menstrual-like cycle or semen-like build-up for the chaps which will quickly become putrid and horr-id if not released in regular expressive bursts of plein-air painting or salsa classes. Failure to attend to this need to let ones creative juices flow will, if you follow the logical conclusions, lead to a type of choking endometriosis of the imagination, or, in chaps, a fetid gism-pool in which imagination could easily flounder. Sheesh!

So you see, I just had to.

5 thoughts on “Where This Was Really Born”

  1. hello sambo how you doing?

    moving job to sunny somerset – leaving the world of high flying death defying consultancy (or in reality postings to the sh*t holes of the uk) to go and work for a renowned shoe company!

    so ditching the car and going for a tractor – 0 -6 in 3 mins you know..

    anyway see you soonish.

    t

  2. Thank you Tombo! You are my first visitor! Shoes, eh? A bold move. Somerset? Even bolder! I’ve always, always thought, “you know, Somerset would be a good place to make some really great shoes!” On a more serious note, be aware, you are setting yourself up beautifully for jokes along the Farmer Tom the Yokel lines, hilarious or otherwise. But no doubt you took that into consideration when you decided to quit the high falutin’ life – you’re a careful man. Golly! Congratulations!

    I look forward to dispatches from the Somerset Bureau, your observations on the local habits etc. and trying to pass yourself off as a rural type, with your expensively tricked out late model tractor. And by the time I see you at Danny’s wedding I expect you to be thoroughly schooled in all things Scrumpy with a Powerpoint presentation and some free samples . Now chew that corn stalk! Thanks for visiting my blog, Tombo. Nooooow, Oi’ve gorra brand noo combine-‘arvester an oi’ll give you the key, tum tee tum tee tum.

  3. I dont’ know how this works! So, I respond to a certain bit and then it gets put up? So my last comment was in the wrong bit perhaps? Now that is useless. Yikes. And yikes also to the shocking revelation of ceramic producion being harmful to the environment. And there’s me thinking I was going to be leading a Barbara-and-Tom kind of life ( as in The Good Life) with my Hippy-friendly wheel and kiln and everything, when actually it turns out I’d be doing something Jeremy Clarkson would be proud of. Anyway, I still don’t have a wheel, or a kiln or even a shed big (well, junk-free) enough for such pursuits. Think I’ll just stick to singing.

  4. Well, app-aaaaah-rantly, according to Dave, (so you might need to take it with a Minchfull of salt) it’s not the pottery itself that is bad. It’s the glazes and colours that are often on them that cause the problem because certain sorts contain lead and other heavy metals that get released in the process. I, myself, know nothing about the process, and have always enjoyed a good pot or two, so I would say, go right on ahead potting!

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