Bitch on the Blog

June 10, 2013


Filed under: Pretentious Shit — bitchontheblog @ 17:51

Cuties, I haven’t read the article. Neither will I. Instead of which have formed informed opinion on strength of subtitle alone.

Subject: “The most shameful thing that has happened to me in my life.” Really? Take it from me: The most shameful thing has happened in your life you’ll take to your grave.




  1. Don’t bet on it. I don’t think there is a shameful thing about my life that I haven’t revealed to someone. At least not yet. But as one gets older, I’ve found, one cares even less about protecting one’s ego. So I am very apt to admit my human gaffes, no matter how embarrassing. Some call it courageous. Others call it crazy. I call it no more secrets after a lifetime full of them.

    Comment by Lorna's Voice — June 10, 2013 @ 21:20 | Reply

    • In principle I agree, Lorna. Not least what you say about the ego, or as I call it, less flatteringly, one’s vanity. However. And a big fat however it is: I can think of at least one example where – if I ‘told’ – it’d have a potentially devastating effect on someone. Serving no purpose whatsoever. In other words: I believe in silence to protect not ourselves but others. I sometimes play what I call ‘death bed scenario’: Say, whatever it is, came to light AFTER I’d died therefore not being able to put the record straight. That’s when it becomes difficult. Should I, shouldn’t I? I don’t know. And before anyone writes a wild script about what I just said: In the scheme of things the above example is minor. In fact, laughable. And yet. And yet. And yet.

      I grew up – for a long time the only (grand and otherwise) child – in a large extended family. Yes, the adult world. My god. What I gleaned (adults stupidly thinking children ‘don’t understand’. They understand alright). Sometimes thinking to myself: Too much information. But I always kept my mouth shut. Never transferred knowledge from one to another. Having said that: Particularly on my mother’s side of the family there were no taboos. Quite extraordinary at times: A spade is a spade. Even if it isn’t or it so evidently is that – in my opinion – no mention needs to be made.

      As an aside, and a sad one for me: The tide has turned. I know what I know yet my mother has reached that age where she plain adjusts facts. It infuriates me. And am glad that most of our conversation takes place on the phone where she can’t read my face. My mother is a wonderful person yet her bending past events to fit into her increasingly rose tinted spectacles has caused me many an hour of grief. Can’t remember now who observed that a ‘child’ (of any age) needs to have affirmation that that which was witnessed, that what is remembered, is valid. And if a parent DOES NOT it will literally pull the rug from underneath her feet. One memorable occasion – and I nearly broke with my mother there and then, not that I ever would – she flatly denied something so very important to me. To do with my grandmother’s death when I was eight. To this day – I think the Angel was only a baby then – it takes my breath away how, more than twenty years later, she denied me a memory so very poignant, so very important to me. It literally – see above – pulled the rug from underneath my world. She didn’t mean to. But she did. And she never ever understood that she did. Now? When we talk? Whatever. She is a mine of information on family folklore – and what I’ll do without her one day I don’t know. Condense it – like you – into a memoir? More likely just let it lie.

      You, Lorna, have taken an openess I admire to a height I doubt I’ll ever reach. A height which I don’t wish to reach. But then – I am afraid of heights. Very. And yet – I am an open book. Not everyone can read.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — June 11, 2013 @ 00:29 | Reply

  2. Ursula could never write a book about herself. You have to tell all. Otherwise there won’t be enough pages.

    Comment by bikehikebabe66 — June 10, 2013 @ 21:53 | Reply

    • As enigmatic verdicts go, Cynthia, you have just floored me. You are right: There won’t be enough pages. Or so many I do not have the wish and will to fill. Have realized that my joy in life is more in communicating in an instant (and that includes exchanges via blogs and comment boxes) rather than documenting. The ‘spoken’ word my version of ‘Gone with the Wind’: Here this minute, not to be nailed down the next. Whirled away like leaves in autumn.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — June 11, 2013 @ 00:41 | Reply

      • What I mean is, if you don’t tell all the embarrassing whatever –half your life 🙂 then it ‘s a very skinny, boring book.

        Comment by bikehikebabe66 — June 11, 2013 @ 01:46 | Reply

        • Oh no, Cynthia. No one but no one will tell all. Even if we wanted to it’s not possible. Not least because some of what we’d like to tell we can’t convey to another person: For example, a feeling, an atmosphere. There is so much intangible in our lives. A lot of which, in reality, only of interest to ourselves. No one else. Of consequence only to us. And even then fleetingly so.

          I read a lot of (auto)biographies. Most are a hoot. Even the ones you, Cynthia, might call ‘skinny’ I don’t find “boring” You learn a lot about someone ‘by omission’. And even those where the author let’s it all “hang out” I smile to myself knowing full well that there will be gaps in the narrative.

          Look no further than Lorna’s autobiography if you want to be entertained. What makes her life’s story so very interesting are not just the facts – as mind boggling as some of them are. It’s how she tells it. And therefore tells an awful lot more about herself than a mere chain of events do. Put another way: Give the same life to two people, ask them to put it down on paper and you will get two oh so different results.

          As I appear to be falling in love with this subject I shall curb my enthusiasm and stop now,

          Comment by bitchontheblog — June 11, 2013 @ 09:20 | Reply

          • Lorna wrote an autobiography? Are you speaking of OUR Lorna?

            Comment by bikehikebabe66 — June 11, 2013 @ 15:09 | Reply

            • Yes, OUR Lorna of fame. Must be a good two years or so ago we met in cyberspace. I was so taken by her I spent a whole night reading her back catalogue from beginning to end. From dusk to dawn. Oh did I laugh even when I cried (on her behalf). Now she’s in tangible print (and ebook) Title: “How Was I Supposed To Know?” Indeed. Excellent question.

              Lorna (like most people in my life, and you) a precious find.


              Comment by bitchontheblog — June 11, 2013 @ 16:35 | Reply

  3. What in the world could you be safe-keeping that is so shameful? I think – given your rare openness – you would be more than willing to open up about the embarrassing moments of your life. Now don’t keep us waiting – fess up!!

    Comment by reneejohnsonwrites — June 11, 2013 @ 10:50 | Reply

    • Fess up, Renee? Not likely. Though might if you and I ever walked the beach Or through a forest. Or sat in a meadow or in the middle of a field.

      I have a knack, and I do not take any credit for it, of making friends. Good friends. Wonderful friends. Reliable friends. And that includes people I have never met (in the flesh).

      Trusting does – of course – take an enormous leap of faith. I know how to keep confidences. Which is why people will tell me anything. They know it won’t go further. It’s a gift; one which – again – I can take no credit for. One of those fairies at my cradle bestowed me with a zip.

      People will say that I give little of myself away. Maybe. It’s an observation which sometimes surprises me. Or, put another way: An observation I do not understand. Not understand? No doubt, in itself self explanatory.

      However, there must be some truth in it: I got stung badly – relatively late in life – when I told one of my sisters something and she was so delighted having found out about her enigmatic, secretive sister (give me a break) she couldn’t wait to spread it all over the place. The fallout – even four/five years on – is spectacular. SPECTACULAR. Not that she assumes any responsibility for what she did. Of course not. That it hasn’t shattered my belief in other people is only proof of one thing, one thing only: That I absolutely refuse other people (even my beloved sister) ruining my trust in life and its inhabitants.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — June 11, 2013 @ 17:01 | Reply

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