Bitch on the Blog

October 20, 2016

Promise and Perils

Filed under: Friends — bitchontheblog @ 20:07
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To up the ante of my “Spot Check” try this one for size:

What constitutes friendship?

Is it in your nature to be a friend?

Is it in your nature to attract friends?

Do you think yourself a good friend? And if so, to whom? And why?

How much honesty by a friend can you bear? How much of YOUR honesty do YOU expect a friend to bear? Should there be a fountain of honesty? Or should we be able, with no ill effect on the friendship, know when to turn off the tap of our well meaning, and let the water sicker into the sand?

Are you your own friend? What would it take to sever all contact with you, the friend you are to yourself?

U

October 1, 2016

A game people shouldn’t play

May have mentioned this before. What unsettles me more than anything else in relationships with humans, THE COLD FISH.

The cold fish has power to break me like no other creature. I suspect it’s because I don’t understand the cold fish’s approach, their detachment. That’s it: Detachment. Shout at me, criticize me, give me a hard time, tell me what you really think of me but don’t give me the cold shoulder, wrap yourself in silence.

The few times in my life I have been shown that cold shoulder, that silence, have crept me out. Made me feel a despair foreign to me. Years down the line I should have learnt; I haven’t.  I cannot even begin to describe to you how helpless (and humiliated) I feel in the face of those shrugging you (and others) off. Them walking away with not so much as a backward glance. It literally defies all I myself stand for and believe in.

To give the cold fish the benefit of the doubt: Those who apply that approach are either on a power trip or are scared of life. What the latter do, first and foremost, is protect THEMSELVES. A bit like snails in their shells. Except, of course, that shells are easily crushed. Unless those shells are so calcified that little can break the barrier. Beware your bare foot being cut when, inadvertently, you step on sharp edges along the beach.

U

 

 

Delirious

I do delight in simple joys. No need to climb the Kilimanjaro or do a Michelangelo for me to be happy. All it takes is to find my long lost small, nay tiny, kitchen knife. Its disappearance having been a mystery to me.

Yes, I know and you won’t remember, once upon a time I lamented my preferred potato peeler doing a runner. And other stuff.

The little knife was worse. I looked for it everywhere, asked people if they had “borrowed” it, emptied the garbage to sift through in case I’d accidentally thrown it out with the onion peel. No good. You can will certain things, but sometimes you have to acknowledge that loss means loss. What’s twenty years between you and a knife, you may ask. Well, you don’t throw loyal friends on the dung heap and forget about them in a jiffy, do you? As it were I felt awful that the knife might have thought me careless, might have felt discarded. What sort of an ending to a life is that?

Two hours ago I shifted an appliance, normally immobile and firmly anchored on the kitchen counter – and what do you know and what had slipped underneath it?  I did a double take and then clasped my old friend. That I didn’t cut myself with rapture is only due to my foresight and current lack of band aids in the house. Six months, Sweethearts, six months! Never ever give up on anything, anyone – particularly not your favourite knife.

And do search in unlikely places; behind the curtains if all fails.

U

September 4, 2016

All agony aunts and uncles to the rescue

Oh Wise Ones (that’s you, Sweethearts, in case you don’t recognize yourselves),

I need advice. Conundrum is as follows. For reasons not important this minute, though urgent as they are, I need to make contact with someone. A friend. Her husband has made it clear years ago that such contact is not to take place under any circumstances.

Naturally, initially I didn’t take his dictum seriously. After all, in my opinion, couples don’t come as parcels. Free will and all that. So I suggested to her a “clandestine” meeting (coffee). She replied she couldn’t. Because they have “no secrets” from each other. Well, all I can say her husband sure has done a good job at brainwashing. Brilliant, don’t you think, spouses being appendages to each other? What next? Mind police in the marital drawing room?

Anyway, that’s some time ago. Yet, god damn it, I need to make contact with her. However, and this is where Catch 22 chases its own tail, if I do [make contact with her], indeed my subterfuge in my professional capacity catching her out as a business contact, a potential client, will she still “report” me back to sa(i)d husband and all hell will break loose? Again?

What is it with some people that they can’t stand their ground? And before you ask, she herself has pleaded with him many times. No doing.

So, now what? And trust me. This is not airy fairy funny. It’s serious, it’s complicated and it needs to be resolved.

U

August 24, 2016

Food heaven

Despite what most bloggers wish to believe – none of you are saints, and even saints may have a mean streak.

My mean streak? It is a shocker if ever there was one. And I am not proud of it.

Before you hyperventilate in anticipation of my confession – do sit down at my table and enjoy (food cooked by me). And you will [enjoy]. What you don’t do, because thus disappointment lies, ask me for THE RECIPE. I know people think it’s the ultimate compliment. It isn’t. Trust me. It’s a gross intrusion into, nay violation of, my treasure trove. I will NOT give you the recipe. Come back again for more of the same – but don’t ask me for the recipe.

The above notion problematic in reverse – as I learnt as a young bride having landed on these culinary shores ca. mid 1980s. You enthuse over someone’s food; the host(ess), oh so polite and sweet mannered, will beam at you: “Would you like the recipe?” No, actually, I don’t. Naturally, I didn’t, and still don’t, say that. It’d be plain rude if I did. Instead of which you (that’s me) walk away feeling ashamed knowing full well that I myself would never offer full disclosure of my biggest successes. Though – mitigating circumstances – will give veiled hints how NOT to do it.

If none of you ever speak to me again – that’s my loss.

Hugs and hisses,

U

August 18, 2016

That which binds us together doesn’t divide us

Filed under: Culture,Family,Friends,Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 18:01
Tags:

One more thought and then I’ll shut up on the subject of religion that’s occupied my thoughts the last few days:

One may ponder – and I have done so – why even those of us who wouldn’t describe themselves as religious do get married in church and, later on, have their children christened. And we, the collective we, do so, merrily, in our droves. Does that make us hypocrites? I don’t know.

Being of a practical bend I see those ceremonies as that what binds a family, a community, together, officially, through celebration. In the case of a christening – the welcoming of a child and introduction into wider family, “god” parents vowing in public to look after a child in parental absentia should the worst come to the worst.

What an exhausting subject religion proves to be – again and again and then some more …

U

July 19, 2016

Mystery

Filed under: Communication,Friends,Human condition,Psychology — bitchontheblog @ 00:57
Tags: ,

How do they say : I have hit a wall.

I didn’t think it possible. I am fond of someone I do not like at all.

How does that work, you may ask. It doesn’t, I will answer truthfully. And no, it’s not romance, it’s a recent acquaintance with a woman quite a bit older than myself.

U

June 18, 2016

Overlap

Filed under: Amusement,Friends,Happiness,Integrity,Observations,Psychology,Vicious — bitchontheblog @ 13:45
Tags: ,

Sweethearts, with the many many many subjects I feel like raising I chose this one for today’s breadcrumbs.

Are your feelings for someone influenced by the friends they keep? I know that last sentence is mildly convoluted but sometimes a knot is a knot.

Once upon a time (in my teens) I was part of three circles of friends. Yes, three. They couldn’t have been more different. None of them [circles that is] overlapping. And – by instinct – I kept it that way. The members of all three circles would have detested each other in equal measure. I am good that way – segregate as not to give cause for warfare (make that, in their cases, unreasonably sniping, sneering and abundance of unjustifiable arrogance). And yet, you know what – and it puts perspective on how we relate to each other – I was at home in every one of those circles.

Remember the initial question: Are your feelings for someone influenced by the friends they keep?

Ursula

 

 

January 18, 2016

Jackson Pollock

Cheerful Monk aka Jean, a woman I respect for a number of reasons, asserted the following in her last post:

“I know some people who think life just happens, they don’t have much say in the matter. That attitude seems to work for them, but it’s against my nature to be that passive. … It’s more fun to be the painter than the paint.

If you want your story to be magnificent, begin by realizing you are the author, and every day is a new page

This last one points out how incorrigible I am, that at the age of 76, I still think I’m a creator in my life.

For me it’s a lot more fun than just being the paint.”

 

To which I replied in her comment box, and such is my purpose and sorrow that I vent same what I feel this moment on my own blog:

“My dear Jean, if only it were so easy. Yesterday (Sunday) evening, in a moment of misguided optimism and hope, I, the author of my life as you put it, took an initiative and “painted” and what did I end up with? A lot of paint on my face. So much paint on my face it will take a lot of resolve and tears to wash it off.

Say what you like: Sometimes we are at the mercy of others. And when we are at the mercy of someone else, you – the supposed editor of your life’s story – may take time off and go home early. Yes, I hit a brick wall. Hard.

I am devastated. Wish I could “re-write” that chapter of my life (into the future) but I can’t. Why? Because no man is an island. There are occasions, maybe few but nevertheless, where we are entirely dependent on someone else’s ability and willingness to communicate. And if that will isn’t there you may as well (metaphorically speaking) fill your coat pockets with stones and wade into water.”

U

December 16, 2015

Pathetic

This post is going to HURT. Me. Not you.

Do you actually know what it means to go out there, face your fellow men – and BEG? Don’t answer.

Yes, the season of good will. One week to go and I still haven’t procured the goose that – once upon a time – flew effortlessly, caressed by me, onto the laden table.

If anyone, ever and so smug, tells me that money doesn’t buy you happiness I’ll tell them to …

Such a happy life I believe to have led between the age of 19 and …

Now? For the last six/seven years? I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I were Virginia Woolf. I don’t mean the author. I am not given to being a writer. I love the word. I don’t need publicity. Yes, stones in your coat’s pockets and water. But, as a doctor recorded many years ago: “Won’t act on impulse on account of her son”.

Indeed. I believe all of us to be selfish to the core, yet there are limits as to what we do to others.

A fool I ain’t. The moment I committed to motherhood was the moment I realized that life wasn’t my own any more. Happy I had the guts to take the plunge.

Everything went swimmingly. Twenty four years down the line I fail. Put that into your assorted handkerchieves.

U

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