MAL's MURMURINGS [aka Broad Thoughts From Heterocon]

Guilt wraps around me like a barbed wire glove. And what is the reason? Neglecting my blog! Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy keeping an online journal but, it’s rather like the diaries of my youth; a flurry of activity when the logging begins but, after a while it seems like a chore too far. When a pleasure becomes chore neglect seems like a sensible response but, guilt creeps around one almost as if one is acknowledging their own sense of failure.

There’s always plenty of news to share, should anyone be in the least interested, but the doing of events always seems preferable to their recording. So, why do I bother: a simple need to communicate from, but is this arrogance? Could it be quite simply that the opportunity is there, so why not use it?  Perhaps I’m attempting to fill an unacknowledged, even unrecognized, void in my life. Should that be the case then, why should I feel guilty about recent neglect, surely that should be a cause for rejoicing!

Anyway, I’m now set to assuage my guilt; after all the primary reason for neglecting my little niche in cyberspace is that whenever stamina has permitted I’ve been too busily occupied in real space. The work of re-moulding the garden goes on apace; it’s amazing how much effort it takes to create a more natural wildlife friendly space. Apart from digging, planting, and removing, sundry nature’s artefacts, I’ve also been assembling a new bird table, and a rather rustic arbour seat (a marginally advance 65^th birthday present) in the more (wilfully) overgrown area of the garden.

Although my familiar glandular and muscular aches and discomforts are always to be reckoned with, a recent acupuncture treatment (western localized style), on my back, relieved me of pains of which I’d previously been unaware, finally acknowledged by their absence. Hence the bout of activity, only interrupted by the unwelcome effects of post-exertional malaise.

Whilst the warmer, sunshine bright, days encouraged my out-of-doors presence, I also reacted rather badly to the hotter days – my erratic body thermostat being somewhat better adapted to more typical British Spring and Autumn temperatures. At least the arbour seat will offer me a little more shelter from the ravaging sun and, also enable me to spend a little more time enjoying the environment in less clement weather.

The garden has played host to a growing display of avian juvenile gapes, the young are still quite happy, even demanding, to be fed even after they’re more than capable of feeding themselves. I’ve lost count of the hours spent observing this behaviour, both from the comfort of the lounge and an appropriately placed garden seat beside the pond.

The feeding regime for the piscine inhabitants of both pond and aquariums provides a little structure to my otherwise erratically unstructured days. The only other structure is the preparation of meals in time for my beloved’s return from her workplace.

After all that build up, I’ve little else to say – or at least a running down of my stamina resource demands this hasty conclusion.  

This morning I got to wondering just what ‘open’ means.

To me the word has always had a connotation of being welcoming; the implication being that it is not barred to anyone. So far, so good; I went down to St.Marks Church, Harrogate, and entered the narthex, where each weekday morning coffee, tea and biscuits are served to any member of the public who cares to enter. No charge is made but, baskets are placed on the table for any donation visitors care to make.

 The board outside of the church extends a welcome to ‘Open Church’ yet, on this occasion, those on duty, together with (presumed) helpers from other groups, were having a huddled conversation tucked away in the kitchen and, the two round tables equipped with biscuits and donation baskets were completely unattended.

Elsewhere in the church various groups were meeting and, one could witness the communion service taking place in the open plan Emmaus Chapel at the far end of the church aisle. On some occasions there are other tables out in the narthex for those attending the mums and toddler group, or various others, to socialize further.

In this instance only the tables for ‘Open Church’ were there and I, having been served coffee through the kitchen hatch, sat in splendid isolation. Yes, the Church was open but a welcome was nowhere to be found. Perhaps the noticeboard should have read, “if you are lonely and alone, come in and remain that way”.

Perhaps it’s because I’m known in those parts that no one felt it necessary to move away from their holy huddle in the kitchen; had I needed a friendly listening ear it would have been bad luck.

The narthex was open but, closed to the possibility of companionship or conversation. I already have  sufficient time to talk to myself.

They walk around self-obsessed; poor dears, they probably can’t help it. All those around them may as well not exist or, perhaps for these teddy bear bearers the only reality is themselves, the contemporary solipsistic tendency.

Wherever they go they chatter to their teddy bear, without whose presence their life would apparently be totally devoid of meaning. It’s quite strange how far the teddy bear, like the comfort blanket, has metamorphosed to meet the requirements of the discerning contemporary solipsist.

Of course I may be wrong; the problem may not be solipsism but, rather a total lack of manners. They wander around town, out in the countryside, in supermarkets, DIY stores, chattering away to their teddy bears. I suspect that these transmogrified teddy bears are extremely hard of hearing as it always seems to be the case that their owners have to raise their voices to reassure themselves that these pieces of plastic understand. I know they must be some kind of teddy bear; one can tell, by their owners whole demeanour, that the whole universe would fall apart without this faithful toy. Indeed, some owners have developed a technique whereby they can cuddle the toy under their chin, should hands be required to tackle some other task in their solitary universe.

Oft times, one may witness these sadly deluded people persist in stridently chattering to their plastic toy as they load up their shopping baskets, present the baskets at the till without uttering a word to, or exchanging a glance with, the till-operator.  I was brought up to believe that such behaviour was the height of rudeness; perhaps their solipsistic outlook should make me feel more tolerant towards them.

It was quite a surprise to me when I finally discovered that this inanimate object, around which their entire existence seemed to revolve, had actually been called a ‘mobile phone’. Still, it certainly seems to have become a substitute teddy bear or comfort blanket.

I only wish it had been a dummy substitute; at least with their mouths filled I wouldn’t have to listen in to their hysterical shouting!

***********

This post also appears on The Word of Sinna Luvva