Good grief!

My friend's death had a much bigger impact on me than I would have thought. One consequence was the inertia it caused, including writing up this blog. I suspect that it's been a form of self indulgence.

I noticed that when I grieve, my thoughts are all about me not her; how I won't see her again I won't meet her for our bar gossip next month or receive random text jokes from her anymore, she won't be sailing with me next summer.

At first I kidded myself that I was thinking of her. But then I saw I was using her memory to think about myself. To emerge from grief means I must accept it for what it is - a feeling - not for the loss of a person, but a deep sadness of an unfulfilled expectation or idea of what my life might have been had she still been here.

The departure

Jane died at noon (GMT) on 14th April 2006.

Just say it.

I've just visited a very close girlfriend who is dying. She was unconscious, breathing heavily. The hospital staff said that they thought that it would be only a matter of hours.

I sat next to her, not knowing if she could hear anything. I wanted to say stuff based on my Buddhist beliefs, but I was scared to, in case it conflicted with her Christian ones. I caught the absurdity of my reluctance. What does it matter what one believes and says, as long as it comes from the heart!

I kissed her hand and, through my tears, said that I had loved her in our past lives, love her in this one and would love her again in future lives.

Suddenly she opened her eyes. She tried to focus on me for a few seconds but then slipped back.

She'd heard.

We're complete.

The return of the brain-jacker

It's happened again!

Last Saturday I went on a 'working with epoxy resin' course so that I could do minor repairs to my boat.

Great course - built a wooden toolbox. Its a shame that I don't need one. I can't possible trash it tho' - its part of me! Now I've got to find some tools to put in it - maybe I'll transfer some from the 7 plastic toolboxes currently cluttering up my cellar.

So, armed with my new wooden box glueing skills and a confidence way beyond my competence, I bought about £150 worth of resin and glass fibre - enough to build another Titanic. I justified it on the basis that I could undertake a major a 'refit' to "Spring Fever".

Today I went onboard Spring Fever to scope out the project.......
.
....what was I thinking?? Someone has taken over my brain again!!

I stand a better chance of digging my way thru to Australia with a spoon!

FOR SALE - 12 litres of epoxy resin and 5 acres of glass fibre matting.

Mind servicing

I have a 15-yr old BMW that despite its age and mileage goes beautifully. I put it down to regular servicing. Although the service is expensive, the oil change, wheel alignment and general lubrication of the moving parts seems to 'release' the car from the gunge and grime of the previous 6 months. And it goes like rocket for a couple of months afterwards.

Recently I've felt that I've not been delivering my stuff as best I can, and have noticed how grumpy I've become about the behaviour of some of my customers. So I booked myself in for a mind service last weekend. Its not the first I've attended, although it was with this organisation.

Boy do these courses work! Now my mind is clear of all the negative thoughts I've been cultivating about myself and is topped up with lots of new ideas and possibilities.

Should last about 2 years I reckon.

Shoe-shop for monopeds!

I've just cycled past our local shoe shop.

They are having a sale.

Banners were plastered all over the windows saying "Buy 1 Get 1 free"


I've always bought my shoes in pairs!

http://moblog.co.uk/view.php?id=95534

Who hijacks my brain?

I live in an Victorian Terraced (circa 1870) house which has a coal cellar that we Brits jokingly call a basement. In it I keep an increasing number of brand new power tools (still boxed) for which I have yet to find a use (I put it down to flat screen syndrome). Its also filled with good intentions.

The cellar, sorry basement, is damp because its concrete floor is porus. Most of the time it looks like someone has sprinkled a bucket of biscuit crumbs over the floor and about this time of year I sweep it clean to discourage nature offering it out to a family of voles.

It has been like this since time began and the house shows no intention of falling down. So you'd advise me to, "LEAVE IT ALONE, CHRIS" wouldn't you? And I'd agree.

So who told my brain that it would be a good idea to pour the contents of a part used, 20-year old tin of masonary paint onto the floor on the basis that it would glue all the biscuit crumbs together to form a smooth, hard wearing 21st century floor?

Now I have a basement worthy of a film set from 'Swampman meets Godzilla', with chemical effluent vapour rising from it that would make an ICI plant seem fragrant.

My only consolation is that if I can't stay down there for more that a minute without my skin erupting into suppurating sores, no vole is going to want to rent the space this winter.