Where Our Words and Phrases Come From

There is an old Hotel/Pub in Marble Arch, London, which used to have a gallows adjacent to it. Prisoners were taken to the gallows (after a fair trial, of course) to be hung. The horse-drawn dray, carting the prisoner, was accompanied by an armed guard who would stop the dray outside the pub and ask the prisoner if he would like one last drink.  If he said yes, it was referred to as one for the road.  If he declined, that prisoner was on the wagon.

They used to use urine to tan animal skins, so families used to all pee in a pot and then once a day it was taken and sold to the tannery. If you had to do this to survive you were piss poor, but worse than that were the really poor folk, who couldn't even afford to buy a pot, they didn't have a pot to piss in and were the lowest of the low.

        

The next time you are washing your hands and complain the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s: 

1. Most people got married in June, because they took their yearly bath in May and they still smelled pretty good by June. However, since they were starting to smell, brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odour. Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

        

2. Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, don't throw the baby out with the bath water!

        

3. Houses had thatched roofs, thick straw piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs and other critters) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying it's raining cats and dogs. There was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom, where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.

         

4. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt floors. Hence the saying, dirt poor. The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance-way. Hence a thresh hold.

      

5. In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight, then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme: Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot, nine days old'.  Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special ...

        

6. When visitors came over they would hang up their bacon, to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, bring home the bacon. They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around talking and chew the fat.

        

7. Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning and death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

         

8. Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.

        

9. Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom of holding a wake. 

        

10. England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people, so they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, thread it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift) to listen for the bell; thus someone could be, saved by the bell or was considered a dead ringer. 

So now you know ...

2012 Has Passed Us By – We Missed It!

A writer once said, “I love deadlines; especially that whooshing sound as they go by!” Well, the deadline of 2012 has snuck by us all without a murmur, without a whoosh. Despite the thousands of people making predictions (and the millions following those predictions) about all sorts of mind-shifts, natural disasters, magnetic gymnastics and spiritual hoopla sometime in 2012 – some say July, some say December – a massive shift has already occurred and we’ve missed it … a whooshless shift that fooled us all.

Let me explain with two business examples and an educational one:

Jamsetji Tata was denied entry to a grand English-owned hotel in his hometown of Bombay, because he was an Indian. So incensed, he determined to build his own hotel, better than the English one, and he did – the Taj Mahal Hotel in Bombay, which opened for business in 1903 and which is far grander than the one he was ousted from. Today, his legacy includes, among other massive institutions, Tata Motors Ltd which is now the world’s largest automobile manufacturer. The company is also the world's fourth largest truck manufacturer, the world's second largest bus manufacturer, and employs 24,000 workers. The English were the ruling class for a time but other nations have eclipsed that domination … many people have not noticed the change.

Many massive, global companies like Ibis Hotels (which are currently opening seven hotels a week) and Travelodge have stopped any new investments in the no-growth areas of Europe and America while they pour billions into new projects in the expanding economies of China, India and Africa. China, the wealthiest nation in the world, is currently pouring billions a day into Africa, the fastest growing market in the world.

I currently teach in an Iranian university, based in Oxfordshire, England. My students – Indians, Bangladeshis and Pakistanis – already have bachelors and masters degrees. They are already well qualified but the status of an “Oxford Education” brings them here. They arrive with high hopes of an education and an establishment so much more glorious than the one they left. Their hopes are soon dashed as they are forced to study in an old, cold building that, in any civilized country, would have been pulled down long ago. The English education system, so attached to its former glory and unable to embrace a new millennium, is a huge disappointment for these hope-filled people who have come from the massive, progressive universities of their homelands.

You see, over the past 1,000 years the West has held sway. The Romans ruled 1,000 years ago, the Italians in the 1300’s, The Spanish in the 1500’s, the French in the 1600’s, The English in the 1800’s, the Americans in the 1900’s and now … well, right now, our necks have been so kinked, looking back at America, that we haven’t noticed the shift right in front of us … the shift to Africa and Asia.

Once we recognize and accept the shift in the area of world domination, we’ll start to recognize other whooshless shifts that have already happened while we weren’t looking – shifts in our minds, our emotions, our finances, our communities. So, if you feel a bit shifty, just know that a silent whoosh just passed you by. Smile and enjoy it.

Crooked Lives Straightening Out

I'm not sure if you've noticed, but life - our lives - don't actually seem to go in a tidy, straight-line sequence. We do one thing and then another and then another and then something happens that connects to the first event and then something connects us back to event 21 and then event 16 rears it's head again. Things we do that seem so inconsequential or irrelevant at one time have a lovely way of returning and showing us their consequences and relevance - we just don't ever know when that will be.

Writing a book is a bit like that, I've found. I found myself happily writing away for days or weeks on end and then, when I come to read it all back to myself, I realise the whole sequence of events is stuffed up. So, over the last two weeks, I have written nothing - I've just been rearranging the whole book so it runs in a tidy sequence, time-wise … and now I feel better, untwisted and ready to write again!

Merry Christmas to you all!

And now to the next gripping 1,000 words in Arthur's story, continued from the previous blog ...

"Martin! Martin!" came Joan's voice through the small cocoon of maleness. "Stop Martin. I think he's badly injured."

"And what was he about to do to you, Mum?" Martin shot back angrily.
"Martin, he can't do us any harm now," said Joan standing up. "Have a little compassion, son."

"But he's …"

"But he's in a lot of pain, he's tied by the feet and his arms probably don't work," said Joan, pointing out the logic of the situation. "Help him on to this chair, tie his feet to it and we can see what's next."
Martin and Dalek were obviously ready to inflict more pain on this bad man. They looked at each other in brotherly connection, shook their heads sadly and lifted Toby to a sitting position on the chair with less gentleness than they could have managed. Toby's legs were tied to the chair and when Dalek grabbed his left arm, Toby let out another ceiling-rattling scream.

"Stop! Stop!" yelled Joan, pushing Dalek aside. "We've gone far enough. Here, Dottie, you were a nurse. Can you look at Toby's arm, please?"

"It's my shoulder," whispered Toby, looking ashen and pained.

"You be careful, lady, he bad man," said Dalek, hovering helpfully behind her.

"No Dalek … is that your name, Dalek?" asked Joan. "I'm Joan, this is Dottie and my son Martin." As Dottie gently manoeuvred Toby's arm on to his lap, Dalek and Martin shook hands.
"Please meet you," said Dalek, his ferocity softening a little.
"Now Dalek, he's not a bad man. He just did a bad thing and he won't do it again," said Joan with obvious conviction.
"Not bad man, just bad things," said Dalek as if chewing the new idea over. "So I stay if another bad thing he do."
"Yes, it's great to have your protection," said Martin, alternatively rubbing his sore cheek and tenderly checking his painful finger.
"Ah, Mr Arthur, I have paper for you in van," said Dalek.
"Paper?" asked Arthur.
"Yes, paper on Mr Atkinson … Lord Atkinson," said Dalek. "You know, paper in bag."
"Ah, the Atkinson file!" said Arthur as the realisation hit him. "You took it out of the bag?"
"Yes, I think bad thing to happen so I take from bag when you no look," said Dalek. "For your protection, Mr Arthur."
"Ah Dalek, you're a genius!" said Arthur.
"Me genius … genius, what is this word?" asked Dalek.
"Oh, ah, you're brilliant, big brain, Dalek! Said Arthur, tapping his head.
"Ah, me genius, big brain!" said Dalek beaming as he gave Arthur a bear hug.
"Oh Dalek," said Arthur, his words muffled by Dalek, "can you get the file now, please, now that Toby is disabled?"
"Yes Mr Arthur, I go now," said Dalek as he bounded out to get the papers.
"Whew!" said Arthur as he collected himself and got his breath back. He could hear faint sobbing and turned to see Toby looking distressed.
"Dad, I think he's in more pain than we thought," said Martin, sounding worried.
"I think it's a dislocated shoulder - painful but not fatal," said Dottie efficiently. "I'll put him in a sling and we'll get him down to the medical centre. Do you have material for a sling, Joan?"
"Mmm, probably," said Joan as she led Dottie off to find something suitable.
"I'm really sorry …" came a murmur from Toby's direction.
"What?" asked Arthur and Martin in unison.
"I'm really sorry, guys," said Toby, weakly. Joan and Dottie returned with a table cloth and Dottie had it quickly folded and tied up to hold Toby's arm, with accompanying grimaces from Toby.

"Thank you Dottie," said Toby, falteringly. "Thank you all for being so kind. I was not so kind to you at all."

"It was nothing. In fact, it didn't happen, if we're to believe A Course in Miracles," said Joan, smiling.

"Oh it happened alright! Look at Dalek's eyes - both black," said Toby with a little force than before, as Dalek returned with Arthur's file. "My punch to his kidneys damaged them, temporarily, making it black round his eyes. It happened alright!"

"So you little man punch big man and I go down?" asked Dalek with obvious admiration as he handed Arthur the file. "So you teach me that trick or I break your face!" Dalek burst out laughing.

Arthur was shocked but realised it must be Dalek's rough good humour. He was still wary of the big man and so were the others, judging by the way they obediently laughed along with him.

"No problem, Dalek mate, when I get my arm working again, said Toby smiling uncertainly. "But … but I feel so stupid causing all this, thinking I could take advantage of you folk for a quick and large buck."

"A quick buck?" asked Arthur.

"Yes, after we had those two chaps apprehended at work, the word must have got around and a chap with a rough, gravely voice asked me if I would like £2,000 for a morning's work."

"And you have no idea who this was?" asked Martin.

"Not sure … ow! But he put half the money into my account immediately as a show of faith," said Toby shifting on the chair as the others sat down round him. "He paid two thugs to get the files from the office … oh, of course, Arthur, you were there and escaped!"

"Ah, those two," said Arthur as a tremble up his spine accompanied the memory's return.

"Yes, those two," said Toby. "Well, they didn't get the files and I guess this Mr Gravelly Voice thought I had inside knowledge, coupled with discovering I disarmed his two bovver boys with knife and gun."
"You disarmed two armed men?" asked Martin with surprise.

"Well, sort of," said Toby, smiling. "Actually, they kinda' handed the gun and knife over and I took advantage of their clumsiness."

30 - The Smile On The Face Of God

I'm not quite sure what brought this on for I've thought about it before - just not in such a tangible conscious way before.

I've been applying for jobs and, to do that, must submit a CV of my qualifications and experiences. If I'm applying to be a lecturer, I submit my lecturing persona.; for accounting jobs my accounting persona and for writing jobs my writing persona. With five qualifications and may unrelated jobs to my credit, there are many variations of the three main personas I can adopt - business writer, book publisher, personal development facilitator, business coach, university lecturer, book editor, facilitator of men's groups, change manager, accountant, accounting lecturer … they go on, depending on what I think the job advertiser may want to hear.

And where has that got me? Well, I don't have a job yet! So nowhere, really.

All of these qualifications and experiences are, in reality, no more me than the party mask I might put on for a masquerade ball. None of them are who I am - they're just what I've done. They're my history, my used-to-be. They may contribute to who I am (perhaps, perhaps not) but they're not who I am, that changeless being as a creation of God.

And then it hit me, very gently. I am the smile on the face of God. That I have always been, am and ever will be. It needs no explanation, no analysis, no pretending. I drop the masks and it is who I am - the smile on the face of God and, realising that, I know I will be "faced" in the right direction for the next stage in this adventure called life. :)

So, what is next for Arthur Bayly and Mary Collins in their adverture - continued from the previous blog ...

"The alternative is hammers and crow bars, if you insist," said Mary, sensing their uncertainty. "But we don't have those here either and I gather you're in a hurry. Keys are much quicker. Come this way and we'll leave Arthur to get on his way!" As she strode past him she whispered to Arthur, "Go, go now!" and she marched off up the corridor to the lift, fully expecting the two men to follow her. They fell in line with her expectation and followed her obediently.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. He was free of them! But, he thought, Mary isn't. What should he do? As relief, fear and confusion swept over him in alternate waves, he felt a tug at his sleeve. He jumped.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir," said an antipodean accent behind him. He turned to see the cheery elfin figure of Halee there with his briefcase. "Sir, right now, you need to take this and go home."

"But where did that come from," asked Arthur, confused. "It disappeared before ..."

"Ah, that's easy, sir, I disappeared it for you!" said Halee with a grin.

"You did?"

"Yup! I did!" said Halee. "They seemed to want it and Mary had warned me someone might want it and shouldn't have it. So I disappeared it for you. Now you must go and all will be well, I promise you."

"But Mary's with those ... those rough men ..."

"Mary's fine, Arthur, just you go or she won't be."

"What?"

"You want me to spell it out?" asked Halee, with urgency. "That bag, in this building, is a lot of trouble for Mary. So you just get going and make it safer for her. You understand?"

"Uh, I think so," said Arthur not understanding at all but knowing that he didn't have to. He just needed to go. "Thank you Halee. Thank you so much."

"That's no trouble at all, sir. Just you get yourself going and don't stop till you're home."

 Arthur turned and walked into two large men in police uniforms.
"Oh, gosh," said Arthur with a feeling of déjà vu.

"That's alright, sir, we're looking for a Mary Collins," said one of them.

"Come with me, gentlemen, and I'll see you later, sir," said Halee waving him away surreptitiously.

Arthur walked rather briskly from the building, down the street and onto the waiting train. The journey home was the longest he had ever known.  Apart from the possibility of being discretely manhandled at the point of a gun at the next stop (thankfully, there was only one stop before Croydon - Clapham Junction), there was the delicate matter of telling Joan ... or not telling Joan. How do you keep something so ... well, so exciting, scary and potentially harmful to her - perhaps to his family and neighbours ... oh my God, where did it end? How do you bottle up such an experience and save others from worry while they should be warned?

-----------

As she led the men up the corridor to the lift, Mary wondered what on God's earth possessed her to do this. What was she going to do with them? What was she going to say to them? She smiled bravely at them as she waved them into the lift. They waited for her - suspicious sods, she thought. The ride to the seventh floor took seventeen seconds but it seemed like a day. She smiled awkwardly at them and they smiled awkwardly back at her but their smiles turned to grimaces as they frowned at each other. Mary wondered if they were as confused as she was. She knew their day had not gone as planned - pop into the office, scare a clerk into handing over a file, disappear from said office, hand over file to Mr X, collect cash and be at the pub celebrating by 10.00 am - and here they were, still in the building, going in the opposite direction of the said file while being led around by the noses by a bossy young woman with no idea of where the file, or its offending key, was. Mary was tempted to laugh but she stifled it on the grounds of health and safety. Her health and safety.

At last they reached her floor, with a momentary hesitation as everybody waited for everybody else to get out. Stupid English, she though, so insanely polite, it's no wonder nothing gets done and the place is falling apart ... but then, neither of them appeared to be English ... oh dear, maybe, just maybe, they're suspicious and want her in front of them so they don't fall into a trap. She almost giggled at the thought as she was, at that moment, quite unable to formulate any plan beyond the next three seconds, let alone make a trap for them! Again, on health and safety grounds, she stifled the giggle ... just.

As she strode off down the oak-panelled passage to her office, she was surprised that these two large men had trouble keeping up with her. Mind you, most people did. She also noticed her secretary, Toby McGuire, rising from his seat with a large, toothy smile to attend her every whim.

When she'd moved into Sam's office, she decided changes needed to be made - not least to help expunge some of her wonderful memories of Sam - so she had told his clueless and probably quite beautiful (in a clueless sort of way) secretary that as she was so meticulous about constantly cleaning and preening herself, she would be perfect to work in the cleaning team, on her ridiculous salary. Strangely, the girl didn't turn up for her first day of cleaning duties. In the meantime, she had plucked young Toby from the third floor processing team where she had noticed, for some time, that his typing skills were exceptional, that he seemed to have a functioning brain and, most importantly, the bounding enthusiasm of a young puppy. It was nice to have a bloke around. It was only later that she discovered he was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. She wasn't sure she'd ever need his brick-chopping skills, but it was, somehow, comforting.

"Ah, Toby, these fine gentlemen are looking for the Atkinson file to take away with them," she said loudly down the corridor, while trying to mouth help silently to him.

28 - Regaining My Intelligence

I used to be really intelligent and then I went to school.

I knew what God was, for we often had chats and I learned a lot. Then they told me God was an old, bearded man, sitting on a cloud, checking credentials. I had got it all wrong.

I knew that I had been born with a particular purpose in this lifetime. Then they told me it was my duty to get a respectable, well-paying job and to obey the rules. I had got it wrong again.

I knew that trees, the sea, mountains and all other natural beings were intelligent as I had often spoken to them and found them to be unerringly correct. Then, at school, I was told that humans were the only intelligent life force and that all other things were either dumb or without any feelings or thoughts at all. I had got it wrong yet again.

Now that I'm really old - nearly as old as the trees, the sea, the mountains - I am regaining my intelligence and having some amazing chats with God ... and, no, it's not my Alzheimer's kicking in*! And how do I know it's God? Because, as Jesus tells us, there is the abiding sense of peace as I listen to the Voice for God. Whenever any decision needs to be made, I listen or feel for that abiding sense of peace … and it's always right.

*Somerset Maugham said, "They told me that when I got old, I would lose my mind. What they didn't tell me was that I wouldn't miss it much."


Now, how much peace is Arthur feeling? His story is continued from the previous blog ...

"They're investigating us?"

"Well, sort of. Their investigation hasn't started but we've been warned, from above, that the Atkinson case could be looked into," said Mary, returning to her harried look. "So, we've got to be very careful to have it completed before they turn up - we want to show how efficient we are to stop the investigation spreading anywhere else. We don't want any questions unanswered. You understand?"

"Yes, I think I do," said Arthur, feeling a heaviness settle around him. This project was supposed to be exciting but there now seemed to be a serious edge to it. Perhaps Joan was right after all …

"So, you see that it's not possible to have anything leave the office and we need it done as quickly as possible."

"Another alternative, Mary, is for me to take all the files home ..." said Arthur, feeling stuck and over his head in this stupid scenario while his brain started firing as never before.

"No, Arthur! I just said you can't!" said Mary leaping up. Arthur had never seen her look so florid or nervous.

"Mary, please let me finish. I have an idea," said Arthur, quietly. Mary sat, shaking her head. "If I have them at home till it's all settled, then there's no possibility of the FSA seeing anything half complete. You can say the matter is in the hands of your expert consultant and can delay giving them anything till I've answered all your questions. If the worst comes to the worst, you can delay till then, blame me and they can't see the job till it's all plastered, wallpapered and looking ready for sale, so to speak."

Mary sat and smiled at this undeniable logic. "Arthur Bayly," she said, eventually, "you're a bit of a dark horse, aren't you!"

"I have my moments."

"Right, perfect solution," said Mary, standing again and coming round to Arthur's side of the desk, with her hand out. "If I was one of those New Agers, I'd give you a hug, but I'm not!" She shook his hand strongly and did what she was good at - giving orders: "I'll get my PA to photocopy all the files, you get two computer sticks, copy all you have in your computer onto them. You keep one stick and the original files. I'll lock all the copies away from anyone's view, in case the worst happens. I'll organise you a laptop, be on your way with the original files, a laptop and computer stick and you can download a copy when you get home. OK?"

"Uh, yes, fine, thanks Mary."

"And we'll keep in phone and email contact each day. I'll need to know what's happening all the time," said Mary, smiling. "Upstairs will want to know that good progress is being made. And don't forget to ask for any resources you need - money is no object, as they say!"
 
______________

Arthur felt a little like James Bond with a rising sense of excitement - even danger - he'd never felt before. Every moment he feared an earnest band of pin-striped inspectors confronting him perverting - well, temporarily skirting - the course of justice and being hauled off for incarceration in the Tower of London …  his mind went wild with the awful consequences it created, one upon the other. What he was very sure of was that James Bond would not trip up on shadows on the carpet, drop his computer stick behind his drawer and spend five sweaty minutes extracting said drawer and said computer stick, dropping a bundle of files in the corridor and spend a few more precious minutes gathering them up. No, James Bond would be in his office for four and a half minutes and out the door before anyone noticed.

"So, Mr Bond, how are we going? Mission completed?" asked Mary as she strode back with the original files he'd previously dropped.

All Arthur could offer in reply was a sort of grunty, giggly refrain as he stood staring at his computer screen, wondering whether to scream or cry.

"Is everything alright, Arthur?" asked Mary, her smile turning to concern.

"I'm afraid this Mr Bond just isn't up to it today, Mary … ah, Miss Moneypenny," said Arthur, staring intently at the screen. "I turned it on and it just downloaded an upgrade of some sort and it's shut down and restarting - too dashed clever for itself, I'd say. I'm sure this never happens to our Mr Bond … I say, how did you know I was thinking of him when you came in?"

"I didn't, it just came out," said Mary. "So you were thinking how James Bond would be doing this?"

"Well, yes I was, actually," said Arthur. "Dashed interesting, really." He rushed to his chair, suddenly, downloaded his Atkinson file onto the two sticks, gave one to Mary, took the files from her and packed it all in the bag she gave him.

"Gosh, what's the rush?" asked Mary, surprised at his speed. "They won't be here today, Arthur."

"I must be nervous. I'm sorry," he said, sheepishly. "I really should be going, anyway, to help Joan with the funeral arrangements." His eyes wouldn't stop darting to the door and the reception area - you never know with these investigation types, he thought.

"OK, well, please keep me informed each day - I know you'll have it completed in no time," said Mary as she shook his hand and disappeared up the corridor to the lift.

Arthur walked out with more speed than grace and bumped into two large men in black suits at the reception area. He immediately sensed who these two strangers were and he felt a most uncomfortable prickly heat in his face and it seemed to be spreading over his head. He supposed that he must be sweating, something he was not prone to do. These tense moments looked all very exciting on television and in the James Bond movies and he'd always wondered what it was like in real life. Now he knew and he didn't like it. His mind became strangely focussed, rather strongly, on several things at once.

24 - The Ebbing And Flowing Of Life

For the last two weeks, I have found it very difficult to find the words to write to continue with this story - there just seemed to be nothing happening in my brain.

During this time we also found we had to move to new accommodation and to find a new job. Yes, panic does seem to stop the little grey cells from working at optimum level! However, we still have nowhere to live and I have not found a job and time is getting more urgent (and stressful) by the moment. So, logically, the little grey cells should be more tired or blocked than yesterday but they're not.

This morning I woke up full of the words to write and I write them so easily, over fruit and muesli. So something else is at work here. I don't know what it is but I'm thankful that the cells are now firing on all pistons. Yee hah!

So here's the next part of Mary Collins' story, continued from two days ago ...

He never invited her to his folk music escapes and she yearned, patiently, for such an invitation. At times he'd reach out and touch her shoulder, pat her hand and then, as if remembering himself, pull back. She felt (hoped?) he was feeling what she was, which was a great companionship, comfort and caring. She wouldn't admit it to herself that she was falling in love with this chameleon of a man but she dearly, dearly hoped he was falling in love with her.

Though he came and went from the office at irregular times, he did commit, at Mary's insistence, to two regular meetings a week so they could, at least, guarantee a flow of information between them. Monday at 4.00 pm and Friday at 9.00 am were agreed for these hourly meetings. These regular and reliable spots in her frenetic schedule were cherished and looked forward to and the Monday afternoon meeting sometimes evolved into dinner and the Friday morning meeting sometimes evolved into lunch out together. Sometimes Sam might bring her a little gift for something she'd done well - chocolates, a pen, a brooch or something else small enough to conceal in her bag, from the suspicious eyes of her staff. She was hesitant about buying him anything - perhaps it was fear of rejection - but she did, eventually and with great trepidation, buy him whisky liqueur chocolates, a tie pin and cuff links at various times. He was obviously touched by these and, rather than his enthusiastic and ebullient self, he would go quiet and seem to be on the verge of tears before he collected himself together and thanked her profusely for her generosity.

Sam was always in her thoughts and, though nothing happened beyond absent-minded touches and spontaneous hand-holding, she had no thoughts of wanting anyone else in her life. The bigger thing she wanted with him was replaced by work, work and more work.

Friday, 9th March 2012

And so it was that Sam failed to turn up for their regular Friday morning meeting, something he had not missed for two years now. She immediately knew something was wrong and talked to her secretary and to his. Both knew how diligent he was about these meetings at which either of them would take notes for the first, formal part. She sent them off to ask anyone and everyone if they knew where he might be, while she rang some of his colleagues at the head office. No one knew anything there. Some were surprised at his absence and two of them were dismissive of her fears, telling her not to worry. Their reaction caused her to worry more. These two also told her, most strongly, not to contact the police, while Stephen and Ahmed advised her strongly to alert the police.

Knowing the police could be either helpful or obstructive, depending on who was pulling the strings, she faltered indecisively.

In the same way that tragedy survivors take on the blame for the tragedy, rather than accepting that life is out of their control, so Mary took on the blame for Sam's disappearance. Had there been an obvious reason for his going or an indication of where he went, the guilt would have been less. However, like the survivor syndrome scenario, the more out of control things seem, the greater the guilt she chose to carry. With a troubled heart and heavy shoulders she was summoned to the head office and offered Sam's position, in the interim, by the CEO, Terry Jones. She had no idea of the salary Sam had been on but, judging by his lifestyle, she was sure she was offered a whole lot less. Maybe he'd had other sources of income or maybe he was the sort of person who always looked wealthy, despite their real circumstances. Either way she felt insulted by the offer and she also felt a deep disloyalty in stepping into a dead man's shoes, as they say ... the shoes of a man she admired and a man she may have even loved. Aw heck, yes, she did love him. Dammit! Why not grieve honestly.

The first part of her grieving emerged as anger as she stormed from Terry's office, leaving behind two bewildered-looking insurance executives. By the time she had returned to her office, the next day, her anger had subsided just enough to let a peek of logic in. Not trusting her acid tongue on the phone, she crafted a conciliatory email to Terry Jones, saying she was prepared to stay on until they had found a permanent replacement for Sam. This would, she thought, give her enough time to find another position. Last time it had been easy and she imagined the same this time.

There were, of course, that she felt like walking out and trusting the universe would provide her with something but that small, practical girl inside counselled against it, successfully, each time.

23 - Looking For The End, Finding The Start

I'm writing a novel and have no idea how it's going to end. In fact, I don't know what's going to happen each day as I write. However, I feel I'm getting near the end and really need to know how it's going to end - then I'll be able to taper all the current activities and dramas into a grand finale. But I've got writer's block, something I've never had before. I just need to know how it's going to end and I can't think what that could be or what to write next.

So, in desperation, I asked God and the following words popped out of my pen onto the page … it's the introduction! They say that if you want to give God a good laugh, tell him your plans! Boy, what a sense of humour he has - I want the end and he gives me the beginning! So, at a loss for what to do next, I'll plonk it down here and, hopefully, the rest of the story will unfold as it should … as I think it should … which may not be as God thinks it should!

As a New Zealander I know when an earthquake is approaching. The two main islands of New Zealand - about the size of Britain, together - are long and narrow and lie along (and are formed by) the Pacific Fault Line. Being on a fault line, we get more earthquakes than most other countries. How, then, do we know of an approaching earthquake? Simply that nothing happens … well, less than the normal happens - cats and dogs disappear (if they can) and go quiet, birds disappear and there's no bird-song, cows and sheep stop eating and go quiet, chooks stop pecking and go quiet, the wind stops, rain stops and the weather becomes still and warm. In a way, the world stops and waits. Nothing happens before an earthquake. And then the earthquake happens.

It's like our lives. We set ourselves all sorts of goals, targets and plans and, when we achieve them - get the relationship, car, house, job, business, income, fame, holiday or whatever we want - it's a breakthrough. But what happens just before a breakthrough? Nothing. Something less than normal. Sometimes, when we think everything's going wrong or our world seems to have gone quiet, that's the time our earthquake, our breakthrough, is about to happen … like seeds pushing their way through the earth and we think nothing's happening, till we see them pop above the surface.

And where is the safest place to be in an earthquake? Forget the strong, brittle things like brick buildings - they crumble first. The best place to be is on a flexible, wire fence. Wherever the earthquake hits - and we won't know where till it hits - there will be deep-rooted posts on either side of the chasm to hold our wire. Like the flexible palm tree that survives the hurricane, while the strong hard-wood trees resist and break.

It's like our lives. When we hit an earthquake, just after the nothing happening, we need deep foundations and flexibility - not weight and resistance - to weather the storm, the earthquake or the breakthrough.

I'm not sure why I'm saying this. Perhaps it relates to this story. Perhaps not …