Cinquain 15

Bees wait
for tangled scent
of flowers yet to bloom;
I wait too, smelling only earth
and rain

Seedlings

Cinquain 14

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Stop. Look.
Arrested by
the neon glare of red
and yellow bold and bedazzling
tulips

Framed

When we first viewed the house whLizard room window viewere we now live, it felt right as soon as we stepped in at the front door. After checking out the living-room and kitchen, we climbed a flight of stairs to the middle floor and another to the top, where two bedrooms were built into the roof space. As I looked out of one of the narrow windows next to the sloping ceiling, across the neighbours’ back gardens to the green and blue stripes of fields and sky beyond and above, I suddenly felt tears prickling the back of my eyes. That’s when I knew for sure that this was the house I wanted us to buy.

Since then, a line of five wind turbines has been planted in one of those fields, right on the horizon. Luckily for me, I’m one of the few people who think they’re beautiful, not an eyesore. Perfectly framed in the top floor window, they catch the light each morning, glowing white against the sky.

Through the same high window, I can often spy on a pigeon or crow perched shakily at the end of the neighbour’s rooftop TV aerial, flapping its tail feathers to keep its balance. Each month, on a cloudless night, the full moon shines through, and every other month the window offers a perfect view of the International Space Station gliding across the sky at the end of its journey from west to east.

I do like windows. I even like paintings with windows in them – a frame within a frame. Especially from high up, looking out and across, there’s a sense of having an expansive view of the world outside.  And yet… as I stand in front of our top-floor window, I’m aware that the sounds outside – the rumble of passing traffic, the barking of a small dog, the squawks from the car park rookery – are muffled. I notice the hedges and tree-tops shivering in the breeze but I don’t feel the wind on my face. I see grey-bottomed clouds but I can’t smell the rain in the air.

The pane of glass that gives me access to the world outside also detaches me from it.

I’m sure it does you good to escape to the top floor sometimes and spend a few minutes staring out of a window. It clears your head and helps you to chill out in the middle of a busy day. But it’s also great to be involved in the world at ground level – and for that, a window isn’t good enough. You have to get out of the door.

Cinquain 13

These days
between seasons –
crows circle their old nests,
wings braced against the buffeting
windstorm

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The Force Awakens, or, Another New Hope

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Warning: minor spoilers ahead…

 

It took a bit of cajoling to get my 14-year-old niece to see Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens. A whole generation ago, I queued up, also aged 14, to see the very first film, Episode IV: A New Hope, with its groundbreaking special effects and full orchestral soundtrack.

For those of us who were teenagers or children when Star Wars first began, this new film was bound to be partly a nostalgia trip, with the three leading actors returning 40 years older. But would it also succeed in taking the story on into a future that we were interested enough to enter?

Many critics have commented on the plot similarities between Episodes VII and IV. The droid escaping with vital information, then rescued from scrap dealers, is both R2-D2 and BB-8. The talented young pilot tied to an unfulfilling job on a desert planet is both Luke and Rey. The secondary hero who abandons the rebel cause, only to return when he realises how much he’s needed, is both Solo and Finn. Starkiller Base is just another Death Star, destroyed this time almost with a flick of the wrist by the same little old X-wings.

So the film seems heavily weighted on the side of the past. The grief of the decades since the defeat of the Empire certainly burdens Han Solo, Leia Organa and (so we’re told) Luke Skywalker. Han has lost his youthful cockiness, replacing it with looks and gestures that say clearly ‘I’m past caring.’ The new characters struggle just as hard to leave old identities behind: Rey is held on Jakku by the empty hope that her family will return, and Finn is haunted by his stormtrooper upbringing. Meanwhile, Kylo Ren resists the call of the light by praying to a relic – Darth Vader’s melted helmet.

Even the film’s central non-living ‘character’, the Millennium Falcon, is heavy and cumbersome on her first outing, barely able to get off the ground. For me, though, the Falcon is the fulcrum on which the scales turn. This neglected piece of ‘garbage’ is an emblem of a mythical past, but, once unveiled, unshackled and soaring into space again, she remains the most beautiful starship in the galaxy, with the potential to carry forward an exciting reawakened hope.

My favourite new character, the wise seer Maz Kanata, is the one who voices the change of focus from past to future, telling Rey, ‘The belonging you seek is not behind you; it is ahead.’ The word ‘nostalgia’ means literally ‘home-sickness’. It’s tempting always to hark back to the well-loved homes of years gone by, but if the new trilogy is to capture our hearts in the long term, it needs to lead us to unfamiliar places that we can also call home.

50 new things

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Before my 50th birthday, a friend set me a challenge: let the big day be the trigger for doing fifty things I’d never done before. Two years on, I’ve completed the list!

It sounded daunting, but I decided not to interpret the brief as meaning ‘fifty massively exciting or scary things’, like skydiving or hitch-hiking around the world. I started simple, by ordering a bottle of lager with my next curry. (Yes, I’ve led a sheltered life.)

Deliberately choosing new types of food and drink was an easy way of clocking up a few of the fifty – buying pistachio nuts instead of cashews, and trying foods I didn’t expect to enjoy, like figs and curly kale.

Others needed a little more planning, such as booking a lesson on the harp, or setting the alarm for 2.00 on an August morning to look out for the Perseid meteor shower. Some took a bit of determination to carry through, as when I complained to a national newspaper about a misleading report online and not only got the report taken down but pushed for an apology and correction to be printed.

Perhaps the most enjoyable were the activities for which I learned new skills. I made a waistcoat from a fabric remnant, copying the pattern of one I already owned. In the process, I discovered the overlocking stitch and the buttonhole function on my sewing machine.

First necklace smallerGiven a box of beads and some basic jewellery making tools, I made a necklace. With a batch of essential oils and the right kind of alcohol, I eventually designed a wearable perfume. Helped by a how-to book, I turned pretty paper squares into a flurry of origami butterflies.

 

Dreamliner wingThe biggest challenge, though, for someone as unaccustomed to foreign travel as I am, was a trip to California. As soon as a friend announced, nearly two years ago, that she was emigrating to the USA, I knew that this would have to be on my list of fifty new things. It brought with it a whole crop of new experiences – not just booking tickets online and boarding the plane for my first long-haul flight, but also having pancakes for breakfast in a typical US diner and being able to wear a summer dress at the beginning of March.

Big or small, planned or spontaneous, the activities themselves were not just important for their own sake. They were all signs of a mindset – the recognition that midlife is not a time to settle into a comfortable rut. It’s a time for branching out, broadening horizons, grabbing the chance to do some of the things you’ve been putting off for too long. It’s about opening up, not closing down.

I’ve done the fifty new things I was challenged to do, but you can bet I won’t be stopping there.

Cinquain 12

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Rain taps
on the window;
should I answer the knock,
grab coat and wellies and go out
to play?