Our virtual universe and TED

The internet is a world that is so vast that I'm sometimes baffled by the possibility of so much information, thinking, humour, personality or connection that it creates. It's like trying to quantify or understand where the universe starts and stops.

I love that there's so much out there, and occasionally lose hours to a brief question following whatever Google throws at me. There also times where there's just too much choice and I find myself simply browsing those handful of websites I visit daily.

I've recently added a new site to the places I visit often - http://www.ted.com/. I'm sure many of you will have encountered the site before, but if you haven't TED is a not for profit organisation founded on 'ideas worth sharing'. They are, and I'm sharing them here too. The site is simple, attractive and a world of thinking, laughing, challenging talks. Each talk is posted as a video, so you can see the person behind the words too.

I love that the content is searchable by categories beyond an academic topic; where you can visit those that are 'inspiring' or 'ingenious'. I've found myself listening to talk of physics or global challenges or love. Often these are things that I'd never pick a paper or book to seek ideas on, not even realising I was interested. It is a place of joy and debate, of power and honesty.

In the past day TED talks have made me wonder, smile and cry.

This talk on letter writing below made me think of my father: what do I keep of him?

It also makes me glad of the letters my Grandpa wrote to me every week whilst I was at boarding school, never expecting a response. They arrived every Friday, with two second class stamps so I could write back if I found a quite moment and write to someone else too. I still read these letters from time to time. And he is back with me, in his careful copperplate script. Written with effort as his eyesight faded in his late eighties. I treasure those envelopes and the love contained in them.

This one from Neil Pasricha is a gentle and funny reminder that, no matter what, there are things in our lives that are joyful and worth stopping still for a moment to observe and appreciate.

And one final one from Chris Jordan, whose profile quotes this simple thought;

"As you walk up close, you can see that the collective is only made up of lots and lots of individuals. There is no bad consumer over there somewhere who needs to be educated. There is no public out there who needs to change. It's each one of us." Chris Jordan on Bill Moyers Journal

I can only encourage you to take virtual wander, and lose yourself in this beautiful, funny, courageous place.

Comforting, mundane

There is a strange bond of understanding and friendship that grows amongst those whose paths only cross in hospital wards.


As our parents and spouses ramble, wail or shut down, lost in alternate worlds trapped by dementia, we do our best to find some kind of normal. Amidst the chaos or stubborn silence we dare not voice our losses, instead holding on to the daily pleasantries that help to make us feel better and connect beyond neurological meltdown.

Behind the painted on smiles for our loved ones and each other, there is only grief and memories they can no longer share. We all see the sadness and smile with each other nonetheless. There is no other way.

My Vertical Village

I live in a traditional Scottish Victorian tenement. There are six flats; three unmarried ladies of different generations (one of which is me), a single mum, a middle aged bloke – unusually, a professor of popular music - and two lesbians, four kids and a cat. We're an eclectic bunch, and it's only as I write I realise that not one of these homes hosts a 'traditional' family.


Tenement living is little like existing in an upright village. We know each others business to a point, help each other when we can and unite against our evil property managers. They wield too much power over us as factors – a strange landlord hybrid - despite us owning our own homes and, communally, the building that brings us together.

We're sacking them as they hinder rather help us take care of the old place and our bank accounts. Tonight I hosted our meeting to figure out the way forward for this little vertical gathering of homes.

Living like this, in a big formerly industrial city, brings a comforting sense of community and reassurance.

We are merely keepers of this place for our life times. The building will be here long after we're all gone, if we look after it.

Who will inhabit these rooms after me? Who has lived and died here, broken hearts or given birth?

Will my predecessors take care of the cornicing , the century old sash windows or the elderly lady upstairs? No-one can know, but for now this building and the lives contained within it are ours. We look out for each other and this place.

I like it.

Reality meets Blogging

Blogging and reality have been crossing over recently, and it seems to be no bad thing.


I never knew if anyone would ever use the 'contact me' button, or why I even added it really, but it's been there a while. Sometimes leaving a comment below a post just doesn't fit.

I've had kind words from Stacia by email, IT advice from Vextasy and a few other surprise messages here and there. Each has been personal, supportive and helpful in very different ways.

Over the past couple of days Kim (over at Ramblings of the Bearded One) and I have been in touch about his exhibition. This has meant letting him know my name, and allowing him to see who I am and what I do. It's likely that I will now be bold enough to cross that line, visit the gallery and say hello to the man himself rather than simply leaving random comments on his blog.

The line is a little more blurred than it once was, and it's ok. There are still only three 'real' people who know where my blog is, but others know it exists.

My sister has for many years met new friends around the world courtesy of Lonely Planet's thorn tree forums, residents hosting or welcoming travellers as they pass through. I always thought this was a bit odd. A bit risky too. But, people are generally good rather than bad. She has made lifelong friends with some of these and even been to one wedding. I had one of her internet friends as a lodger for six months. A wonderful late middle aged American radiographer who played blues guitar and told tales of being at Woodstock in his teens. He met his wife because this travelling gathering of like minded souls.

She has become part of community, and so have I. I no longer think it's weird or risky. I posted a while back about feeling like part of an alternative community, and I am pleased that this – despite its virtual nature - seems to be solidifying and real connections being formed.



PS Stacia – when you make it to the UK, I'll walk with you a while.

Regrouping - music, words and people

Ok, it's time to build.


I've typed and typed today, and my counsellor will be on the receiving end of hundreds of angry, sad and frustrated words, but at least it's all out there. I've set the thoughts free. Some of them here, some of them to him. At least they remind that I'm not nuts, but some days are hard and need to be dealt with.

Tonight I will potter and tidy and make my flat feel like home as best I can.

I will drink wine and eat well and sleep early. I will call my best friend in Dubai (I love Skype).

Tomorrow I will go to the gym and then I'll spend the afternoon volunteering at a stand for the music organisation whose board I sit on, encouraging other adults to learn for the first time or return to music after years of absence.

I will play the fiddle and enjoy the time spent with people who like to share their music and skills. This month sees my city's annual folk and roots festival bringing people from all over the world. It is a great way to spend a dark January. The thing I love most about traditional/folk music is that it is fundamentally about people coming together, sharing their traditions and cultures, their ways and communities, and creating new ones.

My weekend is kind of backwards with volunteering tomorrow, I will need to work on Sunday (today has been a write off), and seeing one of my favourite musicians on Sunday night with visiting friends who've known me since Uni days, and another gig with newer friends on Monday. So the weekend will be quiet. At least my 'portfolio career' allows me to flex my days to fit and Monday to Friday doesn't mater so much any more.

I'll get myself back on my feet, going through the motions until it all fits again.

The days are getting longer again, and 3.30pm is no longer sunset. The light coming back, even in a small way, leads out of these dark cold months and towards better days.

What is a blog?

I seems that it can be many things. An advert, a website alternative, a recipe book, a forum, sports pages, a travel journal, a community, a diary, a world apart from reality.

I have two. One for work: cheaper and easier to maintian and navigate than a website. Something obligatory for the self employed person that I am. Focussed and practical. A necessary chore. A yellow pages entry alternative for today's Google generation.

The other? It is other. It is a diary, or the closet to it I have ever succeeded in keeping. It my voice. It is this. A voice with no regard for a 'target audience'. There isn't one. It is just me. And those who choose to share with me.

It is disjointed and personal. I appreciate those who do read, I learn from you all. It makes me focus my voice, to try and make a point, encourages me to keep recording my journey. It enables me to process the things in my head and my life I'm struggling with. It allows me to remember my father while Alzheimer's destroys him and record the moments of joy, in order that, on dark days, I can remind myself there is more.

It has brought me to a world where others share. I have learned more than many books could teach me of people and experineces. It is sometimes voyeuristic. It is very often a priveleged glimpse into the lives of people I will never meet but come to know in a different way.

I wish I could write long hand in beautiful notebooks. I've tried and failed. I scribble if I need to vent when I am laptop-less in any old notebook that comes to hand. But this? It works for me.


Thank you to all those who read and share your tales, factual or fictitious, with us here. A virtual dashboard bringing us together in one place and making sense of the maze. What does your blog mean for you? Has it become what you expected or something else altogether?

Comfort and microwaves

The cold weather and snow of the past few weeks has had me thinking about food.


I love it. From salty olives and strong blue cheese to a simple slice of toast, it plays a huge role in my life. It's not simply a functional thing for me. Cooking centres me, the process of making and doing and laying a table gives me great contentment.

I love to have friends here to eat. A simple supper on New Year's Day of baked ham and mashed potatoes was wonderful, shared with friends laughing and reminiscing. The two or three hours of tidying and pottering, listening to BBC Radio 4, just stumbled by without me noticing. I like feeding other people. I like making them happy and bringing them together. Sharing.

One of the best gifts someone can share with me is to set the table, light a candle, and let me drink a glass of wine while they cook. It is a thoughtful act of caring. It is so elementary and still feels so special. When someone cooks for me I feel privileged and loved. I appreciate this gift not just for the food, but for the chatter and moments of quiet creativity (or burnt hilarity) of a Sunday evening when the real world is being held at bay.

Whether I'm cooking for myself, for a crowd, a lover or dining out in celebration with family it will always be a vehicle for conversation, satisfaction, pleasure and comfort.

I wish we could ban the microwave meal.

Award and some blog thinking....

This blogging thing is a funny old game. There are a number of reasons why;

1.I never knew where I'd go with this, or what I wanted from it. I still don't. I do know that it is a place I now value for words I may have nowhere else to put

2.I feel like part of a community. Albeit a virtual one. People share their thoughts and hopes and fears, and support mine through constructive criticism, humour and kinds words. I know I'm not alone on whatever road I'm travelling. I don't even know some of your names, but value your participation nonetheless. I guess you don't know mine either....

3.This space has enabled me to communicate and share some of myself with a select few people who know me in the real world. Hopefully they see a more whole me or a me that would never initiate a conversation about some of the things I scribble about because they just don't come up in every day, catch up conversation.

4.I like it. It didn't know I would. I am surprised.

For all of these reasons, and many more I'm delighted that you keep reading. I'm even more pleased that recently a couple of you have chosen to show your support with blogging awards. McCaffery33, I've already said thanks, but thanks again for this;

Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass the award on to five most deserving blogger.


-Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author and the name of the blog from whom s/he has received the award.

-Each Superior Scribbler must display the award on his/her blog, and link to The Scholastic Scribe, which explains the award. http://scholastic-scribe.blogspot.com/2008/10/200-this-blings-for-you.html

-Each blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr Linky List. That way, they'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives this prestigious honour.

I also understand I am to:
Notify winners of award with comment on their blog.
 
I'm still catching up with myself afte a lovely break so will pass on in due course....and some thinking....
 
In the meantime check out Ponderings and Other Stuff at http://mccaffery33.blogspot.com/ for some real honesty and insight