Understanding Anger

“I recognised the connection between my anger and my will to live. My anger was my will to live turned inside out. My life force was just as intense, just as powerful as my anger, but for the first time I could experience it as different and feel it directly. In that first moment of surprise, I had a glimpse of something fundamental about who I am; that at the core of things I have an intense love of life, a wish to participate fully in life and to help others to do the same. Somehow this had grown large in me as a result of the very limitations that I had thought were thwarting it. Like the power of a dammed river. I had not known this before. I also knew that in its present form, as rage, this power was trapped. My anger had helped me to survive, to resist my disease, even to fight on, but in the form of anger I could not use my strength to build the kind of life I longed to live. And then I knew that I no longer needed to to it this way. I knew with absolute certainty that my pain was nobody’s fault; that the world was not to blame for it. It was a moment of real freedom.”

from 'Kitchen Table Wisdom' by
Rachel Naomi Remen MD

Maureen Dunlop de Popp R.I.P.

Another incredible and unsung heroine has died. Maureen Dunlop de Popp was an aviatrix par excellence. During the Second World War she was one of a pioneering group of women who flew the latest fighter and bomber aircraft with the Air Transport Auxiliary. The Telegraph obituary notes:

"With all ATA pilots flying the same aircraft and facing the same risks, Sir Stafford Cripps arranged that the female pilots should receive equal pay with their male colleagues and this small group of women rightly considered themselves as pioneers of sex equality. Many, including Maureen Dunlop, wished that they could have flown in combat, but this was considered a step too far and was forbidden. 'I thought it was the only fair thing,' she remarked. 'Why should only men be killed?'

She was one of 164 female pilots and, during her 3 years with the ATA, she flew 38 different types of aircraft, among them the Spitfire, Mustang, Typhoon and the Wellington bomber."

The rest of the obituary may be found here.

There are and were so many unknown female flyers. Most people may have heard of Amelia Earhart. Some might have heard of Amy Johnson. I know my friend Emily's mother Carla. However, the only way interest in their lives might be engendered is if a major tv network created a smash hit series based on their lives. Any takers?

Brisfully Unaware

The concept of circumcision for an 8-day-old Jewish boy is thousands of years old. Fathers may faint and mothers may cry, but it is an unquestioned ritual at the traditional end of the spectrum of Jewish observance. It is a day of joy and celebration.

However ... I have never seen it celebrated in quite such a ridiculous way. Thus, words fail me.

The Nose (The Hours)

The movie "The Hours" is on tv at the moment. I am trying, again, to watch what is supposed to be a wonderful film. Nicole Kidman got an Oscar for her portrayal of Virginia Woolf in this movie. But whenever she is onscreen, all I can do is try and see if I can recognise Nicole behind the prosthetic nose and the prosthetic accent. Mostly the nose, though. And then I see Julianne Moore and how small her nose is. And then Miranda Richardson appears and her nose is even tinier. I guess it's easier to obsess about the nose rather than think about how sad they all are.

Back to the nose ...

Road to Nowhere

Michael Winner writes a weekly column in the Sunday Times called "Winner's Dinners". This was the beginning of today's column:

"I hate Baker Street. It's a nothing street that starts near Oxford Street (another horror), goes in a straight line north, leads you one way or another to St John's Wood (don't like that either) and then goes on through Hertfordshire (nice), the north (strange) and Scotland (adorable) and ends up at the North Pole. I suppose, if it had the energy, Baker Street would carry on down the other side of the planet and go to the South Pole."

I don't know that I necessarily HATE Baker Street. After all, without it, my father would never have been able to become one of Holmes' Baker Street Irregulars. But it's defo a nothing street. A one-way road to nowhere. Can you tell me any of the businesses and enterprises that abut the tarmac full of double decker buses and taxis? Apart from the food chains and phone shops?
In the end, its reputation rests only on a fictional detective and a 1978 single by the late Gerry Rafferty. Am afraid I shall have to agree with Mr. W. Don't tell!

Triumph and Defeat

There's something about tennis ... it's a sport, a game, a pastime that can enrich one's life by engendering good health and fun. It can also be quite enjoyable on tv, especially when it is televised against the Jubilee weekend!

Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, the French #1 played yesterday against Novak Djokovic, the World #1 in the quarter-final of the French Open tournament at Roland Garros in Paris. The ups and downs of this match were quite heart-rendering (as the Omi of ravaj used to say). Tsonga didn't show up for the first set, and was trounced 1-6. Then somehow he clawed his way into a 2 sets to 1 lead. In the fourth set he had several match points, but couldn't put them away. And he lost the tie-break.

Djokovic was incredibly tough. The nearer to defeat he got, the harder he played. And it broke the will of Tsonga. He crumbled in the final set.

What I find so fascinating about this sport is the influence the mental state of the players ultimately has on the result. They are physically so fit and so talented and so experienced. What often tips the balance between losing and winning is their mental toughness. And that is what Djokovic had. At the start of the match I was rooting for the fairytale of the Frenchman in Paris. I decided that Djokovic was growing a goatee to hide his unfortunate resemblance to President Assad of Syria. But Novak won me over. It was mostly the power of his will to win. However, the piece de resistance was that in the middle of his struggle, he was able to applaud when his opponent beat him with a superior shot. More than once. There's nothing I love more than a good sport!

So bad luck Monsieur Tsonga, and well done Mr Djokovic. I hope you go on to make a proper Grand Slam.

King Bee or not King Bee

Adam Gopnik on the BBC website has pointed out that Shakespeare thought the bee in charge of the hive was a gentleman bee. He cites Henry V I:2

"For so work the honey-bees,
Creatures that by a rule in nature teach
The act of order to a peopled kingdom.
They have a king and officers of sorts;
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home,
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad,
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds;
Which pillage they with merry march bring home
To the tent-royal of their emperor:
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
The singing masons building roofs of gold,
The civil citizens kneading up the honey,
The poor mechanic porters crowding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate,
The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,
Delivering o'er to executors pale
The lazy yawning drone."


He then very kindly did some Googling for us so we didn't have to:

"the bee sex confusion goes back at least to Aristotle, and was only solved in the late 17th Century, when Swammerdam found that the king was, so to speak, cross-dressing and really had ovaries."


For more details, the rest of the article is here.

Moving Right Along

Saw these lovely poppies in someone's front garden on the way to services yesterday evening. No camera can catch how deeply bloody red they were. What Jubilee weekend?

Jubilee Ambivalence

Ok it's hot outside and my dna prefers a Siberian climate so I may be a bit grumpy. However, I am not looking forward with any great interest to the upcoming celebratory extra-long weekend of the Queen's Diamond Jubilee. Don't get me wrong - having been part of the jubilation for my Aunt Dorrit last year on the occasion of her 60th year as a teacher at Lawrence University, I am all for the appreciation of the work of a lifetime. I think the Queen has done her job well. I am just wary of the jingoism such an event engenders. And I don't get the concept of a ruler by birth. So I shall enjoy the extra holiday. I will watch some of the pageantry on TV. And I shall try not to eat too much!

Cygnets in Spring

Signs that Spring is somewhere around as seen yesterday on the river by the marquee near Romsey where the ravaj conducted her first Wedding Blessing.

FYI Romsey turned out to have some interesting historical connections. The most interesting to me, and to the taxi driver who took me to the station, is Florence Nightingale, who was buried in a nearby church. My driver was quite passionate about the fact that Nightingale is not given the kudos she deserves in her own country. He told me that at the station he often picks up nurses from all over the world who have travelled there only to visit the church and pay homage to their mentor.

Love Your Neighbour As Yourself

“The late Rabbi Albert Friedlander impressed upon me the importance of the biblical commandment “Love your neighbour as yourself.” I had always concentrated on the first part of that injunction, but Albert taught me that if you cannot love yourself, you cannot love other people either. He had grown up in Nazi Germany and as a child was bewildered and distressed by the vicious anti-Semitic propaganda that assailed him on all sides. One night, when he was almost eight years old, he deliberately lay awake and made a list of all his good qualities. He told himself firmly that he was not what the Nazi’s said; that he had talents and special gifts of heart and mind, which he enumerated to himself one by one. Finally he vowed that if he survived, he would use those qualities to build a better world. This was an extraordinary insight for a child in such circumstances. Albert was one of the kindest people I have ever met; he was almost pathologically gentle, and must have brought help and counsel to thousands. But he always said that he could have done no good at all unless he had learned, at that terrible moment of history to love himself.”

From “12 Steps to a Compassionate Life” by Karen Armstrong

Angelica Garnett R.I.P.

Creativity and decadence are lovely to live vicariously, but the life of Angelica Garnett sounds utterly dreadful. Her obituary in the Telegraph is introduced thus:


"Angelica Garnett, the artist and writer, who has died aged 93, was the daughter of Vanessa Bell and niece of Virginia Woolf, and within the Bloomsbury soap opera of high art and serial bed-hopping had the misfortune to be given one of the most gripping storylines."


Read it for yourself right here.

The R's are Staying Up

That was the most unbelievable 90 minutes of football across the country. Up, down; hope, despair and back to hope; joy, misery, confusion and finally joy because by the skin of the teeth of Bolton Wanderers who could only draw with Stoke, my beloved QPR are safe from relegation and will again be playing with the big boys next season. Feel quite sick and heart still pounding but it's ok.

Out4Marriage

There's a bit of a media blitz on today as Out4Marriage really gets going. Am proud I was invited to help kick it off with my vid about equality for marriage. Other religious leaders are joining in, and you can see their vids here. Once you've had a look, why not make one of your own?

My Heart Belongs to Daddy

Rabbi Albert H Friedlander z"l

85 isn't so old these days. If my father were alive, he would be 85 today. So would his brother Charles. Sadly neither of them are with us any more. There is some comfort in knowing that he was loved and is remembered by many people across the world. Would rather be able to give him a birthday kiss.

So I looked online to see who else shares this day as a birthday and found the following:

Rabbis Kaufmann Kohler and Joachim Prinz

Athletes Dennis Bergkamp (interviewed by the lovely David Winner), Jonathan Edwards and Merlene Ottey.

Bad guys John Wilkes Booth and Mark David Chapman (Rick Santorum is not as bad as them but does share the birthday)

Music heroes Sid Vicious, Donovan, Max Steiner and Bono

not to forget Thomas Lipton, Karl Barth, Fred Astaire, Milton Babbitt and Maureen Lipman.

There are loads more, but I'm supposed to be working ;-)

Maurice Sendak R.I.P.

Many people will no doubt express their sadness at the news just in that the writer and illustrator Maurice Sendak has died. It is always sad when a creative talent leaves our world. Read, however, his point of view as reported in the Times last year:

"On the sun-dappled road, Sendak’s mood is far from bucolic. “I think the whole world stinks: everything is decaying, the lack of culture depresses me most. I’m happy that my career is over and I can do what I like. I don’t want to be part of anything. I like where I live, what I read; I’m still doing my books, people are still purchasing them.” Is he happy? “Who’s happy? What does that mean? Of course I’m not, I’ve nothing to be happy about. I can’t complain about my life, I’m just a little bit nervous about how it’s going to end.” Does he think about dying? “Constantly, constantly. It’s time to go, it’s time to get the f*** out — it really is — but look how pretty it is here.”

His family and friends have died (only his sister Natalie lived beyond 83). “I’m old enough to die. I despise religion in all forms, so I have no hope of an afterlife. If I saw my mother and father again, I think I’d kill myself.” We both laugh at the idea of killing yourself when you’re dead. “I will be nothing and nowhere, and that will be such a relief. To be something and somewhere is very tiring: the good times are so few.” However, Sendak has found depression “an awful waste of time” and alleviated it by reading, walking and listening to music (Mozart, Haydn and Gluck are favourites)."

If you have a subscription to the Times, you may read the whole article here. We will miss him. I hope he's surprised by what happens next!

Cisse scores for QPR vs Stoke City

A French Perspective on the Election

Under the headline of "Présidentielles : surprise ! c'est (encore) un homme !", mes amies at Le Blog d'une Chienne de Garde demonstrate their excitement at the news that Carla Bruni is rumoured to be on a flight to Los Angeles since her husband just lost the French Presidential election.

What? A translation? Hmmmmm ... the quote is something like "I'm not born a feminist, I am becoming one". As for what the testicles are saying, the Babylon translator online suggests "with the hair to the tabs and all" but I suspect that is not quite what the artist wishes to suggest. The headline, with my A for O-level French, I can reliably tell you it says, "Presidentially:  Surprise! It's (once more) a man!"

O well. Let's reserve judgment on the new Socialist President-elect of France:  Francois Hollande!

A Novel Plot

I had never heard of Christine Brooke-Rose, but upon reading her obit I was amused by this description of the plot of her novel Xorandor:

" Xorandor, for example, concerns a sort of sentient silicon pebble which overdoses on Caesium, becomes convinced it is Lady Macbeth and threatens to destroy the world. The work is narrated in the form of an invented technological slang dialogue between a pair of twins and their computer."

The full obituary may be read here.

Rain Rain Go Away

After much of the country having been put on drought warning, we appear to have had a month's rain in a few days. That may explain why I opened my front door the other day to see the above view.

Reminded me of Make Way for Ducklings, a book from my childhood over which my sister and I fought for ownership as adults.