I am quite saddened by this news. I hope he recovers.
So yes, I have made a foolish decision. I have given up alcohol for Lent. And yes, I am miserable. I have been to Glasgow and not drank. I have been out to friends' houses for dinner and not drank. I have gone out on the university expense account and had no bottle of wine, no port with cheese, no single malt. And I still have to get through a physics away weekend (boy will the H have fun when he realises he too has given up booze and won't be having pints while talking ions), the Ireland-Wales rugby match and the away day and dinner. All completely dry. The truly ironic thing of it all is that it because of the born, reared and at heart, true-presbyterian H likes the idea of sacrifice and Lent. Which begs the question of why I, the hardly ever darker the door of a church person that I am is doing this and well, I think there are three reasons:
1) What inspired the H was listening to thought for the day one morning in traffic and a muslim was on discussing Rammadan. He explained that a person is made up of physical, mental and spiritual needs. And that religion should work in harmony will all the types of needs. But at Rammadan the bodily needs are kept in check by the spiritual needs and this shows that man is different from animals and the primacy of the spirit. And I can see the need and usefulness of this. And well right now my need to be a more spiritual person is making me physically miserable because there hasn't been a glass of red wine in my hands for weeks.
2) I remember reading an article in The Observer several years back (alright it was a column, actually) where the writer bemoaned how christianity had become all happiness and joy with its holidays. That the darkness and mourning of the Lenten season had been forgotten and instead we had lots of creme eggs. And I personally think there is a lot to this. Perhaps it is an extension of reason 1. But I have always found the most spiritually moving holiday to me personally has been Yom Kippur (and to a lesser extent Rosh Hoshonna). And Yom Kippur is hard. You have to suffer for the day. Well, this year I am suffering for Easter. I'd like to think it builds character.
3) Definitely falls under 2 and more than likely 3 too. I remember one lunch-time, sitting in the HoneyBaked Ham store with a friend wearing a lovely star of david (from Tiffany's) and as she ordered her ham sandwich (this was all her idea. I can take or leave ham myself. I am more of a tunafish girl) I just gave her a look and she looked down at her star and laughed. As we ate, she talked a bit about the whole keeping kosher thing and she pointed out that one of the aspects that the Rabbis would stress that kosher meant that you had to think about your choices every day. Well, giving up the drink makes me think about the whole Lenten thing rather more regularly than I expected.
4) Of course, I now remember a fourth reason that has nothing to do with spirituality or identity or choice. Well, maybe choice. As a yank, I always worrying that my drinking is problematic. Which makes those of a more Irish persuasion around me laugh because we are talking maybe two bottle of wine a week. So, I am just trying to prove I don't have a problem.
For the record, it is easier to give up drink than the giving up meat that we have tried in the past. I did get tired of the tuna sandwiches and wanted the ham ones.
It's all gone horribly wrong. Which isn't quite true. But as avid readers have no doubt realised (yeah, like I have avid readers), I have been having a bit of a blogging block lately. Dodn't know what to blog about. Didn't feel that interested in blogging. Now, I have all sorts of blogging ideas and just can't seem to make time to reach blogger. That and I still wish I knew how to write big long essays but stick most of them under the fold. Haven't mastered that little bit of html at all.
Anyway, I have been meaning to blog about the possibility of a new blog (you can tell I was getting disenfranchised from my current blog). A blog all about Pansy's search for love and discipline in So. Cal. based on her emails. I think they are hilarious. But well, I am afraid relatives might find this blog and the Pansy looks for love blog would need to be more seriously hidden. But it is an idea I haven't given up.
I want to write a New Year's blog. All about my hopes and dreams for the new year but instead of blogging about my regrets of never bleeching my hair, I worry about having to write a good four speeches.
Then I thought, I'll blog about lent. Which I really mean to do. Because again, the more attentive reader will have noticed I haven't mentioned alcohol in simply ages. I've given it up. For Lent. I am miserable too. And well, there are stories to tell about me, alcohol, my feelings about identity and spirituality and Imelda Marcos. Maybe later this week.
Because today I have been distracted by my teddy bears. I have a conference to go to tomorrow. And the instructions say to 'bring with you something which you find personally useful in supporting you through difficulties. For example, a poem, quote, prayer, piece of writing, music cd or soft toy (you can take it away with you). Which means Howard is having a field trip. Yes, I still sleep with my teddy bear. Have I mentioned the problems I and the Blessing have over Dilly, my lavender bear that I have burned so he no longer smells of lavender but more burnt popcorn? Well, Dilly isn't the only bear in my bed. I have had Howard for almost 20 years now. I got him on my 19th birthday because Teddy couldn't go to university with me. I had Teddy from when I was a baby. He was hugged so much his chest lost his hair. He went through a series of Toddler shirts (including one orginally owned my brother that was a relic from the first trip to London). Then the fabric on his chest went. Every Friday my mother hoovered up a little bit more of him. She took him to the bear surgeon in town to see if anything could be done (I am not making this up) and she said the only option was to rip him open and use him as a pattern for a new bear. Is it any wonder I said no?!? I am still traumatised by the suggestion.
Much as I am traumatised by the time I was watching Emergency with my brother (older) and he suddenly shouted cardiac arrest, through Teddy on the floor and start compressions on his chest. Teddy, as well as being rather stiff and prickly, also growled. You would tip him over and he would growl. After the heart problems, Teddy kept quiet for months. David may think I have forgiven. He may even think I have forgot. He would be wrong. Anyway, I went to university and Teddy went to the attic. I missed having a bear and then Howard arrived for my 19th birthday. When I went to London it was sans teddy bear. My boyfriend at the time, after listening to me moan about how I didn't like to sleep without a bear, lent me his for a few months. When I went to Belfast, Howard stayed at home* (along with my Dad's Eisenhower jacket and my Isreali paratrooper bag from Banana Republic--my mother made a dawn raid on my packing and took out the things she worried would get me shot in 1992 Belfast). I went home at Christmas and missed him so much he went into the carryon baggage for the flight back (putting a bear into the luggage hold would be cruel). Security in those days in and out of Belfast was tight. Howard went through the x-ray machine in the bag only to be pulled out and made to go through all by himself. I suppose it could have been worse. No one offered to open him up. Still, you see someone on the train with a small brown bear sticking out of a pink powerful gril bag and well, it has to be me. I am told there are only some many people out there willing to travel with bear. I wonder if I can find one of Howard's old bow ties.
*Actually Howard didn't stay at home. He went to Boston with the significant other and met many post-graduate students of English Lit. Did a lot of dancing and was in general, the life of the party. Howard, I hate to say it, is quite the debonair bear.
Two posts in one day. I obviously got enough sleep last night. And well, somedays I am so happy I am no longer an academic.
I am in love with a band. I feel like I am 16 again. I would like to blame it all on The Killers (I quite fancy Brandon Flowers) and well with the joys of the mp3 player and downloads from msn.co.uk I have been stocking up on Beastie Boys and ABC tracks. Which is all fine and dandy but it was music I knew. Music I liked enough for a single but not a whole album. Then The Killers weren't putting there stuff out on download so I had to buy their cd. Which was okay. It sounds quite chameleonesque and I felt young and hip. But on Sunday, I saw this band perform on cd:uk (which is sad, I know) and I was captivated. Mesmerized. So, having only heard the single once, I had to download. It isn't even in the shops. I have already listened to it twice this morning before forcing myself to listen to other songs. But I feel like an addict. I itch to get out the mp3 player and play it. Quite loud, while saying, oh, oh, oh at the same time. Love, I tell you, love. I want to buy the whole cd. I want to get a t-shirt. They have no plans to tour in Ireland. Desolate I am desolate. And I want to dance. And they have that great northern accent too.
So I am a bad blogger who has been extremely quiet as of late. And it isn't like I haven't got things to blog about (the Blessing has broke her arm. She has shut the cat up into her chest of drawers. She maintains she needs new toys because none of her existing toys want to play with her). Or even ideas about what to blog about(my new year's resolution is to be more like Gwen Stefani. Yes, I am thinking of going blond. But it is about more than that). Still, no time. New job. Much work. Much, much work. And I did want to report on the glasgow trip. Went for work. two days of training. Great City. Big buildings. Lots of shops. Lots of good-looking men. No, really. People are really friendly. It was a bit unnerving. Oh, and I have given up drink for lent so I felt as though I was wandering in the desert with the devil in the shape of a bottle of grey goose taunting me...
But tonight I having one of those dinners on some else's expense account. Female physicist. Who should have won the Nobel Prize. I am rather excited. I am!
I am a Beagle.Which kind of surprises me. But trust me when I say this is a much better quiz than the ones I usually find. It has flickering images too!
I love Crooked TImber so much. Arrrrrr!
push/click arrows to scroll.
Just like the state of nature, nasty, brutish and short...I was always fond of the nickname 'Craxi'...Sometimes I cook, sometimes I tend bar, sometimes I even knit. Mostly I try not to read the plethora of government publications that cross my desk and write one page summaries.
favorite food: lobster. ben and jerry's ice cream
favorite show: CSI
favorite drink: grey goose vodka (with ice, it doesn't need anything else)
age: far older than I like to admit/contemplate