Category: little fluffy clouds

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Card game in the park

I came across these four men while walking Maizy. They were happy to let me take pictures, but couldn’t explain the game very clearly since there wasn’t, they said, an English equivalent. It was played in pairs, two against two, and the number ten was important.

There was a whole line of men sitting in the benches on either side of that doing service as a card table. They lolled, legs outstretched, bodies inclined at an acute angle so as to get maximum benefit from the still-palpable heat of the dipped sun. There was much laughter and banter as the players groaned in despair or slapped the bench in triumph.

Fifty feet or so away across the tarmac, their backs to the sun, sat a smaller group of women in saris. Quiet, upright, their faces in shadow, occasionally inclining together as they spoke.

“Who won?” I asked as I passed the players again on my way home. “Oh, nobody. Nobody wins, it’s not that sort of game.”

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Inappropriate mooing

So the cards arrived.

moo cards

They’re gorgeous. There’s something so satisfying in seeing the pictures on paper, or card in this case, being able to run a finger over the surface and look at the nuances rather than viewing then on the light-box of a computer screen. I love the associations – that’s A’s garden, there’s R’s hand, I took that one with N, G took that picture too, secondborn gave me that daisy, W liked that one, that’s the pavement outside H’s flat, O gave me those tulips etc etc. I definitely don’t want to give any of them away. However there’s another disincentive to handing them out willy-nilly.

I thought it would be a great idea to have the picture’s title appear on the reverse of the card. Unfortunately this has led to some rather surreal juxtapositions, for instance:

R- R-
skill, skill, skill
email@generic.org
07987000000
and so are you

This is a particularly obscure one since the picture in question is of pomegranates. It ended up with that title because it was the fourth in a valentine’s day series which started with the rather more obvious “roses are red”.

Other gnomic last lines include tree brain, trapped, rock man, blousy, wooden eye, rock slime, little curly tail and nun boot, but my favourites are pansy with small flies, are you blind too? and, perhaps most unfortunate of all to be handed out to potential employers, don’t mess with me.

One lives, and one learns.

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Dog as indirect speech act

I’ve just come across a totally brilliant practice, of which I was previously unaware, among the Akan of Ghana as studied by sociolinguist Samuel Gyasi Obeng:

Like Americans, Ghanaians keep dogs as pets, for security, for hunting, and for the economic benefits derived from breeding and selling puppies. But they also keep and name dogs to create what Obeng calls “a communicative situation in which the ‘unspeakable’ may be spoken.” In such cases, Ghanaians give dogs names that address a problem or issue that cannot be addressed directly by their owners without fear of losing face in the community. “There are probably many dogs named ‘Mind Your Own Business’ in Ghana,” Obeng says, laughing. “People frequently name their dogs to call attention to a social grievance, such as ingratitude or gossip.”

In a recent paper, Obeng cites various examples of dogs with Akan names that address troubling personal issues. Many dogs cited had one- or two-word Akan names that translate into English phrases such as: “Whatever you do, people will gossip about you”; “Enough of your harassment!”; “Money matters/Life is hard!”; and the dramatically indignant, “The community must now be satisfied since the ‘evil’ it wished for me has eventually befallen me.” Sometimes the dog itself becomes a significant tool for dealing with face-threatening situations, as with the dog named “Whatever you do, people will gossip about you.” Having given his dog this name, the owner was able to show his neighbors that he was aware of and insulted by their gossip. By Akan custom, it is also acceptable to call attention to the dog’s name in the presence of the person who is indirectly addressed through the dog. “If an Akan names his dog ‘My neighbor is ungrateful,’ and he happens to pass by that neighbor’s house, he could call the dog’s name and shower it with insults,” Obeng explains. “Of course, the neighbor knows perfectly well that he is the target of these insults, but he cannot respond, because after all, it is the dog being spoken to, not him.”

Imagine shouting “EnoughofYourHarassment” across the park at the vanishing tail of your dog.

I chanced upon this as a result of reading Teju‘s piece Names are Doors 2. I have a memory that amongst the Akan, who have the tradition of naming children after the day of the week they are born on, there is a disproportionately high percentage of the prison population named for the day of the week which is considered to be of ill-omen. Unfortunately I can’t find out whether this is indeed the case, or even which day is supposed to be unlucky (although I think it might be Wednesday).

What, I wonder, is the effect on a dog of being called “The community must now be satisfied since the ‘evil’ it wished for me has eventually befallen me” and being berated and upbraided loudly when in the presence of said community. And what, I further wonder, would I have called Maizy had this device been known to me.

The former question marks me out as a typical Brit more concerned about canine well-being than non-confrontational methods of easing community tensions. So the answer to the latter would probably be “What a gorgeous dog you are”. Which is, in fact, already among her numerous noms de parc already, but most accurate and useful would be “Beware, I Bite”.

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Mindfulness

[ACT] is also similar to many eastern approaches (particularly Buddhism), and the mystical aspects of most major spiritual and religious traditions. ACT did not arise from these related areas directly — it is the result of a 25 year course of development inside Western science — but it arrived at a similar place which is interesting in and of itself.

…trying to change difficult thoughts and feelings as a means of coping might can be counter productive, but new, powerful alternatives are available, including acceptance, mindfulness, cognitive defusion, values, and committed action. Research seems to be showing that these methods are beneficial for a broad range of clients. ACT teaches clients and therapists alike how to alter the way difficult private experiences function mentally rather than having to eliminate them from occurring at all.

When we have been depressed, we dread it coming back. At its first sign, we may try to suppress the symptoms, pretend they aren’t there, or push away any unwanted thoughts or memories. But such suppression often does not work, and the very things we tried to get rid of come back with renewed force. Mindfulness takes a different approach. It helps develop our willingness to experience emotions, our capacity to be open to even painful emotions. It helps give us the courage to allow distressing mood, thoughts and sensations to come and go, without battling with them. We discover that difficult and unwanted thoughts and feelings can be held in awareness, and seen from an altogether different perspective – a perspective that brings with it a sense of warmth and compassion to the suffering we are experiencing.

One of my favourite suppression mechanisms was counting. Walking to work, sitting in front of the computer, lying in bed. Clinging to the thumping beat of internal articulation, of predictable serial progression, loud in the skull, to drown the terror, beat the fear into submission, impose a veneer of order over the chaos. Putting my fingers in my ears and screaming “la la la la la”.
It’s like running away. Moving from one continent to another, for example, merely provides a different backdrop for the same mindscape.
It’s impossible to tell objectively the individual significance of the different factors in the discontinuous/simultaneous equation of drugs, psychotherapy and meditation. However experientially my perception is that meditation has been the most helpful of the three, both long- and short-term. I would go so far as to say it has changed my life. Completely.

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Proud to be mad

A childfree weekend stretches ahead and I hadn’t sorted out anything to do, other than housework. Then this fell into the mailbox:

We need your help!!

We are filming a short film this Sunday (20th May) for Creative Routes, a mental health charity. The film will be screened at Bonkersfest! a free public festival in Camberwell on the 2nd of June. The film aims to broaden the awareness of mental health issues to the public, and to challenge the stigmas attached to those who suffer from mental illnesses.

For the film we need lots of different people of all shapes, sizes, ages, races and appearances to have their portrait taken, and that’s where you come in. You won’t need to act, just look straight into the camera for a photograph. We will need you for no more than an hour and a half in total in a location on Commercial Street near Liverpool Street Station and Aldgate Station.

If you can help us please email to confirm with your name, phone number and if you would prefer to take part in the morning or the afternoon to this address: waddiloverobert AT googlemail DOT com

We will then email you on Saturday with a more specific time for you to be there.

Please bring with you if you can 2 outfits, perhaps a smart and a casual one, including different layers with jackets/coats. Any accessories would be great also i.e. glasses, hats & scarfs, jewellery or your favourite hat.

Please please help us. It won’t take long and is for a good cause. Please also forward this on to all your friends.

Thanks a lot, Jack Cole, Sarah Tonin and Bobby Baker

LOCAL TRAVEL INSTRUCTIONS ­ Saturday 19th May & Sunday 20th May 2007
Artsadmin
THE COURTROOM¹
Toynbee Studios
28 Commercial Street
London E1 6AB
Toynbee Studios is part of the Toynbee Hall complex at 28 Commercial Street
near Aldgate East in London.

Transport Links
By tube:
Aldgate East – District/Hammersmith & City lines – approx. 2 minutes walk
Aldgate – Metropolitan/Circle lines – approx. 5 minutes walk
Liverpool Street – Metropolitan/Circle/Central/Hammersmith & City lines –
approx. 10 minutes walk

By bus:
Number 67 stops on Commercial Street outside Toynbee Studios
Numbers 15, 25, 115, 209 & 254 pass the bottom of Commercial Street along
Whitechapel High Street
Numbers 40, 42, 78 & 100 stop at Aldgate
Numbers 8, 26, 35, 43, 47, 48, 78, 149, 242 & 388 stop on Bishopsgate
Numbers 11, 23, 42, 133, 141, 214, 271 & 344 terminate outside Liverpool Street Station

Since I’d spent some time last night moaning to an unfortunate involuntary interlocutor about the continuing stigma attached to mental ill-health and since I’m almost professionally mad it would be bonkers not to go. If you see what I mean. And there’s the added excitement of dressing up!

You can find out more about the organisation at Proud to be Mad.

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Moooooo!

Due to a forthcoming engagement which just might be an opportunity to tout for work I made some cards via moo on flickr. Choose a picture or selection of pictures to appear on one side of the card, define one set text for the other. Simple.

I should have known, having seen other people’s moo cards. I should have known, having helpfully been informed of the dimensions of the cards several times during the process. But still it came as a surprise. It’s like looking at pictures through a letterbox. A particularly narrow letterbox.

Although initially disconcerting, this turns out not to be a bad thing. Before you finalise the order each picture chosen is displayed on a page with a thin rectangular template over it which you can wiggle around, rotate or make smaller (ie zoom in on a detail of the picture).

It’s really interesting to see what ends up in a narrow slit in the middle of each picture. Sometimes it’s just never going to work but most times there’s a very pleasing, and rather surprising, new image to be seen. I’m not going to want to give them away.

And in non-bovine, listed, news I was sent a haiku by text message yesterday. Such a surprising and delighting thing, I’m still polishing it in my brain and smiling when I think of it. A new mode of transmission perfectly suited to this venerable form. And what an amazing thing to think of doing.

Secondborn announced this morning “my breath smells like a colobus monkey”. I asked how he knew this and he said he had many tiny noses on his tongue. When I explained that it wasn’t the method of detection so much as the colobus I was enquiring about he replied airily that he’d sniffed them at the zoo. And they smell? horrible.

Returning to the vexed subject of dog treats (Pedigree dentastix for small dogs are more expensive, per kilo, than parmesan cheese), I was further incensed to notice on a recent trip to the supermarket that Pedigree dentastix for unfeasibly hugely mutantly massive slobbery dogs are about half the price, per kilo, of those for small-but-perfectly-formed gorgeous dogs. So my clever compromise, although it pains me to be handing cash over to this wicked company which discriminates against the companions of sensibly dimensioned canines, is to by a box of the huge ones and cut them in half. Thus reducing the dog treat bill from £13 to £4 per month. Ca-CHING!

And finally, as they say on all the best lists of news, Curious George is excellent and exceedingly cute fun for all the family. And, not being a colobus, he doesn’t even smell.

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An unordered week's worth of list

  • Purple and red. Both very bright. Both very together. Why have I never seen this before?
  • Snowing downdrift of chestnut-coloured plane-fluff on titian curls.
  • The view of Canary Wharf from C’s window last thing at night and first thing in the morning.
  • There are many paths but only one mountain.
  • Using whiskey then, when that doesn’t work, a glowing match to remove a tick results only in the strong reek of flambéed fur. And has no effect on the tick. In fact it might make the tick cough crap into the dog. Tweezers are recommended. And don’t crush the arachnid using any unprotected part of your anatomy – the crap might get into you too. But how come, I wonder, my brother and I were de-ticked every evening in the bath when we were in the Isle of Man using neat whiskey?
  • “I am feeling more stable and happier than I have done for years.” Me, out of nowhere, to my father.
  • Penny Serenade has to be one of the most excruciatingly bad films ever. His Girl Friday is much better, one of my all-time favourites, but I fell asleep.
  • Dead Man, on the other hand, is one of the most brilliant films ever. And, serendipitously, is on offer in the Virgin megastore.
  • The smell of incense and the sound of sirens while meditating in a central London church.
  • “Why is it that we regard positive sentiments and phrases describing happiness as trite while misery and suffering is seen as more ‘real’?” Thought-provoking question indeed. Maybe another manifestation of Milton’s Paradise Lost v Regained syndrome.
  • Champagne. First Moët then Nicolas Feuillatte (I still have the corks). Later in the week a palette of champagne cocktails chosen and given by a friend: the pale pink of champagne, cointreau and cranberry juice with a delicate spirogyra of orange peel in a poinsettia; glowing orange-yellow of a Bellini (champagne and peach juice, the cocktail of Venice); the golden russet of a vanilla champagne cocktail.
  • Leap and the net will appear: Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way, lent by a friend.
  • Second-born: “I thought I was going to have a nightmare last night, but I thought of something lovely, a happy time, and it went away”. Astonished mother, knocked sideways by this step-change in the aforementioned spawn’s unremitting negativity: “How fantastic! And what was the happy time that you thought of?” “Our camping holiday in Cornwall.”
  • Cooking for friends from Delia’s vegetarian book.
  • Hospice at Home charities and the fund-raising party a friend had to honour her mother who died, at home, a year ago.
  • Comforting a friend’s child after he fell over when she wasn’t there. Loving the trust and depth of our relationship that allowed me to hold him and calm him and wipe away his tears.
  • The crashing to the floor onto a metal object of my camera and splintering of glass… the fall destroyed the filter and left the lens unmarked.
  • Pale dry sherry and cheese-and-chive pretzels. Powering this post.
  • Loop. Again. With a loyalty card. A fabulous pattern for looooong fingerless gloves (buttercup armwarmers) in pure silk Alchemy Pagoda yarn which I’m making in Pablo’s Solace (aka purple) which was 50% off in the sale. But I’m going to modify the pattern a bit and make a thumb and thread a red ribbon (see list item number one) round the wrist.
  • I *am* a dirty old mystic. A term of abuse coined by the ex. Ok, I’m not dirty, but I’m an old mystic. And I love it. I absolutely love it.
  • Great minds. Great Minds.