Going the whole hog…

At the beginning of the year I made a list of things I was hoping to achieve over the next twelve months. It did not read like this:

  • Get a new job (working for ‘the man’)
  • Rescue a small dog (he’s not really a small dog, he’s a puppy)
  • Start a new blog (though whether I continue to publish posts remains to be seen)
  • Stop my daily jog 🙁 (I got bronchitis – I’ll tell you about it in another post)
  • Do only things ending with a word that rhymes vaguely with ‘og’ or ‘ob’ (um, yep. OK)

However, that is not an unrealistic portrayal of my main (un)achievements so far. What is it that is said about making God laugh? Tell God your plans and God will bellow and choke and laugh so much that a little bit of wee-wee is passed into the Great One’s Gusset? (You never even considered that God wore undercrackers, did you? You assumed that an all-seeing-all-knowing Deity such as ‘God’ would be immune to the human weakness of having to stop every couple of hours while navigating the M, A and B roads of this country, to find a service station/layby/gap in the hedge/ and go to the loo. Well guess what?????)

Anyway, life being what it is (stranger than fiction, apparently), has sent me cross-country rather than keeping to those well traversed roads and has offered a very individual take on some of the original list’s requirements (the original list reads like this: blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, it’s boring, you don’t need to know). Flirting with success in some areas but negotiating a big fat fail in others. And yet my aspirations still remain important to me and it’s kind of because of them that I have started this. So I can loosely summarise the different areas of aspiration to give readers of this blog a rough idea of the kinds of things I find important and therefore will be writing about, during the course of its life. Expect to read about:

The trials and tribulations of being a forty-something woman with her best years behind her; stretched, depleted & pummelled to within a hair’s breadth of Armageddon by gestating three children within 4 years; aiming for *relatively* fit and healthy but failing at every twist and turn of the boring sodding lettuce-laced-labyrinth that is ‘desirable BMI’;

The new micro-climate created by the densely-packed, weed-infested, befrazzled, worm’n’caterpillar paradise that masquerades as our back garden; and my heroic attempt at wrestling that wilderness into submission, then cajoling & half-Nelsoning it (yes that *is* a bloody word) (it is in this household anyway) into semi-self-sufficient paradise (i.e. growing a couple of courgettes, a radish and a beetroot);

My passion and love for all of the non-human creatures on this Earth* (remember Pupskins who was the catalyst for all this taradiddle?); the furry, the fishy, the feathered & the flightless, the fearsome, the frail, the forgotten and the ones whose characteristics begin with another letter of the alphabet… and my tireless attempts to engineer for them a better life, a louder voice and a greater chance at living free of cruelty, fear, suffering and the prospect of being ground up and put into lasagna or fertiliser;
*there are exceptions. For every rule there are *always* exceptions. Mine are in no particular order: wasps, ticks, fleas, headlice, intestinal worms, maggots, horseflies, slugs. You get the picture.

My latest half-finished, hand-made, needle-crafted, bead/button bedecked offering, usually slightly stiff in one corner from where my exhilarated, obsessive, lunatic tendencies to make, MAKE, MAKE cause me to uncontrollably dribble with excitement onto the item until the first button hole/heel turn/french knot when I suddenly decide that I’ve gone off it a bit and probably won’t make it again. This is why I have many incompatible pairs of gloves and socks; they have been introduced together like an uncomfortable, mismatched couple at a wedding, awkwardly pretending they may have something in common whereas really they’re just waiting for the first chance to leg it into oblivion. That’s probably the story behind all those single gloves you often see just lying on the pavement, cold, wet, misshapen but breathtakingly glad to have escaped a life partner that was never going to understand the intricacies of their fine lace gusset (more mention of gussets. I wonder whether this will be a recurring theme???…)

Magick, ah the magick. In fact you’ve probably been wondering whether that’s a typo in this blog’s url, or whether there is something more exotic afoot. Nothing exotic, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but I do enjoy tuning in to the vast array of energies swirling around this universe, just waiting for us to use them to make our lives better!! I’m all for the idea that we humans are more than capable of understanding ourselves on many different levels, and by using whatever ‘magickal’ processes that speak to us, combined with the ebbs, flows, rhythms and energy patterns throughout the cycles of the year, we can live rich, fulfilling, exciting and rewarding lives. (Sorry, that paragraph wasn’t very funny. I shall attempt to portray magick in a much more hilarious style in the future.)

Plus I’m pretty sure there’ll be the random, nonsensical, ‘guest post’ by various members of my real, and imagined, household. It’s all in development. It might morph into something quite unlike the above. Who knows. Moral of the story? Hold on to your hat, we’re off…….

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author

Magickal Beanist, busy mummy, committed vegan, ardent recycler, obsessive knitter, recent jogger, animal lover, Cotswold dweller, ridiculous writer, attempts to live a conscious, magickal life by design. Enjoys a large glass of bubbly stuff at the weekend. And I'm not talking about washing up liquid if you know what I mean. Contact me through the website. Your reward will be good karma and a friend for life ;o)

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