Books, books, books, how I love books. Ever since I could read I have read book after book. In fact, before I could read I looked at books all the time pretending that I could read them and making up the stories from looking at the pictures.
Yesterday on the packed commuter train into work I saw a woman reading one of those e-book things - the little electronic device that can hold multiple books. How convenient it seems, and it would be far easier to carry around in my bag than the hefty volumes I usually have stuffed in there. But then it also involves reading a screen, something which I do all day at work, and as I enjoy both writing and gaming I am often gazing at a screen in my spare time too. Therefore I wouldn't want to read in the same way, as I am already well on my way to developing square eyes...
Pondering this as I left the train, I realised that I love books far too much to compress them all into one neat, and potentially unreliable, little electronic device. I rather like the inconvenience of lugging around a cumbersome historical novel in my bag (although I think my right shoulder disagrees with me here). There is so much more to a book than the story or information it contains inside. The book itself has its own story.
Take the one I am reading at the moment for example. It is a 1950 edition of I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith, that I read for the first time two years ago when I was supposed to *ahem* be working on a mountain of essays for my MA. It provided the perfect escapism, however, and it is just my kind of story. Anyway, I saved the book when my family and I were clearing out the house where my mum grew up after my grandma died. The book had the smell of age to it, and it had gathered a reasonable layer of dust on top to imply that it had not been removed from the bookshelf for some years. My mum and her sister both read it in the 60s. So I like the fact this book has a little history, and is also a very enjoyable read. I made some more exciting discoveries of a literary nature that same afternoon, such as a couple of delicious Jane Austen novels from the turn of the century, as well as a host of other fascinating books.
I like books both young and old. The younger books start to age as soon as I start reading them because, like bedraggled teddy bears, they are well loved! Many of my fellow academics had a pet hate for people like me, who leave books open and face-down on a table, as it stretches the spine. Personally I like doing that to books, but I have bought a couple of lovely home-made bookmarks from Jenny Foreman (you can also find her on my blog list - Jenny's Textiles), so that I can treat my books with slightly more respect. Plus it makes the pages much easier to find once the book has been closed!
One of the best ways of being surrounded by young and old books alike is of course to spend time in a library. During my third and fourth years at university I worked as a shelving assistant for the science and humanities library, so I got to spend time caring for wonderful, wonderful books (well except the horrible management ones)! My degrees also meant spending a lot of time travelling into London to use the University of London shared library at Senate House, and the specialist library of the Institute of Classical Studies. And this is where books became very exciting indeed. I was surrounded by masses of material on my very subject. Floor to ceiling cases jam-packed with huge tomes, and tiny volumes that tried to hide as they sneakily slipped down the backs of shelves. Inches of dust covered some sections, whereas other areas never needed a clean, so frequently were books taken out as soon as they were put back. Maybe it's a Classicist thing, I don't know, but there is some very real excitement about being the first person since 1979 to take out a Loeb edition of Valerius Maximus. There is an element of geeky coolness that surrounds being in brief possession the little red book typed up in both Latin and English translation. One of my housemates was a Greek historian specialising in archaeology, me a Roman historian specialising in literature, and we both got far too excited about old books. They smell musty, they are covered in dust so old that it makes your fingers itch, and the pages are all yellowed. New books are exciting too, especially brand new editions of ground-breaking works in Graeco-Romano culture, when you're the first person to get your mitts on it as soon as it has been let loose in the library. Sometimes the content of such books leaves much to be desired, but they deserve special credit simply for being a book, that I can have looking smart and bright on my own bookshelf...
So, this is really a rather pointless ramble into my love of books. I am being extremely ineloquent about it, and I am sure none of you care. But, what I actually want to say is, how can the e-book compare to real breathing paper books? Hard-back, paper-back, old, new, dusty, pristeen - the e-book just doesn't cut it. So after that brief flirtation with it on the train, reading it over its owner's shoulder, I decided I won't be buying one. And my shoulders and back will just have to put up with the heavy bags until my boyfriend develops teleportation and I can leave the books in one place only to have them appear by my side just when I want them :)
Unplanned writing that just spills from my mind...
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Friday, 24 April 2009
Confessions of a Tea Drinker
Whilst I am not the most patriotic person in the world I am in possession of a few characteristics that are quintessentially British. One such example is talking about the weather on a daily basis, and indeed, complaining about it, but today is a beautiful spring day, so there is no need to go down that route at the moment...
Another is that I love my tea, milk no sugar, a strong, well-brewed "builder's" tea. Mmm, just lovely. And none of that fancy stuff please. No green tea, no flower or fruit flavoured pond water, and please no Earl Grey or any other miserable weak flavour that exists.
I average about five or six cups a day it; is my favourite drink. Usually all the caffeine fix I need is a strong cup of tea when I wake up in the morning, and I'm ready for the rest of the day. Sometimes however, I am traitorous to my love of tea, and I enter the opposing world of coffee *shock horror*
Now, coffee is quite nice. But only when it is sweet. And herein lies the problem. Whenever I have a coffee one sugar doesn't suffice. Neither does two. Three sometimes does, but my preferred dosage is four. My boyfriend, family and friends all find this outrageous and look at me as though I am lacing my occasional cappuccino with drugs. So it is rare that I drink coffee. That, and I seem to be intolerant to it, as every time I drink it, it gives me a tummy ache and nausea.
By now you are probably thinking that it is not worth me bothering to drink coffee and in that I guess you would be right.
One day, when I was in my third year at university, I decided I wanted to be more sophisticated (erm...was going through a weird phase obviously), and I wanted to drink more coffee, but wean myself off the sugar habit. My best friend persuaded me this was a good idea and that after approximately nineteen cups without sugar my brain would have become accustomed to coffee that was no longer sweet. It seemed a fair experiment. What I didn't reckon on at this time was how hard this would be to maintain when I was in Brazil. I went on a short-term mission with my university church to Recife on the North-East coast about a week or so after making this pledge to no longer sweeten coffee, and I found the Brazilian coffee very good but difficult to drink. Then a member of my team exclaimed in dismay that I was mad for drinking it unsweetened. He declared that Brazilian coffee was meant to be sweet, and introduced me to the syrup they had, which you only needed a smidgen of to make it taste like my usual four sugars, only better. Yummy - interestingly Brazilian coffee didn't make me feel sick either XD
So as you can gather I failed on the quest to becoming a sophisticated coffee drinker with no need of the saccharine. So what? I hardly drink it anyway.
But...but...but...I always think it's a good idea to have coffee at the time, and then I nearly always regret it afterwards. This morning I felt exceptionally tired, having gone late to bed last night and then waking up earlier than usual. My normal morning cup of tea had done little to snap me out of my zombie-like state, so as I walked past the very good independent coffee shop just a few doors down from my office I had to nip in and grab a takeaway coffee. The guy asked me how many sugars I wanted, and too embarassed by my usual four, I settled for three, which was bad enough! Anyway, it did the trick. I soon felt alert and ready to take on the day at work. But only a few minutes had passed before my tummy began to hurt :( And so the coffee had beaten me again. And the stupidity of it was that I knew that would happen, doh!
Was it worth it? Well I eventually felt better, but this afternoon I was back to my trusty cup of tea. And I think that is what I should stick to. Although I know deep down I will betray tea and resort to coffee again... It's only a matter of time.
But the Brazilians and my boyfriend do make good coffee, that doesn't make me ill, so there is hope yet. Just don't tell the tea leaves...
Another is that I love my tea, milk no sugar, a strong, well-brewed "builder's" tea. Mmm, just lovely. And none of that fancy stuff please. No green tea, no flower or fruit flavoured pond water, and please no Earl Grey or any other miserable weak flavour that exists.
I average about five or six cups a day it; is my favourite drink. Usually all the caffeine fix I need is a strong cup of tea when I wake up in the morning, and I'm ready for the rest of the day. Sometimes however, I am traitorous to my love of tea, and I enter the opposing world of coffee *shock horror*
Now, coffee is quite nice. But only when it is sweet. And herein lies the problem. Whenever I have a coffee one sugar doesn't suffice. Neither does two. Three sometimes does, but my preferred dosage is four. My boyfriend, family and friends all find this outrageous and look at me as though I am lacing my occasional cappuccino with drugs. So it is rare that I drink coffee. That, and I seem to be intolerant to it, as every time I drink it, it gives me a tummy ache and nausea.
By now you are probably thinking that it is not worth me bothering to drink coffee and in that I guess you would be right.
One day, when I was in my third year at university, I decided I wanted to be more sophisticated (erm...was going through a weird phase obviously), and I wanted to drink more coffee, but wean myself off the sugar habit. My best friend persuaded me this was a good idea and that after approximately nineteen cups without sugar my brain would have become accustomed to coffee that was no longer sweet. It seemed a fair experiment. What I didn't reckon on at this time was how hard this would be to maintain when I was in Brazil. I went on a short-term mission with my university church to Recife on the North-East coast about a week or so after making this pledge to no longer sweeten coffee, and I found the Brazilian coffee very good but difficult to drink. Then a member of my team exclaimed in dismay that I was mad for drinking it unsweetened. He declared that Brazilian coffee was meant to be sweet, and introduced me to the syrup they had, which you only needed a smidgen of to make it taste like my usual four sugars, only better. Yummy - interestingly Brazilian coffee didn't make me feel sick either XD
So as you can gather I failed on the quest to becoming a sophisticated coffee drinker with no need of the saccharine. So what? I hardly drink it anyway.
But...but...but...I always think it's a good idea to have coffee at the time, and then I nearly always regret it afterwards. This morning I felt exceptionally tired, having gone late to bed last night and then waking up earlier than usual. My normal morning cup of tea had done little to snap me out of my zombie-like state, so as I walked past the very good independent coffee shop just a few doors down from my office I had to nip in and grab a takeaway coffee. The guy asked me how many sugars I wanted, and too embarassed by my usual four, I settled for three, which was bad enough! Anyway, it did the trick. I soon felt alert and ready to take on the day at work. But only a few minutes had passed before my tummy began to hurt :( And so the coffee had beaten me again. And the stupidity of it was that I knew that would happen, doh!
Was it worth it? Well I eventually felt better, but this afternoon I was back to my trusty cup of tea. And I think that is what I should stick to. Although I know deep down I will betray tea and resort to coffee again... It's only a matter of time.
But the Brazilians and my boyfriend do make good coffee, that doesn't make me ill, so there is hope yet. Just don't tell the tea leaves...
Wednesday, 22 April 2009
When Patience Wears Thin
Patience. What is that? Anyone care to tell me? I'm not sure that I am familiar with the term myself... Sarcasm and self-deprecation aside, patience is something I possess very little of. I wish I was more patient. In fact I am impatient to become patient! Argh! A vicious circle of impatience ensues, and I discover that I still don't get anywhere!
What am I impatient about at the moment in particular? Well two things - one is that I would like a different job to my current one that is substantially more fulfilling intellectually. Trying to find one such job in a recession is difficult to say the least. The competition is significantly higher than it otherwise would be, and therefore my arts degrees and basic office experience are not getting me very far. My impatience isn't helping this situation. I am grateful that I have a job, and I work for a fantastic organisation, but I am feeling the need to move on - now isn't really the time to do that it seems, but I am so impatient for change I struggle to sit back and count my blessings.
The second thing I am impatient about is my entire personality - well almost! I wish I was a better person. I know I am a work in progress, and I have a long way to go. I have wonderful friends, family, colleagues, and a brilliant boyfriend. Most importantly I have God. But I am not satisfied with myself. They all love me but I don't love myself very much at all. I wish I was more patient, amongst other things. But I also hate the fact that I seem to have turned into an anxious, stressy, moany person, who is taking it out on the very people I love. I am showing depressive symptoms, but I know that I am not clinically depressed. Gargh, what is wrong with me? I don't know! And I suspect that me not liking myself because of this isn't helping! And I am impatient for a fast solution to sorting the trouble out. Every time I declare I will moan about things less, I end up failing miserably. I can trust God to help me, and I can trust my loved ones to help me. Yet at the same time my very impatient nature lets me down because I want the changes to be immediate. I want to become brighter and happier within seconds. Funnily enough it doesn't work like that.
I accept that in many ways this will all be a learning process for me. When I look back at things in my past I see ways in which I grew and changed for the better, but at the time I didn't always see it like that. A lot can be said for the benefit of hindsight, as I am sure you all understand yourselves. Even knowing this hasn't quite helped me quell my impatience to be a better person.
Oh, my patience is wearing thin, but then there wasn't much there to begin with. It is rather like those cheap kitchen towels you get from the supermarket that can absorb one drop of tea, but otherwise become a messy great tear the minute you need them to mop up a proper spillage. I accept that the deepest flaw in my personality is my impatience, as it leads on to many negative responses on my part in my day to day life.
My fear now is that the patience of others will wear thin with me. Haven't they had enough of me yet? Why not? It is a grievance that has little grounding in reality. Yep, no doubt my moaning makes people impatient with me from time to time. My boyfriend lost his rag, quite rightly so, with me this very morning. We were both better for it afterwards though, and I snapped out of my mood pretty quickly as I was brought to my senses.
It's often what I need - a series of short, sharp shocks. God is most often the one to give me that metaphoric slap round the face - it often hurts at the time, smarts for a bit afterwards, but ultimately the pain disappears and you have come round to your senses. He constantly shows His love for me in so many amazing ways. All this, despite the fact I behave like a petulant child who wants their dinner before it has finished cooking. If the parent gave their child a half-cooked dinner it would be cold, probably taste vile, and be rather unsatisfying, not to mention there could be a risk of food poisoning making them regret the meal for some time afterwards. However, if the child had waited the dinner would be delicious, fulfilling, and it would have been well worth putting up with the hunger pangs just before it. The half-cooked meal leaves the child worse off than if she had waited for it to be finished and flavoured properly. Good things come to those who wait.
Sometimes I think I need my brain examined for steaming ahead with plans and ideas without stopping to think, without stopping to pray. That's what I have been doing with job applications, that's what I've been doing with trying to better myself. The end result is what? I still haven't found the answers and I am still not happy about things. I don't presume that by waiting I will be infinitely happy, but in my heart I want to do what is right, and to ensure that I am doing what is right I need to take a step back, I need to stop, I need to ask, I need to listen, I need to understand. Patience comes with time, and I am probably much better than when I was younger. Even so, trying to be patient about becoming patient is one of the most challenging things I am going through right now.
It's times like these when I frequently need to remind myself of the famous passage in Jeremiah 29:11: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you." The more I trust God with this the more I am able to wait calmly on Him. He is always there for me, and He has surrounded me with incredible people who love me, and somehow don't tire of me or give up on me, for which I am profoundly grateful. I don't always get my own way because I don't always realise what is best for me. God, however, knows what is best for me. Isn't that worth waiting for? I believe so, and pray that I can be patient to His will.
"Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him" Psalm 37: 7
PS. This one is for my boyfriend who has been impatient for me to post a new blog entry ;) And also because he deserves a gold medal for putting up with me.
What am I impatient about at the moment in particular? Well two things - one is that I would like a different job to my current one that is substantially more fulfilling intellectually. Trying to find one such job in a recession is difficult to say the least. The competition is significantly higher than it otherwise would be, and therefore my arts degrees and basic office experience are not getting me very far. My impatience isn't helping this situation. I am grateful that I have a job, and I work for a fantastic organisation, but I am feeling the need to move on - now isn't really the time to do that it seems, but I am so impatient for change I struggle to sit back and count my blessings.
The second thing I am impatient about is my entire personality - well almost! I wish I was a better person. I know I am a work in progress, and I have a long way to go. I have wonderful friends, family, colleagues, and a brilliant boyfriend. Most importantly I have God. But I am not satisfied with myself. They all love me but I don't love myself very much at all. I wish I was more patient, amongst other things. But I also hate the fact that I seem to have turned into an anxious, stressy, moany person, who is taking it out on the very people I love. I am showing depressive symptoms, but I know that I am not clinically depressed. Gargh, what is wrong with me? I don't know! And I suspect that me not liking myself because of this isn't helping! And I am impatient for a fast solution to sorting the trouble out. Every time I declare I will moan about things less, I end up failing miserably. I can trust God to help me, and I can trust my loved ones to help me. Yet at the same time my very impatient nature lets me down because I want the changes to be immediate. I want to become brighter and happier within seconds. Funnily enough it doesn't work like that.
I accept that in many ways this will all be a learning process for me. When I look back at things in my past I see ways in which I grew and changed for the better, but at the time I didn't always see it like that. A lot can be said for the benefit of hindsight, as I am sure you all understand yourselves. Even knowing this hasn't quite helped me quell my impatience to be a better person.
Oh, my patience is wearing thin, but then there wasn't much there to begin with. It is rather like those cheap kitchen towels you get from the supermarket that can absorb one drop of tea, but otherwise become a messy great tear the minute you need them to mop up a proper spillage. I accept that the deepest flaw in my personality is my impatience, as it leads on to many negative responses on my part in my day to day life.
My fear now is that the patience of others will wear thin with me. Haven't they had enough of me yet? Why not? It is a grievance that has little grounding in reality. Yep, no doubt my moaning makes people impatient with me from time to time. My boyfriend lost his rag, quite rightly so, with me this very morning. We were both better for it afterwards though, and I snapped out of my mood pretty quickly as I was brought to my senses.
It's often what I need - a series of short, sharp shocks. God is most often the one to give me that metaphoric slap round the face - it often hurts at the time, smarts for a bit afterwards, but ultimately the pain disappears and you have come round to your senses. He constantly shows His love for me in so many amazing ways. All this, despite the fact I behave like a petulant child who wants their dinner before it has finished cooking. If the parent gave their child a half-cooked dinner it would be cold, probably taste vile, and be rather unsatisfying, not to mention there could be a risk of food poisoning making them regret the meal for some time afterwards. However, if the child had waited the dinner would be delicious, fulfilling, and it would have been well worth putting up with the hunger pangs just before it. The half-cooked meal leaves the child worse off than if she had waited for it to be finished and flavoured properly. Good things come to those who wait.
Sometimes I think I need my brain examined for steaming ahead with plans and ideas without stopping to think, without stopping to pray. That's what I have been doing with job applications, that's what I've been doing with trying to better myself. The end result is what? I still haven't found the answers and I am still not happy about things. I don't presume that by waiting I will be infinitely happy, but in my heart I want to do what is right, and to ensure that I am doing what is right I need to take a step back, I need to stop, I need to ask, I need to listen, I need to understand. Patience comes with time, and I am probably much better than when I was younger. Even so, trying to be patient about becoming patient is one of the most challenging things I am going through right now.
It's times like these when I frequently need to remind myself of the famous passage in Jeremiah 29:11: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you." The more I trust God with this the more I am able to wait calmly on Him. He is always there for me, and He has surrounded me with incredible people who love me, and somehow don't tire of me or give up on me, for which I am profoundly grateful. I don't always get my own way because I don't always realise what is best for me. God, however, knows what is best for me. Isn't that worth waiting for? I believe so, and pray that I can be patient to His will.
"Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him" Psalm 37: 7
PS. This one is for my boyfriend who has been impatient for me to post a new blog entry ;) And also because he deserves a gold medal for putting up with me.
Thursday, 16 April 2009
Over Population
Ok, so now is the time for me to introduce some controversial subject material into my blog. Apparently over population is a taboo subject and environmentalists keep avoiding it for fear of upsetting people. So David Attenborough and co have decided to actively campaign about it. I was on the BBC website reading about this, and it led me to several links to other articles about over population.
What do I find? Well, at first the writers of these articles appear to be making interesting, and potentially valid points. If disagreeable the arguments raised are certainly worth thinking about. However, does one single person (writer or commentator) give one humane solution to the problem? With all their self-righteous whining what is their suggestion? Well many state that they won't have any children. Fine. Some say they will adopt. I am much more for this idea. Others are totalitarian, suggesting governmental control of the number of children people have, deciding who should be allowed to have children, or indeed some have even suggested mass culling. Hmmm... This is all because of the massive "carbon footprints" each individual allegedly generates. I wonder how many of the anti-population individuals take steps to reduce their "carbon footprint"? How many of them are using more than their fair share of resources? And at the same time how many large families (perceived in these articles to be families of five and upwards) have actually contributed to saving the planet? Well, I don't know the answer, but I can say with certainty that there are some individuals who use too much, and some families that don't. Likewise, I don't deny that can work the other way round, but my point is, who is really the judge of who, individually, is contributing worst to pollution and climate change? Well, I think that none of us are in a position to say who has more of a right to be on this planet than anyone else. And also, it is worth pointing out, that in Africa, where there are often large families, the overall "carbon footprints" are so much less than those of the UK and USA that it is frankly quite sickening. That is my first point of contention with such articles and their ensuing comments.
My second problem is this: I am one of three children myself. That makes my parents selfish apparently. I completely disagree! My brothers are two of my best friends. We grew up wearing hand-me-down clothes, often sharing toys (not all made of plastic either), supporting each other through thick and thin, and learning life lessons of friendship, caring and sharing. So, what does that lead to? More giving back to society. And yes, that includes helping the environment. Both my youngest brother and I have campaigned, volunteered, and at present I work for a charity that covers the issue of carbon emissions as a significant part of its workload. Some people may shrug and say, well that's just one family that turned out to be vaguely beneficial to state and planet. To an extent they may be right, I wouldn't like to say, but I happen to know other families of our size and bigger that are made up of some of the most wonderful people I know. Call it sentimentality if you will, but there it is, and my experience of this heavily influences my opinions on the matter. I'm not having a go at smaller families, I know just as wonderful people from those too, but merely defending those of us who come from the larger kind :)
My third problem is: there is something wrong with blindly accepting statistics of alleged future figures based on current population growth when external factors have not been taken into consideration. The statistics indicate how population is likely to increase, if it continues at the same trend, regardless of illness (especially those resulting in fatality), natural disaster, wars, personal choice to not have children etc. When these things are factored in then the outcome is somewhat different. Some of the comments I read say that we must act now to stem population growth before Mother Nature finds her own ways...erm...what? Hang on a sec... Isn't Mother Nature acting all the time anyway? Are there not a number of other terrifying natural occurrences (yes, some worsened or doubling in number by the humanly sped up climate change)? Add to this the nature of disease bacterium and viruses to multiply and change and consequently infect thousands... All this stuff is going on now! And it always has been! We are not waiting for more...we know that there will be more, and there has been much in the past! What do the anti-poulationists say to that? That we don't respond and let people die? It makes me think of the way Ebenezer Scrooge talks to the charity collectors in 'A Christmas Carol when they mention the plight of the poor. "If they are going to die then they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population!" To be fair to those anti-populationists, none of them have declared anything against humanitarian aid - but essentially, as humans, we do work to preserve our lives and the lives of others. If we can be strict on childbirth, then who's to say we won't become the same about who deserves to be helped to stay alive? Under their argument could they not say, "Well, we will save two of the children, but let the other four die, because they shouldn't have had that many in the first place!" The concept is disgusting isn't it? But, to me, it has the potential to be the result of these crazy suggestions about population control. Mind you, I have a tendency to get over-excited and melodramatic about all things of an Orwellian nature...but that's only because I fear there is some truth in the matter...
Placing restrictions on child numbers is not the answer to the problems of this world. It seems logical that a reduction in number of people would help the situation the world finds itself in, yet there is no way to go about this without damaging the human race completely. Penalising families who have more than two children could lead to forced abortions, isolation of those born who would be considered a "spare part" to the family and a burden on society, not to mention all manner of other social ills.
If you don't want children then don't have any. But don't stand there and judge all others as stupid or selfish just because they do.
The focus needs to be shifted and centred on the real solutions to the environmental problems in this world. Remember your three Rs firstly - Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. The main focus being on Reduce. Reduction of our use of resources is key, and we, in the UK, can all be held accountable for this. What characteristic helps with reduction of resources? The ability to share. How did I learn to share? I have two brothers.
What do I find? Well, at first the writers of these articles appear to be making interesting, and potentially valid points. If disagreeable the arguments raised are certainly worth thinking about. However, does one single person (writer or commentator) give one humane solution to the problem? With all their self-righteous whining what is their suggestion? Well many state that they won't have any children. Fine. Some say they will adopt. I am much more for this idea. Others are totalitarian, suggesting governmental control of the number of children people have, deciding who should be allowed to have children, or indeed some have even suggested mass culling. Hmmm... This is all because of the massive "carbon footprints" each individual allegedly generates. I wonder how many of the anti-population individuals take steps to reduce their "carbon footprint"? How many of them are using more than their fair share of resources? And at the same time how many large families (perceived in these articles to be families of five and upwards) have actually contributed to saving the planet? Well, I don't know the answer, but I can say with certainty that there are some individuals who use too much, and some families that don't. Likewise, I don't deny that can work the other way round, but my point is, who is really the judge of who, individually, is contributing worst to pollution and climate change? Well, I think that none of us are in a position to say who has more of a right to be on this planet than anyone else. And also, it is worth pointing out, that in Africa, where there are often large families, the overall "carbon footprints" are so much less than those of the UK and USA that it is frankly quite sickening. That is my first point of contention with such articles and their ensuing comments.
My second problem is this: I am one of three children myself. That makes my parents selfish apparently. I completely disagree! My brothers are two of my best friends. We grew up wearing hand-me-down clothes, often sharing toys (not all made of plastic either), supporting each other through thick and thin, and learning life lessons of friendship, caring and sharing. So, what does that lead to? More giving back to society. And yes, that includes helping the environment. Both my youngest brother and I have campaigned, volunteered, and at present I work for a charity that covers the issue of carbon emissions as a significant part of its workload. Some people may shrug and say, well that's just one family that turned out to be vaguely beneficial to state and planet. To an extent they may be right, I wouldn't like to say, but I happen to know other families of our size and bigger that are made up of some of the most wonderful people I know. Call it sentimentality if you will, but there it is, and my experience of this heavily influences my opinions on the matter. I'm not having a go at smaller families, I know just as wonderful people from those too, but merely defending those of us who come from the larger kind :)
My third problem is: there is something wrong with blindly accepting statistics of alleged future figures based on current population growth when external factors have not been taken into consideration. The statistics indicate how population is likely to increase, if it continues at the same trend, regardless of illness (especially those resulting in fatality), natural disaster, wars, personal choice to not have children etc. When these things are factored in then the outcome is somewhat different. Some of the comments I read say that we must act now to stem population growth before Mother Nature finds her own ways...erm...what? Hang on a sec... Isn't Mother Nature acting all the time anyway? Are there not a number of other terrifying natural occurrences (yes, some worsened or doubling in number by the humanly sped up climate change)? Add to this the nature of disease bacterium and viruses to multiply and change and consequently infect thousands... All this stuff is going on now! And it always has been! We are not waiting for more...we know that there will be more, and there has been much in the past! What do the anti-poulationists say to that? That we don't respond and let people die? It makes me think of the way Ebenezer Scrooge talks to the charity collectors in 'A Christmas Carol when they mention the plight of the poor. "If they are going to die then they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population!" To be fair to those anti-populationists, none of them have declared anything against humanitarian aid - but essentially, as humans, we do work to preserve our lives and the lives of others. If we can be strict on childbirth, then who's to say we won't become the same about who deserves to be helped to stay alive? Under their argument could they not say, "Well, we will save two of the children, but let the other four die, because they shouldn't have had that many in the first place!" The concept is disgusting isn't it? But, to me, it has the potential to be the result of these crazy suggestions about population control. Mind you, I have a tendency to get over-excited and melodramatic about all things of an Orwellian nature...but that's only because I fear there is some truth in the matter...
Placing restrictions on child numbers is not the answer to the problems of this world. It seems logical that a reduction in number of people would help the situation the world finds itself in, yet there is no way to go about this without damaging the human race completely. Penalising families who have more than two children could lead to forced abortions, isolation of those born who would be considered a "spare part" to the family and a burden on society, not to mention all manner of other social ills.
If you don't want children then don't have any. But don't stand there and judge all others as stupid or selfish just because they do.
The focus needs to be shifted and centred on the real solutions to the environmental problems in this world. Remember your three Rs firstly - Reduce, Reuse, Recycle. The main focus being on Reduce. Reduction of our use of resources is key, and we, in the UK, can all be held accountable for this. What characteristic helps with reduction of resources? The ability to share. How did I learn to share? I have two brothers.
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
The Prodigal Son
The parable of The Prodigal Son in the gospel of Luke was read at church on Easter Sunday. It is, the fifth time within a year that this parable has been brought to my attention. Less than a year ago I went to my parents' church to help with the youth service, the theme of which was The Prodigal Son. I was the narrator in the dramatisation my youngest brother had written. And since then I have been to another church service dedicated to this passage of Luke 15:11-32, studied it in house group and at the fellowship group at work, and there it was again this last Sunday.
There is nothing wrong with looking at something that many times in a year. Indeed, it's regular occurrence makes me question further the relevance to my own life and what it is God is trying to tell me through this famous story. That is because with God these things aren't just mere coincidences. It has been easy for me to accept the story as part and parcel of what I have been learning about God's grace over the past year. It's something that in the many years of being a Christian I have understood, yet how much have I really understood it? This past year I have realised the awesome power of God's saving grace in His Son, Jesus Christ, than I ever realised before. So amazing, breathtaking. I cannot even find the words to describe how awesome it is fully here.
The parable of the Prodigal Son focuses on this grace, this passionate love of God to save us. It is momentous, the father who welcomes the son back with open arms, a feast, no questions, nothing but pure love and joy. The son is ready with his protestations and his words of apology, but the father has already forgiven him - he has his son back! It is mind-blowing, and as such I considered the parable to tie-in exceptionally well with everything else I've been coming to grips with about the grace of our Lord.
However, it was on Sunday that I realised something else that God was saying to me through this parable. It is in verse 31. The eldest son of the father is angry that his brother is so readily accepted back into the family when he left them and squandered his inheritance on things of questionable morality. The eldest son is upset that no great party has ever been thrown for him, despite him doing good and working hard. Unlike the eldest son I am excited when someone becomes a Christian. It is worth celebrating in the way the father does for his youngest son. But the words the father says to the eldest son really do ring true with me. Why?
I became a Christian when I was five years old, which in the grand scheme of things, is pretty young! One of my childhood best friends took me along to Sunday School with him, where I first found out about Jesus and realised what He had done for me. It's quite dramatic for a five year old to get to grips with that, but in my child eyes it made perfect sense and was undoubtedly true. I believed it unquestionably. And through various trials and tribulations in the almost twenty years since then, I have come to know God more. We've had a pretty exciting child/parent relationship, and I played the part of rebellious teenager rather well. He is my Lord, my Father, and my best friend. And there have been numerous ups and downs, and yes, there have also been doubts and deeper investigation into my beliefs.
Nevertheless I became a Christian when I was five. There is perhaps nothing terribly remarkable about that. The thing is, becoming a Christian that young, has meant that through my life I have witnessed people become Christians through life-altering transformations. I have heard powerful testimonies of people's lives being changed fantastically, completely turned around. I have read inspired books about different people's journeys with Christ. And so, I have felt a little confused and even a little jealous that this is isn't how it happened for me. It has been bothering me more recently, enhanced perhaps by my boyfriend's own coming to Christ in recent times, and seeing the powerful transformation take place in his life. And that is why, on Sunday, verse 31 finally hit me in a unique way that answered my troubles about my young faith. The father says, "My son, you are always with me and everything I have is yours." Yes, I became a Christian young, but look at what that has meant for my life! I always knew God was with me, but I never understood it in this way. And I am sure there was a party in heaven the day I gave my life to Him at five years old. And I am also sure that I am just like the youngest son, in that every time I have strayed and wandered (sometimes ran) away from God and His will for my life, He has been there, looking out on the horizon for my return, welcoming me back with open arms and a love that can never be equalled.
There is nothing wrong with looking at something that many times in a year. Indeed, it's regular occurrence makes me question further the relevance to my own life and what it is God is trying to tell me through this famous story. That is because with God these things aren't just mere coincidences. It has been easy for me to accept the story as part and parcel of what I have been learning about God's grace over the past year. It's something that in the many years of being a Christian I have understood, yet how much have I really understood it? This past year I have realised the awesome power of God's saving grace in His Son, Jesus Christ, than I ever realised before. So amazing, breathtaking. I cannot even find the words to describe how awesome it is fully here.
The parable of the Prodigal Son focuses on this grace, this passionate love of God to save us. It is momentous, the father who welcomes the son back with open arms, a feast, no questions, nothing but pure love and joy. The son is ready with his protestations and his words of apology, but the father has already forgiven him - he has his son back! It is mind-blowing, and as such I considered the parable to tie-in exceptionally well with everything else I've been coming to grips with about the grace of our Lord.
However, it was on Sunday that I realised something else that God was saying to me through this parable. It is in verse 31. The eldest son of the father is angry that his brother is so readily accepted back into the family when he left them and squandered his inheritance on things of questionable morality. The eldest son is upset that no great party has ever been thrown for him, despite him doing good and working hard. Unlike the eldest son I am excited when someone becomes a Christian. It is worth celebrating in the way the father does for his youngest son. But the words the father says to the eldest son really do ring true with me. Why?
I became a Christian when I was five years old, which in the grand scheme of things, is pretty young! One of my childhood best friends took me along to Sunday School with him, where I first found out about Jesus and realised what He had done for me. It's quite dramatic for a five year old to get to grips with that, but in my child eyes it made perfect sense and was undoubtedly true. I believed it unquestionably. And through various trials and tribulations in the almost twenty years since then, I have come to know God more. We've had a pretty exciting child/parent relationship, and I played the part of rebellious teenager rather well. He is my Lord, my Father, and my best friend. And there have been numerous ups and downs, and yes, there have also been doubts and deeper investigation into my beliefs.
Nevertheless I became a Christian when I was five. There is perhaps nothing terribly remarkable about that. The thing is, becoming a Christian that young, has meant that through my life I have witnessed people become Christians through life-altering transformations. I have heard powerful testimonies of people's lives being changed fantastically, completely turned around. I have read inspired books about different people's journeys with Christ. And so, I have felt a little confused and even a little jealous that this is isn't how it happened for me. It has been bothering me more recently, enhanced perhaps by my boyfriend's own coming to Christ in recent times, and seeing the powerful transformation take place in his life. And that is why, on Sunday, verse 31 finally hit me in a unique way that answered my troubles about my young faith. The father says, "My son, you are always with me and everything I have is yours." Yes, I became a Christian young, but look at what that has meant for my life! I always knew God was with me, but I never understood it in this way. And I am sure there was a party in heaven the day I gave my life to Him at five years old. And I am also sure that I am just like the youngest son, in that every time I have strayed and wandered (sometimes ran) away from God and His will for my life, He has been there, looking out on the horizon for my return, welcoming me back with open arms and a love that can never be equalled.
Thursday, 9 April 2009
Castles
I love castles.
I think they are amazing. Why? I am a historian, I am a romantic, I am an escapist. Castles inspire all three of those elements of my personality. I grew up visiting castles as my family were members of both English Heritage and National Trust, and as we always holidayed at home in the UK, castles were often on our 'things to do and see' list. Growing up on the South Coast, where there are a number of castles and forts from different eras, has also helped fuel my passion, and yes, relatively geeky love of castles! Oh, and when we're talking castles, we're not talking stately homes. No, we are talking about the ones that were used as defences, many of which are utterly ruinous these days. I love castles so much that there is a strong chance, this blog continuing, that I will visit many and report back on them.
I visited one such building yesterday, which inspired me to write this post. I had a hospital appointment in the morning, and so took the day off work as holiday because it was easier than battling my way from one city to another to get into the office by lunchtime. My boyfriend accompanied me to the hospital. The day had started bleak, cloudy, and rainy, but after my appointment the skies had cleared and beautiful spring sunshine had broken through. So, having the day ahead of us to do as we pleased we took a train along the coast to the small village of Pevensey where there is a stunning ruined castle, these days owned by English Heritage.
Pevensey was one of the castles my family frequented most during my childhood. My parents loved it because it meant they could sit back and relax whilst my brothers and I ran around the ruins, playing all manner of Medieval themed make believe games, or just good old hide and seek. Yesterday it was quiet and peaceful. Despite it being the Easter holidays it wasn't a popular day for the castle, so my boyfriend and I could wander around, exploring every tower, relatively undisturbed.
I love Pevensey Castle because it is so quintessentially ancient. It started life as a Roman fort and was developed into a castle by the Normans shortly after the Battle of 1066, it survived four sieges, and was eventually abandoned in 1500 after it was no longer needed as a crucial defence point. And there it remained to eventually become ruins. The Roman wall still stands, and then the inner wall of the Norman castle remains inside it. There are a number of rooms to be explored, although with little in them. You can get some idea of its original shape - it was unusual in that it had seven towers, and you can make out the originally defensive position it once held. If you're interested you can read up on some of its basic history on the English Heritage website, which there is a link to in my list of favourite websites.
For me just being within those ruined walls offers a strange sense of tranquillity. It is perhaps bizarre when you consider what went on within the walls, and how lively they once were, particularly in times of war. Pevensey was also used as a state prison at one stage. It's not exactly a place that naturally falls into the category of peace, joy, and love! Even so, there is some romantic ideal about a building like that. It has been left open to the elements, to be weathered down, and for grass to grow and flourish within it, weeds to pop up and expand over its walls. It holds more power to me in this state than it would if it was completely intact and looking like a fully-functioning Medieval castle would. I can read up on the history if I want, and I can certainly imagine the lives of those lived there (however historically inaccurate those ideas may be!), and I prefer that to having the history all laid out before me, all the details filled in in stark technicolour. The mystery keeps history, and therefore castles, exciting.
Perhaps its just my over-imaginative historical mind seeing it that way. There are castles, like Dover, which have more too them. Dover is a lot more interactive, and as a result it does manage to bring history to life. I would have found the secret war-time tunnels there far less interesting if you weren't guided through and if some of the original equipment hadn't been kept down there.
But there is no escaping the peace and tranquillity a historian can gather from sitting amongst the castle ruins and appreciating the unknown element of history - sometimes having to sift through some great tome on this war and that battle is just plain boring. Sometimes castles that are also museums are fascinating places to be, with much to learn from, but other times those crumbling ruins that give a hint of what was past but otherwise submit to their fate of eroding back to nature are the exciting ones.
I love castles either way, and as a mere peasant I enjoy treading through their old corridors and ruined grounds piecing the history and archaeology together, or else just sitting back and letting my imagination do the work.
I think they are amazing. Why? I am a historian, I am a romantic, I am an escapist. Castles inspire all three of those elements of my personality. I grew up visiting castles as my family were members of both English Heritage and National Trust, and as we always holidayed at home in the UK, castles were often on our 'things to do and see' list. Growing up on the South Coast, where there are a number of castles and forts from different eras, has also helped fuel my passion, and yes, relatively geeky love of castles! Oh, and when we're talking castles, we're not talking stately homes. No, we are talking about the ones that were used as defences, many of which are utterly ruinous these days. I love castles so much that there is a strong chance, this blog continuing, that I will visit many and report back on them.
I visited one such building yesterday, which inspired me to write this post. I had a hospital appointment in the morning, and so took the day off work as holiday because it was easier than battling my way from one city to another to get into the office by lunchtime. My boyfriend accompanied me to the hospital. The day had started bleak, cloudy, and rainy, but after my appointment the skies had cleared and beautiful spring sunshine had broken through. So, having the day ahead of us to do as we pleased we took a train along the coast to the small village of Pevensey where there is a stunning ruined castle, these days owned by English Heritage.
Pevensey was one of the castles my family frequented most during my childhood. My parents loved it because it meant they could sit back and relax whilst my brothers and I ran around the ruins, playing all manner of Medieval themed make believe games, or just good old hide and seek. Yesterday it was quiet and peaceful. Despite it being the Easter holidays it wasn't a popular day for the castle, so my boyfriend and I could wander around, exploring every tower, relatively undisturbed.
I love Pevensey Castle because it is so quintessentially ancient. It started life as a Roman fort and was developed into a castle by the Normans shortly after the Battle of 1066, it survived four sieges, and was eventually abandoned in 1500 after it was no longer needed as a crucial defence point. And there it remained to eventually become ruins. The Roman wall still stands, and then the inner wall of the Norman castle remains inside it. There are a number of rooms to be explored, although with little in them. You can get some idea of its original shape - it was unusual in that it had seven towers, and you can make out the originally defensive position it once held. If you're interested you can read up on some of its basic history on the English Heritage website, which there is a link to in my list of favourite websites.
For me just being within those ruined walls offers a strange sense of tranquillity. It is perhaps bizarre when you consider what went on within the walls, and how lively they once were, particularly in times of war. Pevensey was also used as a state prison at one stage. It's not exactly a place that naturally falls into the category of peace, joy, and love! Even so, there is some romantic ideal about a building like that. It has been left open to the elements, to be weathered down, and for grass to grow and flourish within it, weeds to pop up and expand over its walls. It holds more power to me in this state than it would if it was completely intact and looking like a fully-functioning Medieval castle would. I can read up on the history if I want, and I can certainly imagine the lives of those lived there (however historically inaccurate those ideas may be!), and I prefer that to having the history all laid out before me, all the details filled in in stark technicolour. The mystery keeps history, and therefore castles, exciting.
Perhaps its just my over-imaginative historical mind seeing it that way. There are castles, like Dover, which have more too them. Dover is a lot more interactive, and as a result it does manage to bring history to life. I would have found the secret war-time tunnels there far less interesting if you weren't guided through and if some of the original equipment hadn't been kept down there.
But there is no escaping the peace and tranquillity a historian can gather from sitting amongst the castle ruins and appreciating the unknown element of history - sometimes having to sift through some great tome on this war and that battle is just plain boring. Sometimes castles that are also museums are fascinating places to be, with much to learn from, but other times those crumbling ruins that give a hint of what was past but otherwise submit to their fate of eroding back to nature are the exciting ones.
I love castles either way, and as a mere peasant I enjoy treading through their old corridors and ruined grounds piecing the history and archaeology together, or else just sitting back and letting my imagination do the work.
Monday, 6 April 2009
Spring
Stuck for inspiration as I have been recently, it seemed obvious to look around me, and there it all is, right before me: beautiful spring.
I absolutely love this time of year. Everything coming to life once again. The trees growing greener by the day, brightly-coloured flowers blooming, birdsong filling the air. It is a season of beauty and peace, especially when out in the countryside. I live in the South Downs, and whichever way I choose to leave my house, I can eventually arrive at some countryside, either the Downs themselves, the river bank, or woods and copses. All of these areas are teeming with nature, and are a far cry from the city where I work. I am prone to stress and anxiety, and just being outside in the open countryside gives me an overwhelming peace that reduces my stress-levels to zilch.
It's kind of obvious that I should welcome spring. I suffer from ye olde winter blues (known as SAD - seasonal affective disorder), which, for me, is characterised by bouts of depression and tiredness through late autumn and all of winter. I can be very happy throughout this time as well, but my mood is often low, and once low, difficult to lift. In the spring however, when a low mood occurs, just spending some time outdoors is medicine enough.
Spring has it's downsides though. The onset of hayfever for one, ho hum. The spring gales and rains can be frustrating too - you're always left with that dilemma of needing to take a rain mac or umbrella with you, even when it is beautiful sunshine out, just in case! Having said that, spring rains are ultimately refreshing, and just contribute to the beauty of the season further still.
Yep, generally I love spring. The mild temperatures suit me - I'm not good with extremes. Spring flowers are stunning. The bank holidays are always welcome. The longer daylight hours mean that I can return from work in the daylight and feel like I have a longer evening ahead of me. The joy of seeing newborn lambs in the fields is the same as it was for me when I was little. You can smell summer on the breeze. There is a renewed sense of that freedom and relaxation I used to get when I was at university at the end of deadlines just before the Easter holidays, and of the end of exams in May.
I think my one real resentment towards spring is that the sun is shining out there while I'm in an office in central London, grrr. Ah well, it just makes the weekends all the more precious, and thank goodness for the four spring bank holidays, eh?
I absolutely love this time of year. Everything coming to life once again. The trees growing greener by the day, brightly-coloured flowers blooming, birdsong filling the air. It is a season of beauty and peace, especially when out in the countryside. I live in the South Downs, and whichever way I choose to leave my house, I can eventually arrive at some countryside, either the Downs themselves, the river bank, or woods and copses. All of these areas are teeming with nature, and are a far cry from the city where I work. I am prone to stress and anxiety, and just being outside in the open countryside gives me an overwhelming peace that reduces my stress-levels to zilch.
It's kind of obvious that I should welcome spring. I suffer from ye olde winter blues (known as SAD - seasonal affective disorder), which, for me, is characterised by bouts of depression and tiredness through late autumn and all of winter. I can be very happy throughout this time as well, but my mood is often low, and once low, difficult to lift. In the spring however, when a low mood occurs, just spending some time outdoors is medicine enough.
Spring has it's downsides though. The onset of hayfever for one, ho hum. The spring gales and rains can be frustrating too - you're always left with that dilemma of needing to take a rain mac or umbrella with you, even when it is beautiful sunshine out, just in case! Having said that, spring rains are ultimately refreshing, and just contribute to the beauty of the season further still.
Yep, generally I love spring. The mild temperatures suit me - I'm not good with extremes. Spring flowers are stunning. The bank holidays are always welcome. The longer daylight hours mean that I can return from work in the daylight and feel like I have a longer evening ahead of me. The joy of seeing newborn lambs in the fields is the same as it was for me when I was little. You can smell summer on the breeze. There is a renewed sense of that freedom and relaxation I used to get when I was at university at the end of deadlines just before the Easter holidays, and of the end of exams in May.
I think my one real resentment towards spring is that the sun is shining out there while I'm in an office in central London, grrr. Ah well, it just makes the weekends all the more precious, and thank goodness for the four spring bank holidays, eh?
Friday, 3 April 2009
Writing
Mmm, so, I love to write. It is one of the things I love to do most in the world. So starting a blog seemed like a good idea. What was not a good idea was not knowing what to start my blog with... I have something of a writer's block right at this moment in time. Not helpful. It's not that I can't think of anything to write, it's that I don't know where to start!
I am always seeing things and being inspired by things around me, and wanting to put them into words, but I rarely get these thoughts and daydreams down on paper. It's not that I want to write all that I am thinking, but rather I know it would be good practice (as my writing skills have suffered in recent months) to get some of those thoughts immortalised in words. I hope my blog can help me with this, but right now I really need to decide where to start...
Mmm...I'll get back to you on it!
I am always seeing things and being inspired by things around me, and wanting to put them into words, but I rarely get these thoughts and daydreams down on paper. It's not that I want to write all that I am thinking, but rather I know it would be good practice (as my writing skills have suffered in recent months) to get some of those thoughts immortalised in words. I hope my blog can help me with this, but right now I really need to decide where to start...
Mmm...I'll get back to you on it!
The Blog Bandwagon
So here I am to have a go at blogging, something I've been thinking of doing for awhile. Watch this space...
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