Perception...
... for Knots in the String...
It’s interesting, isn’t it, how we perceive ourselves.
This thought crossed my mind over the weekend when I attended a course and as the woman who sat next to me spoke, I envied her confidence, her incredible life and how she copes on her own after a fairly tumultuous existence. She was a ray of sunshine, a sunflower and I came home each day of the course feeling energised by her enthusiasm, her humour and her downright niceness.
She asked me what I do with myself and I could feel that shrinking back into the chair sensation, not wanting to say because I don’t want to be perceived as… what? I have no idea… And then another friend on the course mentioned I was a writer and so I girded myself and explained. But I always feel embarrassed about it. It’s never that I’m ashamed of my writing, far from it. But I don’t like speaking aloud about it. Why? Oh golly, I have no idea. Hiding lights behind bushels and things? I honestly don’t know.
It’s different talking here on Substack. There’s a degree of anonymity, I suppose, because its not face to face, and I can draw a line in the sand with how much I want to divulge, or not. Anyway, my new acquaintance and I continued to talk and she found out I danced, wild swam, stitched hearts and other things, and painted. But in my little girl’s mind, way back in the days of yore, I could feel a whisper and that, dear friends, is perhaps why I don’t talk much when asked what I do.
As a child, I live an exceptional Swallows and Amazons life and if I mentioned it at school, I was pilloried. Perhaps with envy, who knows? I was also a tubby kid and experienced too much bullying and so there’s always been part of me that’s wanted to justify myself, and part of me that’s wanted to hide. Part of me too that has been driven by that childhood anxiety.
Then as a wife and with two young children on the ground, I used to attend various swish-o functions with my husband through his career. I remember one dinner in particular, superb food, and arty-farty glitterati in attendance. It was the age of women breaking out, climbing ladders to break that glass ceiling and I was asked what I did. All eyes drifted to me – an awful spotlight, my heart pounded and then I thought, ‘Bugger it.’ And so, coiffed and with rather nice make-up and dressed in a beautiful silk skirt and shirt, I added the thought, ‘I will hold my own…’ Swallowing, I said, ‘I’m a stay-at-home mum. Best time of my life.’ And do you know, I meant it. My two children were gorgeous – my son, 2, my daughter 7. She used to run out of school at the end of the day and crush me in such a hug. What glass ceiling is better than that? But back at the dinner-party, mouths stretched linear, eyes glazed over and conversation moved on. I found myself talking to a French-Australian artist, a famous name with a cherubic face reminiscent of the work she painted, and she was so funny and interesting, that she made the night for me. I never forgot her. I forgot everyone else but never forgot the anxiety prior to my fight-or-flight statement at that dinner.
So there’s all that rattling round inside – which is why I love solitude and quiet and doing my own thing. I don’t have to justify it to anyone, I’m happy doing what I do. But apart from this newsletter, I really never talk to anyone much about what I do. Would they be interested anyway? And finally, in my seventies I’m beginning to realise that’s okay.
Took time to get there, didn’t I?
Other things:
There’s been no swimming sadly. We’ve had a week of swells and waves and that’s a red flag for me. But the good news is that the swells preceded a southeasterly weather system which traditionally brings rain to our coast. We had thought maybe 5 mls, 15 if the Gods were smiling. But we got 78 mls – 3 inches! Because the rocky gorge surrounding the district dams has little soil, the rain flowed off the boulders and the primary and secondary dams are now overflowing. If there’s a negative, it’s that silt from further up the catchment is now flowing down the river and out into the bay and so my swimming beach is brown.
But it’s as it must be. We needed the rain and the sea will clean rapidly over the next couple of weeks and then I’m back into the chilled water, doing my best jellyfish interpretation and maybe some freestyle if I’m brave enough to put my head under. But rain we have had and golly we’re happy!
(Beautiful AAAA merino wool from Camden Farm)
Fortunate then that we finished shearing literally hours before the rains came. The sheep are robust and in excellent condition, thanks to our son’s sheep husbandry and the weather is mild, with no wind. So they coped brilliantly with the lack of fleece and with pregnancy. As long as they had full bellies – lucerne hay and barley grain – happy as pigs in mud.
I was very privileged this last weekend to attend a stitching workshop where we learned about the Bayeux Tapestry and the particular stitch that most medieval embroiderers used. We stitched a ship based on an 800 AD rendition within Aachen Cathedral. For 7 historical fiction novels, I’ve talked of women sitting in solars embroidering and this is the stitch they would have used.
There was a moment, where we were listening to a Hildegarde von Bingen chant
We contemporary women were silent as needles plied, and I closed my eyes to see Soeur Cecile or maybe it was Ysabel, Gisborne’s ladywife, stitching, heads bowed over the linens or silks that came from Gisborne’s trading house. Fresh images, so clear, and I realised I look forward to returning to that 12th century world next year with The Oblate.
I was supposed to attend a session of the inaugural literary festival here on the island this week. But we had been busy and I was too tired and stiff to use my ticket. Instead, we walked the Pupsicle in a night-time river fog drifting down the Derwent River. I’ve never been in such atmosphere as the brume masked the lights and shapes of the eastern shore. A phantom fuel tanker hooted its way past the Garrow Light and the Pilot’s Boat was barely discernible apart from hazy port and starboard lights and a thrumming motor that was muzzled by the layers of mist. A longhaired dachshund and its owner appeared out of the gloom and the dogs greeted each other civilly as we exchanged pleasantries and oohed and aahed over the unusual night.
This new outdoor experience beat the literary session hands down. Will I regret that I missed mingling with more literati? Maybe. Most likely not. Perhaps I’m not really a writer after all.
I’m reading a beautiful book currently - a keep-on-the-shelves-forever kind of book. Kathleen Hart crossed my bows as https://substack.com/@poshpedlar and her daily life in the Machars of Scotland fanned the fires of my own coastal life. But I discovered very quickly that Kathleen is far more doughty than I. To survive as she has done, to have created the life she has as she crawled from under the worst odds, I dare you to read this and not be inspired. What a beautiful little community she inhabits. I just want the friend who watches over her as she wild swims to bring me a hot toddy and some shortbread as well!
Back to perception again – my life feels so limited compared to PoshPedlar’s. For sure, I believe life is short and that we must make the most of every moment of every day and if that is all that Posh and I have in common, then it must surely be enough. Don’t you think?
No music this week. Instead, a delightful short movie – about shearing and even fogs and rains of a sort. It all depends on your perception, I suppose…
Oh my goodness Prue!! What has happened to your self-confidence!! The Prue we see on these pages is gracious and generous, someone to be looked up to, someone who tries and succeeds at so many things!
Yes, you’re an introvert, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a good writer who wasn’t!!! There’s a huge number of people in this world who would much rather experience an intriguing foggy walk than attend a literary ‘event’! I am most definitely one of them. I’m not sure you could pay me to go to that sort of thing anymore.
Anyway, I’m sending heaps of uplifting thoughts, just as you have added some glorious uplifting images to my afternoon. Thank goodness for the rain! Thank goodness the sheep are shorn! Thank goodness you get to sample those amazing crafts! Thank goodness for that foggy walk.
Sending heaps of hugs and best wishes dear Prue. 🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗
Such a resonant post Prue. I knew when I was reading it that you would get a lot of like-minded souls chiming in and sure enough, the comments are heart-filled too. You have drawn in a lovely group of thoughtful, introspective people who so much appreciate your wise observations.
I always felt that even when I had a job to describe in answer to 'what I do' it was either never a good enough job (or not noble enough), nor was it really describing who I am or was. It just felt fraught to answer. Now like when people ask where I am from. Always a long pause whilst quickly judging what they might be prepared to hear as an answer.
Anyway, we all love the work that you do and that you share with us. It is always enough and always a pleasure to read and mull over. And Hooray for rain!!!!