There was a stunning sky this morning, as the others slept. A beautiful pink light filtered in between blinds and curtains.
Lydia
Students are not fools. They were, after all, once young children who if they reached too close to an open flame might well have gotten a smack on the hand, or a scary lecture about the dangers of third degree burns (skin grafts, my child, unimaginable pain) and never did it again. Decades later they too often apply those same lessons to writing: red ink = bad. Do not do that again. Which, in turn, risks molding a young writer into someone who forsakes creativity into someone whose core skill is avoiding pain.
Writerland Chapter 79: Don’t Be So Mean by Michael Shapiro
Emphasis mine.
I have been thinking recently about the disconnect between certain political ideologies and the perceived general consensus, or at least an apparent direction of travel of collective thought, and how this disconnect is in a constant state of flux depending on many, many cultural and historical factors. I think, despite everything right now, there is hope for various reasons: but one of these reasons is that there has been a shift – generational, to some extent, though that’s an over-simplification – away from the credibility of striving, and the drive to constantly strive. Instead, people have been reminded of – or introduced to – a concept of life where to achieve notional goals or amass wealth is not the be all and end all. And, as a result, there has been a move to considering how the state might – and should – support those who value the value of life, rather than value of things.
Here’s a photo of Auri yesterday looking angelic as she cuts some cucumber with Euan using her new safety knife. I like looking at photos like this when she’s being a hellchild, like she has been tonight. It helps remind me that, most of the time, she’s pretty great company.
Usually, most mornings, Euan and Scapa get up early-early and go for a walk. They come back, Scapa has her breakfast, and Euan goes back to bed for an hour or two. I get up not too long after this.
This morning, I was up before them, which resulted in Scapa deciding to eat her breakfast with me. She took a mouthful of kibble from her bowl in the kitchen (chicken munched promptly first), came to sit next to me in the sitting room, chomped it up, then went back for more and repeated this process.
Then, she proceeded to refuse to let me do anything except stroke her. Writing, shopping list, everything else be de damned. Eventually, she settled down like this.