You know when your favourite show basically does a compilation show? An episode showing the best bits, compiled of clips from previous episodes?
I think I'm going to do a post a bit like that.
You see, I made the mistake of catching up on recent posts by my fellow addicts, and now my brain and heart is fizzing with warm and curious feelings. There's so many things I want to say!
I couldn't agree more with Christina. Every post on this blog makes me want to go, "oooh, yes, and what about....?" so I'm going to indulge myself with just that.
Liz's post on the family fishermen reading Morte D'Arthur gave me shivers, because it's a book I read quite early on in my English schooling. I did, I think, a comparison essay on Arthurian legends, reading the Mallory, Tennyson, and The Sword at Sunset by Rosemary Sutcliffe. It was an early example of my English teacher, Mr Bennett, leading me into challenging and unusual waters. He's one of those influencial people who are the totems of my writing past, and the reason for my writing future.
|View from the top, looking North across Derwent Water|
Like Brigid, I loved the Olympics, as much for the stories - or imagined versions - of the competitors as for the sport itself. I was so PROUD of them for everything they've achieved, and so in awe of the sacrifices that I know must lie behind the gold medals and the smiles and the flags. I can't watch a single BBC Olympics clip without welling up. I think what inspired me the most is that sacrifice and dedication - and the way everyone thanked the crowd, the volunteers, the military.... it felt like OUR victory.
I can identify so much with Susanna's post on recharging. It's easy to say where my special place like that is - Castle Crag, a tiny but dramatic little knoll in Borrowdale, a perfect combination of crag and forest, history and landscape, memory and happiness. It was the first fell I climbed by myself (although knowing Dad, he probably followed me, ducking behind rocks and into mines whenever I looked round). Old myths talk about sorcerers putting their heart, or their soul, somewhere else to keep them safe from enemies. Castle Crag is my heart's place.
I am ashamed to say I think it's been several years since I last went up there. This must change.
And I'll leave you with a Best Bit from our weekend. Our Giant Cat (Frankenpippi? Miss Pippi's Monster?) for our village's Scarecrow Festival, together with her inspiration.