What’s the Story in Dalamory

May Sarton is a favourite diarist or journaller of mine. She has soothed me into many a good night's sleep. I wonder what she would have made of blogs. I expect she would have been very good at it. She realised the value of writing a journal rather than a daily diary. It is too easy to get discouraged and give up if a couple of days are missed. I fell foul of that in the 1970s when I decided to try a page a day diary, instead of my usual A4 journal. It was useless. Far better to go back to writing when I felt like it. Then there can be no such thing as writer's block.

As I have got older it has been my custom to have a “birthday month”. This year I shall be sixty, so it seems a good idea to have a “birthday year”. So far I have a sheet of paper headed with Sixty Things To Do in my Sixtieth Year. The trouble is that there is nothing o­n the list yet. I guess that either means I have a pretty good life, or I am too boring to think of anything new.

It made me chuckle to discover that the Library Van had no books left o­n dieting this week. And there are wholesale groans when anyone produces a box of chocolates. A similar thing happens over party invitations. I guess we are all glad to be getting back to some semblance of ordinary life. If o­nly the weather and hours of daylight would accommodate that feeling.

Still it is o­nly 72 days until the first day of spring.

Has no-one else twigged that all the disruption to flights because of security fears, is actually achieving an end in itself? I agree that we all want to feel as safe as possible when flying, and I realise that if nothing is done and tragedy strikes then the aftermath is unbearable… so what do we do about it?

At the very least we should be encouraging research into terrorism, and looking at new methods to deal with it.

A new cat blanket has been added to the collection adorning the cat's favourite chairs. This should help with cleanliness. The o­nly trouble is that he really, really prefers sitting o­n people.

That is cats for you.

Back to normal after the Christmas and New Year festivities – what a relief.
Funny how decorations can look wonderful and exciting when we put them up in the middle of December, but sad and tired as we approach Twelfth Night.

So – they have to go.
Back into the loft with them.

Funny how marks o­n a piece of paper are significant. Today as the last day of the “old year” holds a special place in folk-lore. Both my grandmother and  mother used to insist that the house be cleaned from top to bottom. Not content with merely sweeping and dusting, the cupboards had to be cleaned, all the contents turned out and washed, brushed and put back in pristine order. Just before midnight the hot ashes had to be removed from the fire – at great risk to life and limb and likely to disturb the spotless look of the carpet. Then there was the countdown itself and the solemn listening for Big Ben o­n the radio.

It seems that nowadays the old traditions have largely disappeared, though I confess rather sneakily to a liking for a tidy house o­n 31st December. People either ignore the coming of the New Year altogether or go overboard.  Whatever else it does, it helps to focus the mind o­n the passing of time, and for me that means recognising the frailty of human life.

Enjoy each moment – because now is all we can be sure of.

In the last few years I have tended towards the idea of having a Birthday Month. It has helped to soften the fact of ageing rather nicely. Not that I have managed to find time for many treats, but it is a good excuse for spoiling myself occasionally. 2004 sees another significant birthday with a zero at the end of it. Thus, I have awarded myself a Birthday Year. Very sensible.

So what can I do today?
Happy New Year

Watched the video of the film starring Billy Connolly. The director was obviously into arty pseudo-sepia backgrounds and overly loud music, but o­nce the storyline became clear, it was rather enjoyable to see both religious leaders and insurance executives squirming. Both types of institution tend to be so wealthy as to be obscene. But then nowadays there is far more wealth around in the general populace compared to a hundred years ago.

Funny how discontented human beings still are.

Hard to remember that he was 75. I remember being slightly embarrassed at a show he compered at the Alhambra in Glasgow in 1963. Yet he became respectable and a favourite “old-timer”. In my mind he will always be linked with Black Magic chocolates, because that is what my date bought me. Such luxury it seemed at the time.

All the years go by.