Electric waterlilies

I forgot to lock my back door last night. No, I am not going doo lally. I was a bit shook up after a minor fender bender and I suppose I didn't do my normal double, triple check thing. Plus two of my lights had blown and it was dark in half the house and I focused on not tripping over my own feet and not if a door was not locked properly. Did I get murdered in my bed? Obviously, not. Did some stranger wander in and rob me blind. No, all safe and accounted for. But yes, I will be doing the double triple check tonight and of course I did get the bulbs replaced in the light fittings, so at least I can see what is what and who is who while wandering around my house at night. Not that I have ever worried about being unsafe where I live. I have been fortunate in that I live next to a policeman. Okay, the view from their house to mine is interrupted by lots of leafy green trees etc, so even if I was in dire distress the chances of them seeing me are minimal. But it gives me a strange sense of security knowing that they are just a scream away. I have had my fill of living in homes that I felt afraid to walk around and now I purposely choose houses that are ... I want to say 'boring' ... but no, I will say secure. There were times when we were drugged by felons spraying us with knock-out stuff through our bedroom windows, and at other times, having thugs rob us while we stood by helplessly. I admire the people who stayed behind in South Africa to face that lifestyle. But we decided that catching a plane to a safer clime and country was the better part of valour and I am happy with our choices. Tough as they were. I can now hang my washing out on the line without fear of being attacked in my own back yard. I can go to the ATM without checking behind me six hundred times for men or women with weapons ready to take all my money. And yes, both of those scenarios did happen in my homeland. This week is Halloween and I will happily sit on my front doorstep with a bowl of treats to hand out to the kids ... and wave to my neighbours and chat to strangers and it will be fantastic. I might even dress up just for fun. After all it is a Celtic tradition and I do have a fair sprinkling of the Celt in me.

Are you afraid to be alone? Timothy Wilson, a social psychologist, working in America did a study where he asked university students to put away their phones and devices etc and sit quietly, all alone in a room, for a short amount of time. Half the participants did not enjoy this. So the psychologist then put them in a room and asked them if they would allow themselves to be shocked electrically .. for money. Of course, most said no. But then, they were asked to enter a special room. The room had a self inflicting button to induce electric shock ... and the participants were there .. all wired up ... for about 15 minutes .. all alone.... no phone, no distractions, just them and their thoughts. 67% of the men hit the button. Yes, really. They preferred electric shock to sitting doing nothing. And women? 25% shocked themselves. I know, what were they thinking? Or didn't they want to think? We have brains filled with ideas and memories, fantasies and stories. And yet, these people didn't want to delve into their inner selves. Or are our inner thoughts too scary to contemplate. Maybe they thought 'might as well give it a go seeing as I am already wired up?' I mean it is a chance in a lifetime to shock yourself in a controlled environment. I once touched an electric fence ... I won't say shocking .. but it was pretty awful. I can see why horses and cows stay well away from the fences. Not my idea of fun. I would rather sit and stare at a blank wall for an hour than go through that again. My husband might have shocked himself ... he hated sitting doing nothing. He always said he was an 'active relaxer'. Energizer bunny would be more appropriate. He was wired to move and his idea of torture was to sit quietly and listen to people prattle on about themselves. He would not have been a good psychologist. Very practical, no airy fairy thoughts in his head. A always equalled A and never B. He called himself a concrete thinker and I would agree.

An elderly man and his wife supposedly decided to kill themselves. Yes, this is a true story but I can't remember their names. She died first and as she lay dying in the room .. he played Solitaire on the computer until he too tried to kill himself .. unsuccessfully. Surely if your loved one was dead in the next room, you would want to think about your life together. Dreams you had in your youth, goals you had achieved, love and loss. Whatever. But no, this man felt that playing a mindless game of cards was better than thinking. He was a lawyer, so no shortage of interesting memories. Well who knows what he was going through. Last week I was helping teach a group of Primary school students to paint pictures. The idea was that they were to be the central character in a painting of an activity. Some of the children painted themselves as the smallest person on the page. I told them that psychologically the fact that they were small, was because they did not think they were important. I encouraged my group to be bold. Pretend that they were the Superman of their lives and paint themselves accordingly. I asked them to tap into their deepest thoughts and desires. One girl drew herself playing basketball and throwing the ball directly at her opponent's head. Pretty drastic. But finally she could be the hero of her own sporting fantasy. Even if it was a bit violent. One boy sat and spoke about wanting to be the best ball player on his team, so he filled his page up with himself, with feet and hands stretching off the paper. I was so proud. Children need to feel that they are the heroes of their lives and allow themselves the power to believe that anything is possible. Rorschach test (ink blot test) came a close second to reading these kids psyche beliefs through their images.

I bought a whole slew of old wooden windows yesterday. I hope to replace my defective sun-room with a patchwork of glorious glass. We went to the demolition yards and oh my, what a wonderland of weird and fantastic old stuff. Stained glass Church windows sat cheek by jowl with the practical and mundane. There was a massive door that would dwarf the whole front of my house. Huge. To buy that I would have needed to hire a crane and a large truck to get it home ... and then a dozen or so people, with muscles, to erect it. I have been thinking of creating garden 'rooms'. Where you go through a door or gate and find yourself in a totally different environment. From control and clipped hedges .. and one step later and you are in a tropical paradise. Okay, I know there is no way I will ever actually do this. It would take much more energy than I ever can tap into. But maybe a small gate and behind that will be a beautiful pond with a water nymph sprouting clear water into a stream that flows into .... well I haven't thought that far yet. At the moment I have a weed filled garden with a plastic tub that is housing a few water plants. The cats love it and use it as their own personal water bowl.

I once visited the waterlily gardens in Mauritius. Where the leaves of the waterlilies are so large it feels like you could dance across the surface without ever getting your feet wet. Pamplemousse Botanical gardens. Gorgeous. Each leaf is 2 to 3 meters wide ...(yards in the old vernacular). I have no idea if these amazing plants grow anywhere else in the world but can you imagine having a pond like that in your back yard? Well my backyard is more like the size of a tablecloth, so I doubt these plants would ever grow here in my neck of the woods. But oh, I can dream. I presume there were all sorts of frogs and toads hidden under the surface ... not ideal to use as a swimming pool. But pretty special anyway. The other option is to make my garden rooms miniature. More like fairy gardens, but I just don't think that would feed my soul somehow. I could look at changing my existing garden gates (I have three gates) with some ornate doors .... with peeling blue and gold paint maybe? One of the ladies that was helping with the school painting assignment was horrified at our lack of precision with our painting techniques.... don't think she would appreciate my idea of rustic garden rooms. She would have those doors sanded down in no time flat .. and painted all nice and shiny. Me? I love the peeling and cracked, the imperfections and happy mistakes. Does that reflect my inner turmoil-ed, troubled soul? Who knows? Don't care. Give me odd and crazy to matchy matchy bland beige any day.