Moustaches

 

“A kiss without a moustache is like an egg without salt.”

This saying dates back to Victorian times. The origin is unknown but has been cited to various authors, Rudyard Kipling, Rose Wilder Lane and Jean-Paul Sartre, who is thought to have added “and it is like Good without Evil”.

I remember my dad saying it a lot, when he grew a moustache in his later years. It was just ordinary, nothing stylish. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. He had new glasses at the same time and his whole appearance changed from the happy looking man with a kind face I adored, into someone I felt like I needed to be very wary of. He looked like a cross between the horrid piano teacher I used to have and the equally horrid landlord of a flat I used to rent. Fortunately, my father didn’t stink of stale cigars and his moustache wasn’t stained dirty yellow with nicotine like my piano teacher. Dad disliked the landlord as much as I did and I would tease him about being a copycat. It was a relief when that moustache was shaved off, though the glasses remained.

Each to their own, of course, but isn’t a high maintenance styled moustache over the top and time consuming? Personally, I like a beard attached, but I’m only seeing the results, not looking after it.

The music I favoured in the ‘60s and ‘70s, was progressive rock and symphonic rock. Band members with long hair and often moustaches and beards. I found this poem that took me back to those young, impressionable times. And the music is the same and always there, with a few new bands collected along the way. The poem is by American poet, Gershon Wolf.

Freaky and Weird

We grew our hair down to our shoulders
Hirsute, we were, moustaches and beards,
Turned up our noses at those who were older
‘Cos we were so hip, so freaky, so weird.

Revved up our stereos, going stone-deaf,
Dropped pill after pill, of common sense bereft,
Wore psychedelic threads to match our psychedelic brains.
We thought ourselves ‘free’, but we were really in chains.

Don’t ask me if the Sixties were ‘wonderful years!’
- Just leave me alone with my cigars and my beer.

                                                                    Gershon Wolf

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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God - Keeping My Faith

 

I believe in God. I don’t know what God looks like and I wouldn’t know where to start to guess. God’s appearance is not important, it’s the sense of being I reach out to and, for me, God is a presence to be aware of rather than something visible.  I have what my husband would call ‘blind faith’. I get what he means, but to me my Christian faith is not blind.  Each to their own and we respect our opposite views. We trust each other to follow our funeral wishes, but hopefully they won’t be needed for a while yet.

Before school broke up for the Christmas break, I was in the infant’s library with a small group of children. I was asked if there was a book about Egypt and luckily I found something considered ‘perfect’. Bright and polite, the boy went on to explain to me that his family were from Egypt and don’t celebrate Christmas, so they were going there for the holidays to visit family and show off the new baby. He wanted to learn about the country before he went. I was pleased to help. I learnt a lot about his culture that afternoon. It was nice to catch up with him in the new term. His family visit had been very good and he’d been much warmer than we were.

It’s not unusual for my six year old grandson to have us in fits of laughter. He has a natural wit about him, inherited from his mum. One family tea time he commanded attention with, “Listen everybody, if I was the Son of God...” he proceeded to list the things he’d do to make a perfect world with lots of football and Roblox involved.  I wanted to know where this had come from so I asked him who the Son of God is. Confusion or Marvel characters had taken over as his answer was something about a man who lives in our heads and eats our brains.  

I’ve turned to God for help and guidance throughout my life. Growing up without my mother, who died young, was hard. Difficulties were magnified by my father’s swift remarriage which resulted in me trying to fit in but left feeling abandoned and not welcome in the new family. It was a long time before I found any hope and I never got any answers, but I got through it.

‘Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret’ is a book by Judy Blume. It’s a wonderful read for girls growing up, having anxieties about every aspect of puberty and not feeling confident about asking. I believe it’s a film now. I’ll look out for it. I had grown out of that stage of life by the time I read it, but I could relate to most of it and hoped it was useful to my daughter when she built an invisible wall to keep me out.

Life throws hurdles into the mix, or maybe just mine, and some higher to clear than others, but again, I never gave up and any obstacles haven’t been impossible to conquer, so far. Sometimes I’ve been my own worst enemy. I’ve broken more than one of the Ten Commandments, some more than once. I’ve tried to disregard God, only to realise that I can’t get by without my faith. For this and for past misdemeanours I have been aware of forgiveness.

This year has already brought challenges. I’m shuffling about as I write this, easing off one physical pain for another and trying to keep mental stresses in proportion. Someone once said, “When things look like they’re falling apart, it might be that they’re falling into place” or something like that.

Having a faith and believing in God is who I am. I don’t carry a banner, I don’t evangelise, I just do my best for everyone and in everything I do. I live and let live, accepting people for who and what they are, hoping they offer me the same.

The words of Desiderata mean a lot to me.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann. 

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Cosmetic Surgery - Nipped and Tucked

I’m glad to be happy in my own skin. I’m fine with my appearance, it’s what you’d expect for a woman of my age carrying the experiences of my life. The lines on my face belong there, each one earned. My laughter lines, just like the old joke of ‘Nothing is that funny’, I can’t remember who said it. My body, larger than I would like, but I’ll just wear bigger clothes and enjoy my day; carries the scars of necessary surgery, some life-saving, but that’s all fine, too. It’s me. At the moment I really need my sister-in-law. She is a hair-stylist, miles away in Troon. No one else cuts my hair and for almost a year we haven’t been able to meet, so I keep pinning it up out of my way and waiting. When it gets on my nerves I’m all for fashioning my own pixie cut with the kitchen scissors. I won’t. It’s not just my hair, I love her to bits and miss her and the family very much and look forward to a trip to Scotland as soon as we’re allowed.

Appearance is a confidence thing.  Accepting how we look is important to our general well-being, so if something is not right to the point of causing embarrassment or unhappiness and cosmetic surgery can sort it out, that is the way to go.

My family moved about a lot during my childhood. Dad’s job took us to various pubs all over the North West, some short term, and I was used to being the new girl at school. It didn’t bother me too much, until we came to Blackpool in 1965, or thereabouts.  I stood with my teacher facing my new class as she introduced me.

“She’s goofy!” 

A rude boy sitting at the front made everyone laugh and made me very self-conscious for years. The teacher didn’t say anything to him, which I thought was unfortunate, but as time went on I learnt why he had to sit at the front. His appearance was not flawless, he had puffed out cheeks giving him a fat looking face, but he was witty and quite funny. We went to different high schools, but met again by chance many years later at a works ‘do’ where he was the DJ. The rude boy was now a pleasant man with a successful business in entertainment and it was nice to spend a few minutes catching up. I was sad to hear he’d passed away some time ago. He’ll never see the results of my extensive cosmetic dentistry – joke.

A recent photograph of a well-known model without her dental veneers on horrified me. It was just a photo and could have been touched up, but there she was, a mouthful of what looked like good, vital teeth, filed to points to accommodate her dazzling white plastic (acrylic, porcelain, gold-bonded) very expensive smile. Money talks. There isn’t a dentist I know who would risk his / her clinical integrity to perform such treatment on healthy teeth. I wonder how she’ll look at age seventy, eighty and beyond with the ‘Colgate ring of confidence’ or if what is left of each tooth lasts that long.

Lip-fillers and Botox treatment seem to be the fashion, resulting in mask-like faces with an expression of surprise and suckers for lips. I think it’s supposed to slow down the natural aging process, but who knows if it works forever? There’s nothing wrong with growing old gracefully.  A few ‘nipped and tucked’ celebrities out there will disagree with me.

Here’s Dr John Cooper Clarke:

Face Behind the Scream
This case appears to be urgent
Kindly pull the screen
Cosmetic surgeon
The son of Mr Sheen
Is jerry building versions
Of the face behind the scream

The girl who would be beauty queen
Tells the doctor of her dream
In which she reads a magazine
Wearing only cold cream
They call her the face behind the scream

The image he maintains
And the silence he observes
Says it’s worth a little pain
For the figure we both deserve
A cowboy by profession since the age of 17
Whose singular obsession is the face behind the scream

The girl who would be beauty queen
Tells the doctor of her dream
A soiree in the mezzanine
And castanets and tambourines
A careless word and ugly scenes

The doctor knows he’s made for good impressions on demand
The new nose in the neighbourhood was fashioned by these hands
He can do it blindfold, his instruments are clean
A snapshot in his mind holds the face behind the scream

The girl who would be beauty queen
Diamond rivets in her jeans
Wild and with-it even off screen

He then removes the bandage and the odd remaining scab
A flair for fancy language…
The gift of the gab
Hands you a sandwich and applies the vaseline
To show to best advantage the face behind the scream

The girl who would be beauty queen
Tells the doctor of her dream
In which she turns her money green
Finds herself in a funny scene
Cracks up like a shatterproof windscreen

Danke schoen ich liebe dich, I promise not to hurt
A telephone receiver clicks RED ALERT
Whatever you do don’t touch that switch, the doctor goes to work
With his bag of tricks in his limousine
Mugshots from magazines
Face creams and photofits
To fit the face that doesn’t fit
The face behind the scream

The girl who would be beauty queen
Surrounded by the regular team
Of photo brats and coma teens
In bowler hats and brilliantine
Or bold cravats of bottle green
Such a precious little dream
To be taken to extremes
How many times can you be 16
The call her the face behind the scream

Thanks for reading, stay safe and keep well, Pam x

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Crackle - Snap, Crackle and Pop

Harbour cottage, Isle of Barra

On our second trip to the Outer Hebrides, we stayed in a fabulous cottage on the Isle of Barra.  It was a restored and extended Crofter’s cottage with many original features including an open fireplace in the ground floor living area. The time of year was May, late spring, early summer and the Hebrides, though breezy, was warmer than expected. Too warm for a log fire but I could imagine the ultimate in cosy.  I read the guest book entries of some amazing winter breaks describing the sound of the crackle and spit of a newly laid log fire. I could picture myself curled up on the sofa with a book or letting my mind wander as I watched darting flames begin to devour the logs. The cottage received regular visitors and it was interesting to read how they liked to spend their time. Hikers, hill climbers, sailors, water sports or observers like me, all had their story to tell.  Someone had been snowed in, but couldn’t have got off the island because of the weather, so had to stay longer. Someone else couldn’t leave the cottage for days due to the danger of gale force winds. Nothing like that happened to us. It didn’t even rain during our stay. The Glasgow to Barra aircraft stayed on schedule, so did the ferries, which was our means of transport.  Everyone who had stayed when it felt chilly had remarked on the brilliant log or coal fire.  I wish I’d set it up just to see it, and hear it snap, crackle and pop.

When I was a child, the only breakfast cereal in our house was cornflakes. At my Nanna’s it was cornflakes or All Bran. Once, I asked for All Bran. It was horrid, but I ate it because I’d asked for it, and that is what happened in those days. If my grandchildren choose something then don’t like it, I’ll find them something else – I’m a softy. At some point, Kellogg’s Rice Krispies made it to our kitchen and true to the advert on TV, as soon as the milk was added ‘Snap, Crackle and Pop’ happened. It’s funny when you’re only eight and still makes me smile.

My first introduction to John Cooper Clarke was listening to his album, ‘Snap, Crackle and Bop’. It wasn’t the music, it was the words, the clever imagery of Beasley Street and Evidently Chickentown made me laugh. His appearance fascinated me then, about 1980, and unchanged, it still does. I’m reading ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ and trying to make it last because I’ll miss it when it ends.

Here is my poem for JCC,

Terza Rima for John Cooper Clarke, when Manchester became Madchester,

Those of the time embraced every word,
Listening in wonder to John Cooper Clarke,
The Bard of Salford who had to be heard.

Rapid from the mouth and skinny and dark.
‘Evidently Chickentown’, effing good,
He’s magic with words, bright as any spark.

His wholesome description meant that we could
Smell the inhabitants of ‘Beasley Street’;
Rich mixture of urban decay and blood.

Life, humour and truth, a picture complete
And painted with colourful language that
Reaches all listeners not just the elite.

So thanks, JCC, I know where I’m at
Laughing out loud at the poem called ‘Twat’.

Pamela Winning 2012

Thanks for reading. Stay safe and have the best Christmas you can. Pam x

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