h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I love that, you know, returning home after the inner journey, not getting lost in the labyrinths, the lures, the pearls and the perils.

The returned traveller might be changed, inspired, afraid, waylaid, broken, healed, determined, and yet there's the welcome familiarity of home, housework to do, there's dust on the blue and white china cow.



What?? That's weird, where did that come from? I haven't thought about that for years. My mother had this little china cow, it was always on top of the bookcase, beside the vase of flowers. It was white with blue flowers on it. Perhaps it was Delft pottery I don't know, I don't know what happened to it. There was something a bit tragic about the way she always dusted it, but then my mother had a lot of secrets.

hmm Be a good story, I'd write it if I was someone else entirely.



I didn't intend this to be a posting about blue and white china cows. You never know do you what might greet us around the corner, as we hurtle through infinite possibility. hmm.

haha potless . Hey Peanut, luv

What a wonderful insight, about the cooking pot, to be given to the kindly man. I see him like a spirit guide. Now mvp has us all imagining! I love it.

Thank you.

I like Peanut's idea that Ella should leave the pot with the kindly man. Preparing food is symbolic - it's sharing, caring, loving, serving.

And I love cc's china cow. There can be something very poignant about objects that other people have valued, and you rediscover them, perhaps years later...

As for coming home, do you know T S Eliot's 'Four Quartets' ? He had this to say, in 'Little Gidding'; - see http://allspirit.co.uk/gidding.html

'And the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.'

I'm glad you liked it, I sent some time thinking about that pot, its symbolism, how it had it own journey and how you have connections with things, and associations, like your favourite mug

I had a frying pan, my Mum gave me this pan, it lasted me for years, eventually though the pan had to be retired, but I can't throw it away, it has so many memories that pan,indoor cooking, outdoor cooking, the kids cooking, a fine trusty pan it was, that even I couldn't weld stuff too*, it had magic powers like that.

It has a dent in the side of it where Aunty Lulu and Hiccup rather enthusiatically used it to crush ice

Anyway I feel silly about my attachment to a frying pan, my inability to throw something away that is now defunct and I felt daft last night thinking so much about about a pot, so I hovered over the click here to return to conversation without saying anything button

any other thread I wouldn't have posted,

In the same vein, it is daft to be attached to a frying pan, and I wouldn't mind you laughing at that,

but I know that I wouldn't be made to feel stupid or be laughed at

sorry have gone off on a tangent again

but last night my head was scrambled, I felt like sh*t, and here was a place of distraction, safety, and friendship,

and pots, and blue and white cows, home comings, and poetry

I thought how 'at home' I feel in this space, my attachment to the people here, this thread, a place of saftey, sometimes a refuge, a good chinwag, laughter, inspiration, frivolity, the shared experience

and yet there are no four walls, no physicality, but if the lights went out tomorrow, I would feel like someone had bulldozed somewhere down

mmm I don't know what I'm trying to say, or if I have any particulary point, I think I am just rambling

oh and * my ability to weld things is legendary

I'm glad you feel you can trust this place, Peanut - what cc and I called the trusted spiral

And I wouldn't dream of laughing at you for wanting to keep your mother's frying pan. I hope we've helped to make you feel better.

I've written poems in memory of both my parents. My poem for Mum is about sewing with her, using a black Singer that I remembered from my childhood. I saw a shop in Brighton (where else?) that had a whole window full of old black Singers and I wished I'd still got Mum's.

My poem for Dad is about a model boat which he was building up to the time of his death. We gave it to a person who builds model boats, feeling that it ought to go to somewhere it was appreciated.

When you said 'Singer', MVP, I had a picture in my head. It was of my grandmother, a tiny woman, sewing on her machine, making clothes.

It wasn't electric, that sewing machine. You operated it with your feet. It was an amazing thing.

oof,my Mum, thankfully, is still with me, she would probably reckon me daft for keeping the frying pan she gave me, it would make her laugh, and she'd love me for it

I like the trusted spiral

I wonder sometimes about what Hiccup will remember about me and Spiller, without wishing to sound to morbid or anything, I think there will be this attachment to 'Kelly kettles'

which are our equivilent to Singer Sowing Machines

I think that giving the model boat to a person, where it ought to go, sums some things up, that I was reaching for in my thoughts about the cooking pot, there was somewhere it was meant to be

sorry still don't feel that I am making much sense

or responding to posts on a individual level well

My Mum's Singer was manually operated, so you had to turn a wheel with one hand, while guiding the cloth under the needle with the other.

Now, I've got a nice, shiny electric sewing machine and I rarely use it. It's so easy to go to the shop and buy what clothes you want.

Yayyyy!

Welcome to the Trusted Spiral

The Trusted Spiral bar/cafe is now open, serving Welsh Rarebit with mustard, herb tea, strong black coffee, seasonal salad, (with radishes), sticky donuts , pancakes with jam, and our Spiral Special Slow Gin. .

Seriously, though, I really appreciate the trust here, also, so that creativity can flower out of the top of my head.

I think it's great, Peanut, about the frying pan, I really understand.

I think loved objects can absorb essence and atmospheres, and can become a talisman, a focus for memories and meditations. They are like us, taking on the scars and scratches and dents of a life well spent.

If objects could speak, imagine the stories! Perhaps they can speak, sort of ...

Ah yes! I know that shop in Brighton with all the Singer sewing machines as a window display! It's amazing, if I'm lucky I'll be seeing it sometime soon ahhhh.

Back in a minute ....

I love The Four Quartets, my father loved them also, 'go, said the bird' ....... ah beauty

I'm trying to listen to our armchair covers right now. They have a story. They are so worn, lovely burgundy colour, we've had them for years, we love them so much we can't change them ....

And ...

Oh, supper time

Just a word on the Trusted Spiral. That's what I appreciate about you folks.

For years, h2g2 has tried to foster writing and community. Sometimes, that's been hard. Peope get touchy. People are prickly. Feeling you're always 'on' in a conversation can stifle creativity.

But you folks are warm and accepting, without losing the sharp edge of perception.

I like those 'Four Quartets', too. And the other poets, writers, and musicians we find, explore, steal from, and take apart.

You make me feel good enough to keep writing.

The Trusted Spiral bar/cafe is now open,

and the Al-Jebra Hotel,

always campfire always going and warm welcome a cactuscafe's place

and situated on a interdimensional transport link on the arms of the the trusted spiral

oh my, I have just teared up a bit, with everyone's posts

blames hormones,*looks busy* pouring sloe gin and handing out gluten free dips

you guys and

ooh yes, , I forgot the gluten free items on the menu, thanks Peanut. We've got customers to attract, my pancakes with strawberry jam, followed by sticky donuts s might scare them away. .

Ah yes, hormones, loop the loop the loopy loco loop. ? That's how hormones make me feel, especially at my time of life, better not start on that one

(peculiar grin, wild laughter, martian frown. )



It's interesting, you know, about creativity ...

What is?

Hold on, changing postings ...

Back again.

Where was I? Ah yes, about creativity, and the things that stifle it and the things that bring it out. Very interesting.

I guess its different strokes for different folks. Some like to swim in the big oceans, and some (like me) need waterwings. . And a life jacket. And a hunky life guard. mmmm. No, forget that one. .

Anyway where was I? Oh yes,

That's moving what you said, Mr DG, about how we make you feel good enough to keep writing.

Sometimes I am so in awe of people who can be creatively dynamic and worldly, here on hootoo and other places. I am even in awe of people who can write Guide Entries , a good kind of awe, it's awesome in fact!

...but I guess we all need a pressure free space away from it all, to kick off our boots and sit by the fire and watch the stars swirling around, and discuss our stories and glories, or maybe we should keep our boots on, but you know what I mean.

It's a weird thing with me. The very thing which fires my vision is the same thing which hinders it, as regards being able to write Guide Entries and things (except in the Trusted Spiral of course). It has always been thus, my whole life. The Thing! aaaargh. The Thing is like a blue flame of inspiration coming out of the top of my head, like a gas cooker, , but it is also some kind of flaw, some kind of sensitivity, but that's OK, I like to be me these days, so that's alright then, pass the pancakes please, who ate all the jam?

If I'm quiet for the next couple of days, it's because we are trying, once again, to travel upcountry, and then when we get there I have to share the netbook with the spouse, and wrench it away from him when he's asleep

Ah, Guide Entries. I perpetrated one today: A87783817. That is somewhat relevant to this discussion, being about 'truthiness'.

Do not get lost in the snowdrifts upcountry. Take some pictures.

Will do, friend, take piccies, but hopefully no snowdrifts.

(Peers out of window to see if there's snow, dark of course, 5am owlsounds, no snow.)

Owlsounds are so hard to describe, how does one describe an owlsound? What is my poetry of owlsound?

I never heard an owl go 'to wit to woo', but apparently tawny owls call to each other like that. Perhaps an owlsound is more like to hootooooo to hootooooo. .



Now, concerning this Guide Entry, this proves my point, my fine writer friend. Awesome!! . Awesome indeed!

That quote about cynicism is good, I like the wording, cynicism masquerading as wisdom, I've often thought that about cynicism.

My owl agrees, I just heard it again, more like a liquid whooo sound, with a sonic shimmering effect, sort of bubbly. Sort of bubbly?

Interesting, trying to write sounds. How do writers write sounds?

The sound of the city to me that day was like a chrome metallic hum, but how do I spell the sound of a chrome metallic hum ....I think it has an x in it, or is x smooth enough, chrome is a silver smooth sound, a rounded sound. You see my problem?

OK, time to rise and see if there's a road out there ..

What an amazing speech, it just kept on hitting the nail on the head again and again, and in awe

Thank you for that Dmitri

Welcome. I just wanted to share that one.

And happy travelling to CC.

Wonders how far upcountry CC was going and hopes she didn't get stuck anywhere on the way