Short and sweet?
It had been a mixed week for Madge, with moments of delight mixed with moments of despair. Given the current state of events in the world, Madge thought it likely that this had been the case for many people. Not necessarily despair and delight but certainly a sense that things were in a state of change and one had to find peaceful moments amongst it all. The politics had become increasingly personal.
It had always been the case that being a brown face in a predominantly white land had left Madge feeling ever so slightly on the edges. It wasn’t a constant, daily thing but ever since childhood, faced with the casual racism of people using the dreaded P word and the N word and all the slights in between. Something to let a child know that there is a hierarchy and brown and black faces were at the bottom of it. Yet over the course of the 80s and 90s, this seemed to fade and a mixed, multi cultural land seemed something to be proud of. Madge had felt British and though she didn’t celebrate it, she hadn’t thought she would come to feel somewhat appalled by it. This week, she had.
It was alarming to Madge that the Prime minister had thought it was ok to call legal immigration a squalid chapter on British history. To be told that her relatives, her Nan coming from India in the 1950s was part of the ‘irreparable damage’ done to British society. In truth, Madge had felt sickened to her core by the latest attacks by the government on the people who deserved it least and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with how she felt. How dare he come for the old, the sick and now the ‘foreign.’ How dare he claim to represent people who didn’t feel like that at all? Was it any wonder that the real racists were delighted. The idiot had laid the ground for them.
It was surreal. To be living in a time of such knowledge and communication and yet to be ruled by stupidity that was based on personal ego and a sense of inflated importance. One Orange Man, one Idiot man and a whole nation of powerfully frightened men who seemed to be able to tell everyone else in the world what to do on pain of being called names and being accused of supporting baby killers. Truly sickening and this seemed to be what was taking place. People were being made sick by the world that we live in.
The rebellious aspect of Madge, a streak she had always had, refused to be sucked into the madness of men with nothing but weapons and rhetoric to hold up their egos. She wanted instead to keep chipping away at the idea that we are all doomed to be obedient to idiocy and hate. She insisted, even when she felt doubtful, that connection and community were the keys to being able to live a full and fulfilling life. It had to be.
The best parts of the week had shown themselves in the moments between the madnesses. She had joined a meeting at school about the youngest of the petites who had found the start of secondary school really rather challenging. The love and patience of his mum combined with the love and patience of his headteacher meant the boy was settling and finding his feet. Madge had been touched by the change in his demeanour as he sat and listened to what was lined up by way of support. As always, Madge was grateful for the decent man who had committed his life to the wellbeing of boys as they grew in to men. If only these were the men in charge thought Madge ruefully.
Another delight had been waking up to see a baby blue tit in the windlow ledge of the bedroom. At first, it looked to be a bit injured and Madge was immediately concerned that a wicked crow would come along and scoop it up. She really had gone off crows since she saw one with a dead pigeon in a chimney pot. As it was, she need not have worried. The tiny bird had simply been taking a moment to itself and flown off the moment Madge had attempted to open the window in anticipation of needing to undertake a bird rescue. She was glad to see it go.
Another delight was being taken out for an impromptu ice cream. It wasn’t something that she generally ate but there was a particularly lovely new parlour nearby and she and her beloved had enjoyed an ice cream, in a cone, in the sunshine. She’d chosen cherry cheesecake, just one scoop and been amazed at how good it tasted. Not overly sweet, just the right balance of fruits and cream with a biscuity crunch. Delicious. Not to be had too often of course but delightful for a one off celebration of a sunny day.
There had been many moments amongst the madness and as ever, Madge was glad that she lived a life that was made colourful by its mix. Friends, neighbours, kids and all the love that comes with each was truly what made the madness bearable. The background hum of her family’s grief was always there now but it was somehow less loud when there were lovely things taking place. We are all grieving thought Madge to herself. Anyone who doesn’t feel the sadness right now is probably just not feeling. Sometimes, numbness is necessary but it wasn’t a state of being that Madge could stay in.
Recognising the pain and strain and complexity of the times, Madge had decided that she had to keep on keeping on with what she believed to be the real truth of life. Only by willing to love and be loved, to share and to care and to not turn away but also not be obsessively looking, could she find her own inner peace and stay steady. She hoped friends were finding their own ways through, reminded them that the healing garden was always available to anyone in need of a moment and wished the world a gentle Sunday. We have only the moment we are in. Cosmic hugs and hahalala wishes. Have a lovely day.xx