Things I do not understand, No 3

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

I do not understand why the proposal to establish an Islamic cultural centre in a derelict building appears to be the only thing that any television person in America is talking about this week.

I actually really don't.

I also find it quite hard to understand why it makes me quite so angry. I am an old atheist, after all. (Could never quite square the gods with the suffering.) But I am also an old liberal, and I can't bear to see an entire group of people, one billion in this case, smeared with the actions of seventeen of their co-religionists.

This is a cultural centre. It is going to have a pool hall. It is not a massive mosque with soaring minarets, built in the very place the jets hit, peopled with preachers calling for Death to America. It is two blocks away, on a non-descript street. It is headed by a moderate Imam who worked with the Bush administration. Yet apparently this is 'an insult to the dead'. I keep thinking: were there only Christian dead? I heard a woman on the wireless today say: 'It is about our heroes, the first responders.' I saw a Muslim firefighter being interviewed yesterday on MSNBC; she rushed into the Twin Towers to help the afflicted on that devastating day. Presumably, she does not count.

I find it inexplicable that Chuck Todd, a respected political commentator, says that it is politically dangerous for President Obama to state that America was built on the idea of religious freedom. The President's observation is like saying America is a very big country north of Mexico. The whole point of America is that it was founded by people fleeing religious persecution. Those founding fathers knew well what over-mighty governments could do to those whose gods were not approved. The great genius of America is its separation of church and state. So how could it be controversial that its president stands up and gently states one of its self-evident truths? I understand nothing.

I find it even odder that the people who are crossest about this, who have accused Obama of not understanding 'real' Americans, of not 'getting it', are those on the hard right. These are the people who bang on about the founding fathers all the time. They are always waving their second amendment rights about when they want to carry a loaded rifle in a public place. Yet, suddenly, the first amendment counts for nothing. How does that even happen?

The extrapolation is so crazed that it makes me feel as if my head is about to explode. The argument is: 9/11 was perpetrated by Muslims, therefore anything Islamic within spitting distance of the World Trade Centre is desecrating hallowed ground. This logic means that all one billion Muslims are to blame. If we were to live by this argument, then there should be no Catholic churches in Belfast, on account of the IRA. Come to that, there should be no Catholic churches near a school anywhere, on account on the paedophile priests. Let's take it further. In this country, 93% of the prison population is male. By the anti-Muslim logic, we should not allow any men to gather in groups in any place, because they are all criminals.

I can't help thinking that this has something to do with brown people. I keep thinking: if all Muslims looked like Jeremy Paxman, would anyone be having this argument?

It's also such a stupid argument. There are serious intellectual challenges that should be made to all religions. I get very sad about the Church of England and its refusal to allow women bishops. I do not understand why women may not worship alongside men in mosques. I find the Pope's teachings on condoms baffling. Everyone should have these debates and discussions. But someone can't go around telling people where they may or may not worship, just because it induces an uncomfortable reaction, based not on logic but on some kind of knee-jerk emotionalism.

I would love to ban the burqa. It makes me excessively sad to see a whole human disappeared under an unwieldy mess of heavy cloth, merely because she has ovaries. Some days, all I want in the world is to set the women free with my bare hands. But I can't. If something is legal, and doing no harm to others, then I must let it be.

Without freedom of expression we are nothing. We are North Korea. In a free country where all religions are allowed, you cannot start choosing the ones you do or do not like. Otherwise it's: first they came for the communists, and then they came for the Jews. And we all know how that turned out.

 

Now, after all that seriousness, some soothing photographs for you:

The lovely lavender (very soothing):

The last of the honeysuckle:

The calm green mint:

And, because one of my very kind readers seemed a little sad that there were no dog pictures yesterday, here are some to make up the omission:

Perhaps if I waved these at the cross, illogical shouty people they would stop yelling, on account of the beauty. This could be an excellent new mission: dogs for peace and understanding. It surely must be worth a try. 

Cranky

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Back still in spasm. I know it shall be better tomorrow and I can go to my niece who is a perfect genius at Thai massage (she went for six weeks to Thailand and learnt at the feet of master) and all shall be well. Just now I am sore and grumpy.

In the meantime, all I can offer you is a collage or two:

What I saw

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

 

That last one was taken with a colour saturation setting, but the colours really are almost that vivid. Also, don't you love how much weather can happen in one glen in one morning? That's crazy Scotland for you in the summer.

Have thrown my back out, so no more words. I am groaning and making chicken soup.

Quickest cheatiest chicken soup:

Finely chop half an onion and two small leeks; simmer in stock or water with a tablespoon of Marigold bouillon. After ten minutes, add a handful of shredded watercress and baby spinach. Simmer for five more minutes. Throw in a poached chicken breast, chopped or shredded. I sometimes put in a bit of chilli for zing. Adjust seasoning. That's IT. It will not quite cure your poor back should it go into spasm, but it will make you comforted and almost whole.

You know I don't tell you anything, because there is nothing more annoying than people telling you what to do, but do go to Scotland on your holiday if you want more beauty than one mind can bear. Do not go if you want blatant sunshine. There will be weather over the mountains.

Stopping now as feeling most peculiar.

Expedition

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

I am off on a thrilling trip to one of the great glens of Scotland, so no blog for a couple of days. I leave you with the trees:

Have an absolutely lovely weekend.

Two posts for the price of one

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

After my Andrew Sullivan link, here is your regular Friday post.

I've been thinking a bit lately about the nature of blogging. Actually, one of the oddest thing about starting a blog is that it does make you think about the whole enterprise quite a lot. A couple of the blogs I follow have been musing about what the point of it all is. I read a quote from one university professor who shuttered his blog because he said that you have to be happy and shiny and witty and clever the whole damn time, and no one can do that.

When I started this, I meant it as an extension to the book. Sarah and I were to muse on all matters relating to the modern female, and would put in all the stuff that we could not write in Backwards. In the end, for various reasons, it became my blog. At the beginning I wanted to do tap dances for you. I wanted to cover the waterfront: there would be food and feminism and politics and potent examinations of the zeitgeist. I wanted it also to be a conversation, and you have certainly kept up your end of the bargain; your comments have made the whole thing most unexpectedly delightful and stimulating.

In the end though, it has really become a most personal exercise. I can't quite work out if this is a good or bad thing. I am acutely aware of the solipsism trap. Yet at the same time, one of the things I love most about the blogosphere is the vivid glimpses into other lives. I like that warm human feeling you get when you read something from the other side of the world with which you utterly identify; the sigh of relief, the rueful laugh, the sense that you are not the only one. I love the small confessions of frailty or the what's it all about Alfie moments. I love the astonishing generosity, from both writers and readers.

I think the prof is right, in a way. I do want to give you my shinier, better self. There is an element of putting on one's Sunday best. I also feel a curious sense of responsibility: I now get actual guilt if I do not give you at least six posts a week. I think quite a lot about the balance of prose and pictures. I allow myself a little dog indulgence, which you very naughtily encourage, but am aware of the dangers of Going Too Far.

For some reason, I keep thinking of the lovely Donald Winnicott idea of the good enough mother. I do think there is a bit of a curse of perfection running around town at the moment, especially for the women. I have my own perfection genie, who sits on my shoulder and yells in my ear. But I wonder if the very point of blogging is that it is the very essence of the good enough. It does not have to be the most magnificent thing ever devised. As long as it is human and true and has a canine snapshot or two, perhaps that really is all right.

Here are your Friday pictures, which come, as always, with thanks for your lovely comments, and gratitude for the very fact that you take the time to come here and read. Today is a green symphony:

With some unadulterated beauty from the dog front:

Have a wonderful Friday.

Wow

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

You know I don't put up links that often on this blog. There are several reasons for this. One is that I am always worried they won't work, and you just get led to the internet equivalent of a dead end. Two is that I think that in the middle of a post they can arrest the reading experience. Three is that there are many bloggers out there who seem to have the magnificent power to cast their eyes over the whole webscape and find the best bits and give them to you; I am not of their number. Four is that, apart from the pictures of the dogs of course, this blog is mostly about the writing. Or at least that it what I think it is this week.

All of which is a long way of saying that links and videos are kept for very special occasions, when it is something so funny or astonishing or informative or plain strange that I just have to share with the group.

This one is from the magnificent Andrew Sullivan over at The Daily Dish. If you do not know about him, do go and have a look. I think he is doing something almost revolutionary, and he does it better than anyone else. He has a talent for finding what he calls the money quote, and often lets it stand without comment. We can all draw our own conclusions.

Something very strange is happening in certain parts of America at the moment. It grieves me, because I think it a magnificent country. People are just opening their mouths and saying the most perplexing, bizarre, through the looking glass things. (Yes, Mrs Palin, I'm talking to you.) If you want to find your own mouth falling open in cartoon shock, have a look at this:

http://andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com/the_daily_dish/2010/08/christianism-.html

Sexist dog treats, and the case of the mysterious travelling tennis ball

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

The duchess is moulting. I obviously mean my dog, not Debo Devonshire. I do not in fact have a dog called the duchess, that would be silly, but my younger niece gave both canines nicknames when they were younger. The duchess is the duchess for blatant reasons: excess poshness. No one ever told her she is a bit of a mutt; shall we say mixed heritage, anyway. Sometimes she looks at me as if she were Lady Catherine de Bourgh and I were Mrs Bennet. It's quite disconcerting. The other, softer one is called the pigeon. The niece has a talent for accents; she can do perfect Irish, which is harder than you might think. For some reason, she began addressing the soft dog in a West Country voice: 'my bird, my lover, my pigeon,' she would croon. So, we got the Duchess and the Pigeon. There's no accounting, as my old mum would say.

Anyway, the point is, this weekend we have a very exciting invitation to Glen Clova, one of the fabled glens of Scotland, and the duchess chose this moment to start looking less like a member of the aristocracy and more like a bag lady. In a panic, I rushed to the shops to buy coat conditioners. I came back laden with boxes of treats full of omega 3 and other miracle ingredients. She is like a pig in clover, because instead of her customary two or three treats a day (we are very strict in this house) she is now getting handfuls of the stuff, as emergency measures. That, along with frenzied brushing, and a bit of butter paper, appears to be doing the job, so she shall look respectable by Saturday. I was examining one of the boxes, to read about all the wonderful vitamins they contained, when I saw this:

'Omega Three, to help keep him fit for life; Calcium to help give him strong teeth and bones; Vitamins to help maintain his natural defences.'

His natural defences? To help keep HIM fit for life? Excusez-moi, is Pedigree Chum suggesting that all dogs are dogs? No bitches allowed? I am shocked, shocked, to discover such egregious gender bias, parading about in the public square. Funnily enough, this does still apply to humans too. I remember being rather startled when Sue Lawley was introducing this year's Reith Lectures on the BBC. She kept saying things like: if man is to prosper, he must do X, Y and Z. I know it was silly when the fringy feminists tried to change history to herstory, but beyond the clunkiness of that ugly word, they did have a point. I do feel rather sad and excluded when humankind is referred to as mankind, and the people of the world are reduced to Man.

There we are: feminism and dogs, two of my favourite things.

My second oddity of the day involves the strange trajectory of a small yellow ball. Sometimes, when walking around the compound, we come across a stray tennis ball. This always occasions much rejoicing, since there is nothing the pigeon loves more than retrieving balls. The duchess is far too grand, obviously. Anyway, we found one yesterday, and played with it for a bit, and I left it outside the door. When we set out this morning, the ball had disappeared. I was rather sad, as the poor pigeon would have nothing to catch. We went down to the burn, to see how swollen it was from two days of rain, and there, on the lip of the water, was the tennis ball. This is an absolute mystery. That side of the burn is about four hundred yards from my house, and it is behind a fence. The only way to get to it is to approach from the north side and then swim across, unless you go the very long way round, which is about half a mile, and no one ever does. I can't work it out at all. There it sits, mysteriously, out of reach, taunting us.

The other really odd thing is that no one here even plays tennis. So I don't know where the balls come from in the first place. Is there a special ball fairy, who comes and scatters them in the night?

You really can tell it is silly season, can't you? Remember the days when I gave you serious political posts? Ah well, light and shade.

Here are your pictures of the day:

The sun has come out, after the torrential rain, and all the plants are so happy:

This little salix is probably the least showy of all the things in my garden, and a photograph not does really do it justice, but of all my plants, it is the one I adore the most. It is so elegant and understated and unassuming. It grows quietly and slowly, and survives everything the cruel Scottish weather can throw at it. I love it:

See how high the burn is after all that downpour:

Serious dog training went on this morning.

Sit:

Stay:

I said, Stay:

COME:

People sometimes ask me: so what do you write on your blog? Quite frankly, I hardly dare tell them.

More weather

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

We have a severe weather warning out for Grampian. I must batten down the hatches. I fear for my delphiniums. I try not to be dull about this, but I do sometimes wonder where the summer is. Luckily we get magnificent springs and autumns, so I must remember that and not complain. (When I think of the flooding in Pakistan I think I can never complain about anything ever again.)

I was going to write a whole thing about feminism and left and right and all kinds, but I seem to have spent most of the day killing wasps, and the carnage has left my brain addled and good for nothing. I ended up playing about with my camera and the newly discovered photographic software instead. Here are some digitally altered shots for you:

London:

Morecambe Bay:

 

Obligatory flowers:

Interiors:

Random green things:

Back to au naturel tomorrow, I suspect.