My Beautiful Things was the name of a blog I followed back before The Horrible Hacker hijacked and ruined my own blog.

My Beautiful Things was produced by a blonde beautiful retired ex-teacher living in Truro, Cornwall. Produced, not written, because it was a picture of a beautiful thing, object, view, bird, flower, gargoyle on a wall, a delicious plate of goodies,  or whatever else she had noticed that day. And every day, year in, year out, Sally showed us three beautiful things.

Some would have called this mindfulness, I felt it was noticing – and wondered if perhaps these are the same thing anyway.

Noticing means being present, which is what mindfulness is supposed to be about in Buddhist terms. It’s supposed to keep you anchored in the present, focusing entirely on the here and now instead of dwelling on the past or future.

It’s also about non-judgment: observing thoughts and feelings as they pass without labeling them as good or bad.

Noticing and being present isn’t just a passive thing.  When my daughter was driving along a busy road, she ‘noticed’ a man on crutches trying to make it across the road. So she stopped the car, and let the traffic bank up behind her, while she got out and helped him across the road. So being present – noticing – can enhance the life of others as well as our own.

I was interested when a neighbour suffering chronic pain was sent to the Pain Clinic, and one of the things they suggested was mindfulness to improve her life.

Yet no-one mentions there is also a downside to mindfulnes, or noticing. It makes you more aware, and sensitises you, and there’s no going back.

There is the pain of seeing anguish in a white-faced toddler’s eyes as she is dragged along the pavement by a seemingly uncaring adult, the sadness of seeing a horse or other creature alone and depressed in a field in solitary confinement with no companion, even of noticing that new neighbours have moved in and are chopping down an ancient tree. (In a state of sensitivity all life matters, including the life of trees.)

In an article on how claiming to have a mental problem like ADHD or anxiety is becoming almost fashionable, the psychiatrist said people have to accept that life can be awful sometimes.

And this is where the non-judgement aspect of mindfulness comes in, I suppose, when somehow we invoke non-judgement and just  observe. But it’s hard.

For me, it means  falling back on the ‘small happinesses’ – not just a huge NZ Kereru or wood pigeon drinking from the bird bath, or making the perfect poached egg, but beautiful moments of human contact and connection.

A few days ago I was at the rubbish tip, browsing through the re-cycle/re-use shop, while my husband looked for treasures, and hearing the sound of birds I went outside. I stood there marvelling at the hillside opposite where a glade of pink cherry trees was in full bloom. They were alive with gleaming black and turquoise tuis, NZ songbirds, thrusting their long orange beaks into the flowers to suck the nectar, and as they did so, they sang and cooed exultantly .

As I stood enraptured the lady from the shop came and stood by my side, and we stood in silence. Then we looked at each other, and she murmured, “beautiful, isn’t it?”, and we shared a moment of deep connection so beautiful it stayed with me all day.

Mindfulness combined with connection is the glory of being human.

In his classic book about the seashore, Henry Beston described connection. He wrote of the day a ship was being wrecked in tumultuous seas too dangerous and difficult for rescuers to reach the crew.

All day long the local folk paced the sands, desperate to find a way to reach the men clinging to the wreck, barely visible through the mountainous waves.

When night came, they felt they could not just go home and abandon the men in peril on the sea. They built huge bonfires and kept them flaming all night to tell the desperate men they were there for them. And when daylight came and the sea ebbed, and a few survivors made it to shore, they said what it had meant to them to know that there were people there, being with them, connected across the black night and thundering waves.

Which has taken me a long way from Sally’s three beautiful things, except that this story of people and peril is beautiful, and fills the spirit with the same awe as a beautiful thing. 

Food for Threadbare Gourmets

I’m always looking for shortcuts and the days when I was happy to sit with a wooden spoon and beat egg yolks with olive oil and garlic for a delicious aioli are long gone. The other day I discovered the perfect compromise. Since my daughter introduced me to the Japanese mayonnaise, Kewpie, I find it indispensable.

In this case, I decided to try using it for aioli. By beating in extra virgin olive oil and crushed garlic, I found a very reasonable substitute for the purist version.

I also use Kewpie to make Eggs Benedict instead of labouring over a hollandaise sauce, and that works too. Enjoy!

Food for Thought

” When you arise in the morning, think of what a privilege it is to be alive, to think, to enjoy, to love…

Marcus Aurelius. Meditations