The trouble with decluttering

Part of me wants to be a minimalist. I look at my stuff and think, "that's too much stuff - I need less stuff."

But the sad fact of the matter is that my "clutter" can be largely divided into two groups:

1. Things that are actually useful, it's just that I haven't used them (yet)
2. Things I bought for hobbies

It's the second group that causes the most angst.

You see, I haven't given up hope. Sure, I haven't played that concertina/finished making that stuffed bear/actually used my whittling equipment to whittle anything for over a year (maybe longer). Heck, I have a tent (it's a really good tent) that I have literally never used - and I bought it over five years ago. But I still want to do "that thing". I want this to be a hobby that I actually do, and there's always the possibility that I'll be the person who does that thing if I have the stuff to do it with.

So, I have paints for the water colour painting that I don't do. I have a lovely chip-carving set for the chip carvings I have never made. I have dancing instructions and music for the Scottish Country Dancing I haven't done for years. I have instruments I was once passionately in love with, that I've barely looked it for an awfully long time. And I have a bag full of reclaimed material so I can practice making stuffed toys (even though I've been working on finishing one small bear for the past year).

I want to create, make, play, do... But I don't actually do any of these things.

Technically, it's all clutter. Just crap filling up the corners of my house.

But every time I go to clear some if it away, I remember the dreams that brought it into my house in the first place. I still have hope that "one day" I'll be the person who does that.

One day.

Don't eat the dieffenbachia

Aspidistra elatior by Digigalos
CC BY SA

So I finally started the forest.

For quite a number of years now, I've been thinking: "My workspace needs green things." But thinking about how much I'd like a few pot plants around the place and actually making the effort to get them have been two different things. I have been doing the former quite regularly, but the latter? Not so much.

But the other night I finally said to myself: "Bunnings is open until 9.00pm, dangit - go get an aspidistera."

Some months back I bought a lovely pot plant stand for my house, and I went looking for houseplants to keep on it. I did some research for "okay-to-be-indoors, reasonably-hard-to-kill, won't-poison-pets" plants, and aspidistera came in a winner. Aspidisteras and peperomias. But when I went shopping for plants the Bunnings I went to didn't have any aspidistera. I'm not sure how that was possible, because aspidisteras are one of the most common houseplants on the face of the earth.

They also have a really fun name to say: "Aspidistera". Fit it into a sentence and it makes you sound somehow more civilised. "Oh, yes, you'll find that on the coffee table next to the aspidistera."

So, long story short, I went home that day with a couple of peperomia and a trio of ferns, wondering how long it would take for them to show me that I don't know squat about keeping houseplants alive. So far, one of the peperomia is doing quite well (the other is struggling a bit), and one of the ferns is going great guns, while the other two are busy telling me I should have put more thought into my potting mix. They are communicating their displeasure through the medium of dying.

And yet, even though my track record with "keeping plants alive" isn't great, I still want to live surrounded by them.

So I went to Bunnings (a different one) to look for apsidistera. I found some, but instead of buying a small aspidistera plantation (which was my original plan), I suddenly went on a houseplant frenzy and just bought a bunch of things. Aspidistera, dieffenbachia, fikus, boston fern and peace lilly. The fern and the peace lily also have the fun names to say (nephrolepis and spathiphyllum, respectively), but if you say "aspidistera" there's a chance people know what you're talking about. If you say spathiphyllum they think you're having a stroke.

Both the dieffenbachia and the spathiphyllum came with strict instructions to not eat them. Now, I know from my research that they're not safe around pets, which is why I didn't buy any for my house (even though my pet currently doesn't live in my house - long story), and I'm glad they put that information on the plants themselves - but I'm finding the very general warning quite amusing. "May be harmful if eaten". It kind of implies that anyone in the house might give it a crack.

I suppose, in some houses, they might.

Right now I'm surrounded by green things that aren't dead yet. It's only been a few days, but I'm hoping they stick around for a while, because I like my little forest - it makes me smile.

Finding something in nothing (Or: A strange and slow crisis of faith)

By Michael Rivera - Own work
CC BY-SA 4.0

My mother was visiting my house the other day (a rare occurrence these days, as she doesn't like driving at night) and she picked up a few of the books I've been reading lately.

"If I didn't know any better," she said, "I'd think you were turning unto a Buddhist."
"I'm starting to think that myself," I replied.

A little over a year ago I was sitting in a Thai restaurant (where all good life-changing moments happen) and reading the decorations on the wall while waiting for the food to come. I noticed how similar the statements attributed to the Buddha were to things said by Jesus and/or Solomon, and it suddenly occurred to me that I knew absolutely nothing about Buddhism.

All I knew was a throwaway line handed to me by a teacher at the church-run Christian school I went to - that Buddhists worship "Nothing".

Now, I realised ages ago that the kind of Christianity that was on display in that particular denomination wasn't for me. The more closely I looked at it, the more I felt that it was propelled by wilful ignorance and arrogance instead of openness and a desire to learn and grow. Now, this denomination may be exactly what someone else needs in their spiritual walk, but I felt like I was constantly finding things I wanted to talk about that were on some sort of list of things that I shouldn't want to talk about if I was a "good Christian". Stick to the party line, and don't ask questions.

What I hated most about that denomination was the fact that they kept saying "oh, we're not religious, we just have faith" - which sounds great, but was a load of crap. They were totally religious - and there was nothing wrong with that - religion is a framework that we use to build a community of faith. They just wanted to feel somehow superior to other denominations, so they tried to use "religion" as a way of telling the difference between "us" and "them" - and this was one of many things you weren't supposed to call them out on, even though it would have made us all better Christians if we were called out on it and became more self-aware.

I was raised into this version of Christianity, but I didn't belong in it. I'd felt that even as I was getting more and more involved in the church and youth group. Eventually, I just had to leave. I found Anglicanism, and that kept me in the Christian church. It was, basically, as far away as I could get from the denomination I had left without becoming Orthodox or Catholic. I loved it. I was the drink of water I needed after feeling like I was drowning in sand in my old church. I even considered becoming a priest at one point... only there were a few things that I really didn't agree with (like baptising infants), and I found myself confronted by a rather important question:

Can you be a member of a particular faith if you don't believe in what members of this faith are supposed to believe in?

And then there's a little issue that I noticed some time ago: I actually don't buy the afterlife as Christianity describes it. I've never been interested in heaven - and I've never heard a description of it that makes me think "oh, that's the point - I can get behind that." This whole idea that you live an incredibly short life in this plane of existence in order to work out what you are going to be doing for the rest of all eternity sounds like crap. It doesn't sit comfortably with me and I do not like it at all. If you gave me the choice of possible after-life options, I'd take another short-term option, followed by another, if that's okay. One short life followed by *forever* is not something I actually want.

I know that what I want and reality are not the same thing, but the afterlife is something you have to take on faith. Having faith in something you don't actually want to believe in is a bit odd, when you think about it.

I've also been noticing that a lot of the concepts and teachings I associate with "Christianity" weren't actually taught by Jesus. They've been "extrapolated" over the centuries, and apart from the Quakers, there aren't that many people saying "hang on, let's get back to basics, shall we?"

And then there's that moment when I was reading a passage in the Old Testament, thinking about how it applied to my spiritual walk (which is what I do - or rather, did), and an epiphany hit me. I realised as plain as day that it wasn't written for me. It was written about some ancient Israeli dude. I am not an ancient Israeli dude. I can learn from what this ancient Israeli dude experienced, if there is something to learn from it, but there is no *good* reason for why I should be learning from his experiences more than anyone else's.

I've been holding on to Christianity because I cannot fathom a universe without God, and Christianity is the way I've come to know God and think about him. But I feel like I'm holding onto the bar of one of those playground roundabouts - like it's actually flinging me off, and the more I look at Christianity, Christians and the Bible, no matter how much I want to move towards the centre, I'm actually finding myself closer and closer to the edge.

I started reading about Buddhism to fill a gap in my knowledge, but I'm at a point that I have to admit I'm being won over. I've just read so many things in either the sayings attributed to the Buddha or the writings of other Buddhist monks and teachers that made me say "Yes! Exactly! That makes so much sense!" or "Oh, man, I needed to hear that - if I'd heard it back when I was younger it would have made a world of difference."

When I was a teenager and in my early 20s, I struggled with bouts of depression. Not as severe as others - I think "mild to moderate" is the term - but they were still rather devastating at the time. Looking back on it now, I realise that the things that helped me deal with that are actually part of the Buddhist way of approaching life, and if I had known more about this approach to mental health at the time it would have helped me immensely.

The theology of the various streams of Buddhism aren't doing anything for me, but the philosophy, the world view and the approach to being a human being in this life are ticking a lot of boxes. Sometimes I never even knew the box was there (and empty) until it was ticked. I'm arguing with Buddhism a lot. I'll read something and think "well, that's complete nonsense". But the beauty of Buddhism is that you're not supposed to swallow it hook-line-and-sinker. You're supposed to question it, challenge it and take what is wholesome and leave the rest (something that is actively discouraged in most versions of Christianity, as I've encountered it).

And I've often found that the reason why I've disagreed with something I've read is because I'm coming at it from a particular angle and interpreting it a particular way. When I look at it from a different perspective, or change my reference points, it gives me a lot to think about. I feel like, for the first time in a very long time, I'm actually growing.

But I still hold to the teachings of Jesus (which, believe it or not, are not incompatible with Buddhism as a philosophy) and I still hold to God - I still cannot fathom a universe without "My Father In Heaven", if you know what I mean?

So I've been having an incredibly protracted crisis of faith. It has accelerated in recent years, but it has been going on for a very long time, when I think about it. I no longer feel entirely comfortable calling myself a Christian (even though I kind of still am) as I have one foot out the door and the rest of me is facing that direction (some days I barely have one foot in the door), and I'm not yet comfortable calling myself a Buddhist (but, man, I'm not far off).

The really annoying thing is that the priest at my church keeps coming back to sermons about making decisions and commitments to your faith ("choose you this day, whom you will serve" and all that), and I really wish she'd stop. I don't want to stop attending church because I feel like it's going to be really hard to rebuild my relationship with Christianity if I'm not spending quality time with it, but right now I'm at a point in my life where if you say "choose one", I'm really not sure which one I'd choose... but I have my suspicions.

Sydney is a country

I was recently looking at an advertisement for an art installation by an Estonian artist who is comparing her experience between the "lands" of Estonia and Sydney.

Being a pedantic so-and-so, my first instinct was to day "Sydney is a city", but then I suddenly realised, with absolutely clarity, that it really is a country.

The thing about Australia is that we're under the illusion that the entire continent is one country, simply because it is governed by one federal government. But the truth is, this giant chunk of land of ours used to be hundreds of countries, and each one had it's own particular and peculiar features.

Sydney is a completely different country to, say, Townsville. Both are entirely different to Stanley in NW Tasmania, and even that is different to Cockle Creek, in SE Tasmania. Tasmania isn't terribly big (by Australian terms), but even it was once considered to be multiple lands with multiple "nations" living there.

I was looking at a map of Indigenous Australia, and the area where I live used to be three separate "countries" - and when I think about it, each of those areas is quite distinct from each other. You can tell when you've moved from Bindal into Gugu-Badun - the landscape changes completely.

Which got me thinking about the difference between what we (Westerners) think of when we say "country" and what the First Nations/Indigenous people think of when they say "country". It's the same word, but there is a world of difference in the meaning.

I've been reading a bit about the traditional folk life and history of Estonia lately, and they note distinct differences in the cultural life, farming practices and landscape between one area and another - even though Estonia is about half the size of Tasmania.

The land shapes the people and the people shape the land.

At least, that's how it used to be.

An Epiphany, or: Playing with Matches

I thought I was at a bonfire

Because I did not look up.

I thought everything was fine,

That all was right, and all was well

And all was good and fun,

Because I did not look up.

I thought I heard a voice say:

“The world is on fire –

Stop playing with matches.”

But I thought they were overreacting,

They weren’t seeing things clearly,

Because it was just a little bonfire,

And everything was fine.

But that was because I did not look up.

But then I heard a noise –

I don’t know what.

I glanced up, and saw the glow of a larger fire.

I stood up.

I looked up.

I climbed up the hill to get a better look.

And I saw the world was on fire.

And we were all playing with matches.

I looked back at the bonfire.

It was small, but too big for me to put out.

I looked at the world.

It was vast, and far too big for me to put out.

“What can I do?” I asked, “The world is on fire!”

I heard a voice say:

“Put out the small fires that are closest to you.

And, for the love of all things holy,

Stop playing with matches.”

- Sharon Bryan

Skirting the edge of the Tammeõde cycle.

A Matter of Time and Underwear

When I’m in the mood for killing a few minutes with some mindless television, I don’t go for soap operas or “reality” TV – I turn to ads for exercise equipment and fitness programs.

I don’t know what it is about these ads, but they catch my attention and hold it in a way that similar ads for air-fryers or non-stick frying pans just can’t. Whenever I flick onto one of the ads-that-go-on-forever channels (i.e. home shopping whatnots), I’m always disappointed when someone is blowing a crepe out of a frying pan instead of showing Chuck Norris.

I love Total Gym ads. I also love Bowflex ads – although I preferred the old machine that had the whole “bow” thing happening; the glorified elliptical trainer they have at the moment is boring in comparison. Oh, and TapouT XT ads are a hoot, but they don’t have a patch on the ads for the Brazilian Butt Lift. I was always incredibly happy whenever I came across the BBL ads on the home shopping networks – but mostly because the way they referred to one’s derrière as a “boom-boom” was hilarious.

I’ve never actually bought any of these products, I just love the ads. I will confess that I did actually buy some DVDs for Tae-Bo.... but this was many, many years after Tae-Bo was a thing, and I bought them because I found them in a shop for a really cheap price. I wanted to see if I was the kind of person who would actually use an exercise program on DVD (you know, just encase I decided to go for the BBL DVDs). Turns out I’m not.

Glad I didn’t buy them at the height of their fame for 4 easy monthly payments of whatever it was back then.

The thing that struck me recently (when I saw a Bowflex ad straight after a Total Gym ad) is the fact that they all try to market their machines/programs as time savers. “Achieve results in less than 10 minutes a day!”

For some reason, they have decided that time is the biggest reason behind people not exercising. They seem to think that, if people can spend less time doing that pesky workout thingy, they might be more willing to buy the workout thingy.

But the fact is, we’re not not exercising because we don’t have time. Of course we’ve got time. We’ve got oodles of time. I just spent 20 minutes watching an ad for Total Gym.

If I’d just grabbed a skipping rope and skipped for the entire time the ad was running, and maybe threw in some plank exercises during the Bowflex ad, I’d see some pretty impressive results if I kept that up for a few weeks – and all for the low cost of one monthly payment of $3 to get the skipping rope from KMart. But wait! If you order now, we’ll also throw in the floor of your own house (normally valued at nothing) for free!

No, the main reason I don’t exercise much is I’m too lazy to get changed. I don’t want to get hot and sweaty in the clothes I’m wearing, but I really can’t be bothered changing into suitable clothing. And if I did make the effort to get changed, after I finished exercising I’d have to get changed again – or sit around in uncomfortably sweaty underwear for the rest of the evening. I’m certainly not going to do that for “less than 10 minutes a day!” – what would be the point of that?

Total Gym, if you come up with clothes and underwear that I can exercise in, and then just loll about in for the rest of the night without feeling sweaty and stinky, you’ll have my full attention.

Never on a (Easter) Sunday

By Bfpage (Own work)
[CC BY-SA 4.0],
via Wikimedia Commons

I hate going to church on the "big" holy days, like Easter and Christmas.

Well, to be precise, I hate going to my church on these days. And it's all because of those "welcoming" Sunday morning people.

I go to the evening service at my church (which is on a Saturday afternoon, because of historical reasons which are too silly - and slightly depressing - to go into here). I've been going to this service regularly for at least 5-6 years now. Before that, I attended several other services at the same church irregularly for a few years.

All told, I've been going to this church for almost 10 years - just not the Sunday morning service.

Weekend mornings and I don't get along. I work on a sleep deficit for most of the week, and I try to make up for that on the weekends. I can try to pull myself out of bed to attend something occasionally, but if I dare try to make a regular habit of it I start falling apart at the seems out of sheer exhaustion. So I stop doing it.

As a result, I don't go to church on Sunday mornings, but I force myself to make an occasional exception for "special events" - like Easter and Christmas. I can manage it for a couple of times a year, just not every week.

However, Easter and Christmas, being morning services, are pretty much the domain of the Sunday morning crowd. This isn't a problem - or at least, it shouldn't be. It should be a wonderful time of communing with the other members of my parish who aren't part of my regular congregation. A time where I can say "hi" to people I rarely see and bask in the togetherness that the season(s) bring(s).

Instead, without fail, someone from the Sunday morning crowd will take it upon themselves to "welcome" me to the church, as if I'm a passing stranger or a "Christmas Christian". There's nothing quite like being welcomed to make you feel like a stranger.

When I tell them I go to the Saturday afternoon service, this strange look comes over their face, as if they're completely stumped now. They were all ready to try to make me feel welcome to the church, being the complete stranger that I am, but now they don't know what to do with me.

Some of them keep on trying to act as if I might start coming to the morning service if they're just welcoming enough (like the other services don't count). Others say something like "Oh, well good to see you," and mutter something that barely passes as a conversation before they go to find a "real" stranger to welcome.

I hate it. This is my church, dangit - I shouldn't feel like a stranger. It's odd and disconcerting, and it has reached the point where I don't feel comfortable going to any service where the Sunday morning crowd are going to be there feeling all proprietorial. "Hi there, person I only see at Christmas, you are clearly someone who needs to be encouraged to come back to church, let me be the one who encourages you!"

No, go away.

There's every chance I've been going to this church longer than you have. Welcome me as a cousin you rarely see, not as a stranger to the family.

Last year, I even tried to shake things up by doing one of the readings at the Christmas morning service - surely it would look like I come to this church regularly if I'm up there reading a reading like I do it all the time (and I do, actually)? Nope. People still tried to engage me in the kind of polite conversation that is reserved for guests and strangers. "Thanks for doing us a favour, stranger" seemed to be the order of the day.

So, this year I'm going to do something different, and avoid my church on Easter and Christmas and go to a different church instead. If I'm going to be made to feel like a strange visitor, then I may as well be visiting a strange church.

Thinking About Fencing (or, "Go Hard or Go Home")

I promised myself I'd get back into fencing this year. After struggling with turning up for the first half of last year, I decided to just give it a rest for six months and try again in 2018.

Well, it's three months into 2018, and so far I haven't quite managed to get myself to the PCYC on a Friday night. Part of the problem is that by the time Friday comes around, I'm just pooped and all I want to do is sit around not exercising. We don't have Tuesday night sessions any more, and I do wonder if I'd do a better job of getting there earlier in the week, or if the fact that I have band on a Monday means I'm less likely to do something on Tuesdays.

Would I be more inclined to get my act together if I front-loaded my week? Did two extracurricular activities in a row and then crashed for the rest of the week? Or would I be more inclined to go to one or the other, but not both?

Part of the reason I stopped going last year was the attitude of a certain young man.

You see, I'm not very good at fencing. I know that, and I've come to be okay with it. I have the unfortunate affliction of getting actively worse when I try to get better. It's peculiar, but the more I focus on trying to do what my coach tells me to do, the more likely it is that I'll just completely and utterly suck. When I just fence like a "natural idiot" (i.e., someone who doesn't know what they're doing), I have a bit of the idiot's luck and can usually get in a few good hits. When I work on improving, I get steadily worse.

It's a strange and disheartening thing, to genuinely try your hardest only to get worse and worse results. For a few years I thought I'd build my athletic base and work on core skills: "Yes! I'm going to put the effort in, and get better, and become genuinely competitive!"  But not only did I lose everything all the time, I became so noticeably worse at what I was doing that my coach kept trying to tell me to put some work into it.

I wanted to stab him in the eye with my sword at times. For years, he was trying to teach me the same basic skills and we weren't moving on to anything else because I wasn't getting any better at the basics. I wanted to say: "Let's just assume I'm not going to be 'satisfactory' at anything, and rather than wait for me to be better at this, we'll move on so I can be terrible at other things."

So, this was my pattern for a while: Try harder, get worse and have people tell me I need to try harder, then stop trying and improve slightly and start to feel good about myself, only for people to tell me my technique sucked and I needed to work on it.

But I do love the sport. I didn't want to go home feeling depressed and deflated from something I wanted to love, just because I'm clearly incompetent.

I eventually gave myself a break and decided to be okay with being terrible, and stop trying to improve the way everyone (including me) seemed to expect me to improve. In a way, I was hoping to just keep playing until my "idiot's luck" moved into "natural progression".

But there was the sabre issue.

Now, ever since I started fencing (at a club which specialises in epee, and has a sideline with foil), I've looked at sabre and said "I want to play with those." I didn't understand how sabre actually worked, but I still wanted to give it a try.

However, sabreurs have been few and far between at my club, and they seem to be universally people who Aren't Mucking Around. They don't have time to put up with someone who wants to dabble until they can get their head around it. I suppose, given that sabre is more or less"who dares wins", you can't really expect sabreurs to have patience.

Eventually there was one guy who had competed in a few bouts down south and knew enough about the sport to give some basic coaching if anyone was interested.

I was interested, but not serious enough for this guy. He was only going to bother me coaching sabre if I turned up ready with all of my equipment every week and had told him in advance that "a sabre lesson next week would be nice, thank you."

Me? I was exceptionally busy at work and had a number of things happening in my life; quite frankly I thought I was doing pretty well if I managed to come two weeks in a row. And all I wanted in these early stages of sabring was some basic coaching and footwork that didn't really need anything other than normal epee gear and a sabre, so I didn't see why he thought it needed such high levels of dedication and commitment.

Now, he's a young man who has a bright future ahead of him in the sport and often feels frustrated at the restraints involved with fencing with a bunch of no-hope amateurs. I get that, but he made it clear to me over and over again that I should "go hard or go home."

On balance, I decided it was better to go home.

I don't know if it was his intention to make me feel like I was better off not coming to fencing at all, but that's where I ended up.

Living the Witchy Life (or: The Hallmarks of Being a Witch)

It's been a while since I've posted anything, so I'll compensate by writing something that's too long for anyone to read:

Lately, I’ve been thinking about being a witch. Not a “proper”, actually-dabbles-in-spells-and-magic witch, but rather the type of woman who is rumoured to be a witch.

When I was on holidays in Guernsey I discovered their “national” museum (great place – I recommend it), and it has a lovely section where a diorama of sorts tells you stories from Guernsian folklore. The last story on the list is about an old woman who is accused of being a witch. Since then, I’ve run across a few similar stories in short story collections. It’s not that I’ve never heard or read stories on this subject before, but for some reason I’ve stumbled across a number of them lately, and they’ve got me thinking about witchy things.

There are basically two variations of this story, and I’ve encountered many retellings over the years:

1. A woman who once had a family and was involved in the community suffers a tragic loss, withdraws from society, is rumoured to be a witch because she shows all the hallmarks of being a witch, is then shunned by society and eventually dies alone. One or two people encounter her shortly before she dies and realise she’s just a lonely old woman, but they don’t manage to do much about it before she ups stumps and carks it.

2. A highly intelligent but not very social woman lives on her own, on her own property, and keeps herself amused following intellectual pursuits. Someone decides she’s in the way (perhaps he – it’s almost always a he – wants her land), or she annoys the wrong person and makes a powerful enemy, or something unfortunate happens and the villagers need a scapegoat. It is decided she shows all the hallmarks of being a witch, so that provides a convenient excuse to do away with her and steal her property.

What these two stories usually have in common – and this is something that can be seen in almost every retelling in some way, shape or form - is the “hallmarks of being a witch”. People look at the way these women live their lives, and start spreading rumours involving the dark arts.

But what are the hallmarks of being a witch?

1. Living arrangements: A rumoured witch is a woman who lives alone, without a husband or children to take care of. She might be living with a female companion, such as a relative or friend (in which case, it’s possible they’re both witches, in a coven) or a “special” friend – in which case they are definitely both witches, because we all know that lesbianism doesn’t exist but the dark arts do. But the point is, she’s an “independent woman”, and those are not to be trusted.

2. Dependants and associates: A rumoured witch probably has pets – particularly cats. A witch will have animal familiars, after all, and nothing says “associates with evil forces” quite as emphatically as owning a cat. She may also occasionally be seen with other social misfits. They are probably also associated with the Dark One – otherwise, why else would they be misfits? She is unlikely to have any friends from amongst the “normal” people in town. Mind you, that could be because they think she’s a witch.

3. Living quarters: A rumoured witch will live in a cottage on the outskirts of town, or a cabin in the woods, or an old mansion-type house on a large property on one of the oldest streets in the oldest suburb (it’s probably been in the family for generations) – somewhere with few close neighbours. Her property is probably large enough to have an extensive garden (which is, no doubt, overgrown and slightly out of control) and makes sure no one sees more than a glimpse of her occasionally. Her house will be described by any of the following adjectives in combination: Mysterious, foreboding, ramshackle, ancient, run-down, brooding.... (basically, old and/or quirky and/or gone to seed).

4. Furnishings and accessories: It is highly unlikely that many people will see the inside of the rumoured witch’s house, but if they did they would find it full of assorted oddments, strange objects and apparatus. Perhaps it will be full of old books (which we can only assume are on topics like necromancy and spell-casting), or perhaps the place has a lot of plants and dried herbs on display (also for the spell casting). It’s probably also messy, and most things are not neatly filed away.

5. Clothing: A rumoured witch dresses in a highly idiosyncratic manner. She may be wearing clothes that are unfashionably out of date, or she might be wearing clothes that are decidedly Not Pretty, and are (shock! horror!) practical. These clothes give her the freedom to move around and engage in her witchy activities. Which brings us to:

6. Hobbies and interests: A rumoured witch is probably interested in plants. She may be an avid gardener (even though her garden is a bit on the “wilderness” side), or she may be the kind of person who goes out into fields and forests and comes back with plant samples. If she were a man, she’d be an amateur botanist. But she’s a single woman, so she’s probably collecting herbs for spells. If she’s literate, she’ll be an avid reader, and she might also be interested in tinkering with things or making inventions (all of which are definitely unsuitable pursuits for a woman).

Now, it’s at about this point where you might be noticing a slight trend in the “hallmarks of being a witch”: they’re all things that are actually really neat.

A witch is someone who lives independently in an interesting house with a fun garden who is comfortable with her own company and likes animals. She has a range of interests and hobbies, and a relaxed attitude towards matters like clutter and maintenance. She dresses comfortably in clothes that suit her lifestyle, and isn’t a slave to trends and fashion. She’s not afraid of doing things that are unladylike, and she sees no need to live in a way that pleases anyone else. She doesn’t need the “latest” things and is happy re-using or re-purposing old items and antiques. She occasionally hangs out with other people who are similarly liberated from the expectations of “polite” society, but she doesn’t need the company - she can take care of herself.

While I was thinking about these things, I realised that I’m pretty darn close to being a witch myself:

1. I live independently, and I’m quite comfortable with my own company.

2. I have a cat.

3. I chose my house because it had character (although, ideally, I’d like a tree-house or something with a lot of stone, a lot of wood and a lot of quirk). I don’t have a big garden, but I potter in it most afternoons and I like it best when it’s slightly over-grown.

4. I have a lot of crap, er, clutter, er, stuff from various different hobbies and interests that I’ve had over the years. This includes books, musical instruments, knick-knacks, odds and ends and equipment for things that I’m not sure I’ll ever use.

5. I dress for comfort more than fashion (although I have to admit that my style is “frumpy” rather than “idiosyncratic”).

6. I read a lot, I have a wide range of interests and I don’t care if any of them aren’t traditionally “feminine” pursuits. However, while I like plants, I don’t know much about them, unfortunately.

Basically, if I had more antiques, an older, quirkier house and a bigger garden (and knew anything about the plants that grew in that garden), I’d be well on my way to being a rumoured witch. Oh, and I probably need less boring clothes. But then, part of the witchy lifestyle that I’ve identified is being completely fine with whatever it is that you’re wearing.

And I’ve come to the realisation that I’m only dabbling in the shallow end of this pond. Now that I’ve recognised the features, it could turn into a full-blown lifestyle choice. This could be the next Hygge, or Scandi, or whatever lifestyle fad people have these days.

To live the Witchy Life is to be: independent, eclectic, interested in hobbies and books, happily cluttered, comfortable with being messy, comfortable with being unfashionable, comfortable with being “odd” and surrounding by things that make you happy.

It’s kind of like being a hipster, only lazier and more introverted – it’s all about being comfortable, and less about being “on-trend”. A hipster may dress like a dork “ironically” in order to feel superior to the masses, but a witchy person will dress like a dork because they like dressing that way – they dress for themselves, and not to be seen. A witchy person would smash their own avocado in their own kitchen and skip the café – because the café may be nice, but their own breakfast nook is nicer.

It actually sounds (to me, at least) like a pretty cool lifestyle to embrace on purpose. Although the downside is that people might start spreading rumours that you’re a witch.

New Year's Resolution: Take care of things

New Year's resolutions are notoriously hard to keep, but I'm going to do my darndest to keep this one:

"Take as good care of yourself as you would take of a dog."

If I had a dog, I would make sure that dog got at least one walk a day. I should do that for myself, too.

If I had a dog, and that dog was due for a check-up concerning it's health, I would take it in for that check-up. I should do that for myself, too.

If, having gone for a check up, the medical professional recommended seeing another medical professional (say, a physio or a nutritionist) to get better advice about certain things, I would make those appointments. I should do that for myself, too.

If I had a dog, I would try to feed it well balanced meals and not give it too much food that was bad for it (even if it really liked it). I would also try to stick to sensible portion sizes for its meals (even if I have food that "needs to be eaten"). I should do that for myself, too.

If I had a dog, I would try to make sure it got a chance to play on a regular basis. I should do that for myself, too.

I have a nasty habit of putting things off, even though they would do me good. Well, this year I'm going to try to take care of things.

Hopefully.