tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44235761003314134922024-03-05T20:09:38.648+00:00My world is squareSarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-26217874253994169852016-05-06T15:24:00.000+01:002016-05-06T15:24:16.185+01:00Organ Donation, Eyes and Zombies: A Quick Trip Through My Brain<span style="color: #999999;">So, I was just listening to a podcast about the Resurrection Men and the stealing of cadavers for doctors and surgeons to dissect (cheerful, I know), when my brain got completely derailed and went for its own little ride. It went some weird places, and I'm going to share them with you lucky people.</span><br />
<span style="color: #999999;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #999999;">And so it begins...</span><br />
<br />
"I had a donors card at one point. I wonder where that went. I wonder if Toben knows. I should tell him that when I get home.<br />
<br />
I think I checked all the boxes. Oh. Maybe I didn't check the eyes box. Yes yes, that probably freaked past me out. Dems are mine. You cannot has. Yeah, that rings bells.<br />
<br />
Huh. Present me doesn't seem so fussed. Did I read somewhere that eyes are the least donated thing because people feel all weirdy beardy about it? Yeah... yeah... YEAH! I <i>did</i> read that somewhere.<br />
<br />
Maybe I should change that. Maybe someone should have them. I sure won't be using them.<br />
<br />
Unless.<br />
<br />
What if there was a zombie apocalypse once I'm dead? Surely I'd need them then. Ha! Can you imagine, blind zombie me walking into things and knocking things over... nobody would tell the difference.<br />
<br />
Wait. Which side am I on?<br />
<br />
Am I on team zombie or team human? Huh. Well I am a human, and all the people I know would be fighting the zombies. I'd be cheering for them. If it was a zombie film and they were the characters I would be hoping they all make it.<br />
<br />
Apart from That Guy. There's always a That Guy, who gets killed about halfway through and everyone is kind of relieved because he was a giant pain in the derriere.<br />
<br />
And I guess I might be watching like it is some kind of film, I don't know where I'll be. Hmm.<br />
<br />
So would I be hoping that somebody takes zombie me out with a hatchet? It would still look like me. But all zombie-fied. That would be weird.<br />
<br />
And what if the hidden bunker of the world's best scientists made a cure, and all the zombies became people again? Then zombie me would be me again. I'd need my eyes then. If a cure was going to happen I'd want zombie me to have the best chance of surviving till then, and you'd really need eyes for that.<br />
<br />
But surely for zombie me to be me again, it would need to have been me the whole time. Woah. I'd have to be in there all crazy and wanting brains. Oh jeez.<br />
<br />
*pause*<br />
<br />
I don't really know what just happened, but I better write this down."<br />
<br />
<br />Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-59693441899957205292015-08-31T20:19:00.001+01:002015-08-31T20:21:30.565+01:00Happy Kitty, Sleepy Kitty...This is a story of myself, some cuddles, and one dumbass. For purposes of clarification we'll call this dumbass Rilla.<br />
<br />
I came into the flat this evening and Rilla, who usually runs to the door to greet you, jumped down off the bed and collapsed in a puddle on the floor. She then just lay there, yawning and blinking at me. Clearly I had to go to her.<br />
<br />
Which I then did. I picked up the molten, liquid form of my kitten and tried not to drop any stray paws or tails that could not support themselves currently. Rilla still has a lot of play and fight left in her, so when you catch her like this you sure as hell make the most of it. So I lay down on the bed with Rilla on my stomach for a cuddle. She started to purr.<br />
<br />
It was all warm and snuggly and lovely and fluffy and all the good things. Purr.<br />
<br />
I was scratching under her chin and she had her head stretched right forward, you know that way all cats do. Eyes shut and everything. Her little fluffy head got lower... and lower. Little fluffy paws padding on my collarbone.<br />
<br />
Some cat hair floated down and settled on my nose. Now, I only have two hands, one holding the cat so she doesn't fall off and the other the bliss machine at the chin end. I moved the latter <i>for one second</i> to scratch my nose.<br />
<br />
What I didn't know, is that Rilla had fallen asleep. I had not realised that I was the only thing holding her head up. When I moved my hand, her head fell straight forward and she head-butted me right between the eyes.<br />
<br />
She woke up hissing at my face, at the bed, at the whole nasty world where bad things happen to lovely, darling little kittens that fall asleep. So much hissing. So. Much. Hissing.<br />
<br />
I did what any self-respecting pet owner would do. I laughed my ass off. I laughed till tears were streaming down my face.<br />
<br />
She has since then been in a huff. She jumped down from the bed, went through into the living room and crawled into her favourite cardboard box. She doesn't seem to have any plan on coming out.<br />
<br />
For the record, I tried to check that she's ok, but the little black furry boxing gloves coming swinging out of the box were having none of it.<br />
<br />
Which I guess means she must be fine.<br />
<br />Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-11775750024787393992015-06-21T15:43:00.000+01:002015-08-31T20:21:49.074+01:00The One When My Father Got Arrested.Here is a lovely Father's Day story for you all to enjoy. It rather fittingly takes place when I was born.<br />
<br />
Meet our hero, Nick.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ8YmrQHgf774O3TReR9dQY75Llu6-YWddSw6gyzpxkdXGr_4gHNT0KT2HB0yQ3AKAVb2uld5R34DIj41itaLuJGhFkcG5AfsCWNa5uxiDue248Qr9cNNQ6uXB0unYziFphLVTaF-SjRE/s1600/Mum+030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ8YmrQHgf774O3TReR9dQY75Llu6-YWddSw6gyzpxkdXGr_4gHNT0KT2HB0yQ3AKAVb2uld5R34DIj41itaLuJGhFkcG5AfsCWNa5uxiDue248Qr9cNNQ6uXB0unYziFphLVTaF-SjRE/s400/Mum+030.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We join him one January night in 1989, walking home from the hospital where his wife and newborn daughter are. The streets he is walking down are paved with gold, whether from the sun setting over the Edinburgh skyline or from the glow in this happy man's heart, no one will know.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Looking up, he sees the sinking sun over the castle. This he wants to capture forever. This moment. This feeling. Luckily he has his camera in his bag. Fantastic.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
He starts to line up the shot. Not quite right. Hmm. I'll try over here. No, still not right. Could do with being higher. Oh look, this building has scaffolding. That would be perfect for this photo. Yeah, I could make it up there. Great idea. So, securing his bag around him, he climbs. Two floors up he stops. The view is wonderful. Out comes the camera again, and he settles in to capture the scene.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Meanwhile, a curtain twitcher across the street has been watching a man walk up the street, stopping every so often outside buildings, then pick one, and climb up to a window in darkness. The man disappears in shadow outside the window. The curtain twitcher phones the police.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The station only being round the corner, the two policemen are there in minutes.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Excuse me" comes the call from the street.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Yes?" replies the voice from above.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Would you come down here sir?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Hang on a minute, I'm not done". Completely unaware of his new status as a burglar, our hero wants to finish taking his photos. He does so, packs up his camera, and climbs down to the two, increasingly annoyed police officers.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Hello," he says.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As they begin to grill him on who he is, what he was doing up there, and other pertinent questions, he starts to realise he might be in some sort of trouble here.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"What is in the bag sir?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Uh oh. He thinks to the woman's clothing in the bottom of the bag, stained and a little bloody from waiting till the very last minute before going to the hospital. Oh dear.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"You probably don't want to look in there. I can explain." As soon as he says it he knows that he's really gone and done it now. There is no easy way back from this.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Before long he is in a police station, feeling a little like he'll never see another sunset ever again. He is also wondering what he is going to say to his wife in his one phonecall about why he might not be there to pick his new family up from the hospital the next day. Luckily it doesn't come to that, as sometime between then and the morning his story is verified. Grudgingly he was let go by the cops who probably had thought they had stumbled onto the case that would have made their careers.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Luck was on his side once again when his wife didn't notice that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday when he turned up at the hospital. As if nothing had happened, he took them home.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
A week later, he comes through to the living room and hands his wife a cup of tea.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"So," he says, "funny story..."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-57516553682738920682015-06-14T16:54:00.000+01:002015-06-14T16:55:32.897+01:00NerdboatsI am noticing a trend in myself in regards to the TV and films I watch, and in the books I read. I always fall in love with the nerds. What can I say? Smart people make me happy. So here I have compiled a list of folk that have made me air-punch with joy at least once.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Data - Star Trek TNG</b><br />
He's not just a freaking cool android, he's a freaking cool android that loves his kitty.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1_5LvN0h8_EDONMhXddGvcwR9s7DS_wKYnyUjPMMHWqDcAVVY0yttBXz4S9YuVZNMZkOGqYX5C6w2KHE9jS6tOnxobRQtrgTZdDEZW9noSqzwarKOcmN_9RshajuFX5Gzgh6QBvMHLw/s1600/Data+and+Spot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1_5LvN0h8_EDONMhXddGvcwR9s7DS_wKYnyUjPMMHWqDcAVVY0yttBXz4S9YuVZNMZkOGqYX5C6w2KHE9jS6tOnxobRQtrgTZdDEZW9noSqzwarKOcmN_9RshajuFX5Gzgh6QBvMHLw/s640/Data+and+Spot.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Hermione Granger - Harry Potter Series</b><br />
Hermione is bad-ass. There's no other way round it. Clever, intuitive and strong. The first time I ever cheered out loud while reading a book was when she punched Draco Malfoy. What really gets me about her is how resilient she is. All the she goes through with her parents in the latter part of the story to keep them safe, and she never lets on. Quite honestly she makes Harry's stomping, shouting and grumping look like a whiny bitch. And her face right at the end when she says "I'll go with you". Geez.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtNqkVUGNH2FrBml0b54Zz_361UqKXSDU3hxmLSKfsyNI8UthOrjQKxyq809s5nibBIuBdAc6u660LydfETuSFQgSbghAYlxOx-RK7MOdfdODz39ovY7RSYVpzYJDFAnmaOFzAmxv5Rm0/s1600/Hermione-Granger-harry-potter-34001598-462-515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtNqkVUGNH2FrBml0b54Zz_361UqKXSDU3hxmLSKfsyNI8UthOrjQKxyq809s5nibBIuBdAc6u660LydfETuSFQgSbghAYlxOx-RK7MOdfdODz39ovY7RSYVpzYJDFAnmaOFzAmxv5Rm0/s320/Hermione-Granger-harry-potter-34001598-462-515.jpg" width="286" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Giles - Buffy the Vampire Slayer</b><br />
Every single time it looks like Giles was going to die in that show (which was surprisingly often) I could feel myself pouting at the screen. He is almost too knowledgable to communicate, but he tries his hardest. In his polite, professor-ish sort of way. Every library should have a Giles. Particularly because sometimes he just can't hold himself back...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcz5MK7SVNJHQP-wm3ZgXEu3DoGLMTJ0CX0-aeqfhOef9RT_ICscZQ2qVpKxfHTDQ13vJZjfFl3sUgc3O3ytnX2qs48mDnzS8nK66RfbwLY32qjVRGt6PlaF9ZUAlx0OLSHIsY-pQGKe0/s1600/funny-buffy-quotes-yhmomakh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcz5MK7SVNJHQP-wm3ZgXEu3DoGLMTJ0CX0-aeqfhOef9RT_ICscZQ2qVpKxfHTDQ13vJZjfFl3sUgc3O3ytnX2qs48mDnzS8nK66RfbwLY32qjVRGt6PlaF9ZUAlx0OLSHIsY-pQGKe0/s320/funny-buffy-quotes-yhmomakh.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Neal Caffrey - White Collar</b><br />
This one sort of surprised me. At first look he's the frustratingly handsome but typically mainstream male protagonist. And then he breaks out all this passion for art and the history surrounding it and I sat back and went "Huh". Then I realised everything he does is part of some well thought out long term plan. This guy has the smarts. So Neal Caffrey is my nomination for secret, hidden nerd.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XWryTKVSdGn1vKm69wdy4_ldRh973VGxVg6sr1M5pSFROWlDsOf3fs3fh4s9Xg4MPnfsshhB9IV5QCoV5-mddqB_MjhX0pFW2Bb5V4nLfg4cX8RJGM0eQJe1SA66GE5V6SKAORdZlho/s1600/Neal-Caffrey-white-collar-19373207-963-1450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XWryTKVSdGn1vKm69wdy4_ldRh973VGxVg6sr1M5pSFROWlDsOf3fs3fh4s9Xg4MPnfsshhB9IV5QCoV5-mddqB_MjhX0pFW2Bb5V4nLfg4cX8RJGM0eQJe1SA66GE5V6SKAORdZlho/s320/Neal-Caffrey-white-collar-19373207-963-1450.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Charlie Bradbury - Supernatural</b><br />
Because a) Felicia Day and b) Felicia Day.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyyI2PuQqj6kRebq2Xkc3oFXwjD7KGBrwTulSud7DV8Rb7lVEMxc06A7DAGsuLYluOv1CIZAhnFRCpvQU-vucKbJ2Y3U7V4hTKjbovI6QmU2iS-rR4vhjXYkihsvRxKNyuPQ4YOV_kIYc/s1600/Felicia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyyI2PuQqj6kRebq2Xkc3oFXwjD7KGBrwTulSud7DV8Rb7lVEMxc06A7DAGsuLYluOv1CIZAhnFRCpvQU-vucKbJ2Y3U7V4hTKjbovI6QmU2iS-rR4vhjXYkihsvRxKNyuPQ4YOV_kIYc/s400/Felicia.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Daniel Jackson - Stargate SG-1</b><br />
With this one comes my confession that terrible sci-fi makes me happy. Deal with it. What I like about this guy is not only does he possess the major smarts, but he is ethically intelligent too. He seems to be the only one in the show that reminds them all that there's more to Earth than America, and that there's more to exploration than technological and military gain.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlygxGVrgS8suoCOOZpuqzujyiEEIaLqkblRv4x0PWjAKOXMTW2I_8xkz_2KFlUCtaM-1m18e9f3mO8sX9hbKuz4usOp2vpUuaTST8DAqrAmQkHINl1_yFbq4uQRtWv-ZeUkjpkoHOkww/s1600/Daniel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlygxGVrgS8suoCOOZpuqzujyiEEIaLqkblRv4x0PWjAKOXMTW2I_8xkz_2KFlUCtaM-1m18e9f3mO8sX9hbKuz4usOp2vpUuaTST8DAqrAmQkHINl1_yFbq4uQRtWv-ZeUkjpkoHOkww/s400/Daniel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Penelope Garcia - Criminal Minds</b><br />
All hail Garcie, Queen of the Geeks. I love her. I am so glad women like her are represented on tv. Her world is bright colours, awesome shiny things and good people. And Doctor Who. I've said it before and I'll say it again; Penelope Garcia is my spirit animal.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlfiKAk50UFEHdbZjQ1exMUBrrD3T3weKum0ZZNcEDijDAG4S0ZsXZT9Q0mGZqPuSU2uyRPstx-EcDbYQcGAQWfE51UE6LB_Tmr2JpWEDQyRQN32Kvpx4urTPRnxY159nuwt711HI88H0/s1600/penelope-criminalminds-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlfiKAk50UFEHdbZjQ1exMUBrrD3T3weKum0ZZNcEDijDAG4S0ZsXZT9Q0mGZqPuSU2uyRPstx-EcDbYQcGAQWfE51UE6LB_Tmr2JpWEDQyRQN32Kvpx4urTPRnxY159nuwt711HI88H0/s400/penelope-criminalminds-2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><br /></b>
Surprised someone wasn't included? Who would you add?<br />
<b><br /></b></div>
Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-33186568307803257722015-06-13T14:38:00.001+01:002015-06-13T14:58:04.081+01:00The Hobbit Hair: An Unexpected Journey.For anyone that missed the news, I got all my hair cut off. I went from this:<br />
<div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_GqRTX_VIZuu5c_zAsO1PEbnSVn_LmbNnuDsRO5eA4OxD1hf_nAGacseelAm3oyJaKmLxx_oftxt8O4x66g2NlKCn0l3rA0GHYlrQkBKu0YU0hyphenhyphenKLFsX1EH7XJh3SYsRnb2AT3UCWUUM/s640/blogger-image-1741927167.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_GqRTX_VIZuu5c_zAsO1PEbnSVn_LmbNnuDsRO5eA4OxD1hf_nAGacseelAm3oyJaKmLxx_oftxt8O4x66g2NlKCn0l3rA0GHYlrQkBKu0YU0hyphenhyphenKLFsX1EH7XJh3SYsRnb2AT3UCWUUM/s320/blogger-image-1741927167.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
To this: </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiewv_lBxS6r79p5cvqxxDFTAmV7AC_1x95_6ZJ11vcyHAmBLG3ktl75xEC5Gi4QxulEJiX18fL7CZHlOelrLHd_ayO8nD3PHR5BkCnoIuE6x-SdcAMcXdG8WBDszOymqqJWrQQN2BSHdw/s640/blogger-image-1294244647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiewv_lBxS6r79p5cvqxxDFTAmV7AC_1x95_6ZJ11vcyHAmBLG3ktl75xEC5Gi4QxulEJiX18fL7CZHlOelrLHd_ayO8nD3PHR5BkCnoIuE6x-SdcAMcXdG8WBDszOymqqJWrQQN2BSHdw/s320/blogger-image-1294244647.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
I was so done with having long hair. It seemed to take so much time! Washing it, drying it, working out what to do with it, then trying to do that with it. I really wanted something that was much less effort. That was my only criteria. I wasn't expecting it to be quite the learning experience it has been though.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Here are some things I have encountered on my journey:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* It is cheaper. I am no longer burning through hair bobbles. I am using less shampoo. This is very much ok with me.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* It dries amazingly fast. This is a bit of a novelty as my long hair could take all day to dry out completely.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* I am having far too much fun in front of the mirror just brushing it different ways to see what it does.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* On a related note, it is fun to see how easily I can turn myself into one of the Beatles, a five year old boy on picture day, Peter Pan, 1960's Twiggy, Liza Minnelli (brown points), Charlie Chaplin...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* I have discovered I have about one minute, maybe two, to brush my hair after I've washed it. Otherwise it points wherever it damn well pleases until I wash it again.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* I now have need for a comb in my life.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* I went outside in the wind and didn't end up eating half my hair.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* Hair gel is a confusing substance. Need for further study.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* All my earrings look fantastic. It's like an art gallery for my ears.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* I don't get my hair tangled in anything anymore. Earrings, necklaces, clothing, bra straps, scarves, hairbrushes... Being a girly girl just got so much easier.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* I have an easy way of telling who the painfully unobservant people in my life are. One person in particular has been particularly stunning at this.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* There is no hair in my lip gloss. There is no lip gloss in my hair. Those of you who have experienced this curse on your lovely day will know the wonder of which I speak.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* I am experiencing bed head like never before. Seriously, it is amazing.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
* And lastly, that it loses all grasp on gravity when it has been towel dried.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8gXFY4igIWrM2SJsVGMQJcijaAUKnuQBCKN02VYn0tzuWDmfRWLav1S_QtzlZMLNXHF_2vO_xln-HdZPOEXFrfYkilyFAtiNa4Hbt_hxMxcLLoKsuabAvPMY4ARCkHg0XFYCElvyzmA/s640/blogger-image-1459044452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8gXFY4igIWrM2SJsVGMQJcijaAUKnuQBCKN02VYn0tzuWDmfRWLav1S_QtzlZMLNXHF_2vO_xln-HdZPOEXFrfYkilyFAtiNa4Hbt_hxMxcLLoKsuabAvPMY4ARCkHg0XFYCElvyzmA/s400/blogger-image-1459044452.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-33246810036507108082015-05-11T20:50:00.000+01:002015-05-11T21:17:33.894+01:00To a Britain That Chose to Hate<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwsEP3u8l0n1BeFfYtIrOMPIuJLy8b45i_LIMOtr-ZYPDy5RUrEctSVq4ONAzdYPd3qA6D40WZyzIrx_PKKp1LOyFl-s6TdiC6iG61Li8CG4VVF9A-m318iAq9AaDSfA-dpCAV3c5P7f4/s1600/Screen+shot+2015-05-11+at+21.26.20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwsEP3u8l0n1BeFfYtIrOMPIuJLy8b45i_LIMOtr-ZYPDy5RUrEctSVq4ONAzdYPd3qA6D40WZyzIrx_PKKp1LOyFl-s6TdiC6iG61Li8CG4VVF9A-m318iAq9AaDSfA-dpCAV3c5P7f4/s400/Screen+shot+2015-05-11+at+21.26.20.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
With all the name calling, blame flinging and general bad behaviour seeping out of the mouths of people who should know better, people who have fought these fights before, I feel compelled to make the following statements:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am female.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am young.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am emotional.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am strong.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am not a villain. Do not blame the young because<i> </i>they are young. Do not blame a woman because<i> </i>she is a woman. Do not criticise me for feeling something. Do not criticise me for feeling nothing. Do not criticise me for feeling different.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am Scottish.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am proud to be so.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I voted for the good of my country.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I voted for the good of my conscience.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am not the enemy. Do not blame the Scottish because they are Scottish. Northern Ireland and Wales did not vote Labour either. Do not blame the Scottish because we are as proud of where we live and who we are as you are of where you live and who you are. Do not blame us because our cultural identity is strong.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I did not vote for our current government.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I <i>could not </i>vote for our current government.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I could not vote Labour.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am not sorry.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am not to be hated. Do not blame the people who did not vote tactically. Do not blame those who refused to jump on a bandwagon. Do not blame the people who did not vote the way you did. This is why we have a vote. We all want different things. Do not blame the people who voted Conservative. They are entitled to. Do not blame the people that did not vote. They also are entitled to.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The answer is simple. Blame the politicians. They have shown us how to hate each other. Blame the media. They have allowed themselves to be bought. All we have to make decisions with is biased propaganda. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Blame the entire electoral system. It is surely broken.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-47696322748349541582015-05-02T21:26:00.001+01:002015-05-03T02:30:21.994+01:00WifeHands down, the question I have been asked most frequently in the last six months is "How is married life treating you?"<br />
<br />
"Exactly the same as before except now I have more paperwork to store" is apparently not the right answer, even though it is the truth. Nothing has changed. Personally, I'm glad; I didn't really want it to. But in every conversation I have about this, I come away feeling like I'm doing it wrong, like I am being silently judged, like that one kid at the party who pops one of the balloons and the whole room goes quiet and stares at them because that is not how you balloon.<br />
<br />
Well you know what? Sod that.<br />
<br />
Before we got married, we were happy. We cared for and about each other. We treated each other fairly and with respect. We wanted to spend all our spare time with each other. We made each other laugh - sometimes on purpose. Why on earth would I want that to change? After being together, and living together, for years, why would six months with an additional piece of paper in the cupboard make any of that any different?<br />
<br />
I think I was "supposed to" change, to adapt to fit a gender roll. Be Mrs Wifey McWiferson. To do laundry because I Am Wife. To wear cute dresses and do my hair to look lovely because I Am Wife. To start reading blogs, books and magazine articles written by other wives because I am now part of some elite club that the poor unmarrieds cannot simply understand or relate to. Oh sorry, did I say that out loud? I meant to say because I Am Wife.<br />
<br />
I won't let myself be one of those people who changes their entire identity into being just a wife. I have more to offer than that. I am first and foremost Squarah. My relationship status cannot come before that.<br />
<br />
I hear so many people around me saying things like "I should learn how to bake muffins so I can be a good wife", or, "I was a good wife today, I hung all the laundry out on the line and now our house smells like daisies and kittens and lovely girly wife smells." Paraphrasing of course. There is nothing in this world that could inspire me to want to be a "good wife". I think I have a good relationship and I try to be helpful and do my bit, but I just can't bring myself to be so freaking hetero-normative.<br />
<br />
Somebody told me recently that I should do something because it was "my duty as a wife". Naturally, I did not do it. I did not even consider it. I do not believe I have a "duty", but if I did it would be to be true to myself and do things that I believe to be meaningful in my relationship, regardless of what any other jobsworth thinks.<br />
<br />
The biggest thing in all of this, I think, is that I don't identify at all with the word 'wife'. Toben and I agreed to call each other Thing One and Thing Two because we just weren't 'husband and wife'. And 'hubby' makes me feel squeemy and icky, so that's out. I know it makes it sound like we weren't ready to get married if we can't deal with being husband and wife, but that isn't it at all. We are completely committed to each other, just not to gender stereotypes.<br />
<br />
I'll leave with this glorious little nugget. An older woman on the island said to me it must be about six months I've been married now. I did a quick count up because I have really not been keeping track (see above with the whole fail wife thing) and said that was about right. Her response?<br />
<br />
"Well, you're looking awfully well for it, considering."Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-29288003890473859412015-03-24T14:16:00.001+00:002015-06-14T16:57:30.272+01:00Broken Hollywood<div>Just a short post today, but with some big questions...</div><div><br></div>There is a trend I've noticed in the way films are marketed, and as usual with Hollywood it isn't exactly fair. I have noticed that on DVDs covers, movie posters, and all the other pieces of advertising that often the main picture is of a very beautiful (airbrushed) woman. Whether you are watching action films with the seductive double agent or period dramas with angelic faces in bonnets, the beautiful woman takes precedence.<div><br></div><div>So why, when I look closer at the ad, click on it, look up who stars in it, are the first names listed invariably male? Why does the woman whose face it is appear sometimes third, fourth, fifth down the list? If she is so important, why isn't she first? If the first two or three listed are the main parts and those are men's names, why can't their picture take pride of place?</div><div><br></div><div>This doesn't necessarily apply if the main female is say Angelina Jolie or Kiera Knightly, when their fame is also the draw. In that case their name, face and body are often plastered everywhere. I would also like to point out that this is not the case in some genres, like indie films.</div><div><br></div><div>More to the point, why does this kind of advertising work on us?</div>Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-53591711853754162082015-01-19T04:06:00.000+00:002015-01-19T04:06:55.354+00:00I am a bad Christian.Disclaimer: This is what I think. This is what I believe. My goal is not to convert you. You can think I'm wrong, you can even tell me so. You do have to be nice about it though.<br />
<br />
If ever there was a "getting it all off your chest and maybe offending people" post, this is probably it. Here goes.<br />
<br />
I believe in a higher power. For ease and clarity I call this higher power God. Most of my belief is rooted in Christianity, but also vastly differs from most forms of organised religion. I dislike organised religion. I find it can be quite unhelpful and exclusive.<br />
<br />
I do not regularly go to church. When I do go, I go to the services at Iona Abbey, which does not belong to any one tradition or denomination. People need to go to the church that best suits their own beliefs and worship style, but I do not believe there is, or should be, any actual difference between the denominations. I have sat in services and talked to people that claim their church is the "one true church" and everyone else is wrong. I flat out do not believe in their God. I believe in a God that I can find every day of my life. I believe in joy, learning and fellowship I can find in a book, in a walk on the beach, in a cup of tea with a friend.<br />
<br />
I find God-speak embarrassing. I will never say the word 'blessed' in ordinary conversation. I don't know what to say to people who do. I feel gratitude and try not to forget to be thankful, but having 'blessings' makes me feel weird inside. I also feel uncomfortable with "everything I have comes from God" people. Some of the things I have came from Toben, my parents, my friends or the random stranger on the bus who gave up his seat for me and I point my gratitude towards them. The gratitude that I have them in my life needs to be directed to the Universe I call God, but people need the points for the good things they do.<br />
<br />
<div class="p1">
I need the points for the good things I do. I have skills, interests and thoughts that I want to offer the world. Not "for the glorification of God," but because what a waste it would be if I didn't. I need to do what I think is right and fair because it is right and fair, not because some guy with long hair and sandals told me to. To be honest it is pretty sad that we had to write a book about how to be nice to people and call it the bible. And even then we get it wrong. </div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
As a perfect example of this, the word 'love' is said in the bible 551 times (NIV). There are 4 verses about being gay. Only 4. It also states a couple of times that women on their period have to live in a hut alone outside the village or they will be stoned to death. Can we get over ourselves yet?</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I believe in tradition. It has value and resonance. 200 years of everyone singing that same hymn has to mean something. I think tradition can be pointless. Women can't come in unless we're wearing a hat? Bugger off mate.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I think that some Christians are some of the most judgemental, unkind people I've ever met. I think that some atheists are some of the kindest, most generous souls I've ever met. I do not believe in a God that will punish these people. I <i>can not</i> believe in a God that will punish these people.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I believe in doubt. I find it difficult to trust people who are unshakable. I ponder, reconsider, every so often realise it sounds like complete codswallop and then discover I believe it anyway. I believe in thinking it out for yourself.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I think we all have to agree that science is the truth. It can be proven. Its also really freaking cool and interesting. If more churches could look at science as proof of a higher power instead of a conflict then more people might think church is really freaking cool and interesting.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I really, really, <i>really </i>hate John 3:16<i>. </i>You people have to stop sewing that verse onto EVERYTHING.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I am a bad Christian. I am delighted.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-17013289251820177382014-08-04T18:17:00.000+01:002015-05-02T21:28:33.183+01:00Mama CatIt seems that half of the people I know have had a baby in the last year. My facebook feed is filled with babies. First teeth. Christenings. Breastfeeding woes. Look at how adorable/handsome my little princess/munchkin is. I'm really pleased for all of you. You guys all love your little potatoes, aliens, monkeys, and Winston Churchill look-a-likes to death.<br />
<br />
But I have a cat. I'm her Mama Cat and she's the little fuzz ball I had to teach how to purr. I had to feed her when she had the cone of shame and couldn't get her head in the bowl. She was so young when we got her, we've had to teach her how to cat. She is not a substitute child by any means. But she is a large part of my life. I try not to post too much about her because apparently being a crazy cat lady is a bad thing. But it seems most parents have no filter for their children, and I have to see all these babies paraded in front of the internet. Please note there are exceptions to this among you, who seem to acknowledge you have other things in your life that don't involve nappies. I salute you.<br />
<br />
So as usual, I'm going to stop caring and throw convention out the window. I'm going to crazy cat lady all over the place, where you all can see. Ha.<br />
<br />
<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">Things Rilla Kitten Likes</span></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>Running to the door when we come in ready for a welcome snuggle.</li>
<li>Being asked "Where are the noms, Rilla?" and taking us to the kitchen to show us her empty bowl with eyes that say 'fix it human'.</li>
<li>Ping pong balls.</li>
<li>Chasing ping pong balls round and round and round and round the bath. Or a wash basket.</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQGCyXZ-8x5Wn64d9oXS5gwoMFerll5MMYJDr2eW1D75bTtxFAK0gYZxWvn6CB0j_50ZQRwpvw3nURvogEYM0bs6N7-TToWZjb-GK4VqJ9zPB11FeVEN51kjmPOgfZTQ2nj0rbQNkuAVI/s1600/IMG_7276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQGCyXZ-8x5Wn64d9oXS5gwoMFerll5MMYJDr2eW1D75bTtxFAK0gYZxWvn6CB0j_50ZQRwpvw3nURvogEYM0bs6N7-TToWZjb-GK4VqJ9zPB11FeVEN51kjmPOgfZTQ2nj0rbQNkuAVI/s1600/IMG_7276.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The red one is her favourite.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>Nerf guns darts.</li>
<li>Playing fetch with nerf gun darts.</li>
<li>Mama Cat's wool.</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxRPfpMIdwnyG6r37NhR6VMoxT6G3Xa15rxb2GBhTWM8Tkxp3O27gYsuv4BrbPqsASYU8tm45P31HYNUjedDfq9QgCs51k6bbvw9r1hJIIs0Bu_tTnTpvoAJVbE0VzAfbS808xmZV4FT4/s1600/IMG_6676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxRPfpMIdwnyG6r37NhR6VMoxT6G3Xa15rxb2GBhTWM8Tkxp3O27gYsuv4BrbPqsASYU8tm45P31HYNUjedDfq9QgCs51k6bbvw9r1hJIIs0Bu_tTnTpvoAJVbE0VzAfbS808xmZV4FT4/s1600/IMG_6676.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sigh.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>Catching spiders, flies, moths and beetles that infiltrate the flat. We are an insect free zone. It's pretty great.</li>
<li>Running. Basically trying to be in every room in the flat simultaneously.</li>
<li>Sitting on the windowsill growling at all the things. People mowing the lawn, guests walking up the path, the staff member that smokes below our window ( I encourage the last one).</li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHkMML0nXCBPt6jjx_h4gXXGn1CDadMO1OxKd01Dky9tbkjpkmu3LcISJ_uSDvhMocOl4OI6RElA0TBvxfTOolv0Thf0XieEMpget6UrJiPjb-Do5bX5T-hyy3viMgNH8i8TiDdOUz5E/s1600/IMG_6638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQHkMML0nXCBPt6jjx_h4gXXGn1CDadMO1OxKd01Dky9tbkjpkmu3LcISJ_uSDvhMocOl4OI6RElA0TBvxfTOolv0Thf0XieEMpget6UrJiPjb-Do5bX5T-hyy3viMgNH8i8TiDdOUz5E/s1600/IMG_6638.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Sleeping. On the bed. In patches of sunlight. In her radiator bed. In the bath. In cardboard boxes. On the back of the sofa. On people (briefly).</li>
<li>'Helping' to change the bed.</li>
<li>Gently chewing human toes.</li>
<li>Toothbrushes. Chewing them. Carrying them from room to room. Having her face brushed with them. I never said she was normal.</li>
<li>Being disarmingly cute. Gah, them feels.</li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYUghH6mMxlN9LSDsTS_wckurKr2uE9Rmu2f6xQ49DXYDxH5pEddU20zYDvwMvfe8AinpPemiCmEMMLKLxyY2TrWIEGGoY8d8COxDzv_m0dSD_elEVCt63Vv8jrE7Te4zYs43QzoRrXuA/s1600/IMG_6661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYUghH6mMxlN9LSDsTS_wckurKr2uE9Rmu2f6xQ49DXYDxH5pEddU20zYDvwMvfe8AinpPemiCmEMMLKLxyY2TrWIEGGoY8d8COxDzv_m0dSD_elEVCt63Vv8jrE7Te4zYs43QzoRrXuA/s1600/IMG_6661.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
I'm sure there are many other things, but I am stopping here. There will be another edition of crazy cat lady bursts forth coming soon. I know, you can't wait.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-995743511084333242014-06-26T19:33:00.000+01:002015-05-02T21:28:33.185+01:00Mawwiage<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe7nDKFOe5SCPD25haRND4ShibQwRoOgldTm95VMxYSYRbQGNGPDkQVPQXRcePshuAjZ4vPCgNqYFZNkeGOd2KkFqYOzrY0jp3CPkCzludTW2Tn5Y9zVuDP4GNn05_8heX040Uce9QQq0/s1600/Mawwige.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe7nDKFOe5SCPD25haRND4ShibQwRoOgldTm95VMxYSYRbQGNGPDkQVPQXRcePshuAjZ4vPCgNqYFZNkeGOd2KkFqYOzrY0jp3CPkCzludTW2Tn5Y9zVuDP4GNn05_8heX040Uce9QQq0/s1600/Mawwige.png" height="307" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As most of you know (and if you don't, where have you been?) Toben and I are getting married later this year. You'd think this would have been what has sparked all the discussion about marriage in my life this year, but actually it has been inspired by a couple of other completely non-related things.</div>
<span id="goog_636183294"></span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The first was synod. We went to the Argyll and the Isles Episcopal synod earlier this year. Toben was wearing his Warden of a retreat house hat and I wearing my I'm randomly tagging along for the discussion hat. I was mostly interested in the last thing on the agenda: Where do we stand with same sex marriage? I had images in my head of it not going too well, handbags at dawn and all that. I was pleasantly surprised. Apart from one man being inflammatory for the sake of it, everyone was pretty much agreed that it's a church, we're supposed to welcome everybody. One woman at my table even asked why on earth we were spending time on this when there are food banks to run and homeless people to shelter. Toben then went to a conference in Pitlochry to be one of the representatives of the diocese. It was more of the same. Really heartening, positive stuff. The tiniest scrap of faith in the organised church returned.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then yesterday I was learning about some of the smaller church groups around the world. I find myself infuriated again. Yet again the argument that marriage is between a man and a woman because of the children reared its ugly head. I find this so insulting on so many levels. This is terrible for anyone in a same sex relationship to hear. But there are so many others that churches slap in the face with this.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The widows and widowers trying to raise their kids as best they can after the death of their spouse are turning up to church and being constantly told it takes two to raise children or they become damaged, unstable adults.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The couples who have chosen not to have kids are getting the message that their marriage is irrelevant because the church only supports breeders. What if these people are struggling with being told they are infertile?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A lot of churches seem to be really good at isolating those who need support most, and making them feel alienated and even more fragile. Good job guys.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also, the idea that gay people can't raise children is ridiculous. I am friends with two women who are in an incredibly loving relationship and are completely devoted to each other. They have a son. He is one of the most well-balanced, accepting, and friendly little blonde haired moppets I've ever known. He is loved and cared for. He is happy. How is this wrong? I am friends with a straight couple whose son I would like to smack across the head every time I see him. I'd like to give him a lesson in no, sit down, please, thank you, and if you push me one more time I'm going to throw you off the jetty. Is this the ideal we're aiming for?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The whole notion of a marriage being solely about procreation is the ultimate insult for any couple that love each other and want to declare that in front of all their nearest and dearest. In all the vows we make during the service, we don't declare that we're only doing this so we can have children. The promises are made towards and about your spouse. If you are willing to devote yourself to one person like this, who cares what bracket you fit in?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Gay, straight, transgender, bisexual, tall, short, fat, thin. Love is love. Get over it.</div>
Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-33855035073075546402014-06-23T15:42:00.002+01:002014-06-23T15:43:28.951+01:00I'm Tired Of This GameBefore you read this I need to say that this may be about Scottish independence, but it will not include long winded political ramblings. I'm writing about, dare I say it, how I feel about this. A novel idea, I know. I am also aware that not everyone in England can be represented by the English Government's media strategy. I am not anti-English. I am anti-anti-Scottish for the sake of it-English. If you know what I mean.<br />
<br />
So today I was delighted to see a lovely leaflet from HM Government in with our mail. It was about the benefit to Scotland to stay in the UK, or as I read it "Why England is awesome and you should be grateful". I read it, I spotted the holes in their arguments, I felt the condescension wafting from the pages. I put it in the bin.<br />
<br />
When all this started I was undecided. I felt like I didn't know enough to make a good decision. Then the No Campaign got started. I will admit I don't know all the information still, but I'm no longer undecided. Want to know why? Well gee, I guess I'll tell you.<br />
<br />
The constant stream of bile and hatred that has flowed from No Campaigners has not exactly won me over. I also don't understand. If you don't like us that much, why do you want us to stay?<br />
<br />
The lack of information has been astounding. From both sides, admittedly. I do feel however that the Yes lot have been trying to answer questions fairly, and have published a few papers recently giving more info. The leaflet I read today told me on page one it had all the answers, but then produced very generalised statements. There are 5 million businesses in the UK and Scotland will benefit from that. Excellent. How?<br />
<br />
Seeing how much time, effort and money Westminster have put into trying to convince Scotland to stay indicates to me that Scotland is worth a lot more than they are letting on. We keep getting told we are a drain on England's resources and a financial burden, and that we offer practically nothing in return. If that's the case, why aren't you excited to get shot of us?<br />
<br />
David Cameron, Nick Clegg, Ed Miliband, George Osborne, Alistair Darling. I just can't vote for these people. Alex Salmond quipped once that David Cameron is the best thing thing that ever happened to the Independence movement. He really isn't wrong.<br />
<br />
I am fed up of being treated like a child who needs their hand held. The leaflet ended with "This is a big decision" written in large idiot-proof letters on the back page. Oh really, I hadn't noticed.<br />
<br />
And the last thing, which is by far the best to me. I very much get the feeling that most of Scotland doesn't actually expressly want to be separate from the rest of the UK. I think that what we really want is more devolved power and the ability to decide for ourselves what happens within our own country. I thought that was obvious when we built ourselves a swanky new (ugly as sin) parliament building. If Westminster had listened to this in the first place we might not be here. If the reaction had been more like " Ok, well Independence is a bit of a leap from here, but what about if we devolved more power to you and we compromised?" instead of the resounding no, followed by threats of confiscating toys and no pocket money. Independence feels like a last resort, like it's the only way Scotland can get what it needs.<br />
<br />
All in all, I'm a bit done with all the propaganda, big generalised claims, and name calling. Can we just have media silence from now until the vote? Can we talk about something else? It's the year of Scottish Homecoming. The Commonwealth Games are in Glasgow this year. There are awesome things happening in Scotland that need more nationwide coverage. Maybe if Scotland felt like England cared we might not be in this mess.Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-20067771694401406212014-02-12T20:44:00.000+00:002014-02-13T17:11:38.241+00:00When Words Aren't EnoughThis is not going to be anywhere remotely near cheerful. You have been warned.<br />
<br />
Someone I volunteered with on Iona went missing on Sunday and was found dead yesterday. A girl in the year below me at school died of cancer last week. Last year a girl in my own year was hit by a bus while driving and was killed instantly.<br />
<br />
What on earth are you meant to do when you find these things out? What are you supposed to say? These were people I knew and talked to, sometimes daily, but not recently. I never knew them very well. I never stayed in contact. They were in my life, but they never were.<br />
<br />
The natural reaction is to reach out to the family and the friends, those closest and say... something. But I have nothing to say that can make it any better for them. Yes, I could join the masses and email or post a comment on facebook about how lovely I thought the person was, how much they will be missed, how sorry I am. All true. But is that what the family wants to hear?<br />
<br />
If it was me I wouldn't ever read the messages because it will never not hurt. I would want to go in hiding until it was safe to talk to anyone without seeing pity in their face. I don't know, maybe I'm in the minority here. Maybe people draw strength from how well loved their lost one is. From how many people around the world are thinking of you and your family right now.<br />
<br />
I think the messages I'd want that would make me feel like that are messages that most would call inappropriate or unfeeling. I wouldn't want any 'thinking of you's or 'she was a lovely person's. I'd want "Remember that time she glued her hand to her jumper? What a dumbass. She was awesome." But then I'm not like most. Case and point: I did actually glue my hand to my jumper.<br />
<br />
But then again, does it matter if I don't want those messages? I could just choose to never read them. What if it is about the person posting? Maybe wanting to tell the family member all those things and writing that message is how that person deals with their own grief. Everybody does what they need to do to get by. How can that be so bad then?Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-19577572954635131102013-11-05T15:27:00.000+00:002015-06-14T16:57:30.269+01:00YES. Yes To All This.Ever hear someone saying all the thoughts in your head one hundred thousand times more eloquently than you ever could?<br />
<br />
Ladies and gentlemen, I present: Joss Whedon. You may know him from all the awesome everything ever.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/cYaczoJMRhs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-70073434271540633892013-10-29T01:37:00.001+00:002013-10-29T01:38:36.140+00:00A Random Thought About Editing Photographs.So the season has pretty much ended on Iona, and so I have had some brain space/time free up. I'm thinking of trying to do shorter entries on some of the random thoughts that rattle around in my head when I'm supposed to be thinking about something else. I have loads of these, often interesting (to me at least) and very, very random.<br />
<br />
Today's thought, for instance, is about editing photos. I've been scrolling through Pinterest, looking at all the exciting things I can't have and places I can't go and I keep coming across extremely heavily edited pictures of scenery. After a while I noticed I was just scrolling past them without really looking. I stopped to ask myself why and I responded with "they bug me". After more interrogation I've worked out why.<br />
<br />
How insulting is it to the planet that we as humans thought "That sunset is pretty, but I need to edit the colours to make it better"? What's wrong with us? Look at the world we live in. It is stunning. We don't need to ramp up the colour saturation on a sunset, it is beautiful all by itself. Yes, some sunsets are more breath-taking than others but think about it - you are watching the evidence of our survival happening. The sun, giving just the right heat to our planet making life possible, giving way for the moon, controlling the tides and waters of the world making life possible, because of things like Earth's rotation and gravity... making life possible. This incredible thing happening before someone's very eyes and they go home and think it could have been more pink. Idiot. This doesn't just apply to sunsets, but it is the most common of all the photoshopped pictures. Usually the ones that end up with inspirational twattery written in large friendly letters that dominate the internet and dentists waiting rooms.<br />
<br />
The other thing is that some people believe that its real. I can tell when a photo has been played with, possibly because I'm into photography myself, but some folk buy into it. Making the unedited photos of the landscape look somehow lacking, even though that is what it actually looked like. Unless you can't guess from this, I don't touch up my photos. Not even to make it less blurry or anything like that. I either have the skill to take a good picture in the first place or I don't. But that might just be me that thinks that. The only thing I do is put some colour pictures into black and white or do things like invert the colours or increase the saturation and contrast so much it has that pop arty cartoonish look, but very rarely and only when it suits it.<br />
<br />
I guess that might be the line for me, whether we're talking about photography as art or photography as a picture capturing what was there in a particular moment. Yes, they can be both, I admit that. That being said, maybe the art in it for me is what was really there; the world around us being the best piece of living artwork there is.Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-8782308393192362772013-05-08T02:31:00.001+01:002013-05-08T02:36:46.908+01:00F is for... Foraging in My Purse.Tomorrow there is a trip to Oban, and as I was getting my stuff together tonight I lifted my bulging purse out my bag and had the thought that if there wasn't much money in here what on earth is it the size of a human head for?<br />
<br />
So I did the unthinkable. I cleaned out my purse.<br />
<br />
I found this incredible treasure trove of things. Mostly receipts. But some hidden gems in there too, some that I had forgotten about.<br />
<br />
First off, there are the receipts that I pulled out. There was at least one in every pocket, possibly some vain attempt at a filing system. I think I have every receipt for all the petrol I've ever bought in front of me. That's what it looks like at least! I also have some of those mysterious ones that just have numbers on them arranged in various shapes. No idea where they were from or what they were for. Odd little things. Here is the pile:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Mm88SSkhNQKjkv_X0575_jtyI4K_Oo55oFtAAt3PqGXLXtnVJdgq5kEpWGNM7fMmK4nGS4fyU_cR-KQRBRr08RKt4O7jNqWdY3liZ4FTfjaJO8NYEO8SCrpUdNH92oDzitp7EMZyILA/s1600/2013-05-08+01.38.38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Mm88SSkhNQKjkv_X0575_jtyI4K_Oo55oFtAAt3PqGXLXtnVJdgq5kEpWGNM7fMmK4nGS4fyU_cR-KQRBRr08RKt4O7jNqWdY3liZ4FTfjaJO8NYEO8SCrpUdNH92oDzitp7EMZyILA/s320/2013-05-08+01.38.38.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Next up are Calmac related objects. I have no end of ticket book stubs. I'm actually surprised at how many books of ten I've gone through. I also have a rather large stack of these pointless things:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFG4Qo60yR3hLFv9y7outLNVssAXBnF-I_9his-sKctD10CX3tdHj4bHkxbC0qVg_Ng5JcSZA6tzCNg7f8DJq1Mz0MRQye9HsZvpFw7CCmPmZTTa9XFGKidSQ1-ffJF8gtmzGMfotdAI/s1600/2013-05-08+01.49.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFG4Qo60yR3hLFv9y7outLNVssAXBnF-I_9his-sKctD10CX3tdHj4bHkxbC0qVg_Ng5JcSZA6tzCNg7f8DJq1Mz0MRQye9HsZvpFw7CCmPmZTTa9XFGKidSQ1-ffJF8gtmzGMfotdAI/s320/2013-05-08+01.49.43.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What are these actually for?!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then I found a weird thing that I only have a vague memory of, and an even more vague, verging on non-existent, memory of why I kept it. It's from a holiday I went on in 2010. That dates how old all this gubbens is, doesn't it?! My friend Becki and I went to Ilfracombe in Devon and I think we had one of our many cream teas here. And then I got handed this, and put it in my purse to carry with me just in case for the next three years.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStCafAT2DbWVK8kqqkSlU0Mn7hwknYPd1-NJN8PW5tqvSdur6GSGr8WCKPxdLWHAUS8Y9GIvn1cWCr1CGqBgh3MIuhYPWWQwhbX-GqnxOOrHvRm5FW2R4c2Q8Onbb9kPHH0ZUIfuzu5g/s1600/2013-05-08+01.40.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStCafAT2DbWVK8kqqkSlU0Mn7hwknYPd1-NJN8PW5tqvSdur6GSGr8WCKPxdLWHAUS8Y9GIvn1cWCr1CGqBgh3MIuhYPWWQwhbX-GqnxOOrHvRm5FW2R4c2Q8Onbb9kPHH0ZUIfuzu5g/s320/2013-05-08+01.40.18.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The next two finds are a little precious to me. One is so precious I know I should do something better with it than have it in my purse, but I haven't worked out what to do with it so it lives there still. It marks the day I met Eddi Reader, one of the best singers I've ever heard. That day I met her unexpectedly, she signed this, hugged me and passed on her cold to me. Very generous of her.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZz_3CxFzQVcm_D5lPXD9YUXml_8jT_hwLyMQmge5dw59FB1UToFxMFvs0W5tVtXpKOZjK14Q_7NAMCL34g8wUy_4xEgz0H0Sk3702SbJWewrxWABP4e30vnvjZY7ozT1DMvoorML7qg/s1600/2013-05-08+01.40.40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZz_3CxFzQVcm_D5lPXD9YUXml_8jT_hwLyMQmge5dw59FB1UToFxMFvs0W5tVtXpKOZjK14Q_7NAMCL34g8wUy_4xEgz0H0Sk3702SbJWewrxWABP4e30vnvjZY7ozT1DMvoorML7qg/s320/2013-05-08+01.40.40.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
The other thing I have that I'll always have in my purse is and Argentinian 10 australes note. On it, in my own handwriting, it says 'All over the world the gospel is bearing fruit.' I was given it at an event I went to in Edinburgh called Powerpoint. Everyone got different currencies and we were asked to write that on it and to take it home and carry it with us as a reminder of the world as a whole, not just our little corner of it. And I have.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSoN1bkRCUqquvRktMhak_l3OdIYtyw5B1piK-wbYgDJtlTLEjgJu7e9uZ_zqAMGk-ebH-M2JmPx2RwyPxCjyEBD7aYnk3QQu9jI_qu60UP3VTfd7PpM0ogHVfhy6Zhk1PHrTJk3L9Iuo/s1600/2013-05-08+01.41.28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSoN1bkRCUqquvRktMhak_l3OdIYtyw5B1piK-wbYgDJtlTLEjgJu7e9uZ_zqAMGk-ebH-M2JmPx2RwyPxCjyEBD7aYnk3QQu9jI_qu60UP3VTfd7PpM0ogHVfhy6Zhk1PHrTJk3L9Iuo/s320/2013-05-08+01.41.28.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All over the world the gospel is bearing fruit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Amongst the rest I came across some Waterstone's gift cards I had forgotten I had (hooray for free books), a very old membership card for Alien Rock climbing wall, three books of stamps, an email address for someone I volunteered with for a week and haven't spoken to since, and a tapestry needle. You know, just in case.<br />
<br />
What a difference it has made! My purse looks positively svelte! And it's so light! Before I was in danger of taking the life of small children and animals if I accidentally dropped it.<br />
<br />
Now with a lovely feeling of achievement it's time for sleep. *Big contented sigh*Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-3495816739271144562013-02-23T02:03:00.001+00:002013-02-23T02:05:07.875+00:00E is for... EXCITEMENT!Everyone, meet our new room mate.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8ZRxDBvNsRd-KsFxKaJbmbNJc_A5D-2eYWQQJvxSyNo8Rl6qwQeI_oejsp8l0hZrHIgnfUrP0pxgx4ZnShQxFpvg3-p8IugWKl-UhwOCrACXmXMKzVq247JtgFRA9ZY7PB-xf5sXJ4c/s1600/IMG_5946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8ZRxDBvNsRd-KsFxKaJbmbNJc_A5D-2eYWQQJvxSyNo8Rl6qwQeI_oejsp8l0hZrHIgnfUrP0pxgx4ZnShQxFpvg3-p8IugWKl-UhwOCrACXmXMKzVq247JtgFRA9ZY7PB-xf5sXJ4c/s320/IMG_5946.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Squeeeeeeee! <br />
<br />
This is Marilla. She is a four month old bundle of fluff found living wild on Mull. As of this morning she is a four month old bundle of fluff living the high life in SquarahandTobenland.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg9pbgAvYNXW8tqxDwff5NJqZkScbH2gf772CJcGc8jOYNRFAy2u_Bx91OlwKcLn6W9yRuAbkpzxtjiXPYh67TkM5kK9Umx7dDQuq124hRlWiRepxE_B1smNAKVH947xijMt6Hs1N5Br8/s1600/IMG_5952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg9pbgAvYNXW8tqxDwff5NJqZkScbH2gf772CJcGc8jOYNRFAy2u_Bx91OlwKcLn6W9yRuAbkpzxtjiXPYh67TkM5kK9Umx7dDQuq124hRlWiRepxE_B1smNAKVH947xijMt6Hs1N5Br8/s320/IMG_5952.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
We had quite a bit of trouble naming her. We came up with so many awesome names that just weren't right. Some of them were so geeky it was fantastic. Here are some of the favourites:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Janeway - as in Captain of Voyager.</li>
<li>Purrmione - this was my personal favourite. Toben wasn't so keen.</li>
<li>Alpuss Dumbleadorable - because you need to come up with one ridiculous and hilarious option.</li>
<li>Amy Farrah Meowler</li>
<li>Seven of Nine Lives</li>
<li>Catan - although right now she is only a Kitan.</li>
</ul>
And of course we considered every female name from every single film, book and tv show that we like; as well as local place names and even some foods (inspired by Griff Rhys Jones' chocolate lab called Cadbury). But we ended on Marilla, Rilla for short. This was only with Anne of Green Gables in mind, but we've since found that Marilla means 'shining sea'. Appropriate.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcRcRravUP6gEeoscszB3-Qz4A6Cz9V18TQOhjiDpRgVQAu5lAH8Xigf52abDYNVwDK54Chy9ycNFjcC59buZuxVN99a39KRd-p1xXspBVPyyWTBjMm19RU-_PPFvcTWS6ANiR7mLbpM4/s1600/IMG_5959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcRcRravUP6gEeoscszB3-Qz4A6Cz9V18TQOhjiDpRgVQAu5lAH8Xigf52abDYNVwDK54Chy9ycNFjcC59buZuxVN99a39KRd-p1xXspBVPyyWTBjMm19RU-_PPFvcTWS6ANiR7mLbpM4/s320/IMG_5959.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Most of all, we know she is ours because she sat and watched QI with us. I kid you not, she watched it.<br /><br />Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-35714303569030952762013-02-16T21:43:00.002+00:002013-02-16T21:46:43.033+00:00D is for... Dubious CoversDear Kimberley Walsh, One Direction, Flo Rida and the rest of you grasping for ideas,<br /><br />Thank you all for the feeling of despair you have inspired in me. I'm so glad you felt the need to change music as we know it. Believe me, I'm trying here... I said change instead of ruin. I was sitting minding my own business, just watching TV and the next thing I know I'm bombarded by sad. Those poor songs, loved by millions, will never be the same.<br />
<br />
Just one tiny thing though; may I perhaps suggest that what made the original so special in the first place was that you weren't part of it? Just a thought.<br />
<br />
I like my 80's power ballads cheesy, not helium-voiced; my Blondie sung exclusively by Debbie Harry; and my Wicked left bloody well alone. WELL alone.<br />
<br />
Thanks but no thanks,<br />
<br />
Sarah Squarah<br />
<br />
P.s. I know you One Direction guys are doing this for charity, and also my little cousin loves you, so I can't not like you to the full extent I had originally planned. No need to thank me. No really.Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-78144756696656455162013-01-21T16:46:00.001+00:002013-05-08T02:38:25.998+01:00C is for... Cultivating CreativityI watched this TED talk the other day, and I completely agree with everything said. Here's the blurb from the TED site:<br />
<br />
<div id="tagline">
<i>Sir Ken Robinson makes an entertaining and profoundly
moving case for creating an education system that nurtures (rather than
undermines) creativity.</i></div>
<i>
Creativity expert Sir Ken Robinson challenges the way we're
educating our children. He champions a radical rethink of our school
systems, to cultivate creativity and acknowledge multiple types of
intelligence.</i><br />
<br />
This talk, along with a blog post I wrote a while back called <a href="http://sarahsquarah.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/schools-out.html" target="_blank">Schools Out</a> sum up why I have absolutely no nostalgia for my high school and why I wasn't sad, or indeed surprised, when it closed.<br />
<br />
I vividly remember a chalk drawing that I did, that I was so proud of. In art class one afternoon we had to find something from the still life shelves to draw. I think this was where all the junk in the school came to die. I was one of the last to get there and ended up with slim pickings. The best option was this really freaky looking clown doll - that is how slim the pickings were. I took it back, plonked it on my desk and stared at it gloomily for a couple of minutes before I attempted anything. I'm glad I did. I had the idea that I would go and get some black sugar paper and chalks and try something different. Having just done a still life class the week before we had learnt about lights and darks, shadings and lightening, I thought this was going to be a real brownie points for Squarah moment. I only drew the lightest parts. The bits that lay in heavy shadow I left blank, letting the black paper come through. As it was a really colourful clown doll with a shiny porcelain face it worked really well. I could make the parts of his face that the light was hitting really stand out on the black with white chalk. All the colours of his costume looked so vivid in comparison. I was so proud of what I had done.<br />
<br />
Before we could move on to something new we had to show our teacher our work. She came over and told me I wasn't finished. I hadn't done the shading. I explained my thoughts on the black paper and that I had done everything I had been intending to. My idea was done as far as I was concerned; I couldn't understand why she didn't get it. Then she did the unforgivable. She picked up the chalk. She drew on it. She started shading it all in. She did part of it, then put the chalk down and gave me the instruction that I was to finish it the way she had.<br />
<br />
I sat there not doing anything for the rest of the class. When the bell went I got up, put all my things away, and on my way out to the door put my clown drawing in the bin. Right in front of her. Her only response was "That's a shame. It showed real promise, if you had only finished it properly." What could have ended with such joy, which is after all what art is for the most part there for, ended instead with frustration and a blood boiling anger that I carried the rest of the day. The worst of it was that I knew she had failed me. I was so angry at her because it was my first taste of my time at school not actually having anything to do with me. Me as a person, me as a talent, me as an exact combination that has never been before. From then on I did what the art teachers wanted me to, and I drew for my own enjoyment at home. Doing precisely as instructed I got straight A's in all my art exams, which were so regimented it was like painting in an army labour camp. I got points deducted once for lending the girl beside me a pencil sharpener. NEIN! Das ist verboten!<br />
<br />
So here, after my rambling tale of sorrow, is the video. It is worth watching, so don't look at it and think 'twenty minutes, pah!' Also, if you enjoy it and have some time to spare there are plenty more great talks on the TED website.<br />
<br />
Enjoy!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/iG9CE55wbtY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-90005326617928915222013-01-18T17:46:00.000+00:002015-05-02T21:31:49.746+01:00B is for... Builders, Boyfriends and Bookshops.Just a short post today containing three very separate thoughts.<br />
<br />
The first is that we have builders at Bishops House just now doing the extension, and they are behaving most unbuilder-like (certainly in comparison to the first lot of builders we had). When they accidentally get mud on the carpets they go and get the hoover and clean it up. They went and found the cleaning supplies and cleaned the bathrooms they had been using last week. They are walking the long way round - as in down the path, out the gate, in the other gate and down their make-shift driveway - so that they don't ruin the garden surrounding the building site. I know it seems quite uncharitable of me to be surprised by them doing these things... but we're so pleased to have them! In my past experiences with builders, particularly on Iona where they have to stay overnight, everything they touch or go near they leave minging. But these guys have been trying really hard and we're certainly grateful for that!<br />
<br />
Ok, now here's your frightening thought for the day. While down with my family at Christmas, I learnt that my little cousin is the only one in her class without a boyfriend. She is seven. This along with 12 year olds changing their relationship status on facebook to "It's complicated" has left me a bit weirded-out.<br />
<br />
After that I feel the need to restore some faith in humanity, and luckily I have quite a gem tucked away. HMV has gone into administration, which is unfortunate. So has Blockbuster Video. Sad news for both of those companies, which have been around for yonks. However I have found a little pocket of joy for myself in this... Waterstone's bookshops are still going strong! (Watch this, now I've said that they'll close their doors tomorrow.) People are still reading! People are still buying books! I admit that Waterstone's is probably being funded single-handed by my dad and the many people who buy him vouchers for Christmas, but it still counts.<br />
<br />
Hooray for book nerds everywhere!<br />
<br />Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-41347406454795937752013-01-11T20:07:00.000+00:002013-01-13T14:29:57.069+00:00A is for ... Apocalypse, Attitude and A Good Kick Up The BacksideFirst off, happy new year! I hope you had a great Christmas and new year and everything in between. Glad tidings, good wishes and a' that.<br />
<br />
Well, that was a jolly little apocalypse we had there wasn't it? I can only hope they will all be like that. If those Mayans are watching us I think they must have had a right laugh. But here we are in 2013 whether we like it or not. And that means continuing with life as we know it, or starting new things - projects, jobs, courses... whatever.<br />
<br />
While I've been reading everyone's updates on returning back and starting fresh I've noticed a trend, and not a good one. The common link is moaning. I've been aware of it for sometime, particularly on facebook and twitter (twitter being far, far worse for some reason) but it seems I have finally gotten to the 'I'm so done with this' stage with all the new years grumblings. <br />
<br />
I have to admit my main reason for being done with it is that I flat out don't believe most of it. When people who I know to adore their jobs post regularly about how boring/irritating/stressful they find it I find it hard to see their point. Or people who are studying something they find incredibly interesting complaining about coursework they couldn't wait to get to three weeks ago... I just don't believe you.<br />
<br />
There is of course a mentality that fits with that; look at how busy and important I am. I think some feel the need to moan about their workload or good deeds because they crave praise. Interesting how it is easier to condemn your hard, hard life publicly rather than share your own self-pride. Or perhaps it gets better results. Either way, interesting.<br />
<br />
My next confession is my own reaction to these mini-rants. I tend to care less and less about what these people do. I see a post by someone who moans a lot and I skip over it. My brain switches itself off to the particular person and their little corner of drama.<br />
<br />
<i>There comes a time in life when you have to let go of all the pointless drama and the people who create it and surround yourself with people who make you laugh so hard that you forget the bad and focus solely on the good. After all, life is too short to be anything but happy.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Unknown author<i> </i></div>
<br />
If I do by some miracle read a post by a regular moaner I can't help but think "Oh my, your life is <i>so</i> hard. You are surrounded by people that love you and support you and only want the best for you. You have a job you like and are good at. You can pay the bills and afford to buy yourself a brand new phone when yours breaks. You are studying something you love. But by all means tell us all about your horrendous experience writing a thousand word essay about something you are passionate about."<br />
<br />
<i>We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Abraham Lincoln<i> </i> </div>
<br />
You are lucky. You can't forget that. If you woke up tomorrow with only that for which you were thankful for today, what you have?<br />
<br />
<i>A candle is a protest at midnight. It is a non-conformist. It says to the darkness, "I beg to differ."</i><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Samuel Rayan</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Here I am to be the candle at midnight - to protest. I look at people's lives and compare them to the moanings and requests for pity and I think "I beg to differ." I truly believe that living your life with that view is to live in darkness. Where is your happiness? Where is your unashamed joy that brings you leaping into every activity you enjoy? Why does everything you choose to do come with a grunt and a rant? Why do you choose to do it if that's how you feel? As my mum would say, "If you don't like it, change it."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I leave you with a quote containing the hope I have for everyone this year. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art - write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Neil Gaiman</div>
Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-24535098733584462252012-12-07T19:53:00.001+00:002013-01-13T14:29:07.622+00:00Hey Jesus, it's your birthday. We're gonna party like it's your birthday.I've heard a few people talking recently about Advent being a time of penitence, almost like Lent light. There seems to be a line of thinking that we need to prepare ourselves in a solemn and contemplative manner for Christmas. To search our hearts and right our wrongs. Then, as with Easter Sunday, we can actually let loose and be happy on Christmas Day.<br />
<br />
This would explain why I've heard such a strong aversion to having Christmas trees and decorations in churches. It doesn't look solemn enough. But of course there was someone I met who thought that Christmas trees were too phallic an image to have in a church. They had an altogether different problem... <br />
<br />
Going back to Advent, is it really the counting down of the days that we have left to get our sins in order?<br />
<br />
That just plain doesn't make sense to me.<br />
<br />
So say that in just over three weeks time it will be your birthday. Are you feeling the need to be penitential? Or are you really freaking excited? Maybe you have big plans to spend time with your family and friends, perhaps having a party and a huge celebration. Maybe you want to spend it with only those nearest and dearest to you and have a quiet meal. Either way, you're probably looking forward to it.<br />
<br />
In the Christian calender this is <i>the</i> birthday. This is the one big birthday party that everyone is invited to. Not only those with the most reverent hearts get in at the door. Can you imagine if it was your birthday and everyone decided that to mark the occasion they had to be soor-faced and glum? What a message of peace and love that is.<br />
<br />
So why do people do this? Is it that we can't be happy about something to the same degree if we haven't felt some level of sadness leading up to it? How British a notion. Feels positively Victorian. You cannot notice the light unless you have sat in the dark. Sounds a little to me like an excuse for not waking up in the morning and marvelling at the light every single day. Once you notice light and keep your eye on it you will notice when it changes.<br />
<br />
I also think that there are many other times of the year to work on this. Even if you need to take a serious look at how you view and value the world, why save it specially for Christmas? This holiday is not based on death, but on life. Easter? Much more fitting. Someone dying for your lack of awareness and love seems a much better time to think about that. The miracle of birth, with grace and peace coming to this world seems much more fitting for joyous thanks and acknowledgement.<br />
<br />
At the end of the day we sing "Come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant", "God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing ye dismay" and "Joy to the world". Perhaps, and what a thought this is, God might just want us to be happy.Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-90144290505277974742012-11-24T03:37:00.000+00:002015-08-31T20:23:21.264+01:00Life Lessons?Over the years my family have given me some pretty weird advice and coaching. I'm sure many of you have received the same advice from your own parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles... anyone who is feeling particularly full of wisdom when you happen to be nearby.<br />
<br />
But I've been thinking a bit about the weird things we tell people, particularly children. As I remember all these interesting little tidbits of "knowledge" my family have given me I can't help but laugh at how ridiculous they are. So I have decided to pass on some of my wisdom to all of you lucky sods. I think you will come out the other side having learnt... something.<br />
<br />
<b>"Eat your crusts or you won't get curly hair."</b> My Nana used to tell me this almost every day. I used to tell her almost every day that I didn't actually want curly hair. Turns out that if you gobble them down anyway because of the look you just got your hair will remain to be poker straight. Weird.<br />
<br />
<b>"Eat those carrots and you'll be able to see in the dark."</b> Another Nana classic. The sad thing with this one is that my reaction was more along the lines of "Holy mother of vegetables! Super powers at last!" and I ate every single one. And then I did get a super power. The power of being super disappointed.<br />
<br />
<b>"You have to wear matching underwear in case you get run over."</b> A gem from Mum. Apparently if I ever get taken into hospital with limbs hanging off, blood spurting out all over the place and half my face left on the pavement I will be all shades of mortified if I'm wearing pink knickers and a blue bra. It gets better. Once, while discussing this with my mother she told me she would be embarrassed to identify me if my underwear wasn't matching. I quote: "No, she can't be mine. MY daughter wouldn't do that." I can only hope she was joking.<br />
<br />
<b>"Never wear somebody else's pants. That is just minging." </b>Mum's advice seems to be underwear related. This was made in reference to finding used underwear for sale in a charity shop, but was then extended to be a general rule. And you know what? I actually agree with this one. You don't know where that has been. Or more to the point you do know, and thats worse.<br />
<br />
<b>"Ach, don't take your car to Kwik Fit. They'll look at you and think you're, you know, silly. Take it to Sandy. He's no daft."</b> I'm sure this sounded better in my Popa's head. I do take my car to Sandy, as he is indeed 'no daft'. I do also think that Kwik Fit will think I'm a silly girly type and charge me for all kinds of gubbins. All in all sound advice, but its all in the delivery, isn't it?Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-46482400948592433232012-11-20T02:17:00.001+00:002012-11-20T02:17:41.733+00:00BookshelvesFrom where I sit on the couch I have a pretty good view of all the books on our shelves. I can't help but notice how strange a mix of topics and titles it is. For instance, we have a whole shelf devoted to childrens books which sits beside the design book shelf, the cook book shelf and the poetry shelf. And then there's the novels.<br />
<br />
So I've decided to give you all a little taster of the weird and wonderful books we own, with emphasis on the weird. I've chosen these either because the title is awesome or because it highlights the downright odd selection of interests Toben and I have. So here goes.<br />
<br />
1. <b>'Snow White and the Seven Samurai' by Tom Holt</b>. Hilarious writer, I read everything he writes.<br />
<br />
2. <b>'Woody Allen's Complete Prose'.</b> Which snuggles in right next to...<br />
<br />
3. <b>'The Novels of Jane Austen'. </b>One of my all time best charity shop finds. £1 for all the novels of Jane Austen... shut up and take my money!<br />
<br />
4. <b>'Does Anyone Like Midges?', 'Why Don't Penguins Feet Freeze?', 'Why Can't Elephants Jump?' and Why Do Men Have Nipples?'.</b> I love all of these question and answer books. I learn a surprising amount from them. Mostly that even scientists get things quite wrong, but thats something at least surely...<br />
<br />
5. <b>'In Praise of Slow' by Carl Honore.</b> Awesome book about a sort of revolution against modern culture's love of fast living.<br />
<br />
6. <b>'Stop Stealing Sheep and Find Out How Type Works'</b><br />
<br />
7. <b>'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' by J. K. Rowling. </b>I'm sure everyone is shocked and surprised that a Harry Potter related book made it on to one of my book lists. I think we'd all be surprised if there wasn't one here, let's be honest now.<br />
<br />
8. <b>'Scaredy Squirrel' by Melanie Watt.</b> This one is for you Lauren. Whenever I read this, it is always in your voice. Then I look at the view.<br />
<br />
9. <b>'The Poetry of Birds'. </b>A book of collected poems about, you guessed it, birds. Seriously though, I adore this book.<br />
<br />
10. <b>'Shades of Grey' by Jasper Fforde.</b> Not <i>that</i> Shades of Grey. This is another one, you know, one that is actually worth reading. Jasper Fforde is another I will read everything he produces from his magical cave of sparkly, nerdy hilarity. The sky is a different colour where he lives, and I would like to live there.Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4423576100331413492.post-72825388273990800202012-11-02T00:49:00.001+00:002012-11-24T03:54:41.032+00:00Och aye the noo testament.Recently I made an excellent find at the charity shop in Craignure (as I usually do!) and I've just started to look at it tonight...<br />
<br />
This is what I bought: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMf2nlm-ifhQtFlsBkLn6lO0aRYZPeuwIYa9N3RLzLoXzYiekF1JSn4AOd72XNlOHKjY933_UIoqGe9hziBh6agiAMjVrIVTUcm_h9F3LV5DBmqqjc0PGD5zJirUY8QMTPb6HwVWl1-Q/s1600/1+Nov+2012+23:48:18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMf2nlm-ifhQtFlsBkLn6lO0aRYZPeuwIYa9N3RLzLoXzYiekF1JSn4AOd72XNlOHKjY933_UIoqGe9hziBh6agiAMjVrIVTUcm_h9F3LV5DBmqqjc0PGD5zJirUY8QMTPb6HwVWl1-Q/s320/1+Nov+2012+23:48:18.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Yes, the sticker says £1. Epic.<br />
<br />
Tonight I sat and looked up some favourite verses in it and some of the well known ones too, and I wanted to share them because they are, quite frankly, fabulous. I recommend that when you read these you read them out loud. The brain seems to make them make more sense when trying desperately to pronounce it!<br />
<br />
<i> Na, whan ye pray, gang intil your benmaist chaumer an tak the door wi ye, an syne pray til your Faither, at bides whaur nane can see him; an your Faither, at sees aathing at is dune in hidlins, will gie ye your reward.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Matthew 6 v 6</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Whaur your treisur is huirdit, een thair will your hairt be an aa.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
Matthew 6 v 21</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i> In the beginnin o aa things the Wurd wis there ense, an the Wurd bade wi God, an the Wurd wis God. He wis wi God i the beginnin, an aa things cam tae be throu him, an wiout him no ae thing cam tae be. Aathing at hes come tae be, he wis the life in it, an that life wis the licht o man; an ey the licht shines i the mirk, an the mirk downa slocken it nane.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
John 1 v 1-5</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Luve is patientfu; luve is couthie an kind; luve is nane jailous; nane sprosie; nane bowdent wi pride; nane mislaired; nane hamedrauchit; nane toustie. Luve keeps nae nickstick o the wrangs it drees; finnds nae pleisur i the ill wark o ithers; is ey liftit up whan truith dings lies; kens ey tae keep a caum souch; is ey sweired tae misdout; ey howps the best; ey bides the warst.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
1 Corinthians 13 v 4-7<i> </i></div>
<br />
<i>Than I hard a loud voice cryin frae the Throne: "Nou is God's bidin wi men, an he will bide wi them, an they will be his peiple. God himsel will won wi them, an will dicht ilka tear frae their een; there will be nae mair deith, nor dule, nor cries o wae, nor pyne, for the auld warld is by wi."</i><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Revelation 21 v 4</div>
Sarah Macdonaldhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11858042142783402202noreply@blogger.com1