Dr Maya Angelou and I

I sit down for coffee and wait for Dr Maya Angelou. Somebody has arranged ginger biscuits and peaches on a plate on the table and the scent of summer bleeds into the air. This moment feels like its taken a lifetime to arrive and now that its here I realise the importance of living in the present, making sure I take in all that she says.

She walks in to the room. Immediately I am awestruck. I feel ill, itchy, like I need to escape, pick up and leave. Only problem is that I can't move. I'm frozen to the spot, can't even stand to welcome Dr Angelou, thank her for allowing me these moments. I'm intimidated, embarrassed to be nothing more than myself.

She smiles that broad, delicious smile.

For a moment I forget myself.

I see only her.
 
My eyes fill with tears. I don't want to cry-she hasn't even spoken yet. She adjusts her necklace, big red and yellow beads, sits down, touches her hair and straightens out her skirt. I still haven't moved.

"Hello Thom." She rasps. Her voice is as rich and filled with as much wisdom as I always imagined.
I manage a smile. I can feel the sweat drip under my arms. She's looking at me. I hope she can't see my nostrils flare. I'm only glad the thoughts inside my head aren't visible. They would fill the room, fast and liquid, drown the both of us.
She's still looking. I know its my turn to speak. She's not trying to make it easier, stuffing the gap with niceties. I respect her even more now. It would be easy to pacify the situation by saying its OK. She's teaching me perseverance and we both know it.
I'm mustering up the courage to speak, the words are boiling up inside of me, travelling through my body, into my throat. I'm about ready to burp them out. I close my eyes and hope for the best.

"Hi Dr Angelou. Thank you for meeting me."

I said something. My body is lighter, the cloudy fog that I created around myself is lifting.

Maya reaches for a ginger biscuit and bites into it. I can hear each crunch, each one louder than the last. I'm comforted by it somehow and I smile. She's caught my smile. She's smiling back.

"I'm so worried about what I might say Dr Angelou that I think its almost safer to remain silent."

She takes a moment, she's breathing deeply now. I think she choosing her words carefully.

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

This is everything that I need today. I can't stop the tears now. They are streaming down my cheeks. I don't even try to dry my face, I'm just sitting with Maya Angelou, living in the now.

She's right.
If I remember nothing else about today I will at least remember how I feel now. 
Dr Maya Angelou has given me that and today it is everything I need. 
 

O!

I just found out Oprah Winfrey is left handed.
I think this explains why I love her so much.

Its at least a factor I suppose.

Please forgive all that I could not do

I've been tormented recently by thoughts of Marilyn Monroe, or more accurately, whether or not I would have been able to save her.

In my darkest moments I worry that I would have only fed the flame, exasperated the situation, made it so much worse. I worry that I would have dismissed all that she felt as some sort of high maintenance nonsense, unimportant self doubt. I worry that I would have laughed in the face of the deep seated fear that buried her.
Moments like that make me ill. I feel nothing but guilt and repulsion, drowning in my own ignorance.

As I slowly recover from a situation that I've created wholly inside my mind I am reminded that I am an empathetic person. Somebody who would comfort, cajole and distract. I would love and listen to all that she had to say and if I had no advice to offer, I would listen some more. She needed somebody who would listen without judgement or motive. Above all else she needed to know that she had that.

I would lie with her and be with her through long nights that she thought would never end. I would brush her hair and make her bagels and cups of tea with lemon. I would run her baths and read her books. I would be all that she didn't have.

And whilst I am relieved by the realisation that I am good, these thoughts do nothing to lift the blues that fill all that I am.
Because she is still gone.
I could not save her.

For that I will never forgive myself.

My friend, the wordsmith

Katy wrote:
"Your blog is lyrical wizardry. I had no idea -NO IDEA- that whilst we were whimsically battling Rolf Harris anecdotes across the social ping-pong table, you were casually cultivating a writing style that makes my womb seep. Amen sister. Amen."

I'm typing through tears.
This is going to be the quote on the sleeve of my first book, it has to be.

I've been thinking lately...

...that whilst its good to have money I imagine that having any substantial amount in the 1970s would have been a waste.
From what I've seen I can only assume that everybody was spending their cash on tongue and groove, shag carpetting, polyester suits, teasing combs and acid in between trips to the local Discotheque and time spent sticking it to the man.

Upon reflection I'm sure that all the nouveau riche from the 70s wished that they had put their spare change in a savings account and kept the dough until high end products weren't made entirely of melamine and crotchet.

Just a thought.

Cancer Research Knitwear and all the things that make me warm

All the new knitwear in the world cannot compare with second hand charity shop knitwear and its days gone by musk. When I find this knitwear I am reminded of all that is good which in turn reminds me of Dr Cosby and all that he did. You follow me? Dr Cosby was a pioneer of knitwear and because of him there is an abundance of tasteless patterned sweaters and sweater vests for me to vacuum up, touch and cuddle. Because when the 1980s ended people came to their senses and realised that you only look cool in tasteless patterned knitwear if you wear tight jeans and have a fancy hair cut and they gave all this wool to the good folks raising money for all the bad in the world.

Dear Dr Cosby,

Thank you for all that you did and for everything that you created.
Because of you I am warm in the winter and the talk of the town.

Yours gratefully,

Thom

I love Boxie

My T Spoke T-Shirt is no longer for sale at iloveboxie.com but can still be viewed here

I wear mine with pride, safe in the knowledge that Jackie Kennedy Onassis knows everything that I need her to know. Our love is real, I'm sure of it.
The beautiful girl with pixie short hair models it delightfully and if I'm honest her green denim jacket fills me with nothing but envy.

The story behind the T-Shirt can be viewed here.

Alternatively you could scroll down this very blog and read the original, nostalgic text.

www.thomatronics.com-where history is made.

I'm considering sticking this on my mirror....

....a regular affirmation to keep me from crying into my Ready Brek each morning.  

Writings for Popshot perhaps

.....If this is modern living
then I don't want that
I'd rather live in yesterday
or Monday even.

Weather reports or something similar.

The forecast looks Sunny. Real Sunny.