Happy

I do loathe January. It's just a month I know, and it's entirely illogical to link mood to the calendar, but nevertheless I find myself wallowing in a mid winter gloom that's hard to shake off.

Perthaps it's the post-celebratory comedown following the highs of Christmas and New Year. Perhaps it's the extra flab piled on beneath bulge-hiding jumpers. Or perhaps it's the weather; I don't know about you but here in Scotland I've forgotten what the sun looks like. Most probably it's a combination of all of these factors. Consequently, I haven't really been feeling myself lately. I'm not depressed but I'm definitely a little way down on the happiness index.

I think of myself as generally a happy person. I'm not always resillient but I don't take myself too seriously either. Quite honestly, I'm a bit of loon most of the time - fond of acting the fool and laughing at my own jokes! I tend to view the world in an optimistic way and focus on the nice things (my husband would say I see things in a 'naive' way and I'm drawn to 'fluffy' things!)

Stuck indoors and laid low with a bit of a flare of my illness, I watched a documentary on Netflix entitled 'Happy'. I was struck by its findings about happiness. It wasn't anything really revolutionary but it was revealing. The documentary combines real life stories from people around the world with interviews from leading scientists and psychologists. The focus on the non-material aspects of happiness was uplifting and reinforced the idea of shared human experience and a sense of community as being essential to contentment.

I particularly liked the aged Brazilian surfer who talked about the importance of physical activity and trying to 'work so that you can live your life in tranquility'. Easier said than done I'm sure but that also seemed to be another message in the film: that happiness is not an end goal. There is no defintive point to happiness but instead an ongoing experience. It's gratitude for the small things, kindness and cooperation that increase our happiness as illustrated perfectly by the rickshaw driver thankful for the tarpuline cover on his home in the Kolkatta slums. For me, the most touching part of the movie, however, was the visit to the Japanese island of Okinwawa which holds the record for the highest number of 100 year olds. I think these centanarians have much to teach us about happiness. Here's a little clip:

If you're feeling the January blues too then I'd reccomend you watch 'Happy'. It is as enjoyable to watch as the name implies. And now, although surfing is out of the question, I am going to get outside and commune with nature even if that does mean walking in the rain and admiring the mud!

A Fishy Tale

Well, it seems an awfully long time since I posted anything on this blog. The reason?...Just life, I think, taking over and filling up all my time. The teen has needed my help persuasion to revise and get ready for her exams; I was faced with an inordinate amount of paperwork to do and this nagged at my conscience each time I sat down and considered writing for pleasure rather than form filling; also I have been suffering with a RSI type elbow pain that has had me wincing every time I go near the keyboard. Now the exams are over for H (they're terrifically early in Scotland), some of the paperwork is done and I can type, slowly, with my left hand!

Keep reading - all will be revealed 

I know what you're thinking - what has any of this got to do with fish? Well bear with me and all will be revealed...eventually.

Our village hall is a rather utilitarian building with little going for it if you were judging purely on aesthetics. But we have a wily committee full of enterprising types who have done much to improve its appeal and increase its use. There's a community cafe, plant sales, a second hand book store, musical performances and a weekly mindfulness session to name just a few of the many events that take place regularly. So it came as no surprise to hear that there was to be a play in the hall and I duly bought tickets. The last time I went to see a 'local' production I had to bite my lip to stifle the giggles as various octogenarians shuffled about in dubious costumes and forgot their lines, and so I was not expecting much. I was to be proved very wrong in my assumptions.

'Get Up and Tie Your Fingers' by Ann Coburn is set against the worst fishing disaster in the UK's history. On the 14th October 1881,  20 boats and 189 men were lost in a storm (129 of them from the small community of Eyemouth, near Berwick).  Just up the coast from there, our tiny harbour, Cove, was hit the worst proportionately, losing four of its five boats and 11 of its 21 fishermen. Many of the family-run boats tried desperately to get back into the harbour but were swept past the harbour mouth and onto the rocks in the bay. Women and children were close enough to watch their menfolk drown but had no way of reaching them. You can understand why that terrible day is still referred to as 'Black Friday'. Long-time locals, some of whom are direct descendants of survivors or those who died, explained that the title relates to the call given to rouse the herring lassies who lived and worked in the local area and travelled with the herring down the east coast of the country.  These plucky women needed to work at terrific speed, sorting, slicing and gutting up to 60 fish in a minute! Those 'silver darlings' were slippery little blighters, and a gutting knife sharp, and so the women would bind their fingers with cotton strips to protect them from cuts and the stinging pickling salt.

The play managed to pull off that difficult feat - of being deeply moving but at the same time uplifting. Through the characters of young Molly, her obsessive and fearful mother Jean, and fun-loving Janet, the play brought to life the courage and resilience of truly remarkable women while exploring the metaphorical ties between mother and daughter. The cast was entirely women supported in turn by an all female choir.  Karen Wimhurst's original score sung a cappella added a haunting quality which was difficult to forget. The inclusion of a nineteenth century children's hymn,  'When Lamps are Lighted in the Town' left hardly a dry eye in the house - a simple and plaintive tribute without being mawkish.

Bronze sculpture at the Cove to commemorate the tragedy

I was so pleased that I went to see it and cannot think of a more fitting setting than within the very community that was so affected by this tragedy. To further the links to the local community, the village school children and crafting groups helped to decorate the hall and knitters across the region were responsible for delightful shoals of knitted herring that will be following the production as it travels down the east coast of England. I really admired the display and managed a chuckle when I wondered what the real herring lassies would have thought of the knitted silver darlings!

Even the corridor outside the toilets was decorated!

A creel of knitted herring