Sandy's Say: Mental Pyjamas
"It is said that to be a good writer you should stay in your mental pyjamas all day. By this it is meant that your mind should remain flexible, freewheeling and unrestricted by traditional literary styles and grammatical parameters,'' says columnist Sandy James.
It is said that to be a good writer you should stay in your mental pyjamas all day. By this it is meant that your mind should remain flexible, freewheeling and unrestricted by traditional literary styles and grammatical parameters.
This morning, as I farewelled my smartly dressed, freshly groomed husband off to work, I took one look at the cold, rainy weather and I silently promised myself that I would remain in my physical pyjamas all day too. Wasting no time, I pulled a warm tracksuit on over the top of my night attire and got down to the serious business of writing my weekly column.
For inspiration I opened a folder of poems which I've collected and came across this one by Anna Wickham.
The Fired Pot
In our town, people live in rows
The only irregular thing in a street is the steeple,
And where that points to, God only knows,
And not the poor disciplined people!
And I have watched the women growing old,
Passionate about pins, and pence, and soap,
Till the heart within my wedded breast grew cold,
And I lost hope.
But a young soldier came to our town,
He spoke most candidly.
He asked me quickly to lie down,
And that was very good for me.
For though I gave him no embrace -
Remembering my duty -
He altered the expression on my face,
And gave me back my beauty.
Anna Wickham wrote this poem in 1916 but I couldn't help reflecting that the experience and sentiment in it are just as applicable to some married women of today.
I am currently noticing a few of my female friends becoming sensually invisible as they compromise, thicken and subside into middle age. Many of them stepped back from being protagonists in their own lives years ago when they opted to stay home, cook, clean and look after the children and now, for reasons of stability, security and a sense of obligation they continue out of habit, without revealing their authentic emotions which simmer beneath.They are tired of being taken for granted and putting everyone else's needs first.
But every now and then, most unexpectedly, a stranger will pay them a compliment and you see their faces light up. Only last week my friend Rachel was walking along the pavement when a grubby man popped out of a manhole cover and exclaimed, "Cor Love, you look good enough to eat. If your husband doesn't want you, I'll have you." Although this slightly pungent gent was not of Rachel's usual calibre, she sparked right up. "He reminded me that I was still attractive. I suddenly saw myself through fresh eyes and I vowed to spend time on myself again, "she confided in us.
Now I am wishing that I hadn't mentally freewheeled to the other side of this equation. My cute husband is in his city office as we speak, surrounded by silk stockinged, tight skirted, ego stroking, young ladies.
Shucks, I suppose this means that I'd better go and scrub the scurvy (that's Australian for "take a shower") and put some proper clothes on before he comes home tonight. Why, who knows, I may even condescend to clean my teeth and brush my hair.
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