"I act as a sponge. I soak it up and squeeze it out in ink every two weeks." Janet Flanner, a columnist who was the New Yorker's Paris correspondent for fifty years.
On the BBC last night while I was brushing my teeth, I heard an interview with Jamal Mahjoub, who writes novels under the pseudonym Parker Bilal, a series of mysteries about a Sudanese detective. Mahjoub has a Sudanese father and a British mother, lived in Cairo for years and now lives in Barcelona. He said that being an outsider is actually a good thing, because it makes you much more aware of things, of how people act, how they see you, about all the nuanced differences of your everyday life.
It made me think about how this is very true. My whole life has, for one reason or another, been spent mostly as an outsider, not a crazy faraway outsider, but definitely not one of the easygoing "normal" people, if there are any of those. I am not bragging that I am some amazing original or anything like that, just that certain circumstances have made it so. And so I have been observant, and somewhat thoughtful.
And now because I am writing this blog I am often aware of everyday events as potentials for subjects. It is as though one's awareness is heightened, one experiences life twice, during the day in real time, and then in hindsight, writing about it.
And though I would dearly love to continue this idea, I can't keep my eyes open. As Nick used to sing, to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, "What a day, oh what a day!"
The Outsider is close to my heart and I will discuss it, but until then, here are some beautiful images of my trees:
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| Lone Ancient Apple Tree in second meadow |
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| Frost flowers (through my windscreen/shield) |
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| The mysterious Big Tree where a huffing puffing creature lives. |
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| The edge of the sky. |
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| Laden. |
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| Tree with decorations |
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