Rag Tag

Thanks to Ahvarahn I have been given the task of joining the ranks of the recently tagged and revealing eight things about myself. Firstly, though, I will do as required by bloggy etiquette and reproduce the following brief:

1) Post rules before you give your facts (these are they).
2) List 8 random facts about yourself (I am heartened at least by the term "random".)
3) At the end of your post, choose (tag) 8 people and list their names, linking to them (Could have trouble here - I don't get out much, and many of those I know have already been "got at". I have never managed to make a link work, either. Better come back to this.)
4) Leave a comment on their blog, letting them know they've been tagged. (Okay ... that's do-able).

Right. Here goes;

1. I have done something similar before. Look here: http://margiecm.blogspot.com/2006_06_01_archive.html

2. In recognition that the above is cheating, I agree to think of seven better ones. First the brutal truth; I am inherently lazy. (Witness #1). I am in awe of people who are driven to reach their full potential at all times, who use their talents to the fullest whatever these may be, and who work to capacity in all things. I have brief and spasmodic bouts of frenetic activity and achievement, but have neither the energy nor the willingness to live my entire life at this pace. This is a character flaw, and one of many.

3. My favourite childhood memories involve my father using his old violin as an offensive weapon. (I'm sure I've told this story before). He'd say "If you're not asleep in five minutes it's the Dying Swan for you!" We'd call out "Daddy, it's just called 'The Swan' you know". "Not when I play it" he'd shoot back. If we were really recalcitrant it'd be Humouresque, complete with exaggerated slides up the fingerboard. Wonderfully awful. Other dads took their kids to the beach and made things in sheds. Ours filled the house up with music (mercifully not usually played by him), books, canvasses and the smell of oil paints, gesso and varnish, and couldn't mend a dripping tap to save his life. The smell of oils and turpentine still makes me swoon happily.

3. I am a theological and spiritual sloth. I'm interested, I read and I listen, but so far have found nothing I need to hang on to as doctrine, or a blueprint for life on this earth or beyond it, nor have I felt the compulsion to find one. I don't describe myself as atheist or agnostic either. I believe in the inherent goodness of most people, while recognising the human frailty and failings which get in the way of this goodness. I don't believe any of those things can be blamed on or laid at the feet of a deity. I don't think this makes me a better or more secure person, but it doesn't mean I am a moral vacuum either. Just a work in progress with a reasonably open mind.

4. I adore my children, but am not defined by them. Parenthood is a privilege and a joy, but it is also huge responsibility which I often feel I fall short of fulfilling. I am incredibly lucky that my children don't seem to agree with me on this last point. I am also incredibly lucky to be able to like my girls as well as love them.

5. The physical. I am about to turn 48, and had a routine visit to the doctor recently. She had run the statutory blood tests for every evil under the sun, and the pathology reports were in. As I'd had a busy month with little sleep, lots of good cheese, rather more red wine than recommened for one of my sex and weight and little or no exercise, my hopes for escaping a lecture and some severe sanctions weren't high. Verdict? "This is all great - really good. Whatever you're doing, just keep on doing it". If I fall under a bus tomorrow you can all laugh at my smugness.

6. This may sound a little sad, but domestic objects, especially those connected with the preparation and serving of food, are important to me, and old ones are the best. Things people have used, enjoyed, valued shared - all these are precious. Everything from my mother's favourite frying pan to the set of well-used old pudding basins I picked up at the local Op Shop last week. These things are evidence of love, care and history, and I accumulate and use them happily. Colin says that's why we had to get the house re-stumped.

7. Despite the Martha Stewart tone above, I am no domestic goddess. (Don't have Nigella Lawson's curves, either, worse luck). I absolutely detest housework in all its forms, (see point 8 in my original list linked above) and would love to be less satisfied with the degree of untidines that exists wherever I do. Oddly, part of me hankers after neatness and order, but the hankering is yet to assert itself sufficiently to galvanise me into anything more than isolated and brief bursts of manic tidying.

8. Back to the introspection. I am an utter coward as far as writing goes. Whenever I write anything more substantial or revealing than my usual fluff, I tear it up or delete it. I truly hope that one day I'll stop doing this and produce something worth reading, even if no-one does actually read it. This is my #1 personal goal, but unless I find a way either to feel less naked in doing it or not to care if I do, also the one I'm least likely to achieve.

So that's it. Now the hard part. Who(m) shall I tag? Many of my lovely "regulars" have already been baggsied by others, but I think I still have a few very special peeps up my sleeve - in no particular order:

This one might be a bit scary, but I'm game ...
http://neilbymith1.blogspot.com/
Then because it's been a while and she's great:
http://jeanineraes.blogspot.com/
The fab Stevie:
http://travellingteacup.blogspot.com/
And Anne Marie (where I need to catch up)
http://yeuxbruns.blogspot.com/
Then a cheat, but her mum and dad were already taken:
http://adogz.blogspot.com/
Lesley too:
http://lannios-world.blogspot.com/
Now Rache:
http://rachelsblog42.blogspot.com/
And a favourite face from around the traps: Tommy D___:
http://smozology101.blogspot.com/

Apologies if any of the above are not into this - there is no obligation. I always tear up those chain letters myself.