Folly
She woke very early. The quality of her sleep had been poor. She had dreamed she was standing at the foot of a cliff, with waves and spray crashing around her. She needed to run quite a distance before she could fly. Certainly no hope of that on this craggy rock. It was not a safe place to be and her only choice was to climb the cliff. The wind was icy and strong, trying to knock her off her feet so the water could drag her in, and then crash her back against the rock. They seemed to be working together.
Every time she attempted to climb up, making a grab, the rock felt like hot coal in her hand. Ugly burns covered her fingers and palms. The tide rising silently behind her the waves crashing closer and closer. No hope...
Then a man appeared out of nowhere. He flew as well. He grabbed her on a pass close to the cliff face. She watched the waves diminish beneath her as she rose quickly above the water, caught in a strong hold around her ribs that restricted her breath.
But rather than be glad she had escaped this terrible place, she was filled with horror when she saw the face of the man who had saved her. And her scar burned as if it was re-opened again.
She had woken way too early. Perhaps an hour to go before the sun peeped over the ridge and began to warm the still cool air. There was no way that sleep would come again to her so she began her morning ritual. The fire was still burning feebly so she stoked the hearth and prepared her breakfast. She tried to focus on the day ahead.
She planned to go to the forest, and try to locate the man. He had smelled so strongly of spruce she felt sure he had been sleeping there. And when she found him she would ask him... what? Hopefully the words would come.
The flight was quicker than she expected, the wind behind her all the way. The forest was expansive, so she decided to land at the perimeter furthermost away from her local village, and sweep towards home. She did not wish to draw attention to herself but carrying her jian drawn. Instead she had a kaiken hidden in the folds of the heavy sash around her waist. It had been her mothers, given to her when she married as good luck. She still had her jian slung concealed in a special leather sleeve. It fit snugly across the line of her spine, the hilt in easy reach just below her left shoulder blade.
Her hands were shaking slightly, hidden in the long wide sleeves of her traveling robe. For a moment, just a moment of clarity, she wondered what the hell she was doing. Then she was angry again, seeing his impassive face as he slipped his hand beneath her outer garment and felt her skin. Bastard.
She began moving briskly, alert for any noise. Twice she stopped alarmed by movement close by, only to see a bird fly into the air in surprise. She was jumpy.
Cresting a small hill she saw a thin curl of smoke, barely discernible. Someone was cooking breakfast perhaps, and they were close, maybe one mile away. She crouched down instinctively. She could not be seen from this spot but she felt somehow exposed. She took a moment to try and concentrate on the wind. She asked, is there danger? Nothing. She pleaded, am I in danger? Again, no response.
Standing she shook her head looking down at the ground, almost closing her eyes. She was making a mistake again she could feel it. This was stupid, a meaningless chase for what? She turned her back on the smoke, on the possibility of finding the man, and took a step forward. That is all she had time for.
He was only three feet away looking at her with that same impassive expression, hood off this time. It occurred to her that he had been there the whole time she was crouched down. And then she felt that awful heaviness, as if anchored to the spot.
"You have questions for me and I have questions for you," he said, low and rough. "It is not the place to have such a conversation, in the open like this."
Before she could answer he strode off past her in the opposite direction to the smoke. She spun on her heels but did not step forward, still feeling heavy. She was looking in the direction of the smoke, wondering why he was going the other way. "Thieves camp, you do not want to be going there. Four of them, heavily armed. Not the place for a lady."
She stared back at him striding away. There appeared to be a choice, but she needed to make it quickly. Yes she had questions, and if it meant she had to follow him, then that was what she would do. Jolted out of her stupor she jumped forward down the hill. She ran behind him to keep up, following his long strides. After sometime the forest changed, there was more moisture in the earth, she sank slightly with each step. Moss covered stones and fallen branches. There was a dampness in the air. She heard the sound of a small brook, but could not see it. Rounding a dense patch of spruce where the giant trees were closer together and the light was dull, they came to a place where the earth opened abruptly and the small brook could be seen snaking along the base of a chasm, maybe twenty feet down. The man disappeared behind a large rock and she took the opportunity to pull the small dagger from her sash and reverse it in her hand so it was hidden by her sleeve. This done she stepped behind the rock.
It was a small cave, no taller than the man, and wide enough for them to both sit as he was doing, tending to a small fire in the centre. Instinctively she looked to see where the smoke was going. He glanced up from his task and said, "The smoke goes this way, into the hill, and finds it's way out a fissure in the rock about a half mile away. By then it is merely a waft. We are safe. We have not been followed and no-one will find us here. Here, sit and I will make us tea." He motioned to a small rock, too close to him for her liking but near to the opening so she could run if she needed. She sat down.
In the muted light she could see the shine in his eyes as he looked at her. Her body, muscles usually alert and ready to flee were deserting her again. Heavy, so heavy.
He handed her some tea. She sipped it and felt a little less numb. Only slightly. She would need to, must, stay alert.
"I am a tracker, hunting the man who hurt you." She inhaled as if winded. She felt dizzy again.
"He has killed many people. He killed the wife of a rich man. Well he raped her, then killed her to be precise. I am to find him and bring him to my employer." He took a gulp from his cup. It occurred to her then how tired he looked.
"Do you know who he is?" her voice sounded croaky. She was unsure of herself. Her mind was befuddled. She felt slightly drunk.
"Yes." So he was not going to tell her. She looked down at the fire and tried to focus on an ember radiating weakly at the edge of the small pit. This helped her take the focus away from the sickness she felt in her stomach.
"Why did you....touch me?" It was his turn to look away this time. She felt she had won a small battle, and clarity began to return. He was not sure what to say, she could see that. When he did say something his eyes remained on the ground at his feet.
"I needed to know if your wound was from the same blade. It was. You are very lucky to be alive....to still be alive." Now her heart was racing, now she needed to know.
"Will he come back for me? I mean do you think he will?" God she was so scared, but she had to know.
"You are the first he has left alive. I am not sure why. Was he...interrupted?"
She did not expect to have to relive this memory, particularly in front of a stranger. She closed her eyes and exhaled long and slow trying to prevent the wave of terror. She wanted to run, to get into the air. One more breath, just one more. She opened her eyes and said simply, "I hurt him before he could get me on the ground. I ran. He did not catch me." He did not need to know the whole truth, about what the man had done to her, laying her over a boulder face down. She was ashamed of that, so ashamed.
He looked surprised. He stared hard at her, a stony disbelieving look. It was then that she saw it, in a flash he reached out to grab her left hand, the one concealing the kaiken. At the same moment he looked to block her raising her right hand to her jian. But she was quick, and rolled back onto the earth behind the small rock she was seated on. Before he could stand and reach for his own katana hanging loosely from his hip, she had drawn and raised her jian, tip below his jaw, kaiken in her left hand low and ready to strike. Crouched below him. She really wanted to run now.
The tea spilled on the ground soaking into the earth, sending a little puff of steam in the air.
"A test? You could have believed me!" she was very angry now. "And you could have also introduced yourself at the market....before...." Her voice trailed off.
"I have to know why he left you alive."
"Right now you should think more about keeping yourself alive."
"True." He laughed. "You do have me at a disadvantage."
She felt hot, anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface. He was laughing at her. She remembered another time a man had laughed at her. She was clutching at her nightdress as the blood oozed slowly from her side. She had been more concerned about her modesty than the pain of the wound. It had made him laugh. Her eyes stung from the memory and she stood up, worn out by it all and placed her jian back in it's leather sleeve. Then she took the kaiken and loosening the sash stole it away beneath a fold, pulling the sash firmly around her waist. She looked like a normal peasant girl. Except she had red hair and pale skin, burning with a memory she did not wish to recall.
They looked at one another for a long moment.
Then she said, so quietly he could hardly hear her, "It was very foolish of me to try to find you. I have learned nothing I did not know. Foolish."
She turned and walked out of the cave, quickened her pace to a run and leapt into the air.
He stood staring at the space she had left.
February 28, 2010
February 24, 2010
Flight of the Warrior- 3
The unwelcome stranger
She would need to take another trip. She had heard of a woman who lived by the sea. Locals would come to her seeking advise or an indication if they could fish safely. Perhaps this woman would help her make the connection.
This time she would need to find a way to protect herself in flight. This would be a long trip and she still wore the mark of the last long flight, although it was fading, it could still be felt when hand passed over skin.
And there was the strange man who had followed her through the village. He could also be a threat.
She thought she had lost him in the marketplace. She was able to do that, to disappear with a few deft movements. She had been collecting spices for the trip, and noticed his gaze. Burning into her. It made her very uneasy and so she decided she needed to lose him. It was not the first time she had needed to employ evasive tactics. Being an unmarried woman in the town sometimes meant unwelcome attention. They were generally easy to shake. But he was not. After a series of quick maneuvers he was still there, looking right at her. She was starting to feel warm, sweating slightly from the chase through the throng of people, animals and carts. Rounding a corner into a small corridor between dwellings he had stepped into her path. Abruptly. She had thought he was behind her. She was like a stone, heavy, unmovable. Something held her to the spot. He had reached out to her right side and for a horrible moment she thought he was going to disarm her. But he slipped his hand under her traveling coat and through the silk of her tunic ran his fingertips lightly down her scar to the top of her hip bone. Nowhere near her Jian. It all happened in a heartbeat.
Then he withdrew his hand and turned and ran down the corridor, fast. Incredibly fast and then he was gone. She felt sick, bile rising in her throat. Dizzy she took a moment resting her hot cheek against the roughly hewn wall. It's coolness seemed to bring her back. Then she ran after him. Knowing that it was futile, he would be already gone, lost in the crowd of people, but it made her feel better to do something.
How dare he touch her.
Had he known about the attack, or had he touched her there by sheer coincidence?
That night she tried to recall him- to find a clue.
He was taller than her. She had not seen him before today. He was dressed in brown traveler's robes. He had light hair, dark eyes, maybe they were brown. There was nothing striking in her recollection other than he was a westerner like her. He was wearing a hood the whole time and being so busy evading him she had not noticed as much as she had hoped. But she did remember his smell, spruce maybe. Perhaps he had been sleeping in the forest, but that was some distance from the town, certainly a good half day traveling by foot. The forest was mainly Dragon Spruce, the trees not felled for many years as it was thought to be a lucky place.
She would go there in the morning. If there was no warning then she would take her chances and fly.
Fury had always made her a fast flyer. And she was very angry with this man. But in truth she was angry at herself. Eating her meal that night she knew this to be true. She could have moved away from him, stepped back out of the corridor and into the crowd. She has lost her courage, her nerve and had stood there like a sack of grain. Sometimes it is our own weaknesses that cause us to be angry with others. She thought it interesting she could know this, but yet still be angry with him.
Easier that way.
She would need to take another trip. She had heard of a woman who lived by the sea. Locals would come to her seeking advise or an indication if they could fish safely. Perhaps this woman would help her make the connection.
This time she would need to find a way to protect herself in flight. This would be a long trip and she still wore the mark of the last long flight, although it was fading, it could still be felt when hand passed over skin.
And there was the strange man who had followed her through the village. He could also be a threat.
She thought she had lost him in the marketplace. She was able to do that, to disappear with a few deft movements. She had been collecting spices for the trip, and noticed his gaze. Burning into her. It made her very uneasy and so she decided she needed to lose him. It was not the first time she had needed to employ evasive tactics. Being an unmarried woman in the town sometimes meant unwelcome attention. They were generally easy to shake. But he was not. After a series of quick maneuvers he was still there, looking right at her. She was starting to feel warm, sweating slightly from the chase through the throng of people, animals and carts. Rounding a corner into a small corridor between dwellings he had stepped into her path. Abruptly. She had thought he was behind her. She was like a stone, heavy, unmovable. Something held her to the spot. He had reached out to her right side and for a horrible moment she thought he was going to disarm her. But he slipped his hand under her traveling coat and through the silk of her tunic ran his fingertips lightly down her scar to the top of her hip bone. Nowhere near her Jian. It all happened in a heartbeat.
Then he withdrew his hand and turned and ran down the corridor, fast. Incredibly fast and then he was gone. She felt sick, bile rising in her throat. Dizzy she took a moment resting her hot cheek against the roughly hewn wall. It's coolness seemed to bring her back. Then she ran after him. Knowing that it was futile, he would be already gone, lost in the crowd of people, but it made her feel better to do something.
How dare he touch her.
Had he known about the attack, or had he touched her there by sheer coincidence?
That night she tried to recall him- to find a clue.
He was taller than her. She had not seen him before today. He was dressed in brown traveler's robes. He had light hair, dark eyes, maybe they were brown. There was nothing striking in her recollection other than he was a westerner like her. He was wearing a hood the whole time and being so busy evading him she had not noticed as much as she had hoped. But she did remember his smell, spruce maybe. Perhaps he had been sleeping in the forest, but that was some distance from the town, certainly a good half day traveling by foot. The forest was mainly Dragon Spruce, the trees not felled for many years as it was thought to be a lucky place.
She would go there in the morning. If there was no warning then she would take her chances and fly.
Fury had always made her a fast flyer. And she was very angry with this man. But in truth she was angry at herself. Eating her meal that night she knew this to be true. She could have moved away from him, stepped back out of the corridor and into the crowd. She has lost her courage, her nerve and had stood there like a sack of grain. Sometimes it is our own weaknesses that cause us to be angry with others. She thought it interesting she could know this, but yet still be angry with him.
Easier that way.
Flight of the Warrior- 2
Seeking the connection
It had been months. She had visited her heart place many times and honed her sword skills. She felt strong but yet there seemed so much she did not know and this made her uneasy. Made her train harder.
Yes she had overheard some elders talk of the old ways, and from this she had come to understand some of the theory but that was a poor substitute and she knew it. If she was to protect herself she would need more than just her jian. She would need the wind, the fire, the earth, the water to speak to her.
At times she felt close to a breakthrough. The first time was in the clearing, she had fallen roughly after overbalancing during practice. Embarrassed she had spent a moment laying on the ground nursing her twisted ankle, her left hand partially buried in the dead leaves that had fallen in preparation for winter. In that moment, chastising herself for her personal weakness, she had felt a tremour through the earth. It seemed to move toward her hand growing in intensity. It took only a second to reach her fingertips. She had jerked her hand away in surprise and instantly regretted it. Two mistakes in the passage of minutes. Both costly. Pride bruised and a learning opportunity wasted. She rose hastily and limping slightly moved to the chorten, just as a large branch from a tree had broken off and fallen where she was laying. She stared at the branch, her mouth open in surprise.
She had been told by the sadhu that when she was ready she would be able to feel things, see things, know things that would help her. She had questioned him, did her mean the five senses? Did he mean intuition? He had smiled in the half light. Then he had signaled that her time was over, and she had left his cave after placing the offering at his feet. From that time she had asked many questions of her teachers about the five senses. But the more she learned the more what the sadhu had said did not seem to relate. There seemed to be something missing. Now she was in the country of her mother, and it was not safe to openly seek teachers here.
Then again it had happened. She was planting some herbs in her garden, her back to the wind. Bent over the patch of earth she had prepared she felt a push on her right side as if the wind had whipped up at that precise moment and spent itself to spin her round. Then it was gone. She responded slowly, feeling pins and needles down her arms into her hands. The first sign of fear. She turned in time to see a band of cloud rise up over a ridge line full of menace and electricity. It was racing as if it knew it could not last long. Heavy rain fell on the ridge behind her, as the cloud unloaded to get over the mountain. Claps of thunder booming all around her. She had run inside. Looking through the shutter, watching the progress of the storm, she noticed it seemed to slowdown as if growing suddenly despondent. All it's vigour gone.
There had been a couple of times. Much like the storm, she had not understood what the warning was until the moments unfolded. Then afterwards she could see the connection.
What she needed to do was tap into the message. For the message would always be a warning. At least that is what she thought. It would help her, give her an advantage when fighting. She would need it. She had learned once before the hard way that some possessed a strength far superior to hers. She would need other arsenal in addition to her mastery of the jian.
There was a time when she trusted the sword would be enough. She laughed bitterly at her own stupidity. At least that ignorance had not cost her life.
She would not make the same mistake. At least she hoped she would not. But sometimes she had made the same mistake over and over as if stuck in mud, knowing that if she struggled it will exhaust her and pull her further down, but unable to stop trying.
The sadhu had said she was stubborn. He was right.
It had been months. She had visited her heart place many times and honed her sword skills. She felt strong but yet there seemed so much she did not know and this made her uneasy. Made her train harder.
Yes she had overheard some elders talk of the old ways, and from this she had come to understand some of the theory but that was a poor substitute and she knew it. If she was to protect herself she would need more than just her jian. She would need the wind, the fire, the earth, the water to speak to her.
At times she felt close to a breakthrough. The first time was in the clearing, she had fallen roughly after overbalancing during practice. Embarrassed she had spent a moment laying on the ground nursing her twisted ankle, her left hand partially buried in the dead leaves that had fallen in preparation for winter. In that moment, chastising herself for her personal weakness, she had felt a tremour through the earth. It seemed to move toward her hand growing in intensity. It took only a second to reach her fingertips. She had jerked her hand away in surprise and instantly regretted it. Two mistakes in the passage of minutes. Both costly. Pride bruised and a learning opportunity wasted. She rose hastily and limping slightly moved to the chorten, just as a large branch from a tree had broken off and fallen where she was laying. She stared at the branch, her mouth open in surprise.
She had been told by the sadhu that when she was ready she would be able to feel things, see things, know things that would help her. She had questioned him, did her mean the five senses? Did he mean intuition? He had smiled in the half light. Then he had signaled that her time was over, and she had left his cave after placing the offering at his feet. From that time she had asked many questions of her teachers about the five senses. But the more she learned the more what the sadhu had said did not seem to relate. There seemed to be something missing. Now she was in the country of her mother, and it was not safe to openly seek teachers here.
Then again it had happened. She was planting some herbs in her garden, her back to the wind. Bent over the patch of earth she had prepared she felt a push on her right side as if the wind had whipped up at that precise moment and spent itself to spin her round. Then it was gone. She responded slowly, feeling pins and needles down her arms into her hands. The first sign of fear. She turned in time to see a band of cloud rise up over a ridge line full of menace and electricity. It was racing as if it knew it could not last long. Heavy rain fell on the ridge behind her, as the cloud unloaded to get over the mountain. Claps of thunder booming all around her. She had run inside. Looking through the shutter, watching the progress of the storm, she noticed it seemed to slowdown as if growing suddenly despondent. All it's vigour gone.
There had been a couple of times. Much like the storm, she had not understood what the warning was until the moments unfolded. Then afterwards she could see the connection.
What she needed to do was tap into the message. For the message would always be a warning. At least that is what she thought. It would help her, give her an advantage when fighting. She would need it. She had learned once before the hard way that some possessed a strength far superior to hers. She would need other arsenal in addition to her mastery of the jian.
There was a time when she trusted the sword would be enough. She laughed bitterly at her own stupidity. At least that ignorance had not cost her life.
She would not make the same mistake. At least she hoped she would not. But sometimes she had made the same mistake over and over as if stuck in mud, knowing that if she struggled it will exhaust her and pull her further down, but unable to stop trying.
The sadhu had said she was stubborn. He was right.
February 23, 2010
Flight of the Warrior- 1
Swordplay in the moonlight
She could not sleep and so decides she will fly under the moon to her favourite spot. There have been many sleepless nights lately and she curses herself that she has not had the courage to go to her place earlier. But then the last trip left a mark on her, down her right side finishing just above her hip bone. The experience also left other marks, but those were less obvious.
It is cold as she steps out onto the grass, maybe the winter will come sooner after all. There is a slight breeze, it tickles the skin so that the hairs stand up on end, not from alarm but delight.
As she flies she sees little but that spot in her mind's eye. She must get there quickly, it is not safe to be in the air for too long. But this time the trip is uneventful, and she is there, in her heart place.
The trees sway slightly but beneath them in the small clearing she cannot feel the breeze. A different breeze to that gentle one standing outside her hut. This breeze travels from the oldest place, funnels its way between giant mountains, drawers on power from the frozen glaciers. It is a warning on the air. With it rides the truth.
Could the wind be whispering to her tonight? If she practices, if she is diligent maybe she will hear.
She takes the jian wrapped in her favourite cloth and unwraps it. She says a small prayer before removing it from the scabbard and the metal sighs as it is drawn. She takes the tassel attached to the pommel and places it round her right wrist. Today she will practice two handed, her right hand, and three fingers of her left.
She moves through the first steps, and notices her body resist. She is stiff, it has been too long since her last practice. It takes some minutes before she feels a flow, a warmth creeping into the muscles and with it she moves more easily. The second rotation is completed and now she moves through the third, and finishes with the stabbing movement, the jianfeng finding its mark glinting beneath the moon as the light catches the central edge. Breathing heavily the sword resting by her side, her hand loosely gripping the hilt, she is finished. She moves her focus inward and can feel her heartbeat at first pounding and crashing heavily and then moving more softly. She can feel her body at last healed from the attack.
She goes to the chorten and walks clockwise around the small collection of rocks. Again she wonders who put it there.
It is then she hears it, a wolf cry. From the west higher on the hill it comes to her delivered on the wind. There is a rising and falling to the howl with a sliding off the note at the end. It is a lonely sound. It is impossible to know how close the wolf is. She holds her breath and listens to see if the cry will be returned, turning her head to the east.
It is not. And the wolf does not cry again. She feels sad and is not sure why.
Perhaps now she will sleep. She has practiced well despite her stiffness. The old slashing wound to her side did not trouble her. She replaces the jian in the scabbard and covers it in her favourite cloth. Before she leaves she stops to listen again.
Nothing, not a whisper.
She leaves with a promise on her lips to return again soon.
She could not sleep and so decides she will fly under the moon to her favourite spot. There have been many sleepless nights lately and she curses herself that she has not had the courage to go to her place earlier. But then the last trip left a mark on her, down her right side finishing just above her hip bone. The experience also left other marks, but those were less obvious.
It is cold as she steps out onto the grass, maybe the winter will come sooner after all. There is a slight breeze, it tickles the skin so that the hairs stand up on end, not from alarm but delight.
As she flies she sees little but that spot in her mind's eye. She must get there quickly, it is not safe to be in the air for too long. But this time the trip is uneventful, and she is there, in her heart place.
The trees sway slightly but beneath them in the small clearing she cannot feel the breeze. A different breeze to that gentle one standing outside her hut. This breeze travels from the oldest place, funnels its way between giant mountains, drawers on power from the frozen glaciers. It is a warning on the air. With it rides the truth.
Could the wind be whispering to her tonight? If she practices, if she is diligent maybe she will hear.
She takes the jian wrapped in her favourite cloth and unwraps it. She says a small prayer before removing it from the scabbard and the metal sighs as it is drawn. She takes the tassel attached to the pommel and places it round her right wrist. Today she will practice two handed, her right hand, and three fingers of her left.
She moves through the first steps, and notices her body resist. She is stiff, it has been too long since her last practice. It takes some minutes before she feels a flow, a warmth creeping into the muscles and with it she moves more easily. The second rotation is completed and now she moves through the third, and finishes with the stabbing movement, the jianfeng finding its mark glinting beneath the moon as the light catches the central edge. Breathing heavily the sword resting by her side, her hand loosely gripping the hilt, she is finished. She moves her focus inward and can feel her heartbeat at first pounding and crashing heavily and then moving more softly. She can feel her body at last healed from the attack.
She goes to the chorten and walks clockwise around the small collection of rocks. Again she wonders who put it there.
It is then she hears it, a wolf cry. From the west higher on the hill it comes to her delivered on the wind. There is a rising and falling to the howl with a sliding off the note at the end. It is a lonely sound. It is impossible to know how close the wolf is. She holds her breath and listens to see if the cry will be returned, turning her head to the east.
It is not. And the wolf does not cry again. She feels sad and is not sure why.
Perhaps now she will sleep. She has practiced well despite her stiffness. The old slashing wound to her side did not trouble her. She replaces the jian in the scabbard and covers it in her favourite cloth. Before she leaves she stops to listen again.
Nothing, not a whisper.
She leaves with a promise on her lips to return again soon.
February 21, 2010
The things you notice......
I take the train to work every day and it is 55 minutes one way. The home trip I am usually drifting in and out of sleep or trying to read a book (or write one) so I don't notice too much of what is going on around me. The morning trip is different! There is much to see and hear.
There are two sets of groups that travel in the rear carriages. There are the dorky middle aged men, I call them the "Think Tank". Then there are the hip middle aged women, I have named them "The Brass". I have listened to their conversations and I have to say the men are whimsical and jolly, at times factual and very very funny. If they are able to catch out a member of "The Think Tank" misquoting a news story or recount a time when they made a fool of themselves, well that is a good morning. The women have set topics they talk about and they go through these like a drill starting with children, their weekend with involves the children, other women who have wronged them (usually that weekend) and at times members of their own group who in their opinion have been 'acting like a child'. So they make for an interesting comparison.
"The Think Tank" solve all sorts of community dilemmas. For example.... how many cars should a person have? Well of course it depends on how big their garage is or even better- shed? They provide social commentary on all sorts of topics like Melbourne's Public Transport system, Angelina Jolie and if she really is a man eater or just a nutter, and what is the most comfortable men's underwear. They debate with some ferocity all matters related to government both state and federal and have workable solutions to every issue currently on the political landscape. They are their own house of representatives. They often belittle, taunt and talk over one another. And yet they obviously enjoy each others company as the group does not change. Every day of the week the same members sit together and if one is missing someone will know their whereabouts. No one seeks to escape to another carriage.
"The Brass" are markedly different. There seems to be rules which they all must live by. These rules are not discussed, they are assumed. When someone is not playing by these rules the group is mortally offended. 'How could she possibly have thought I would be okay with that?'- a common war cry. There are at last count 11 members of this group but at any one time you may find some members serving a court-marshal in the next carriage. Much of the trip is spent talking about their children and dispensing sisterly advise to one another, and almost always suggesting that they need to take a harder or firmer line. They are quite frankly terrifying! They all look tired and rarely smile. They discuss ailments regularly. Chris takes his bike to work once a week, and on one occasion we happened to sit on their carriage. They had to walk past Chris' bike to get to their reserved seats. They gave Chris a look, they wished to assassinate him. They made mention of how difficult it is for one of "The Brass" to get past the bike with 'that bad knee'. And just to drive home the fact they were displeased they spoke about her impending operation on 'that bad knee' for about 15 minutes. The wrath was palpable! One of the group has broken rank and I have not seen her with them for about 4 months. I always suspected she was different though, she did not wear the same uniform.
I don't always happen to get on the same carriage as either of these groups- to be honest I find them both to be a bit loud for my drowsy 7am brain to cope with. Even above 3RRR on the radio I can still hear laughter in the case of "The Think Tank" and morning drills in the case of "The Brass". I wonder if "The Think Tank" will petition the state government to fix the local train line or if "The Brass" will ever write a letter to the editor of the Herald Sun about some rude young man who has the audacity to take his bike on the train.
I am not making a thinly veiled comparison with any conclusion of women or men in their 40's. I am simply recounting my observations.
But perhaps I have heard too much......
There are two sets of groups that travel in the rear carriages. There are the dorky middle aged men, I call them the "Think Tank". Then there are the hip middle aged women, I have named them "The Brass". I have listened to their conversations and I have to say the men are whimsical and jolly, at times factual and very very funny. If they are able to catch out a member of "The Think Tank" misquoting a news story or recount a time when they made a fool of themselves, well that is a good morning. The women have set topics they talk about and they go through these like a drill starting with children, their weekend with involves the children, other women who have wronged them (usually that weekend) and at times members of their own group who in their opinion have been 'acting like a child'. So they make for an interesting comparison.
"The Think Tank" solve all sorts of community dilemmas. For example.... how many cars should a person have? Well of course it depends on how big their garage is or even better- shed? They provide social commentary on all sorts of topics like Melbourne's Public Transport system, Angelina Jolie and if she really is a man eater or just a nutter, and what is the most comfortable men's underwear. They debate with some ferocity all matters related to government both state and federal and have workable solutions to every issue currently on the political landscape. They are their own house of representatives. They often belittle, taunt and talk over one another. And yet they obviously enjoy each others company as the group does not change. Every day of the week the same members sit together and if one is missing someone will know their whereabouts. No one seeks to escape to another carriage.
"The Brass" are markedly different. There seems to be rules which they all must live by. These rules are not discussed, they are assumed. When someone is not playing by these rules the group is mortally offended. 'How could she possibly have thought I would be okay with that?'- a common war cry. There are at last count 11 members of this group but at any one time you may find some members serving a court-marshal in the next carriage. Much of the trip is spent talking about their children and dispensing sisterly advise to one another, and almost always suggesting that they need to take a harder or firmer line. They are quite frankly terrifying! They all look tired and rarely smile. They discuss ailments regularly. Chris takes his bike to work once a week, and on one occasion we happened to sit on their carriage. They had to walk past Chris' bike to get to their reserved seats. They gave Chris a look, they wished to assassinate him. They made mention of how difficult it is for one of "The Brass" to get past the bike with 'that bad knee'. And just to drive home the fact they were displeased they spoke about her impending operation on 'that bad knee' for about 15 minutes. The wrath was palpable! One of the group has broken rank and I have not seen her with them for about 4 months. I always suspected she was different though, she did not wear the same uniform.
I don't always happen to get on the same carriage as either of these groups- to be honest I find them both to be a bit loud for my drowsy 7am brain to cope with. Even above 3RRR on the radio I can still hear laughter in the case of "The Think Tank" and morning drills in the case of "The Brass". I wonder if "The Think Tank" will petition the state government to fix the local train line or if "The Brass" will ever write a letter to the editor of the Herald Sun about some rude young man who has the audacity to take his bike on the train.
I am not making a thinly veiled comparison with any conclusion of women or men in their 40's. I am simply recounting my observations.
But perhaps I have heard too much......
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