Katherine Gregor

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Katherine Gregor (a.k.a. Scribe Doll) is a literary translator and scribbler who has also been an EFL teacher, theatrical agent, press agent, theatre director, complementary medicine practitioner, and one or two other things. Perhaps that's why the literary characters she relates to most are Arlecchino, Truffaldino, Gianni Schicchi and Scapin, and feels empathy with crows, squirrels and cats. She lives in Norwich, Norfolk. (Photo courtesy of Rosie Goldsmith @GoldRosie )

A Writers' Social

The Scene: A bar.

The Players: Novelists, children's writers, academics, translators, journalists, biographers, and other assorted literary intellectuals.

*

"Hi! Nice to see you! Which way did you come?"

"Oh, it was bloody awful.  I drove down the [name of motorway] but there was so much traffic.  I guess because of the football... I didn't realise [name of team] were playing at home."

"I know, I know, it's awful.  The other day it took me hours to get into town.  They were digging the road, you know the one..."

*

"Did you find that wallpaper you were after?"

"Yes! But then when I tried a sample it didn't look right with the curtains.  You know my curtains with the lilies.  So I really don't know what to do now.  I'm losing my sleep over it."

*

"Where are you from?"

"–"

"Is your accent French?"

"–"

"What is it I hear?"

"I can't possibly tell you what it is you h–"

"Are you South African?"

"No, Armenian."

"Oh, how interesting! Armenian... that's like Sephardic, isn't it?"

"–"

"Or am I thinking Coptic? What is it I'm thinking?"

"I've absolutely no idea what you're –"

"Armenian... Is it like... It's on  the tip of my tongue..."

*

"It took me hours to find somewhere to park! [Name of city] is getting worse and worse!

"Where did you park, in the end?"

"You know the Arts Centre? Well, there's that street right on the side of it... What's it called? St-Something Lane..."

"Oh, yes.  You should try behind the cinema, next time.  I generally find a space there..."

*

"Will you have another?"

"Oooh, I shouldn't... Well, all right, I'll have another red.  A bit rough but it's alcohol, it does the trick.  Aren't you finishing your drink?"

"I don't like it."

"What is it, whisky? Are you going to just leave it? Such a waste.  Do you mind if I have it?"

*

"Oh, and you know, I saw him the other day.  His wife's left him."

"Oh, no! I hadn't heard..." 

"Just walked out.  To be honest, between you and me, I've always thought she was a bit difficult."

"We must ask him over for supper.  Poor thing.  He's having to fend for himself now so can't concentrate on his book."

"Oh, poor man."

*

"And I saw their daughter the other day – I don't think you've met her, have you?"

"No.  I knew they had a daughter." 

 "Nice girl but had a drug problem in her teens.  Her husband's got this promotion at work so they've bought this house in Yorkshire.  They're knocking down half the walls and rebuilding it."

*

"How's your back?"

"Still really bad.  Living on Ibuprofen."

"That's not very good for you."

"I know! Painkillers aren't good for you in general, are they? The GP's put me on this new painkiller.  Let's hope it works.  My neighbour says she was on it.  Apparently, it really helped except that she then got so addicted..."

"Have you considered acupuncture?"

"Oh, they say it's brilliant.  Yes, I must get around to it.  It's on my list but there's always so much to do, there just aren't enough hours in the day! You know what it's like... The other day, I had to drive into town to sort out my watch.  The battery died after only three months.  That took half the morning.  And then I had to rush to get a birthday present for..."

 

Scribe Doll

 

Recent Comments
Rosy Cole
And they say the art of conversation is dead! :-)
Monday, 22 January 2018 10:13
Katherine Gregor
:–)
Monday, 22 January 2018 14:38
Ken Hartke
That's enough to drive you to drink...if you can find a place to park.
Monday, 22 January 2018 18:17
486 Hits
8 Comments

A New Focus for the New Year?

I am just wondering if a shift of focus might help.

Practice makes perfect, so the more you repeat an action or even a thought, the more likely is that action or thought to become consolidated.  After all, wherever we direct our attention, there our physical and mental resources flow.  Everybody knows that.

Or do we?

It occurs to me that we spend a lot of our time and energy fighting against things we don't want.  Perhaps more than necessary.  Perhaps more than building, nurturing, creating the things we want. So much of our focus and energy goes on being anti what we hate or dread that I question how much energy we have left on focusing on being pro what we actually want.  Do we have sufficient time and energy to focus on both with equal effectiveness? It's a question that has been buzzing in my head for some time now.  Speaking for myself, I certainly do not.

Perhaps I'm mistaken, but I get the impression there are more marches and demonstrations against unwanted situations and wrongdoings than in favour of desired or just ones.  Of course, when something blatantly wrong happens, I feel that peacefully voicing your disagreement or sense of outrage is the right thing to do.  But once this opinion is expressed, shouldn't the next step be to focus all our strength on building what we actually want?

When I was a small child, my mother had a UNICEF desk calendar with a quotation for every month.  One stuck in my mind, even though at the time I couldn't understand what it meant.  "Problems, like babies, grow bigger with nursing." I cannot remember who said it and only several decades later do I understand more fully the meaning and wisdom of this sentence.

It seems Mother Teresa once said, "I will never attend an anti-war rally; if you have a peace rally, invite me."  Nobody could possibly doubt Mother Teresa's commitment to world peace.  I can only suppose that the reason she refused to attend anti-war rallies was because she disagreed with the focus – however kindly and justly intended – of these rallies. The focus of any anti-something act is one of opposition.  Like pushing against something.  Could it just be possible – and that's just an idea – that by pushing hard against it we unintentionally end up supporting it? Feeding it? Strengthening it by giving it so much of our attention that we somehow consolidate it even further?

Surely, for focus to be unwavering, then we need to choose very carefully – no, we cannot be both in equal strength – whether we want to fight what we don't want or build what we want. 

As a year of much darkness, ignorance, stupidity and senseless waste draws to a close, I am hoping for a 2018 with the following:

Replacing anti-Brexit stands with pro-Europe commitment.

Replacing every retweet of a bully or genuinely incompetent politician with a tweet about a wise, kind or simply happily comical individual.  Plants that aren't watered wither.  Let's stop fuelling destructive individuals with too much attention.  Instead, let's lavish our attention on those we want to play more prominent roles in our society.

TV and Radio stations where 50% of news headlines broadcast good, encouraging items.  Yes, there are some, if news editors are willing to look.

Rather than anti-sexual harassment protests, pro-respect and gender equality rallies.

This list could go on and on and on...

One step at a time, we can shift our focus, and, consequently, change things for the better.

Together, we can do it.

So let's.

I wish you all a very happy, healthy, wealthy, fulfilling New Year.

Scribe Doll

Recent Comments
Stephen Evans
Worth a try! Happy new year to you!
Monday, 01 January 2018 01:32
Katherine Gregor
They do say in Qigong and Tai Chi that by pushing against your opponent you only lose strength and make him/her push harder agains... Read More
Monday, 01 January 2018 15:21
Rosy Cole
Thank you, Katia, and much reciprocation :-) Couldn't agree more with your sentiments. As someone we both know (not a member of t... Read More
Tuesday, 02 January 2018 13:36
419 Hits
4 Comments

Qi Gong

It's the same every morning.  I negotiate my way out of bed and, eventually, brave the steep Munchkin stairs and stagger into the kitchen.  I put the kettle on, wait for the first crackling sound and switch it off.  I pour the water into a mug and go back upstairs, sipping it.  It's pleasantly just short of hot, cleansing, comforting.  I open the curtains in my scriptorium.  The sky is still dark.  For a moment, like every morning, I am tempted to skip the next stage of my morning routine.  That lazy, sneakily undermining voice that says, "What's the rush? You can always do it tomorrow."

No.

Today.

Now.

Just for ten minutes.

I start deliberately shaking on the spot, sending the movements from my feet through my body and all the way up to my head.  I direct little jolts to every inch of my skin, every organ, every muscle, every vertebra, waking every nook and cranny.  I imagine I am one of those blankets Roman housewives would shake from their windows every morning, when I was a child getting ready for school. They would flap them vigorously.  To banish the dust, evict mites, fill the fabric with fresh air, toss out memories of bad dreams, liven the wool with sunshine.

I quake from toe to top, like a rag doll, loosening every joint, becoming aware of parts of my body I didn't even know existed.  I banish stale air from the hidden recesses of my lungs, evict dark thoughts, fill my cells with imaginary rainbows, toss out all physical and emotional gunk and liven my muscles with a dose of resounding universal YES.

After a few minutes, once I have given every part of my body a good shake, I stop.  It feels wonderful, like being reset, with every nerve tingling and feeling alive.

Then I stand.  Knees soft, head floating into the sky, feet plunging firmly into the earth.  As the tingling subsides, I focus on my breath.  Regular, deep, inhaling from my belly, imagining sunlight filling my lungs.  Trying to think of nothing else.

Ah, I must remember to buy some cheese later –

Breathe.

I forgot to e-mail my friend, yesterday –

I gently bring my mind back to my breath.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Slowly.

If I can finish work by three, I could –

Never mind that for now.  Just breathe.  Slowly.  Regularly.  Let the belly expand, the lungs fill in full, then let the air out, no rush, sense the warmth spread through my body, grow in strength.  I suddenly feel taller.  Towering over the house.

At least ten minutes have gone by without my noticing.  This time, as the breath rises, it carries up my arms.  Effortlessly.  Naturally.  And so I begin the sequence of movements that constitutes the form of Qi Gong I am practising today.

Dragon and Tiger meet.

I'd tried different kinds of yoga over the years – many of my friends swear by its benefits – but it had never agreed with me.  For some reason, it made me feel ungrounded.  I also did pilates for a few months, but it felt like too much effort.  Then I discovered Qi Gong and it's 70% rule of practice.  Always give it your 70%.  No more.  The interesting result is that I end up achieving far more than when I set out to give it my 100%.

Dragon looks to the horizon.

When I first started Qi Gong, I was suffering from yet another episode of adrenal exhaustion, or Yin deficiency, as my Chinese doctor elegantly puts it.  In other terms, your garden variety of burnout, with all its classic symptoms that make life seem unmanageable.  When you wake up every morning, and your heart sinks at the prospect of the day to come as though you have to climb Mont Blanc in summer clothes.  When I enthusiastically asked my teacher how long I should practise every day, he replied, "Five minutes."

I frowned.  Didn't he understand I intended to take Qi Gong seriously?

"Five minutes.  No more," he reiterated.

Tiger crouches.

He was right, of course.  By setting out to do a five-minute practise session at home, I would inevitably end up practising for twenty minutes, then half an hour, and now nearly an hour every morning.  Of course, if, when I wake up, I were to tell myself that I would spend an hour doing Qi Gong, I would simply never start.  So, every morning, as soon as the nagging little voice of laziness and procrastination whispers, "Why don't you leave it till tomorrow?" I cheat it by replying, "I'll only practise for ten minutes. No more."

Three months after I first started Qi Gong, my health was better than it had been for years.  When people asked "How are you?" I could actually reply, in all honesty, "Very well, thank you."

Tiger separates her cubs.

I find that practising Qi Gong has also helped sharpen my focus in other parts of my life, such as work.  Also, the slowness of it is not only very grounding, but also surprisingly empowering.  After a few minutes of practice, I feel like a willow, soft but sturdy, swaying in the strong wind but not breaking.

Tiger pounces.

Most people I mention Qi Gong to don't know what it is, so I explain that it's the mother of Tai Chi.  Many react by saying they couldn't cope with practising such a slow-moving exercise.  I try to tell them that it's that very slowness that makes you feel so in harmony with life, that's so empowering.  The trick is not to build a boat solid enough to withstand a powerful wind without capsizing – it's to weave a sail of silk that can gather the wind in its embrace, so the boat glides faster and more effortlessly.  But, of course, different disciplines are suitable for different people.

Dragon and Tiger pierce heaven and earth.

Outside the scriptorium window, it's now light.  My body feels like a friend, an ally, and I am looking forward to starting my day.

Dragon soars to heaven and brings back the pearl.

And, let's face it, with movements that have such beautiful, poetic names, I'd certainly rather practise Qi Gong than do "press-ups", "push-ups", "weight-lifting" or going on a "treadmill".  But that's just my own, personal choice.

Scribe Doll  

For further information:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qigong

http://www.norwichqigong.co.uk

Recent Comments
Ken Hartke
Thanks for the inspiration. I'm a "lapsed" Tai Chi person and I need to get back into it. Discipline is lacking. It always cleare... Read More
Wednesday, 13 December 2017 17:09
Rosy Cole
An invigorating post in itself :-) I so sympathise with your episodes of adrenal exhaustion which can be quite a handicap and are... Read More
Wednesday, 13 December 2017 19:58
Stephen Evans
I think this would make an excellent short film!
Sunday, 17 December 2017 14:46
469 Hits
3 Comments

Yellow

I need yellow in my life. 

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Its unadulterated joy.  Its sunshine.  For me, joy is most definitely yellow.  Not lemony, with a green undertone.  Not a darker shade with a injection of mustard.  Not the distinguished, pale, almost ivory variety.  But brilliant, sunny, golden and unashamedly direct.  Like a smile.  Not a glamorous, camera-friendly smile but a grin that takes over every muscle in a face, and doesn't give a damn about how the light falls on it, totally un-self-conscious, unbridled, full of teeth, wrinkles and dimples.  Like the glowing petals of sun-worshipping sunflowers in a Tuscan field.  Like the spring-heralding daffodils on a Cambridge College lawn.  

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 I have cut out the word JOY from sunflower-yellow card, and pinned it to the board above my desk.  Yesterday, I bought myself a bunch of yellow roses, and trimmed the stems at different lengths before arranging them in a cobalt blue, earthenware pitcher.  They catch my attention as soon as I come into my Scriptorium, ten buds looking in every direction, one of them brushing against the corner of my laptop screen.  My eyes yearn for yellow.  My lungs long for a deep breath of yellow.  My skin craves sunlight.  Over the past few months, I have been crocheting small, deep yellow lozenges.  One or two at a time, while watching television or listening to the radio.  When I have finished the ball of yellow wool, I'll buy another one, burnt sienna perhaps, or forest green.  Perhaps by January, I will have enough lozenges to make a Harlequin scarf to brighten up the grey English winter days.  But whatever colours I choose, they will have to make a good team with the first, the original deep yellow, the burst of sunshine.

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I find brown grounding and comforting.  Green makes me feel elegant.  Red is for when I'm not afraid to be noticed.  Grey is for slouching over my translations.  Blue is for calm, orange for inspiration.  And yellow is for rejuvenation, regeneration, for courage, for success.  For happiness like a cloudless, sunny sky.  For warmth, for strength, for courage.  

20171021_173728_resized

For the unstoppable joy of the sun.

Scribe Doll

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Latest Comments

Stephen Evans We Don't Say Goodbye
15 June 2018
Sound advice Ken.
Ken Hartke We Don't Say Goodbye
13 June 2018
I may have posted this before -- I sometimes need to revisit it. I occasionally need to give myself ...
Katherine Gregor Rise
12 June 2018
I like it!
Katherine Gregor R. R. R.
12 June 2018
I hope you're right. Thank you for your comment.
Rosy Cole R. R. R.
12 June 2018
The real strength you gained from this, I believe, is the interior knowledge, not necessarily recogn...

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