Forgetting

F is for forgetting.  It's an acknowledged fact that our memories - both our recollections and our physical capabilities - fade as we get older, particularly if they aren't used and challenged.  Last night we were watching Memory Manor and it was amusing to try to play along.  However DH wasn't really concentrating because he was tired, just back from work, which involves flying on a weekly basis.  And then it's all over the news this morning that UK airports are on high alert as there's been an alleged plot to blow up aircraft. 

It's not so much that you forget, but over time the memories get filed somewhere further back in our minds, whether it's 9/11 or the July bombings here - I realise this sounds callous and it's not intentionally so, but it's true. We live in such a self-centric society. Gradually you start to wonder if some of the media coverage of fundamentalism's reach is hyperbole, and I'm not someone who believes everything she reads.  It's fiercely sobering, when it rises up like bile again.

But sitting around worrying about what might happen is destructive, and it's what terrorists want.  Making people scared to live their lives is their goal.  So it's onwards.  If not upwards, then perhaps sideways.  Not backwards. 

F is also for fixing and finishing.  I'm not allowing myself to start any new projects until my WIPs are hemmed, sequinned, ripped and resewn, pressed, washed and hung.  Sideways, but not backwards.