THE Purple Fairy considers the pitfalls of being a Strategic Thinker.

Once upon a time I worked for a major retailer where it was said  that 'Every Little Helps'.  I learnt a great deal at the feet of very talented and important men and women, one or two of whom remain my heroes - they know who they are.  Part of my lifelong learning in the decade of my career that belonged to this powerful organisation was what I absorbed through the wisdom and compassion of my female boss for whom I was a personal assistant.  The remainder I learnt in the training departments when she pushed me out of my comfort zone, by way of promotion, to allow me to blossom into middle management.   I learnt about things that I didn't know I knew;  I learnt about things I didn't know I needed to know and I learnt about things I didn't know. 

I was taught to recognise my own strengths and weakness - an uncomfortable process if you happen to be a lapsed Catholic with a phenomenal ability to feel guilt and have a finely tuned sense of unworthiness.  At first I discovered that I DID have some talent despite my lack of formal education and, what's more, IT HAD VALUE!!!!  Blimey!  What a breakthrough that was. And, I was in my early forties! Then I discovered that whatever it was I did know was contained in a tangled ball of wool with many loose ends inside my brain.  I had to learn how to retrieve it in order to compete with the graduates and to get my voice heard.  That was painful. 

Anyroadup, with the assistance of some highly skilled trainers I learnt that within my toolbox of skills was the ability to think strategically.  What Ifs...? What Happens...? Where will ...?   How ...?  Why?   What a revelation that was!  It meant that I could write training material from every ones perspective, the seller's, the customer's, the operatives .  I automatically found it easy to capture the needs of what they call now, the stakeholders.  I became quite proud of my skill even though some people resented my ability to suggest where an issue might lie.  Methinks that no-one likes a smart arse. 

I also learned that strengths can become weaknesses:  in the jargon, they can becomes an over-played strength.  So my natural weakness as a strategic thinker manifests itself as a chronic worrier when at its worst.  Take today's example (yes I have gotten to the point dear reader!):

I am a key holder for the redundant church in my village.  I am passionately protective of my church and work with the Churches Conservation Trust on a voluntary basis.  Yesterday two lovely chaps travelled from Bridport (! in this weather?) to carry out repairs to bells that have not been heard for decades.  I am ridiculously excited at the prospect of hearing them ring for the first time in the ten years I have stood watch over the Church.  Having arranged for them to collect the key this morning, I waved them off to their day of work.  Not once did I see them emerge from the Church, all day.  That was fine, how many times can you climb up and down steep steeple steps anyway?  If the steps were a road they would be classed as a one-in-one. 

I was beginning to feel a little guilty about not offering them a hot drink:  as a cripple I was concerned about the conditions under foot and my resolve was broken by the bitter easterly wind which whipped across my face as I opened my front door.  The afternoon came, along with the wind, the snow - horizontal as well as vertical, the hailstones and the icy rain.  I kept watch from the comfort of my Hive window anticipating the appearance of one or the other of the workmen.  Nope.   No sign.  No lights appeared in the steeple, nor the main body of the Church as the sun set.  There was no activity in or around the van either.  Gradually the WorryWorm began nibbling at the skirts of my conscience and I began to be concerned.

'Hey!' hissed WorryWorm,  'Why haven't you been over to check on them?'.  'Er ... ' said I, 'It's rough out there!  They are grown men!  They know what they are doing!'

WorryWorm left me alone for a little while, even though he was not satisfied with my explanation.  The sky got darker and the icy rain started thickening once more into fat, fluffy flakes of snow.  The next time I looked away from my screen, it was almost dark and still no sign of any lighting within the Church. 'Hah!' shouted WorryWorm in my ear.  'See!  there is STILL no sign of them!'.  Assuming responsibility, yet again, for that which is not mine to assume, my imagination went into overdrive.  What if:  what if one of them has fallen?  The other will have a mobile phone I told myself.  Brief respite from concern followed for, oh!  a whole nano second.  Okay...  what if one of them has discovered that the other one has been having an affair with his wife and has killed his rival?  Now you are just being silly.  Even briefer pause before WorryWorm came up with the ultimate worry:  What if?:  what if they have been using a paraffin stove to keep warm in the steeple?  What if? : a stiff breeze has entered through one of the slits in the tower and blown the flame out and niether of them noticed and they have had both been overcome by the fumes?

WorryWorm won of course.  Donned on my boots, woolly hat, gloves, two layers of coats: picked up Percy - my walking stick - press ganged a reluctant MaddyMoo to accompany me.  As I locked my front door and became blinded by the sleet being thrown in my face I noticed the lights were on in the Church.  Gingerly I made my way across the freezing road.    One of them was still alive!  Hurrah!!!!  Stumbled up to the front door of the Church and spotted both of them.  Admonished them, much as a neurotic mother does when she has temporarily mislaid her child (yes, I did) and asked them how much longer they would be working in the dark because I was concerned for them.  They laughed, good naturedly as you do with a batty old woman who might prove to be dangerous, and assured me they were fine, that they were used to working in much worse conditions and that they would be finished by 18.00 hours.  I wished them well and left them to it.

Of course I couldn't settle until they had actually finished - 10 past six since you ask - couldn't draw my blind, break out the first whiskey of the evening, wash my hair or leave my post until I knew they were safely away to their bed and breakfast lodgings.

I console myself with the knowledge that I can, at last, be accepted as a silly old bat whose heart is in the right place.  Where once I strived to appeal to people (okay men in particular) as the most beautiful, sexy, intelligent , devastatingly funny woman they had ever met, now I am content to be considered as mad as a box of frogs and to enjoy the indulgent, 'she's harmless' tolerance of the young. 

Of course, the younger of the two will never know just how delicious he is considered to be by this crippled old hag:  the sort of chap who wouldn't have stood a chance against me before age and the Back Monsters assailed me.   Thank God for memories eh?!

Stay safe and take care of each other
Love and peace
THE Purple Fairy xxx

THE Purple Fairy on Being Perpleplexed

Being perpleplexed is a natural state for most human beans:  we struggle to understand the rules.  Those of us fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to know the difference between right and wrong feel smug when we just KNOW what is right,  There is a song written by Bob Dylan and covered by several artists:  'God on our Side'.  It tells the story of righteous anger carried into wars in His name.  It says it is okay to do what you want if you believe that God is on your side.  Bob is being sardonic. 

I have just listened to Ms Hilary Clinton launching her defensive attack on the Wiki Leaks.  Putting aside the fact that I am perpleplexed that her hairdresser gets paid for that hair style.....  I am more perpleplexed at her assertion that the leaks will be responsible for the King of Misrule to rule again causing the death and destruction of 'innocent' people.

Dear Ms Clinton, they will not!  You guys have already put that train on the tracks.  So the moderate Arab states wish the head of the serpent be separated from it's body but do not want to wield the sword - really?  You surprise me!  No doubt a willing Western country will do the job for them and in return?  Well let's see, what on earth could the Arab states offer in return?  Ah!  Could that be oil?  Easier to ask someone else to do your dirty work, reward them and then wash your hands. Ask Pontius Pilate.  After all, these pesky Westerners are only to eager to offer themselves as the World's police officer.

So, what do we have with this latest controversy?  We have so called evidence of tittle tattle:  playground stuff :  he said, she said, they said.  Some Heads of State called other Heads of State names - no! really!  An over indulged establishment figure of royal personage said something rude about someone else, was abrupt and, well, behaving in a lower class manner.  And we are surprised because......  ?

What is surprising is Ms Clinton's defence of the edict that went out to staff seeking bio metrical information, passwords and whether someone had racked up enough points for frequent flyer status.  What the hell?  Is there any wonder that the World's citizens are paranoid?  Our elders and betters operate at playground level and we are supposed to show respect?  We are supposed to trust them to govern us?

This entry was meant to be an amusing one, I had almost promised my beloved daughter-in-law and my friend Sandy that it would be, but you know what?  My sense of humour is chilled right now and not just because of the weather...

Take care, stand up for what is right
Love and peace
THE Purple Fairy xxx

Pondering Perception

Perception has become a close friend of mine whilst Helen and me have tried to mend me:  Assumption is a close relative of Perception and invariably follows her everywhere.  Unfortunately Perception tends to be misled by Assumption and Perception has learned to ignore her more truthful cousin, Instinct.

The Human Bean (deliberate spelling) is first born with innate Perception granted through primitive ancestors.  Smell, sound and touch instinctively granted allows the infant to seek nourishment and comfort.  The giver of nourishment and comfort is also instinctively programmed to give what is sought, if the infant is lucky.  Sometimes, however, the givers' instinct is corrupted and denied.  Such denial carries devastating results and colours the growing infant's reading of it's world and the Beans in it.  So as you teach, they learn;  so as they learn, they teach.

Allow me to demonstrate using one of my favourite tools:  a 'What If'.

What if you see the following scene:
Harassed mother, one toddler walking and one child riding in buggy are outside a shop.  A cursory glance from Assumption tells Perception the group is well dressed, thriving and in need of no concern.  Instinct has spotted the crusted layer of mucus on the top lip of the child in the buggy; and the tear stained trail on the face of the toddler.  Instinct has also noted the hard edges of the Mother who has dressed for attention rather than comfort.  Instinct is braced for what happens next. 

Having terminated the phone call she was on, Mother looks down as the feet of the toddler and screams as she slaps him across the back of his head:  'You f***ing stupid boy, three years old and you still can't tie your f***ing shoe laces!'  Further tears follow the route already laid on the boy's face.  Struggle as he might to correct his mistake, he is not quick enough and suffers further blows and unpleasant curses whilst his Mother roughly completes the task. 

So as you teach ...:  What has our boy been taught?  He has been taught that doing something wrong will result in him being hurt physically:  that his error will result in the withdrawal of care and dignity; that if you do something that offends someone else it is acceptable to assault and insult for the offence.  Even our child in the buggy is having their Perception altered:  that child has seen, by demonstration, how not to anger the provider of care.

The template given to both these children will help to govern the way they function in society.  One child may simply retreat into not trying to achieve at all in order not to take the risk of having anger showered upon them;  the other child may strive beyond need for perfection in order to ward off any possible threat of painful sanction.  In any event both children are damaged and ... so they learn.  Years down the lane the younger child is a skilled expert at deflection, the older child has simply learnt that not only it is easier not to strive but it is perfectly acceptable to knock seven kinds of sh*t out of someone who offends.  So when the classroom teacher leans over the desk and hisses at the boy that he is stupid, the boy knows that thumping the sneering face is appropriate. 

My 'What If ' too fanciful for you?  Not so.  The incident is real; it happened 40 years ago and was witnessed by the writer.   I continue to see examples of the teaching and learning manifested daily.  

To those who have care and control of children, I beg you, consider the templates you give them.  As you teach so they will learn;  as they learn so they will teach.   That little old bag lady in the city with the ulcerated legs smelling of pee ......  what template was she given for self worth?  The old man cowering in terror behind his curtain afraid to open the door to his son .....  In his youth, and in drink, he terrorised his own children with his tongue and his fists . The damage he inflicted on his own son haunts him in his ailing years.

The gift of a child is beyond price:  every action you take, every word you use weaves a living blanket that they wrap around themselves as they walk into their futures.  You cannot see what you are creating as you create it.  Evidence only becomes clear as they grow and develop.  Take great care of your precious gifts.  Allow Perception to be guided by Assumption by all means:  every picture does indeed tell a story.  BUT allow Instinct to have an equal say so that a balance is struck.  Judging a book by its cover only makes sense when you have investigated what lies within.

Love and Peace
THE Purple Fairy  <3 xxx

Episode the First ...

This will be interesting methinks...  I was going to ask for assistance from my grandchildren to create this b.l.o.g. thingey but ever the independent old bag I thought I would have a go by my ownself.  I am a blog virgin and will probably end up a source of amusement for the more technically minded readers.  Never mind, it stops them picking on someone else ...

Now, what's The First View from the  Hive?
November has stamped her authority on the earth to remind us that she used to herald the Winter Season.  I remember seasons.  I remember a winter so hard that the snow reached the wires at the top of telepgraph poles.  My Dad used to tell me tales of watching rabbits jump over power lines whilst villagers dug out an escape route.  I remember seasonal foods and still swear by the rule;  do not eat sprouts until the first frost has dressed them.

My beloved garden has gone to untidy sleep although some defiant roses remain on undressed stalks.   The commerative rose I bought for the late Princess of Wales has a perfectly formed bud waiting to bloom.  Anticipation will be heightened come Spring when I will be in awe of what has survived.  Last winter saw the destruction of all but one of my Hebes.

Now I need to clean and lay the fire - a heavy task that I struggle with.  I accost male strangers at will in an attempt to keep my indoor scuttle full of coal but mostly I have to collect wood and coal by my ownself.  My beloved MaddyMoo recognises the signal of the scuttle being dragged over the doorstep and is convinced that I cannot possibly complete my chore without playing fetchy catchy with her. 

I shall close now just to see what happens next
Love and Peace
THE Purple Fairy  xxx