On manifesting

According to the Cambridge dictionary, the 2024 word of the year is manifest, meaning to will something into being by sheer force of mind. Now, I’d usually have no truck with this… except. Except for the Cat. Yes, yes, I know, another musing about the Cat. But this is fascinating, I tell you. Because the Cat is a manifesting master. If there was a black belt in manifesting, she would have it. She is, in fact, a sensei level manifester. It’s so annoying. And so effective. She never begs for food. Nor does that twisting thing about your legs. No, she just sits beside the bowl, closes her eyes and sways, almost imperceptibly, from side to side. You can feel it. An uncomfortableness about the neck and shoulders. Even through a half-a-metre stone wall. You feel compelled to shrug, to move. And then you find yourself saying, “och, the bloody cat’s bowl is empty.” And off you go, dutifully, to fill it.

Himself would not believe it of course. When I first met him, I lived in a flat with the galley kitchen on a mezzanine. Up a spiral staircase. Reasons fail me. Though to be fair, mezzanines and spiral staircases are space saving. Going up was OK, even if you were carrying something. Going down, now, required a bit of skill, especially if you were carrying something. You had to lean into the curve, you know, like riding a motorbike. The Cat honed her manifesting skills sitting atop those spiral stairs, from which she had an unobstructed view of whoever was lounging on the sofa below. It wasn’t long before he too experienced an uncomfortableness about the neck and shoulders, and felt compelled to shrug, to move. “Argh,” said he. “Yes I know,” said I. “The cat’s bowl is empty.”

The Force is definitely strong with the Cat. And it is no coincidence that the Cat resembles Yoda. Or more correctly, that Yoda resembles the Cat. I’m pretty sure Jim Henson lived with a cat. And George Lucas too. How else would he have discovered the Force? I agree with Laetitia Maklouf that women become more cat, and less dog, as we age. But what I’m most hopeful for is that we also gain a measure of their manifesting prowess.

I dipped into the Guardian again, and came across this interview with author John Banville. He’s writing a memoir, which he says is a pack of lies. I love this quote because it’s true. And he lives down the road from my Dad.

It’s a cliche, but the Irish are just in love with words. And we have to be very careful, because, you know, words are intoxicating.

– John Banville

Here it is, my favourite restoration/project of the moment, the Sekiari Mansion on Patmos by Leda Athanasopoulou. I’ve also just discovered the El-Fenn hotel in Marrakech. Ignore the prices. Enjoy the colourful interiors. And, cue drumroll, we have finally completed the first coat of paint on the ceiling in the kitchen. It’s only taken six weekends over several months to finish. Phew. We’re leaving it for now as we’ve still not decided what to do about the lighting. In a fit of enthusiasm about the transformational effect of just one coat of the pink, I’ve decided to paint the dining room ceiling. Himself is less enthusiastic. Much less. All that rollering is hard on the neck and shoulders. A quick bit of maths suggests it may well take 18 weekends to do. That’s a lot of weekends. I resolve to work on manifesting. Unfortunately the Cat isn’t even remotely interested in interior decoration.

May the Force be with you… for a wonderful Christmas and a happily exciting 2025.

A bientôt