Friday the 13th

I do not consider myself to be of a particularly superstitious nature. However, I must admit I was a tad concerned when booking a flight on Friday the 13th. I finally came to my logical, rational senses and so clicked the Submit button. After all, that was the date I needed to travel. Why would a date – really just another categorising of the environment we live in – rule me in my decision-making?

Since I was a little girl, I have heard my Mum telling me what her Mum passed on, from generations before her. You know the thing; never put keys or shoes on the table. Spit three times if you see a black cat crossing the street, never walk under a ladder. That sort of thing. Not that I think my mother really believed in that sort of stuff, but she felt she had to say it, anyway. A bit like a curse, for the evil spirits who might have turned up had she neglected mentioning these old sayings.

But there are sadder versions, too. Never compare hands. The effect of this will be death in the family. As will dreams about you loosing your own teeth. The most depressing one, in my opinion however, is “Never sing – or laugh - in the morning. You end up crying before going to bed.” How sad is that!? It reminds me of words some religious sect (whose name escapes me now) insists on: “You walk towards death, wherever you go.”
Uplifting in mind and spirit, isn’t it?

So, if I wake up feeling like singing, I intend to continue doing so. No matter what. What made me reflect upon the significance of Friday the 13th in the first place was the fact that two plane crashes actually did happen that particular day.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7890952.stm
http://www.channel4.com/news/articles/uk/crashlanding+at+city+airport/2948957

One in the States and one in London – the latter almost exactly as I touched ground at Stansted myself. Strange – or just a coincidence?