Day 294
Fancied a bit of a change - what do we think of the new look? There are several others I'm intending to try out but this felt good to start with.
The boys came up trumps on Father's Day this year. They are both rubbish at giving people gifts and cards on time (or at all), and I was still waiting for my birthday cards from the beginning of the month. I put the fear of God and a few other deities into them about Father's Day though, and they turned up with a card each for Steve - ON THE DAY!
AND they had a card and pressie for me. Well, swipe me sideways and call me Susan.
Joe bought me a candle (the last of the big spenders, that one) which was quite nice, actually, as I'd just been to a car boot sale and bought a big wooden candlestick.
Sam bought me a bathroom gift set, which on first glance appeared to be quite nice too. On closer inspection, however, it proved to be fantastic. It was clearly cheap and foreign and, better still, badly translated. Lush!
I am now the proud owner of bath salts for 'decompression', should I ever want to bathe at a depth of 1000 metres. My 'fancy soap' - (which, in my head, is soap given to you by your fancy man) - is supposed to 'cleanlily take good care of ones health maintain skin'. But my favourite is the shower gel which promises to 'clean skin, no-irritated, moisten,and fresher'. Fab-u-lous!
So - I get a birthday present on Father's Day. Steve should expect a Father's Day pressie on his birthday, at the end of July. Then he can have his birthday presents on Sam's birthday in August, who will have to wait until Joe's birthday in December for his. Joe can have his birthday present at Christmas, and they can both wait for their Christmas presents until Easter.
Sorted. Much less expense and we can shop in the sales. If they complain, I can always point out that "you started it", like the mature person that I am. (I am a reed, I bend, I adapt, I go with the flow, this is all perfectly zen...)
You do your best as a parent but it just never turns out the way you expect, does it. They are both much shabbier at things I have always considered important, and wiser than I ever would have expected. They are both funnier, which is always a bonus.
Sam is far kinder than he seemed likely to become as a boisterous little toddler. Joe is more stubborn than I anticipated. And handsomer. But the older they get, they seem to move further and further away from the way I brought them up and into a space of their own.
This is exactly how it should be, I know, but it is also a bit weird.
I have invested twenty-eight years into being a parent, which is well over half my life, and I find I still want to see evidence of all that input in their current lives. I am not quite ready to have my influence so speedily repelled, the lessons I tried to instill so conveniently forgotten, or to have the values I exampled discarded with such happy nonchalance.
This letting go stuff really is for grown-ups, isn't it.
Perhaps I need to have a 'decompression' bath, and get myself 'moisten and fresher', which sounds just about as rude as it possibly could. Ergo, I'm in.
Care to join me?
Sunday 27 June 2010
Tuesday 22 June 2010
Down unknown roads
Day 289
Life changes course all the time. There are little swerves, dips in the road, hills and bumps, and most of the time, we don't notice. But it changes, nonetheless, and suddenly, we look back and say "how did that happen - and when did this become my life?"
Life is swerving mightily for us right now. We cannot help but notice. We are nearly swept off the road by it's force. Such change, such disruption, yet on the outside it would all look just the same to you.
Steve is discontinuing his pshycotherapy course. Not because it isn't the right one or he has gone off it, or changed his mind, or any of that rubbish. No. The body blows he has been dealt in the last month have left him unable to even consider it as a career path anymore. The whole vision he had of himself, his history, his family, his sense of identity - it has all come crashing down, and he is searching through the resultant rubble, trying to recognise his voice.
When I was at the worst point of my illness, I had a similar experience, and my heart goes out to him now. I know that he was never who he thought he was - the real Steve was always stronger, wiser, kinder, clearer, and even more beautiful. But in life we tend to believe less of ourselves, especially if our early life trained us in accepting unworthiness. It takes others, who love us, to remind us of our true hearts.
There he stands now, at the brink of all the horrible awareness that he is not who he once thought, and it is painful for him. There is shock to be recovered from. There is exploration to be endured. If he could see through my eyes, feel with my heart, he would know how extraordinary and fine and lovely a soul sits in him. I have glimpsed this many times. Our true natures cannot hide forever, not when we act out of love.
And Steve has loved. And shown his true self. And it has always been so enchanting that I have hungered for more every time, and felt profound loss when it was hidden away again.
I want to tell him that like that other Steve, we can rebuild him, better than ever before, but without it costing six million dollars. I want him to see that this is a transformative time, and that these are Phoenix ashes he now stands in.
He knows that I have recently lost my sense of self too - that I am journeying towards my own unknown and unguessed at future. I know he does not want to add to the difficulties that I carry, but I want him to take the hand I hold out to him, and feel the adventure waiting in the shadows. I am happy to take all of the first steps - let him follow close behind. There is nothing unfair about that - for when I am tired I can lean back and there will be someone to rest on.
Life changes all the time. We cannot prevent this, and why would we want to? We can choose how we ride the crest of those roller coaster times. Screaming, certainly, but with hands high above our heads, facing forward, letting the new ground rush towards us.
To follow ones heart is the bravest endeavour I know. Sometimes it feels the hardest, but I never doubt it, never. Hold my hand sweetheart, the future beckons us, the present pushes us, the past has abandoned us, we'll walk together in brand new shoes.
Life changes course all the time. There are little swerves, dips in the road, hills and bumps, and most of the time, we don't notice. But it changes, nonetheless, and suddenly, we look back and say "how did that happen - and when did this become my life?"
Life is swerving mightily for us right now. We cannot help but notice. We are nearly swept off the road by it's force. Such change, such disruption, yet on the outside it would all look just the same to you.
Steve is discontinuing his pshycotherapy course. Not because it isn't the right one or he has gone off it, or changed his mind, or any of that rubbish. No. The body blows he has been dealt in the last month have left him unable to even consider it as a career path anymore. The whole vision he had of himself, his history, his family, his sense of identity - it has all come crashing down, and he is searching through the resultant rubble, trying to recognise his voice.
When I was at the worst point of my illness, I had a similar experience, and my heart goes out to him now. I know that he was never who he thought he was - the real Steve was always stronger, wiser, kinder, clearer, and even more beautiful. But in life we tend to believe less of ourselves, especially if our early life trained us in accepting unworthiness. It takes others, who love us, to remind us of our true hearts.
There he stands now, at the brink of all the horrible awareness that he is not who he once thought, and it is painful for him. There is shock to be recovered from. There is exploration to be endured. If he could see through my eyes, feel with my heart, he would know how extraordinary and fine and lovely a soul sits in him. I have glimpsed this many times. Our true natures cannot hide forever, not when we act out of love.
And Steve has loved. And shown his true self. And it has always been so enchanting that I have hungered for more every time, and felt profound loss when it was hidden away again.
I want to tell him that like that other Steve, we can rebuild him, better than ever before, but without it costing six million dollars. I want him to see that this is a transformative time, and that these are Phoenix ashes he now stands in.
He knows that I have recently lost my sense of self too - that I am journeying towards my own unknown and unguessed at future. I know he does not want to add to the difficulties that I carry, but I want him to take the hand I hold out to him, and feel the adventure waiting in the shadows. I am happy to take all of the first steps - let him follow close behind. There is nothing unfair about that - for when I am tired I can lean back and there will be someone to rest on.
Life changes all the time. We cannot prevent this, and why would we want to? We can choose how we ride the crest of those roller coaster times. Screaming, certainly, but with hands high above our heads, facing forward, letting the new ground rush towards us.
To follow ones heart is the bravest endeavour I know. Sometimes it feels the hardest, but I never doubt it, never. Hold my hand sweetheart, the future beckons us, the present pushes us, the past has abandoned us, we'll walk together in brand new shoes.
Sunday 13 June 2010
A Dancing Queen at Pimms o,clock
Day 280
Right everybody, sing along now -
"It's such a perfect day,
You'll wish you spent it with me..."
Obviously I'm paraphrasing, but I've just had the best day ever.
I woke up and had a nice chat with Steve whilst playing solitaire on my Iphone, in bed, with a hot lemon (don't drink tea). Good start.
Then had a nice bath and when I got out Steve had made bacon and eggs. Getting better.
Then Asda delivered our groceries. I had signed up for online shopping yesterday and placed an order, only to have the lovely surprise of getting a bonus that took £75 off the total. Seventy five quid! I had to order more food just to make up the total. Even with the cost of delivery we ended up spending less than two quid and the fridge is full! Brilliant!
Then we pootled down the road and things picked up even more.
At the bottom of our hill is a small street of shops that - despite the busy road that runs through it - considers itself a separate community, almost a village in Bath, if you like. It's called Widcombe, and every two years they shut off the street, pull out all the stops, and have a massive street party called Widcombe Rising.
It was today and the sun shone on it with gusto. There was lots of street theatre, all the pubs were serving pints and Pimms, and the restaurants had hog roasts and currys and cakes etc., all out on stalls.
There was a ferris wheel, a helter skelter, a farmers market, morris dancers (obligatory), muscly young acrobats from Oz (nice), balloons and candy floss, and everything that makes up a good party including four different stages playing lots of different music, all day.
Our near neighbour is in a band called the Good Fridays, so we grabbed some Pimms and went to hear their set, and they were great. Plenty of updated eighties hits like 'Tainted love', and a guest appearance on the bongos of a nice chap Sam knew from way back.
Next we watched two hunky acrobats stand on their hands, and on huge piles of chairs, and take their shirts off, and do see-saw stunts, and did I mention, they took their shirts off? Really quite good..
Hungry now, so we wolfed down a hog roast bun each and headed up to the next stage to hear A Handbag of Harmonies, from that show on the telly - Last Choir Standing. Lots of pink, plenty of audience participation, terrific harmonies, great singalong songs, a totally camp conductor in a frilly shirt, and a marvellous Beatles medley to finish it all off. Love, love, loved it.
Needed a sit down now, so it was off to one of the churches for a cream tea, whilst stone masons chipped away outside, showcasing their work, (this is Bath - we have to have some 'posh').
Then, on our way down to the next stage, we bumped into old work colleagues of Steve, one of whom was playing in the band I had planned to see later. Nice touch down with them, arranged to meet up before the set, and mooched off to hear a jazzy funk band called The Bourbons, whilst queueing for the ferris wheel.
As it happens, Steve and I are both terrified of heights, but we tend to get brave every now and then and do battle with this fear by going up the Eiffel Tower or something like that. So today it was the Ferris wheel, which was always called a Big Wheel when I was a kid, but this one wasn't really that big. You could see over the houses at the top (if you looked, which we tried not to do too much ), but that was about all.
We both stayed very still, so as not to rock it, and I can honestly say that that is the tightest Steve has held my hand in a long time, so, result!
Then it was off to the stage for the Demolition Rhythm and Blues Band, and Steve's old mates, and a gin and tonic and chips. They turned out to be excellent. Steve's old mucker who was the lead singer, had a whole Jack Black, Tenacious D thing going, that worked fabulously well.
But it was the dancers who stole the show.
Earlier, the dance floor had been populated by small children and the kind of people who live in a home, not at home, which is all very sweet and I wish I was that brave about my dancing.
Now, however, they had mostly gone and a motley crew of individuals had assembled instead, in a line which moved gradually forward as they got more confident. They were headed up by a young man constructed mostly of tattoos, black shirt, Doc Martins, and a striking resemblance to Dennis Pennis. He danced like he had only minutes to live, but was on powerful drugs, and so didn't care. He busted some good moves too.
Alongside Mr enthusiastic there were two other celebrity lookalikes. There was an Ozzy Osbourne, (if Ozzy hadn't got famous, and actually lived in a caravan outside Chippenham), and a Gilly Goulden (who never let go of her pint the whole time, good on yer, girl).
More people got brave c'os the music was really good, the floor started to fill up, and we had front row seats, naturally.
A chap right in front of me clearly had a sense of rhythm in his head but the rest of his body danced to the beat of a different drum, or possible several. I was riveted. Every part of his body was moving, but no two parts were in time with each other. He was the King of all 'dads at a wedding' and my eyes were glued to him. I just couldn't work out how he (or anybody) could move that way. It was astonishing.
Then, just when we thought it couldn't get any better, SHE came along.
She was young, drunk, barefoot, and wearing a long blue dress. When she started to dance, she hitched up her dress to allow ease of movement, then it all got a bit suggestive, and her dress rode up a lot and she flashed her bum.
At this point, I thought it was accidental.
The more she danced, the more I realised how wrong I was. An old fella who had gamely tried to keep up with Dennis Pennis grabbed her hands for a dance, and, boy, did he get one! She flicked her dress up to boob height repeatedly now, showing all her tattoos and a rather small thong, and finished the dance by holding him close and crotch-humping him.
He was quite old, as I said, and we were all getting worried that she might give him a heart-attack. We never saw him again after that, but we reassurred ourselves that an organised event of this nature was sure to have a St Johns Ambulance on standby somewhere, and besides, she was now the floor show.
She really went for it and whirled around everywhere, flipping her dress up continually and frightening young children with her spotty bottom. I was craning my head to look but all the men were trying to pretend they weren't, and how the band kept focus I really don't know.
Dennis Pennis knew he had been totally upstaged, but frankly, I know pole dancers who would have been embarrassed to dance like that, so he was a worthy second place.
When it was all over we came home to comfy chairs, Top Gear on the telly for the guys, and the computer wating for me. Sam even said he'd got some homework done, so today is stratopherically good.
Sam is currently outside sitting on our steps, talking to the big, gnarly, toad that lives under our patio but has come up to take a little evening air, while I sip hot lemon and write this.
The last scents of honeysuckle drift on the breeze.
This has been a perfect day.
Bar none.
Right everybody, sing along now -
"It's such a perfect day,
You'll wish you spent it with me..."
Obviously I'm paraphrasing, but I've just had the best day ever.
I woke up and had a nice chat with Steve whilst playing solitaire on my Iphone, in bed, with a hot lemon (don't drink tea). Good start.
Then had a nice bath and when I got out Steve had made bacon and eggs. Getting better.
Then Asda delivered our groceries. I had signed up for online shopping yesterday and placed an order, only to have the lovely surprise of getting a bonus that took £75 off the total. Seventy five quid! I had to order more food just to make up the total. Even with the cost of delivery we ended up spending less than two quid and the fridge is full! Brilliant!
Then we pootled down the road and things picked up even more.
At the bottom of our hill is a small street of shops that - despite the busy road that runs through it - considers itself a separate community, almost a village in Bath, if you like. It's called Widcombe, and every two years they shut off the street, pull out all the stops, and have a massive street party called Widcombe Rising.
It was today and the sun shone on it with gusto. There was lots of street theatre, all the pubs were serving pints and Pimms, and the restaurants had hog roasts and currys and cakes etc., all out on stalls.
There was a ferris wheel, a helter skelter, a farmers market, morris dancers (obligatory), muscly young acrobats from Oz (nice), balloons and candy floss, and everything that makes up a good party including four different stages playing lots of different music, all day.
Our near neighbour is in a band called the Good Fridays, so we grabbed some Pimms and went to hear their set, and they were great. Plenty of updated eighties hits like 'Tainted love', and a guest appearance on the bongos of a nice chap Sam knew from way back.
Next we watched two hunky acrobats stand on their hands, and on huge piles of chairs, and take their shirts off, and do see-saw stunts, and did I mention, they took their shirts off? Really quite good..
Hungry now, so we wolfed down a hog roast bun each and headed up to the next stage to hear A Handbag of Harmonies, from that show on the telly - Last Choir Standing. Lots of pink, plenty of audience participation, terrific harmonies, great singalong songs, a totally camp conductor in a frilly shirt, and a marvellous Beatles medley to finish it all off. Love, love, loved it.
Needed a sit down now, so it was off to one of the churches for a cream tea, whilst stone masons chipped away outside, showcasing their work, (this is Bath - we have to have some 'posh').
Then, on our way down to the next stage, we bumped into old work colleagues of Steve, one of whom was playing in the band I had planned to see later. Nice touch down with them, arranged to meet up before the set, and mooched off to hear a jazzy funk band called The Bourbons, whilst queueing for the ferris wheel.
As it happens, Steve and I are both terrified of heights, but we tend to get brave every now and then and do battle with this fear by going up the Eiffel Tower or something like that. So today it was the Ferris wheel, which was always called a Big Wheel when I was a kid, but this one wasn't really that big. You could see over the houses at the top (if you looked, which we tried not to do too much ), but that was about all.
We both stayed very still, so as not to rock it, and I can honestly say that that is the tightest Steve has held my hand in a long time, so, result!
Then it was off to the stage for the Demolition Rhythm and Blues Band, and Steve's old mates, and a gin and tonic and chips. They turned out to be excellent. Steve's old mucker who was the lead singer, had a whole Jack Black, Tenacious D thing going, that worked fabulously well.
But it was the dancers who stole the show.
Earlier, the dance floor had been populated by small children and the kind of people who live in a home, not at home, which is all very sweet and I wish I was that brave about my dancing.
Now, however, they had mostly gone and a motley crew of individuals had assembled instead, in a line which moved gradually forward as they got more confident. They were headed up by a young man constructed mostly of tattoos, black shirt, Doc Martins, and a striking resemblance to Dennis Pennis. He danced like he had only minutes to live, but was on powerful drugs, and so didn't care. He busted some good moves too.
Alongside Mr enthusiastic there were two other celebrity lookalikes. There was an Ozzy Osbourne, (if Ozzy hadn't got famous, and actually lived in a caravan outside Chippenham), and a Gilly Goulden (who never let go of her pint the whole time, good on yer, girl).
More people got brave c'os the music was really good, the floor started to fill up, and we had front row seats, naturally.
A chap right in front of me clearly had a sense of rhythm in his head but the rest of his body danced to the beat of a different drum, or possible several. I was riveted. Every part of his body was moving, but no two parts were in time with each other. He was the King of all 'dads at a wedding' and my eyes were glued to him. I just couldn't work out how he (or anybody) could move that way. It was astonishing.
Then, just when we thought it couldn't get any better, SHE came along.
She was young, drunk, barefoot, and wearing a long blue dress. When she started to dance, she hitched up her dress to allow ease of movement, then it all got a bit suggestive, and her dress rode up a lot and she flashed her bum.
At this point, I thought it was accidental.
The more she danced, the more I realised how wrong I was. An old fella who had gamely tried to keep up with Dennis Pennis grabbed her hands for a dance, and, boy, did he get one! She flicked her dress up to boob height repeatedly now, showing all her tattoos and a rather small thong, and finished the dance by holding him close and crotch-humping him.
He was quite old, as I said, and we were all getting worried that she might give him a heart-attack. We never saw him again after that, but we reassurred ourselves that an organised event of this nature was sure to have a St Johns Ambulance on standby somewhere, and besides, she was now the floor show.
She really went for it and whirled around everywhere, flipping her dress up continually and frightening young children with her spotty bottom. I was craning my head to look but all the men were trying to pretend they weren't, and how the band kept focus I really don't know.
Dennis Pennis knew he had been totally upstaged, but frankly, I know pole dancers who would have been embarrassed to dance like that, so he was a worthy second place.
When it was all over we came home to comfy chairs, Top Gear on the telly for the guys, and the computer wating for me. Sam even said he'd got some homework done, so today is stratopherically good.
Sam is currently outside sitting on our steps, talking to the big, gnarly, toad that lives under our patio but has come up to take a little evening air, while I sip hot lemon and write this.
The last scents of honeysuckle drift on the breeze.
This has been a perfect day.
Bar none.
And now I'm off to watch Galaxy Quest - don't you wish you were me?
Wednesday 9 June 2010
Keeping up with the Daltons
Day 276
Hello little blog, remember me? I have left you to your own devices for too long but I am back now.
Not been very well actually, and when I have been well, I've been busy. Had a birthday. Not an important one with a zero - that was last year - but still took up some time. Had a great meal out with friends, but am still waiting for a card or pressie from either of my sons, little sods.
Carole Burnett once said that if you want to know what childbirth is like, take your bottom lip and stretch it over your head. Feel like suggesting that to my boys. Then they may be a little more grateful and responsive on my birthday.
Rosie, one of my lovely step-daughters, sent me a cute little jacket that didn't fit her, but - sadly - didn't fit me either. Nice try though.
Been madly painting that commission I got. And when I say madly, I don't just mean my painting technique. The big problem was it took me days to remember how to achieve the effects that I was so effortlessly employing a year ago. I honestly couldn't seem to grasp how to do it anymore. Breakthrough came yesterday, at last, and painting almost complete now. Phew! Paint had to be sanded down half way through as had got so thick.
Oh - did I say? - the patio is finished! Just in time for all the rain. The bruises I sustained re-laying it have nearly all gone so I'd like some sunshine now to brown my legs please.
Steve's work life is all over the shop. The contract he was waiting for and had done months of work for has been put off until end of August. We can't last that long on the wages he earned for the six weeks in Belgium, so that's a no-no. Could be tricky. Oh well - life will send us what we need, as it always does.
Been in hormone hell as well. Hoping this sudden frenzied onslaught of mood swings, exhaustion and weeping heralds the final storm. As my hormones get more out of whack I am hoping it is a sign that the end is in sight. Prefer to think this way whatever the reality.
Haven't had a chance to write any more of my book - this is the first writing I have done for a week and a half. Missing it but the painting is the priority at the moment. Waiting on feedback from Diane and her daughter Ella about the first batch anyway.
I still have one copy of my manuscript outstanding at a publishers. I notice that I do not want to ring them up and prompt them about this in case it prompts them to say "oh forget it then". I will be brave and just do it. This week. Sometime. This is not the right energy to be putting out.
Well that's it for now. I will write properly next time - this was just a catch up to say I'm still here (even if my brain clearly isn't).
Hello little blog, remember me? I have left you to your own devices for too long but I am back now.
Not been very well actually, and when I have been well, I've been busy. Had a birthday. Not an important one with a zero - that was last year - but still took up some time. Had a great meal out with friends, but am still waiting for a card or pressie from either of my sons, little sods.
Carole Burnett once said that if you want to know what childbirth is like, take your bottom lip and stretch it over your head. Feel like suggesting that to my boys. Then they may be a little more grateful and responsive on my birthday.
Rosie, one of my lovely step-daughters, sent me a cute little jacket that didn't fit her, but - sadly - didn't fit me either. Nice try though.
Been madly painting that commission I got. And when I say madly, I don't just mean my painting technique. The big problem was it took me days to remember how to achieve the effects that I was so effortlessly employing a year ago. I honestly couldn't seem to grasp how to do it anymore. Breakthrough came yesterday, at last, and painting almost complete now. Phew! Paint had to be sanded down half way through as had got so thick.
Oh - did I say? - the patio is finished! Just in time for all the rain. The bruises I sustained re-laying it have nearly all gone so I'd like some sunshine now to brown my legs please.
Steve's work life is all over the shop. The contract he was waiting for and had done months of work for has been put off until end of August. We can't last that long on the wages he earned for the six weeks in Belgium, so that's a no-no. Could be tricky. Oh well - life will send us what we need, as it always does.
Been in hormone hell as well. Hoping this sudden frenzied onslaught of mood swings, exhaustion and weeping heralds the final storm. As my hormones get more out of whack I am hoping it is a sign that the end is in sight. Prefer to think this way whatever the reality.
Haven't had a chance to write any more of my book - this is the first writing I have done for a week and a half. Missing it but the painting is the priority at the moment. Waiting on feedback from Diane and her daughter Ella about the first batch anyway.
I still have one copy of my manuscript outstanding at a publishers. I notice that I do not want to ring them up and prompt them about this in case it prompts them to say "oh forget it then". I will be brave and just do it. This week. Sometime. This is not the right energy to be putting out.
Well that's it for now. I will write properly next time - this was just a catch up to say I'm still here (even if my brain clearly isn't).
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