I have noted of late that there seems to be a certain rule that parents are expected to follow now. It is the rule of "what if..."
Instead of common sense and the ability to understand your own child's limitations we are expected, and most comply, with this rule.
It dictates that no matter how you may see a situation you must be over-cautious and say "what if?"
When I was 12 I began babysitting for neighbourhood families. But...what if something had happened while I was alone? What if something had happened to the children? What if there had been a fire? A bear attack in deepest, darkest Scotland? An airplane crashing on the house? Actually six years on that did happen - who would have thought it? Why the "what if" people.
I earned my pocket-money and really enjoyed the experience and responsibility. But now, you can be severely punished for leaving a child under 16 in charge of a tot. Makes one wonder if the 13 year olds having babies then are not allowed to care for their own children? Out comes the cotton wool because in the land of "what if" children must be molly-coddled until the age where they are old enough to marry and fight for the country. We will throw them out into this world having never experienced time alone in the family house, life as a latch-key kid and the little thrill having your own key and entering an empty house gives a teenager.
Perhaps I am mistaken, I doubt it though. This can only lead to adults unable to care for themselves, unaware of their own aptitude for daily tasks as they hadn't learned from mistakes made earlier.
I was left alone a few times when I was young. The first time was around the age my Hobbits are at now - 9. Was it an act of cruelty by my parents? (My father was walking up to the hospital where my mother worked and I was busy drawing as usual and didn't want to go. I was left in the house, in a quiet village while he walked the mile or so - must have been about 30-40 minutes I was alone. I didn't think anything of it.)
I had friends and family members who would be left alone in the house while their parents went out of a Friday evening to the local worker's clubs. Was that cruelty, neglect?
It is something I believe strongly about as I dislike being told how to raise my own children. They aren't left alone but there will come a time where that is necessary and I do think they are more than aware of the dangerous that may or may not happen. They go out to play in the area, should I shackle them to the back step so they go no further? I don't hover over them at every opportunity yet I am perfectly attuned to where they are and who they are with and most of all I trust them. Children need a certain amount of freedom in order to grow.
If we lived our lives constantly on "what if" the stress would kill us. We wouldn't leave our beds in the morning, in fact we wouldn't go into our beds just in case, you know, all the things that can happen to you when you are asleep.
It can be a wicked world we raise our children in but even Red Riding Hood's mother allowed her to traverse the forest full of wolves...oh wait, maybe that isn't such a good example. Or maybe it is.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The greatest achievements are the ones you have fought for
I was going to add photographic proof until I realised my name was printed in very big letters and I do not have photo-shop on this computer to erase that evidence. Plus if I did who is to say that the certificate was mine?
Anywouldyougetothepointway, today I had a boost to lift my illness-weary spirits, worn down indeed by a week of sniffing and coughing in the most miserable fashion.
My certificate arrived. And on this certificate it states that on the 31st December 2010 I was conferred "The Degree of - Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in Humanities with Creative Writing and History"
and here is the important, boast about part...
"Upper Second-class Honours"
See that. DO YOU SEE THAT? I have finally done something of which I can be utterly proud of. Of course I am proud of my boys but their achievements are gained through their own efforts with only help from me. This is mine, all mine, I did it, all those years, all that crap I had to deal with...and if I can be churlish for a moment, this is also a big up-yours to everyone who wished me bad luck.
My whole life has been about pleasing other people, about not wishing to cause offence or hurt others. I never noticed that no one was concerned with my well-being until some opportunities had passed me by, but that will make me a better mother as I understand the importance of my position in ensuring my boys are encouraged to believe it is possible. This has proved to me, it is possible.
(And if I win the money from work then I'll venture further into the arts - perhaps start painting or I could tell them I'd use it to write the book I want to...?)
As I won't show the degree certificate I'll just post a photograph depicting how I feel inside...(this is our boy, all grown up, happy dog indeed!)
Anywouldyougetothepointway, today I had a boost to lift my illness-weary spirits, worn down indeed by a week of sniffing and coughing in the most miserable fashion.
My certificate arrived. And on this certificate it states that on the 31st December 2010 I was conferred "The Degree of - Bachelor of Arts (Honours) in Humanities with Creative Writing and History"
and here is the important, boast about part...
"Upper Second-class Honours"
See that. DO YOU SEE THAT? I have finally done something of which I can be utterly proud of. Of course I am proud of my boys but their achievements are gained through their own efforts with only help from me. This is mine, all mine, I did it, all those years, all that crap I had to deal with...and if I can be churlish for a moment, this is also a big up-yours to everyone who wished me bad luck.
My whole life has been about pleasing other people, about not wishing to cause offence or hurt others. I never noticed that no one was concerned with my well-being until some opportunities had passed me by, but that will make me a better mother as I understand the importance of my position in ensuring my boys are encouraged to believe it is possible. This has proved to me, it is possible.
(And if I win the money from work then I'll venture further into the arts - perhaps start painting or I could tell them I'd use it to write the book I want to...?)
As I won't show the degree certificate I'll just post a photograph depicting how I feel inside...(this is our boy, all grown up, happy dog indeed!)
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Cabbage Roses
My Aunt owned a little flat in a one street town on a medium sized Scottish island. This was a home handed down by her husband's mother and as a result family enjoyed the use of such an easy to reach weekend holiday place.
The windows looked out onto the sea at one side and a dark forest on the other and the close smelled of shellfish and sand. The lady who lived upstairs was
We visited rarely, although other family members took full advantage my own preferred the island next door and honestly I did too. Bike rides and sandy beaches.
I remember, as a young child, no more than five or six, tracing the patterns of the blue cabbage roses on the wallpaper. Fingertips sliding over the shiny surface in the morning light.
The windows looked out onto the sea at one side and a dark forest on the other and the close smelled of shellfish and sand. The lady who lived upstairs was
We visited rarely, although other family members took full advantage my own preferred the island next door and honestly I did too. Bike rides and sandy beaches.
I remember, as a young child, no more than five or six, tracing the patterns of the blue cabbage roses on the wallpaper. Fingertips sliding over the shiny surface in the morning light.
Of Late It Has Been Pouring Down
If life is meant to test a person then I have truly been tested above and beyond what most would be able to cope with.
That sounds perhaps egotistic. To think I could deal with things that would fell others. I am not egotistic, in fact I am more probably the polar opposite. Instead I look back on events of the past three and a half years for evidence. I look back and wonder how long this path goes on for and at what point this will ease enough for me to be able to feel safe and secure.
I look at all the mistakes I made, all the problems people have given me on the understanding that I do this alone. The biggest mistake has been letting mother stay with us. She reverted so quickly back to the bitter, childish woman that plagued my childhood that it caught me completely by surprise.
Yet here we are, this life I have created we have to live with. This is a challenge my sons should not have to live with however I have no choice. Here is the point, I have no choice. If I could then I would ship her off to the old people's home she continually insinuates would be better than life with me. Having a maid obviously isn't enough.
Ever since Dad died I have single-handed all of the arrangement. The funeral, the selling of one house, the buying of another, all of life's little incidents that happen in between and on top of that I've raised my sons and worked my little job. Meanwhile not only did I lose a father but I really lost her at that point as well.
Now my position would easily be construed as cruel. Not knowing the history, not knowing her, they would look on this as the evil daughter not caring for her mother. In a way they would be true. I no longer care. She has done enough in the past, nearly two years, to ensure that if I had never to see her again I would not cry with the loss. There is only so much a person can take and seeing how she could suddenly change from the façade she put up to all the old neighbours and friends where we used to live. See now she doesn't know people so there is no need to pretend. She can go back to how she really was.
Once she explained that her ice-cold method of mothering was down to suffering an extra long menopause. This menopause must have returned.
The truth I can see now, after all of the crap I've walked through, doesn't hurt. I have hardened somewhat. I am not the emotionally charged firebrand. The truth is that I was an inconvenience. Had I not existed her life would have been so much better but I got in the way. I was a daddy's girl and she managed to put a wedge in that. I can see what my dad went through and wonder how long he would have lived had he not had her in his life.
My Granny was right. She did not deserve such a gentle soul as a husband. She has too much of her family in her as it is almost a carbon copy of Gran, this person she is now. I listened to years of moaning about how she had to do this for Gran and had to do that and what a nightmare she was. I listened and now I'm seeing that for all that talk she is content to be just like her.
I wish for an easier life, in this little house of ours, I want to have peace.
That sounds perhaps egotistic. To think I could deal with things that would fell others. I am not egotistic, in fact I am more probably the polar opposite. Instead I look back on events of the past three and a half years for evidence. I look back and wonder how long this path goes on for and at what point this will ease enough for me to be able to feel safe and secure.
I look at all the mistakes I made, all the problems people have given me on the understanding that I do this alone. The biggest mistake has been letting mother stay with us. She reverted so quickly back to the bitter, childish woman that plagued my childhood that it caught me completely by surprise.
Yet here we are, this life I have created we have to live with. This is a challenge my sons should not have to live with however I have no choice. Here is the point, I have no choice. If I could then I would ship her off to the old people's home she continually insinuates would be better than life with me. Having a maid obviously isn't enough.
Ever since Dad died I have single-handed all of the arrangement. The funeral, the selling of one house, the buying of another, all of life's little incidents that happen in between and on top of that I've raised my sons and worked my little job. Meanwhile not only did I lose a father but I really lost her at that point as well.
Now my position would easily be construed as cruel. Not knowing the history, not knowing her, they would look on this as the evil daughter not caring for her mother. In a way they would be true. I no longer care. She has done enough in the past, nearly two years, to ensure that if I had never to see her again I would not cry with the loss. There is only so much a person can take and seeing how she could suddenly change from the façade she put up to all the old neighbours and friends where we used to live. See now she doesn't know people so there is no need to pretend. She can go back to how she really was.
Once she explained that her ice-cold method of mothering was down to suffering an extra long menopause. This menopause must have returned.
The truth I can see now, after all of the crap I've walked through, doesn't hurt. I have hardened somewhat. I am not the emotionally charged firebrand. The truth is that I was an inconvenience. Had I not existed her life would have been so much better but I got in the way. I was a daddy's girl and she managed to put a wedge in that. I can see what my dad went through and wonder how long he would have lived had he not had her in his life.
My Granny was right. She did not deserve such a gentle soul as a husband. She has too much of her family in her as it is almost a carbon copy of Gran, this person she is now. I listened to years of moaning about how she had to do this for Gran and had to do that and what a nightmare she was. I listened and now I'm seeing that for all that talk she is content to be just like her.
I wish for an easier life, in this little house of ours, I want to have peace.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Perturbed
Sometimes Facebook can throw a whole pint of ice cold water over any semblance of confidence one has in friends and the constant human wish to be liked.
And, without going into any further detail so this post may remain as infuriatingly obtuse as I am, all I will say is that although my creative streak has lain dormant for a few weeks now I would have hoped that my ability to make pretty things would have at least intrigued a few to sign up!
Bah.
And, without going into any further detail so this post may remain as infuriatingly obtuse as I am, all I will say is that although my creative streak has lain dormant for a few weeks now I would have hoped that my ability to make pretty things would have at least intrigued a few to sign up!
Bah.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
The Crime Of Neglect
Ah bloggie, how I have neglected you. Of all the promises and best of intentions I fail to maintain the momentum.
However I have new vigour. No, that is a horrid word that brings connotations of old men for some reason.
I have neglected everything. In fact for the past few weeks, along with the hustle and bustle of the "festive" season everything has had an air of fug over it. I no longer create, I vegetate. Yes, that is an apt description. I really should put more effort into things but instead I feel so tired I have barely the energy to keep up - and even in that I'm not successful.
I worry sometimes that the illness will come back, just as we are getting on our way. But the tiredness can be explain by lack of sleep and the truth that I simply have too much to do and no one to share the burden with.
Too late I realised that some people do not change and that living with someone who seemed to have changed to the point of being likeable throws light on to that character. And shadows can't hide in the light. That is what I am most disappointed with and it weighs heavily. Especially when you cannot openly talk about it. This is not a healthy way to live.
So, choices - bitch about it or do something about it.
However I have new vigour. No, that is a horrid word that brings connotations of old men for some reason.
I have neglected everything. In fact for the past few weeks, along with the hustle and bustle of the "festive" season everything has had an air of fug over it. I no longer create, I vegetate. Yes, that is an apt description. I really should put more effort into things but instead I feel so tired I have barely the energy to keep up - and even in that I'm not successful.
I worry sometimes that the illness will come back, just as we are getting on our way. But the tiredness can be explain by lack of sleep and the truth that I simply have too much to do and no one to share the burden with.
Too late I realised that some people do not change and that living with someone who seemed to have changed to the point of being likeable throws light on to that character. And shadows can't hide in the light. That is what I am most disappointed with and it weighs heavily. Especially when you cannot openly talk about it. This is not a healthy way to live.
So, choices - bitch about it or do something about it.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Tip me a wink in the morning Mr. Sunshine won't you?
There is a definite autumnal snap in the air and in twenty-one days we'll be jetting off for a much (desperately) needed holiday. So at this moment everything else seems to reek a little of poo; I've just had yet another blow from the ex that lets me know there are many people out there who believe I am a monster bitch of an ex-wife thanks to the lies he feeds them and at the moment I have to take it as I can't retaliate until the final piece of the jigsaw goes in and then he'll get his; house buying has hit more trouble and if it ever happens I'll die of shock; job at the moment isn't so much meh as "do I have to go?" and I'm getting more than a little pissed off at how my sons seem to miss out on every opportunity at school in favour of certain children who are always top pick. Everything is on a low and there doesn't appear to be any easy answers ready for me to snatch up. In fact there are never any easy answers so we'll mark that one down as a myth.
The hurdles I have to jump get higher.
Still, I carry on. I have to. I could really just lie down and sleep for eternity but I am made of sterner stuff, like the bloody Titanic I am and there are no icebergs around here I thank you.
I wouldn't say I'm keeping upbeat. No reasonably sane person could if they had to deal with the amount of utter snash that I have to. But I am keeping up. Just. When it gets like this I downsize. I don't look to the future especially when it looks as bleak as it currently does. Instead I take what pleasure I can from simplicity. That little cross-stitch I'm working on, the little drawing I'm doing, walking our boy (dog not either of the human ones), watching the Hobbits build their Lego or train models, reading together, watching films even if I have to sit through Star Trek...again..., that article in a magazine that resonates with me, that song I hear that brings a wry smile as I acknowledge the words that chime with me.
It is what you do to survive. At some point things will pick up, if not for me then I'll make it through to when the Hobbits are up and running and I'll ensure they don't end up with this kind of existence. That will be my reason to go on.
The hurdles I have to jump get higher.
Still, I carry on. I have to. I could really just lie down and sleep for eternity but I am made of sterner stuff, like the bloody Titanic I am and there are no icebergs around here I thank you.
I wouldn't say I'm keeping upbeat. No reasonably sane person could if they had to deal with the amount of utter snash that I have to. But I am keeping up. Just. When it gets like this I downsize. I don't look to the future especially when it looks as bleak as it currently does. Instead I take what pleasure I can from simplicity. That little cross-stitch I'm working on, the little drawing I'm doing, walking our boy (dog not either of the human ones), watching the Hobbits build their Lego or train models, reading together, watching films even if I have to sit through Star Trek...again..., that article in a magazine that resonates with me, that song I hear that brings a wry smile as I acknowledge the words that chime with me.
It is what you do to survive. At some point things will pick up, if not for me then I'll make it through to when the Hobbits are up and running and I'll ensure they don't end up with this kind of existence. That will be my reason to go on.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
And That Is The End Of That
Last year I began what newspeak would describe as a journey.
This wasn't a journey related (completely) to what happened three Summers ago. This wasn't a journey related (completely) to my father dying last Spring.
I began the process, and it is a process, of trying to get what is called an open market shared equity doo-dah from the government. The process was long and hard and frustrating. I watched as wonderful houses came and went while the organisation dithered and dallied.
Then, this year, success. Not only success but a sign - two signs in fact - and all the pieces began to fall in to place. The perfect house, the perfect price, everybody in agreement and all is merry and bright.
Until last week. Last week when the bank (rhymes with...) decided that due to the detritus left on my credit report by my ex then the "criteria" had changed and they closed the door. All this time, I have done my very best to repair the damage left when he decided to spend without paying back and when I was too ill to notice. I have saved, I have paid all my bills, I have been a good girl. But it is not enough. It is never enough.
And now it ends.
That is that, there is nowhere to turn. No one listens. No one looks at the evidence there in my own bank accounts. No one cares.
If there was a magic wand to wave I could skip the whole shared equity thing and suddenly there would be the £45,000 I need (and which ironically I can pay back but who cares right?) Without a mortgage there is no shared equity, without either of those there is no house.
Once again I have let everyone down. Those few years when I didn't pay attention, when I didn't look to see why he was so eager to take the bill paying duty from me - I will pay for them emotionally forever it would seem. But what pains me the most, like a dagger through the ribs, is the disappointment I am to my boys. Oh they don't say it, they say never mind mummy we'll be right. But I've let them down, I have failed completely in one of the "criteria" of being a parent - a stable, secure, safe environment, basically a home of their own.
I wonder just how long this goes on. While he swans about in BMWs, living in converted churches, not paying a single penny in maintenance. The injustice of it all is choking.
So here I am. Lost again. Loser once more. I keep telling myself that all is fine, we are still healthy, we still have this place but it doesn't work. I can feel it twist and turn inside my stomach ready to burst free and let it be known that the truth is...no matter what I do there is no hope. Failure.
This wasn't a journey related (completely) to what happened three Summers ago. This wasn't a journey related (completely) to my father dying last Spring.
I began the process, and it is a process, of trying to get what is called an open market shared equity doo-dah from the government. The process was long and hard and frustrating. I watched as wonderful houses came and went while the organisation dithered and dallied.
Then, this year, success. Not only success but a sign - two signs in fact - and all the pieces began to fall in to place. The perfect house, the perfect price, everybody in agreement and all is merry and bright.
Until last week. Last week when the bank (rhymes with...) decided that due to the detritus left on my credit report by my ex then the "criteria" had changed and they closed the door. All this time, I have done my very best to repair the damage left when he decided to spend without paying back and when I was too ill to notice. I have saved, I have paid all my bills, I have been a good girl. But it is not enough. It is never enough.
And now it ends.
That is that, there is nowhere to turn. No one listens. No one looks at the evidence there in my own bank accounts. No one cares.
If there was a magic wand to wave I could skip the whole shared equity thing and suddenly there would be the £45,000 I need (and which ironically I can pay back but who cares right?) Without a mortgage there is no shared equity, without either of those there is no house.
Once again I have let everyone down. Those few years when I didn't pay attention, when I didn't look to see why he was so eager to take the bill paying duty from me - I will pay for them emotionally forever it would seem. But what pains me the most, like a dagger through the ribs, is the disappointment I am to my boys. Oh they don't say it, they say never mind mummy we'll be right. But I've let them down, I have failed completely in one of the "criteria" of being a parent - a stable, secure, safe environment, basically a home of their own.
I wonder just how long this goes on. While he swans about in BMWs, living in converted churches, not paying a single penny in maintenance. The injustice of it all is choking.
So here I am. Lost again. Loser once more. I keep telling myself that all is fine, we are still healthy, we still have this place but it doesn't work. I can feel it twist and turn inside my stomach ready to burst free and let it be known that the truth is...no matter what I do there is no hope. Failure.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Thursday, August 05, 2010
It's like that...and that's the way it is
I'm your only friend I'm not your only friend but I'm a little glowing friend But really I'm not actually your friend But I am Blue canary in the outlet by the light switch Who watches over you Make a little birdhouse in your soul Not to put too fine a point on it Say I'm the only bee in your bonnet Make a little birdhouse in your soul
I have a secret to tell From my electrical well It's a simple message and I'm leaving out the whistles and bells So the room must listen to me Filibuster vigilantly My name is blue canary one note* spelled l-i-t-e My story's infinite Like the Longines Symphonette it doesn't rest
There's a picture opposite me Of my primitive ancestry Which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free Though I respect that a lot I'd be fired if that were my job After killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts Bluebird of friendliness Like guardian angels its always near
I have a secret to tell From my electrical well It's a simple message and I'm leaving out the whistles and bells So the room must listen to me Filibuster vigilantly My name is blue canary one note* spelled l-i-t-e My story's infinite Like the Longines Symphonette it doesn't rest
There's a picture opposite me Of my primitive ancestry Which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free Though I respect that a lot I'd be fired if that were my job After killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts Bluebird of friendliness Like guardian angels its always near
Saturday, July 17, 2010
times this by four evenings
Monday, July 12, 2010
Day 25 — Your day, in great detail
Where to start, where to start. Beginning is always best.
Woke up, on time, just, hate that feeling in the morning - I am a night owl. Boys up already and watching Spongebob (gah!) so breakfast made, bath run and boys persuaded to wash, dress and then have their breakfast. Just boring cereal this morning.
Off to Zumba class. First of all, wash on, the whirly gig is bent in an alarming fashion so I don't know how long it will last and as I want out of here then I'll be damned if I replace the damn thing. Zip about the hoover and then off I go. Zumba class is the best part of the day. Despite my hum-dinging quality after class I go shopping afterwards for necessities.
Back home, shopping put away, boys are in garden building skateboard ramps, warning given about broken limbs etc. Clean up house, washing done so begin to put on whirly gig - there we go, whirly gig snaps half way through. Fan-bloody-tastic. Take washing off and bring down clothes horse, one way or another these clothes will dry!
That done, time for much needed bath, put yesterdays wash away, nice bath, relax for five whole minutes. Up again, clean bathroom while I'm at it. Downstairs and time for lunch. Make lunch times four. Play Swing-ball with eldest Hobbit. Do a little bit of a cross-stitch design I'm working on. Fill in tax credit forms. Uh-oh look at the time.
Ready for work, ask mother to give boys pasta for dinner and off I go. Work is...meh. Busy but that is not the issue, see that once again all my effort seems to be for nothing as I'm not graded that well. Ah fuck it all to hell. Plow through the night, call after call, who cares about stats anyway (I do).
Time for home. Empty bins. Despite the time boys are still up and Mother is in bed. Hayfever stuff given and warning about bedtimes added on top. Bin outside. Online, first call as always the property search sites. Nothing there as usual. Consider my next step. Wish I could talk to someone about this and get more than just an agreement and "whatever you think is best" attitude. On here now. End of day.
Woke up, on time, just, hate that feeling in the morning - I am a night owl. Boys up already and watching Spongebob (gah!) so breakfast made, bath run and boys persuaded to wash, dress and then have their breakfast. Just boring cereal this morning.
Off to Zumba class. First of all, wash on, the whirly gig is bent in an alarming fashion so I don't know how long it will last and as I want out of here then I'll be damned if I replace the damn thing. Zip about the hoover and then off I go. Zumba class is the best part of the day. Despite my hum-dinging quality after class I go shopping afterwards for necessities.
Back home, shopping put away, boys are in garden building skateboard ramps, warning given about broken limbs etc. Clean up house, washing done so begin to put on whirly gig - there we go, whirly gig snaps half way through. Fan-bloody-tastic. Take washing off and bring down clothes horse, one way or another these clothes will dry!
That done, time for much needed bath, put yesterdays wash away, nice bath, relax for five whole minutes. Up again, clean bathroom while I'm at it. Downstairs and time for lunch. Make lunch times four. Play Swing-ball with eldest Hobbit. Do a little bit of a cross-stitch design I'm working on. Fill in tax credit forms. Uh-oh look at the time.
Ready for work, ask mother to give boys pasta for dinner and off I go. Work is...meh. Busy but that is not the issue, see that once again all my effort seems to be for nothing as I'm not graded that well. Ah fuck it all to hell. Plow through the night, call after call, who cares about stats anyway (I do).
Time for home. Empty bins. Despite the time boys are still up and Mother is in bed. Hayfever stuff given and warning about bedtimes added on top. Bin outside. Online, first call as always the property search sites. Nothing there as usual. Consider my next step. Wish I could talk to someone about this and get more than just an agreement and "whatever you think is best" attitude. On here now. End of day.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Day 24 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Despite his best efforts this summer holiday is most definitely not being ruined by the man child halfwit.
Having said that today, what tickles my fancy, is an IT Crowd marathon.
"If you type Google, into Google, then you can break the internet."
Peter File.
Classic.
Having said that today, what tickles my fancy, is an IT Crowd marathon.
"If you type Google, into Google, then you can break the internet."
Peter File.
Classic.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Day 23 — A YouTube video
I know people like this. Why do I even bother - because I want my boys to have a decent education. Will remind them to kick me if I ever become so pretentious though.
Day 22 — A website
There are a few website I enjoy trawling through while I'm meant to be doing other things. I am sad enough to have organised little folders for the different types of bookmarked favourites I have. There are the functional sites, such as bank, house search sites (God help me but I am fed up of looking at them!) and reference points. There are those for fun, some to browse and perhaps shop (either fantasy shop or real shop - go Amazon!) And there are those sites to which I look for inspiration.
At the moment I am watching and enjoying reruns of Project Runway season 6. For that - why didn't we get season 5 and where is season 7? Annoyed. So as many of the sites I use are the equivalent of flicking through a magazine (really good magazines where the subject matter is always involving and a delight for the eye) then I choose the website of one of the finalist. (To be honest she should have won, she has a gift of which I am entirely envious, oh to be able to whip up a beautiful gown in a day - what am I saying, would I wear it around the house? Get a grip.)
Carol Hannah
At the moment I am watching and enjoying reruns of Project Runway season 6. For that - why didn't we get season 5 and where is season 7? Annoyed. So as many of the sites I use are the equivalent of flicking through a magazine (really good magazines where the subject matter is always involving and a delight for the eye) then I choose the website of one of the finalist. (To be honest she should have won, she has a gift of which I am entirely envious, oh to be able to whip up a beautiful gown in a day - what am I saying, would I wear it around the house? Get a grip.)
Carol Hannah
Monday, July 05, 2010
Day 21 — A recipe
I cannot vouch for this recipe as I only found out such things existed tonight. While I can take or leave donuts, I love nutella.
Italian Donuts
Makes 3 dozen donuts.
2 teaspoons dry active yeast
1/2 cup warm water (about 100 degrees F)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
5 cups pastry flour
4 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature
3/4 cup warm milk
Pinch of salt
2-3 cups Nutella
Sugar for dusting
Place the yeast and water in a small bowl and whisk together let stand until creamy.
Place the sugar and flour in a bowl of a mixer and add the butter and mix just to incorporate the butter. Add the dissolved yeast warm milk and salt and mix just until the dough comes together. The dough will be very soft.
Grease a bowl well with butter and place the dough in the bowl and let rise about 1 to 1 1/2 hours or until doubled in volume.
Spread the dough on a lightly floured board to 1/2 inch thickness. Cut the puffs into rounds and let rise on a lightly flour board loosely covered for about 1 hour.
Heat the oil until it reaches 350 degrees F. Fry the puffs and drain on paper towels, then quickly sprinkle with sugar. Cook the remaining puffs. When cool enough to handle, fill with Nutella using a pastry bag fitted with a small straight tip. Serve.
Something else that is delicious is this:
Iker Casillas
Espana por favor!
Note to self - you obviously didn't look close enough during all that time you spent in Spain. Silly girl.
Italian Donuts
Makes 3 dozen donuts.
2 teaspoons dry active yeast
1/2 cup warm water (about 100 degrees F)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
5 cups pastry flour
4 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature
3/4 cup warm milk
Pinch of salt
2-3 cups Nutella
Sugar for dusting
Place the yeast and water in a small bowl and whisk together let stand until creamy.
Place the sugar and flour in a bowl of a mixer and add the butter and mix just to incorporate the butter. Add the dissolved yeast warm milk and salt and mix just until the dough comes together. The dough will be very soft.
Grease a bowl well with butter and place the dough in the bowl and let rise about 1 to 1 1/2 hours or until doubled in volume.
Spread the dough on a lightly floured board to 1/2 inch thickness. Cut the puffs into rounds and let rise on a lightly flour board loosely covered for about 1 hour.
Heat the oil until it reaches 350 degrees F. Fry the puffs and drain on paper towels, then quickly sprinkle with sugar. Cook the remaining puffs. When cool enough to handle, fill with Nutella using a pastry bag fitted with a small straight tip. Serve.
Something else that is delicious is this:
Iker Casillas
Espana por favor!
Note to self - you obviously didn't look close enough during all that time you spent in Spain. Silly girl.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Day 20 — A hobby of yours
Ah, this is the longest 30 days in the history of these meme things, of that I am quite sure. Still with the dogged determination that has hindered more than helped me over the years I continue regardless.
Hobbies, if only I had time for all the hobbies I'd like to do. This is where my arty crafty side comes out. Nothing calms the spirit more than ploughing through a design or turning a doodle into something that matters only to myself. I care not that people think cross-stitch and the type is twee or that some might look at what I do and sneer.
Okay, I'm not in a happy place today. That is clear from the focussing on the negative side of hobbies compared to just rabbiting on about why I enjoy things. Some days are just crappier than others.
Hobbies, if only I had time for all the hobbies I'd like to do. This is where my arty crafty side comes out. Nothing calms the spirit more than ploughing through a design or turning a doodle into something that matters only to myself. I care not that people think cross-stitch and the type is twee or that some might look at what I do and sneer.
Okay, I'm not in a happy place today. That is clear from the focussing on the negative side of hobbies compared to just rabbiting on about why I enjoy things. Some days are just crappier than others.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Day 19 — A talent of yours
I really, really, *really* wish I could say at this point that I can play the piano and it doesn't sound as though the cats were running across it. There is a talent I wish I had but for the patience of practising. When you are a child there is always much more interesting things to do than sit doing plinky plonky scales on the piano. Having said that then I am sorry that the piano my grandfather gave to my mother was sold.
On to the subject at hand though. What talent do I possess?
I'm quite good at arty things, I'm slowly getting back into the habit of sketching and painting. There is always the crafty side of sewing things, my cross-stitch. I also write, but not very well, although the Open University course I did showed that I wasn't all that bad at poetry - who'd a thunk it!
What I'm really trying to get here is that I have a distinct lack of talent. I can do things, I can do things well but nothing stands out. Like everything else I am running on mediocre here. It's just the way I was brought up: don't shine, don't show-off, don't think you are better than anything. I love that the Hobbits aren't like that though and they have talent by the bucket-load!
On to the subject at hand though. What talent do I possess?
I'm quite good at arty things, I'm slowly getting back into the habit of sketching and painting. There is always the crafty side of sewing things, my cross-stitch. I also write, but not very well, although the Open University course I did showed that I wasn't all that bad at poetry - who'd a thunk it!
What I'm really trying to get here is that I have a distinct lack of talent. I can do things, I can do things well but nothing stands out. Like everything else I am running on mediocre here. It's just the way I was brought up: don't shine, don't show-off, don't think you are better than anything. I love that the Hobbits aren't like that though and they have talent by the bucket-load!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Day 17 — An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
One of the Hobbits little friends asked me the other day if I was an artist. I have no idea where he got such an idea from as I don't do anything big that neighbours might notice, I don't look arty - or at least I don't think I do. But he was quite certain, maybe the Hobbits said it, who knows. Children tend to say the most inspirational things at times.
So I have pieces I like, pieces I admire, I go through stages of liking one style over another and then not. I dislike intensely any snobbery over artists, all this guff about Jack Vettriano for example. Heaven forbid an artist actually sells his paintings en masse. Although not my favourites there is a sense of dark foreboding in his work and each painting, you could write a story about the characters within very easily. One of my art teachers in school was very dismissive of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. A particular favourite of mine at the time as it met my Gothic tendencies. You see apparently I knew nothing as the background to the Mona Lisa is squinty for a reason plebs such as myself couldn't possibly comprehend.
Therefore I totally dismiss what art choices say about a person in a way. They may give an idea of personality but in no way should that cloud judgement of the person as a whole. Some people like the chocolate box paintings, some people adore abstracts, if there was no variety in tastes what a bland little world this would be.
Wait, what was this post about...oh yes, my choice for this...
I could be entirely predictable and choose something by Mary Cassett but I feel more like this today...
Childish, magical yes, but tomorrow I may lean towards something else. That is how it goes.
(Midsummer Eve by Edward Robert Hughes)
So I have pieces I like, pieces I admire, I go through stages of liking one style over another and then not. I dislike intensely any snobbery over artists, all this guff about Jack Vettriano for example. Heaven forbid an artist actually sells his paintings en masse. Although not my favourites there is a sense of dark foreboding in his work and each painting, you could write a story about the characters within very easily. One of my art teachers in school was very dismissive of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. A particular favourite of mine at the time as it met my Gothic tendencies. You see apparently I knew nothing as the background to the Mona Lisa is squinty for a reason plebs such as myself couldn't possibly comprehend.
Therefore I totally dismiss what art choices say about a person in a way. They may give an idea of personality but in no way should that cloud judgement of the person as a whole. Some people like the chocolate box paintings, some people adore abstracts, if there was no variety in tastes what a bland little world this would be.
Wait, what was this post about...oh yes, my choice for this...
I could be entirely predictable and choose something by Mary Cassett but I feel more like this today...
Childish, magical yes, but tomorrow I may lean towards something else. That is how it goes.
(Midsummer Eve by Edward Robert Hughes)
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Day 16 — A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
This song was written about Agnetha's regret at missing so much of her daughter's life and how quickly a child grows.
Now I am a mother I totally understand it. So although it doesn't make me cry it comes very close! It just passes by, I look at the Hobbits and they are no longer those squidgy little babies, their limbs are all gangly, their faces changing and for a moment I'll wish I could go back. There is so much I would do differently and to start with I would do it alone, on my own terms. I would take more baby photos. So many things.
But now it is too late, and here we are. I am glad of how I've raised my boys and even at their hissy fitting worse they are not that bad at all. In fact I'm rather proud of how smart they are, that they enjoy things, have their own interests. Who would have thought I'd have children who loved kayaking. Kayaking I tell you!
(I always wanted to be Agnetha when I was little but because I had brown hair I got to play Frida. Which isn't bad, but it isn't Agnetha!)
Now I am a mother I totally understand it. So although it doesn't make me cry it comes very close! It just passes by, I look at the Hobbits and they are no longer those squidgy little babies, their limbs are all gangly, their faces changing and for a moment I'll wish I could go back. There is so much I would do differently and to start with I would do it alone, on my own terms. I would take more baby photos. So many things.
But now it is too late, and here we are. I am glad of how I've raised my boys and even at their hissy fitting worse they are not that bad at all. In fact I'm rather proud of how smart they are, that they enjoy things, have their own interests. Who would have thought I'd have children who loved kayaking. Kayaking I tell you!
(I always wanted to be Agnetha when I was little but because I had brown hair I got to play Frida. Which isn't bad, but it isn't Agnetha!)
Friday, June 11, 2010
Day 15 — A fanfic
Something I don't normally read although I like the concept in parts. Taking your favourite characters and using them in ways that perhaps the author didn't think of (sometimes for good reason as they can skim close to pornographic at times.)
I had read a Doctor Who one once and while a pleasant to read it wasn't enough to make me a fan of fanfic.
However I did read one recently that was almost better than the original source material from whence it came. Called Wide Awake it takes the characters from Twilight (yes, I know but it made Meyers a multi-millionaire for some unfathomable, addictive reason and yes, I did read all of them - in one week no less) and twists them for grown ups.
Don't think Meyers would approve. Lots of her followers do though.
I had read a Doctor Who one once and while a pleasant to read it wasn't enough to make me a fan of fanfic.
However I did read one recently that was almost better than the original source material from whence it came. Called Wide Awake it takes the characters from Twilight (yes, I know but it made Meyers a multi-millionaire for some unfathomable, addictive reason and yes, I did read all of them - in one week no less) and twists them for grown ups.
Don't think Meyers would approve. Lots of her followers do though.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Day 14 — A non-fictional book
At first I was going to mention a book I am wanting to read at the moment but then I thought to a book I read and reread time and time again. Each time I never fail to find the humour in the description of the book's theme - Australia.
In Down Under, Bill Bryson touches on some reasons that have puzzled me about the antipodes - namely the amount of things, both animal and plants that, if not actually able to kill you, can certainly maim you for life. It is a reason I turned down a job there many years ago and when sometimes I question just how smart (or not) a move that was then I can read this and know I'm not alone in being a bit of a silly fearty about little crawly, creepy poisonous killing beasties.
See, see I wasn't completely mad to say no. I mean, it wasn't like the job was in a city (fearsome spiders live there too) but in the country where one wrong step can be very, very painful if not life ending.
In Down Under, Bill Bryson touches on some reasons that have puzzled me about the antipodes - namely the amount of things, both animal and plants that, if not actually able to kill you, can certainly maim you for life. It is a reason I turned down a job there many years ago and when sometimes I question just how smart (or not) a move that was then I can read this and know I'm not alone in being a bit of a silly fearty about little crawly, creepy poisonous killing beasties.
See, see I wasn't completely mad to say no. I mean, it wasn't like the job was in a city (fearsome spiders live there too) but in the country where one wrong step can be very, very painful if not life ending.
Monday, June 07, 2010
Day 13 — A fictional book
My god but the thought just crossed my mind -what if I had to write about every book I own. It would take all week. I hoard my books, in an ideal world I'd have an unlimited account with Amazon but it was ever thus - my favourite books are ones I've owned for decades but there is always room for more. Come on in, plenty of space on the shelves, here I'll even dust it for you.
I've mentioned a favourite book previously so do I go obscure or mainstream? Do I mention the fact that I have read and *deep breath* actually own all of the Twilight books? And the other one she wrote? Do I mention the fact that if it wasn't for the stupidness that holds me back I'd venture to try and get some of my own scribblings published and on my shelves.
I'm digressing like crazy here.
A made up book as the Hobbits call it. Currently I'm reading Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Huffinpuff - sorry I meant this one:
Unlike The Time Traveller's Wife which was enjoyable in some parts and just sheer frustrating in others this story is unfolding nicely although as the mother of twins it does get tiresome reading about freaky ones. If anyone is the parent of twins they will know that reality would have her writing about fights and arguments and the impossibility of sharing.
I've mentioned a favourite book previously so do I go obscure or mainstream? Do I mention the fact that I have read and *deep breath* actually own all of the Twilight books? And the other one she wrote? Do I mention the fact that if it wasn't for the stupidness that holds me back I'd venture to try and get some of my own scribblings published and on my shelves.
I'm digressing like crazy here.
A made up book as the Hobbits call it. Currently I'm reading Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Huffinpuff - sorry I meant this one:
Unlike The Time Traveller's Wife which was enjoyable in some parts and just sheer frustrating in others this story is unfolding nicely although as the mother of twins it does get tiresome reading about freaky ones. If anyone is the parent of twins they will know that reality would have her writing about fights and arguments and the impossibility of sharing.
Friday, June 04, 2010
Day 12 — Whatever tickles your fancy
For this I have thought about the frivolity of the phrase and decided that maybe I should go a little more indepth than just a frivolous comment.
So, what has been "tickling" my fancy of late.
The Carry-On quality of that very phrase is just screaming out for me to say something smutty again but I digress.
I'll just say that I am very sad that "The Pacific" the HBO series shown on Sky Movies Premiere has finished. It made me ashamed, as someone who enjoys studying history, that I knew nothing of the extreme circumstances of that particular theatre of war. And on that subject, why a theatre of war? Where did that phrase come from? It suggests that those who went through such hardships were mere actors playing a role rather than servicemen suffering horrendous situations.
These actors, in the mini-series, served to remind us, the greedy selfish generation, that once there were warriors of such a fine calibre. These men, young men, spent years in what must have seemed to be an utter hellish existence. And that came through. I would say the series was wonderful but that is a very glib statement. It was thought-provoking, challenging, heart-stopping, incredibly sad and utterly involving joourney.
Now, ten-weeks later, it is all over. I think, in some places, the story felt a little rushed. Maybe they could have eked it out to 13 weeks? You know, for sad sacks like me who have no life.
Interesting point. My dad was in the RAF, served some time in Burma where he was shot in the back of the leg by a Japanese sniper. I only found that out when I was 15 because, like most of his generation, he never spoke in great length of what he went through. We have little snippets of that large slice of his life spent serving in World War II, some photos and mementos but now he is gone there will be nothing to colour in the missing spaces.
I'm here because that Japanese sniper was a lousy shot.
So, what has been "tickling" my fancy of late.
The Carry-On quality of that very phrase is just screaming out for me to say something smutty again but I digress.
I'll just say that I am very sad that "The Pacific" the HBO series shown on Sky Movies Premiere has finished. It made me ashamed, as someone who enjoys studying history, that I knew nothing of the extreme circumstances of that particular theatre of war. And on that subject, why a theatre of war? Where did that phrase come from? It suggests that those who went through such hardships were mere actors playing a role rather than servicemen suffering horrendous situations.
These actors, in the mini-series, served to remind us, the greedy selfish generation, that once there were warriors of such a fine calibre. These men, young men, spent years in what must have seemed to be an utter hellish existence. And that came through. I would say the series was wonderful but that is a very glib statement. It was thought-provoking, challenging, heart-stopping, incredibly sad and utterly involving joourney.
Now, ten-weeks later, it is all over. I think, in some places, the story felt a little rushed. Maybe they could have eked it out to 13 weeks? You know, for sad sacks like me who have no life.
Interesting point. My dad was in the RAF, served some time in Burma where he was shot in the back of the leg by a Japanese sniper. I only found that out when I was 15 because, like most of his generation, he never spoke in great length of what he went through. We have little snippets of that large slice of his life spent serving in World War II, some photos and mementos but now he is gone there will be nothing to colour in the missing spaces.
I'm here because that Japanese sniper was a lousy shot.
Thursday, June 03, 2010
Day 11 — A photo of you taken recently
No, I have to say I hate the captured image of myself. I do have photos, less than ten, of myself taken over the past 10 years. In most of them I am trying to hide behind Hobbits. What can I say. I wasn't blessed with beauty, or confidence, or an appreciation of who I am. Honesty only goes up to a certain point.
Here is something else instead:
Here is something else instead:
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Day 10 — A photo of you taken over ten years ago
I think a new scanner is in order here... will edit this post when I get one.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Normal Service Will Resume...
...as soon as I have more than a minute to do so.
Just had one of those days. You know, when everything kind of falls apart and you're left standing there in the middle wondering what the hell just happened. Yeah, one of *those* days.
Actually was going quite well right up until the point where I came home from work. I had forgotten, no, I was in denial over how much some people can be attention seekers. If the world doesn't revolve around them....you get the idea. So it is typical now that, at this time in the morning, when I really should be asleep so I can be ready and fresh for the next day, that I am here - trying to catch up.
I've let myself down most of all. I had taken a break over the weekend, no computer at all, but I had done some regular old fashioned writing - pen and paper. So the idea worked. Pity life and all that crap keeps getting in the way.
Just had one of those days. You know, when everything kind of falls apart and you're left standing there in the middle wondering what the hell just happened. Yeah, one of *those* days.
Actually was going quite well right up until the point where I came home from work. I had forgotten, no, I was in denial over how much some people can be attention seekers. If the world doesn't revolve around them....you get the idea. So it is typical now that, at this time in the morning, when I really should be asleep so I can be ready and fresh for the next day, that I am here - trying to catch up.
I've let myself down most of all. I had taken a break over the weekend, no computer at all, but I had done some regular old fashioned writing - pen and paper. So the idea worked. Pity life and all that crap keeps getting in the way.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Day 09 — A photo you took
I like where my crafting is going. Cross-stitching is so easy, taking it to the next step of embroidery is turning out some great results. These are the kind of things I wish I had tried earlier. I want to do more, my whole love of art is coming back after so long of doing nothing with it and it is so heart-warmingly wonderful. Sketching is an old friend I am happy to welcome back. The photography will act as inspiration and I will take it from there and on to other medium.
Wouldn't this photo of Linlithgow Loch look amazing with fabric and stitching?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Day 08 — A photo that makes you angry/sad
I don't have a copy to put on here, I don't have any of them left.
Because, of course and considering the nature of the other blog it should be no surprise that the photo that could make me both angry and sad would be one from my wedding day. Gosh, I can barely even type it without feeling a shot in my stomach.
What can I say that I haven't already torn a strip off the internet from saying?
I know I shouldn't say it was the biggest mistake of my life because I have the boys from that train wreck of a marriage but I can't help it.
The deluded fool in the blue dress (light blue because if you "wear blue your love with be true", perhaps making him wear it as well might have been an idea.) Smiles that were nothing more than a farce when all was said and done. If I could go back, a la Doctor Who, then I'd head back, tell that idiot to do what she had originally planned and to take the consequences. I would have still had the boys, some things are tattooed onto your future, mine and their lives have always been set.
Like the guy on the t'internet who is blogging about his 101 uses for his ex-wife's wedding dress I took great pleasure in destroying the evidence of that day. Because it was all based on lies, and I hate that I was too damn stupid to see it. So both angry and sad, and I've had enough of feeling either way.
Because, of course and considering the nature of the other blog it should be no surprise that the photo that could make me both angry and sad would be one from my wedding day. Gosh, I can barely even type it without feeling a shot in my stomach.
What can I say that I haven't already torn a strip off the internet from saying?
I know I shouldn't say it was the biggest mistake of my life because I have the boys from that train wreck of a marriage but I can't help it.
The deluded fool in the blue dress (light blue because if you "wear blue your love with be true", perhaps making him wear it as well might have been an idea.) Smiles that were nothing more than a farce when all was said and done. If I could go back, a la Doctor Who, then I'd head back, tell that idiot to do what she had originally planned and to take the consequences. I would have still had the boys, some things are tattooed onto your future, mine and their lives have always been set.
Like the guy on the t'internet who is blogging about his 101 uses for his ex-wife's wedding dress I took great pleasure in destroying the evidence of that day. Because it was all based on lies, and I hate that I was too damn stupid to see it. So both angry and sad, and I've had enough of feeling either way.
Signs
I really thought I had understood the sign, but it turned out to be another false promise. I could build a house out of the amount of those I've had of late.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Day 07 — A photo that makes you happy
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Day 06 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Well I can honestly say that, considering my current circumstances, that there's nothing tickling my fancy these days.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Day 05 — A favourite quote
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look,
He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.
Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene 2
Says it all really doesn't it.
Beware the person, male or female who bears ambition or envy like a weapon, skulking like a wolf at the edge of the forest.
He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.
Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene 2
Says it all really doesn't it.
Beware the person, male or female who bears ambition or envy like a weapon, skulking like a wolf at the edge of the forest.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Day 04 — A favourite book
Another choice from many. It is ever thus for the indecisive.
Before the film came out (and to be honest even after I had seen it) I adored Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow by Peter Høeg. Here was a female protagonist unlike any I had read about before. She was tough, straightforward, socially inadequate and knowledgeable about every type of snow. Presumably as a reader I am one of many who could see something of themselves in a character. I wished I could be like that however the only aspect that rang completely true was the socially awkward part.
I lost myself in reading, the only truth I have ever had was in books. Delving in to the story as the reality of what my life was about vanished for those few chapters. To get such a heroine as Smilla Jasperson was a gift. I haven't read it in some time so perhaps it is time, while the weather is so hot, to once again experience my own feeling for snow.
Wait, was that last line too cheesy?
Before the film came out (and to be honest even after I had seen it) I adored Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow by Peter Høeg. Here was a female protagonist unlike any I had read about before. She was tough, straightforward, socially inadequate and knowledgeable about every type of snow. Presumably as a reader I am one of many who could see something of themselves in a character. I wished I could be like that however the only aspect that rang completely true was the socially awkward part.
I lost myself in reading, the only truth I have ever had was in books. Delving in to the story as the reality of what my life was about vanished for those few chapters. To get such a heroine as Smilla Jasperson was a gift. I haven't read it in some time so perhaps it is time, while the weather is so hot, to once again experience my own feeling for snow.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Day 03 — A favourite television program
That should really be spelled as programme however it is now evident where this thing originated then!
I presume people who live in cold climates are more prone to watching TV than those who have sunshine in which to enjoy life outdoors. Strangely, although I cannot remember much of what I learned at school I can recall, with amazing clarity, things that happened on shows that were on when I was very young.
Not to dwell on the past again, as I am wont to do, there are plenty of programmes around now and all I can say is thank god for Sky+ because I do get to watch things in my own time. At the moment two programmes that I make time for are The Pacific and Wallander. As it is *a* favourite programme and not *a few* favourite programmes (see I'm pointing out the obvious again) then I'll choose the Swedish series of Wallander - series two is on just now. It may be an idea to think on the suicide of the original Linda but not yet.
I've always been fascinated by my fellow Europeans, I adored any programme that showed life in another European country whether it was factual or fiction. The 1970s German version of Heidi was wonderful. Actually on thinking on it, I wish I had gone ahead and worked my way around Europe but I got married instead - wasn't that such a great swap as well.
Crime stories are fair enough, I don't watch any of the UK ones, haven't seen Taggart since the early 90s. Wallander though has caught my attention and part of it is this obsession with European based programmes. What can I say? I'm a fairly boring person. But I like Wallander's saggy Bagpuss face, the taciturn Swedes and yes, a good old nosey inside the houses. IKEA is the mother-ship calling me home.
I presume people who live in cold climates are more prone to watching TV than those who have sunshine in which to enjoy life outdoors. Strangely, although I cannot remember much of what I learned at school I can recall, with amazing clarity, things that happened on shows that were on when I was very young.
Not to dwell on the past again, as I am wont to do, there are plenty of programmes around now and all I can say is thank god for Sky+ because I do get to watch things in my own time. At the moment two programmes that I make time for are The Pacific and Wallander. As it is *a* favourite programme and not *a few* favourite programmes (see I'm pointing out the obvious again) then I'll choose the Swedish series of Wallander - series two is on just now. It may be an idea to think on the suicide of the original Linda but not yet.
I've always been fascinated by my fellow Europeans, I adored any programme that showed life in another European country whether it was factual or fiction. The 1970s German version of Heidi was wonderful. Actually on thinking on it, I wish I had gone ahead and worked my way around Europe but I got married instead - wasn't that such a great swap as well.
Crime stories are fair enough, I don't watch any of the UK ones, haven't seen Taggart since the early 90s. Wallander though has caught my attention and part of it is this obsession with European based programmes. What can I say? I'm a fairly boring person. But I like Wallander's saggy Bagpuss face, the taciturn Swedes and yes, a good old nosey inside the houses. IKEA is the mother-ship calling me home.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Day 02 - A Favourite Movie
Now this one is harder, but strangely the first one that came to mind was An American In Paris. There are so many films I love, so many I can watch time and time and time again, but this film made me wish so very hard that I could dance.
As a story in itself it works fine, boy meets girl, girl has weird relationship with other boy, girl decides first boy is much better option.
But then, at the very end of the film, there is 17 minutes of sheer bliss. Their story, the whole ideal of their relationship, is told in one long, delicious ballet. And my god, for the most clumsy, lump of a girl watching it, it was sheer heaven. (The Red Shoes almost had the same effect, almost but not quite.)
Sure I did the childhood thing of dance. Attended ballet but in its most basic form. I left when it became apparent that I just was absolutely no good at all, although as a hobby I would have liked to continue it was the shows that were excruciating. I am someone who needed everyone in the room to shut their eyes before I could comfortably play a tune on the piano (the Laurel and Hardy theme as well, it isn't even ironic.)
I wanted to be Leslie Caron though. I wanted, ached to be able to do that dance, to have such a talent that it looked almost effortless (but it took a month to film, you know there were some serious blisters going on there.)
So, for today at least, this is my choice of a favourite movie.
As a story in itself it works fine, boy meets girl, girl has weird relationship with other boy, girl decides first boy is much better option.
But then, at the very end of the film, there is 17 minutes of sheer bliss. Their story, the whole ideal of their relationship, is told in one long, delicious ballet. And my god, for the most clumsy, lump of a girl watching it, it was sheer heaven. (The Red Shoes almost had the same effect, almost but not quite.)
Sure I did the childhood thing of dance. Attended ballet but in its most basic form. I left when it became apparent that I just was absolutely no good at all, although as a hobby I would have liked to continue it was the shows that were excruciating. I am someone who needed everyone in the room to shut their eyes before I could comfortably play a tune on the piano (the Laurel and Hardy theme as well, it isn't even ironic.)
I wanted to be Leslie Caron though. I wanted, ached to be able to do that dance, to have such a talent that it looked almost effortless (but it took a month to film, you know there were some serious blisters going on there.)
So, for today at least, this is my choice of a favourite movie.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Day 01 — A favourite song
Here we go...
I have lots of favourite everything so I'm personally relieved that the idea for this is to choose a favourite rather than the favourite.
That being said there is one song that has constantly been mine. I first heard it when I was about 12, sold as a sort of Christmassy song from those people who had that dirty song banned. (Naive as I am it took a while to sink in why Relax had been considered so polluting to our little ears.) Anyway, the first time I heard it I completely fell in love with it, every time I hear it I get a sense of calm and of course it has great meaning for me.
I have songs to make me happy, make me dance, make me cry, make my heart warm. This one song can do all three, I get tears welling up by listening to the opening bars alone.
Without further ado and crap from me - here it is...
I have lots of favourite everything so I'm personally relieved that the idea for this is to choose a favourite rather than the favourite.
That being said there is one song that has constantly been mine. I first heard it when I was about 12, sold as a sort of Christmassy song from those people who had that dirty song banned. (Naive as I am it took a while to sink in why Relax had been considered so polluting to our little ears.) Anyway, the first time I heard it I completely fell in love with it, every time I hear it I get a sense of calm and of course it has great meaning for me.
I have songs to make me happy, make me dance, make me cry, make my heart warm. This one song can do all three, I get tears welling up by listening to the opening bars alone.
Without further ado and crap from me - here it is...
An Attempt To Do Things Better...
Let's start right here, with a little project I found on another blog. You see although I rarely venture mediocre thoughts on to mine I do frequent other people's musings. So here is a little bit of fun, and a more serious attempt by me to start doing something as a regular occurrence.
Here is the list up for discussion over the next 30 days. I amuse myself, it is the only way forward.
Day 01 — A favourite song
Day 02 — A favourite movie
Day 03 — A favourite television program
Day 04 — A favourite book
Day 05 — A favourite quote
Day 06 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 — A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 — A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 — A photo you took
Day 10 — A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 — A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 — A fictional book
Day 14 — A non-fictional book
Day 15 — A fanfic
Day 16 — A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 — An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 — A talent of yours
Day 20 — A hobby of yours
Day 21 — A recipe
Day 22 — A website
Day 23 — A YouTube video
Day 24 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 — Your day, in great detail
Day 26 — Your week, in great detail
Day 27 — This month, in great detail
Day 28 — This year, in great detail
Day 29 — Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Here is the list up for discussion over the next 30 days. I amuse myself, it is the only way forward.
Day 01 — A favourite song
Day 02 — A favourite movie
Day 03 — A favourite television program
Day 04 — A favourite book
Day 05 — A favourite quote
Day 06 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 — A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 — A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 — A photo you took
Day 10 — A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 — A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 — A fictional book
Day 14 — A non-fictional book
Day 15 — A fanfic
Day 16 — A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 — An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 — A talent of yours
Day 20 — A hobby of yours
Day 21 — A recipe
Day 22 — A website
Day 23 — A YouTube video
Day 24 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 — Your day, in great detail
Day 26 — Your week, in great detail
Day 27 — This month, in great detail
Day 28 — This year, in great detail
Day 29 — Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 — Whatever tickles your fancy
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Falling Apart At The Seams
What more can I do? I've tried everything, tried to do everything I possibly can to make the situation right. But now, I just don't know what to do.
I make plans, you can be assured that they won't come to fruition. Every single detailed that is mapped and organised and all by one person - me. Yet it is all falling apart. Should I take this as a sign of incompetence, that I just am not up to the job?
In a perfect world I could be in a home I loved with my boys, looking after my boys and writing nonsense until something worked out. No mistake, I enjoy my work, I like being there and having adult conversations that do not solely involve the subject of children and matters of. My heart though, constantly tugs me back. But home is not a place of comfort now. Memories of what my childhood was like, when my dad wasn't around to keep my mother in check.
I've let them down. I had thought it was me. I had hoped that she would understand that to live together we would need to work together to make it all cohesive. Things have returned to the way it was when I was young. The constant grumpy mood swings, the shouting and smacking rather than reasoning and discipline. It wasn't how I had hoped things would go but there we have it.
It feels lonely like this, with no one to share my burden or, as I would prefer, to take my mind off it completely. Incredibly lonely.
I make plans, you can be assured that they won't come to fruition. Every single detailed that is mapped and organised and all by one person - me. Yet it is all falling apart. Should I take this as a sign of incompetence, that I just am not up to the job?
In a perfect world I could be in a home I loved with my boys, looking after my boys and writing nonsense until something worked out. No mistake, I enjoy my work, I like being there and having adult conversations that do not solely involve the subject of children and matters of. My heart though, constantly tugs me back. But home is not a place of comfort now. Memories of what my childhood was like, when my dad wasn't around to keep my mother in check.
I've let them down. I had thought it was me. I had hoped that she would understand that to live together we would need to work together to make it all cohesive. Things have returned to the way it was when I was young. The constant grumpy mood swings, the shouting and smacking rather than reasoning and discipline. It wasn't how I had hoped things would go but there we have it.
It feels lonely like this, with no one to share my burden or, as I would prefer, to take my mind off it completely. Incredibly lonely.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Frustration
Have you ever wanted something or someone so badly that you could just burst? What I mean is that all the feelings boil up inside until there is no where to go but to release them out?
It is how it is.
I don't try to be esoteric, that is how things are. I can try and explain myself, or try and put into words exactly what I feel but the reality is so absurd that I dare not.
It is how it is.
I don't try to be esoteric, that is how things are. I can try and explain myself, or try and put into words exactly what I feel but the reality is so absurd that I dare not.
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Heart Skipping
Is it wrong to want to embrace totally the traditional female role? You know, the one we are supposed to despise and resent. Home-maker, stay-at-home-mother, the little hausfrau.
Because if there is one time in my life when I was truly happy and content it was when I was in that situation. Oh, fair enough it all ended badly with Evil X turning out like he did. But back then, when I was blissfully ignorant of anything being too far wrong I loved my simple life.
It would be even better if I could do it again.
There was nothing more heart warming than baking on a Sunday, painting or making plasticine models with the boys, those family days out. Yes, simple, yes it was ultimately all fake but had it been real, had it continued I'd have been more satisfied than a cat with all the cream it can handle.
Where is this going? I don't know. I do all those things and more now but it is all fraught - everything has changed. Having the time to do things right, that slightly OCD happiness of a fresh pile of laundry neatly folded to put away. It is all much more complicated now. I run here and there...to and fro...nothing is quite finished...nothing is completed to satisfaction...I have no time to settle back and enjoy what I have done.
Maybe I'm going slightly mad - I'm £40k away from what I wish for, a home to finally bring everything together in.
Because if there is one time in my life when I was truly happy and content it was when I was in that situation. Oh, fair enough it all ended badly with Evil X turning out like he did. But back then, when I was blissfully ignorant of anything being too far wrong I loved my simple life.
It would be even better if I could do it again.
There was nothing more heart warming than baking on a Sunday, painting or making plasticine models with the boys, those family days out. Yes, simple, yes it was ultimately all fake but had it been real, had it continued I'd have been more satisfied than a cat with all the cream it can handle.
Where is this going? I don't know. I do all those things and more now but it is all fraught - everything has changed. Having the time to do things right, that slightly OCD happiness of a fresh pile of laundry neatly folded to put away. It is all much more complicated now. I run here and there...to and fro...nothing is quite finished...nothing is completed to satisfaction...I have no time to settle back and enjoy what I have done.
Maybe I'm going slightly mad - I'm £40k away from what I wish for, a home to finally bring everything together in.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Empty Skies
Was it ever a consideration that this would happen?
Would the culprits be terrorists, sick on their latest campaign of mass murder for no reason at all?
Maybe the lack of fuel, the oil fields finally running dry for the flying gas guzzlers?
But no.
Instead it was a burp from a volcano tucked under the folds of the rather splendidly named Eyjafjallajokull glacier in Iceland. Well, if it wasn't the bank in Iceland ruining the UK economy then this stands good in terms of a second shot at it. A blanket of ash, of grit and sand and volcano dregs lies above us. If a plane flies through it then it is not a very good thing at all - think molten rocks clinging to engine innards, think stalling at 30,000' up, think nose-diving...well it is easy to colour in the picture from here.
So, Mother Nature wins again. With all the earthquakes, tsunamis, volcano eruptions that have happened over the past few years perhaps this is a kick in the arse for humans. If we think we are that powerful, that we can control the world then this is a reminder that with one little plume of dust we are nothing at all.
Would the culprits be terrorists, sick on their latest campaign of mass murder for no reason at all?
Maybe the lack of fuel, the oil fields finally running dry for the flying gas guzzlers?
But no.
Instead it was a burp from a volcano tucked under the folds of the rather splendidly named Eyjafjallajokull glacier in Iceland. Well, if it wasn't the bank in Iceland ruining the UK economy then this stands good in terms of a second shot at it. A blanket of ash, of grit and sand and volcano dregs lies above us. If a plane flies through it then it is not a very good thing at all - think molten rocks clinging to engine innards, think stalling at 30,000' up, think nose-diving...well it is easy to colour in the picture from here.
So, Mother Nature wins again. With all the earthquakes, tsunamis, volcano eruptions that have happened over the past few years perhaps this is a kick in the arse for humans. If we think we are that powerful, that we can control the world then this is a reminder that with one little plume of dust we are nothing at all.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
One Year Ago
So much has happened in the past year that I haven't really had time to stop and think. Nor have I had time to grieve properly. For one year ago I was coping with the idea that I no longer had a Dad around.
You would think at my age it wouldn't matter so much. The Hobbits had gotten to know and love their Grandpa. I didn't rely on him for advice although looking back I wish I had asked more.
In fact, looking back I wish I had done a lot more. Starting with getting him out of that damn hospital ward once I realised what an utter pit it was. Yes, looking back that is one of my main regrets.
My last day with my dad was spent at his bedside, thankfully not in that awful ward but in a ward where patients were cared for with respect. I held his hand. He couldn't speak at this point but his eyes said everything. For the first time in ages he looked healthy, happy and chipper. Almost back to my old Dad really.
I wanted to stay - Mother was complaining that she had to get back to the dog and so I, the dutiful daughter, had to take her home. In my mind I planned my visit for the next day, our next steps into getting him back and getting him into a decent home as the dementia was at the stage where Mother couldn't have coped. It was stupid, I wanted to stay. I knew my cousin was coming in and so I let myself be talked into leaving. Sometimes I should listen to my heart and not other people.
I turned, gave my Dad a cheerful wave, told him I would see him the next day and that was it. I have the picture in my mind of his expression as I left. Did he know how close he was? Did he want to ask for us to stay but couldn't? By the time I got home my Dad was gone.
My cousin later told me how moved he had been by how my Dad died. That it was the kind of ending we all should aspire to. My Dad smiled, a tear rolled down his cheek and then that was it. Sometimes I wish I had been there. Sometimes I am selfishly glad that I wasn't, I couldn't have then taken on the subsequent task of arranging a funeral by myself - nor could I have done everything that happened next. I would have been too busy grieving. Too busy to make sure everyone else was all-right and tickety-boo. Too busy to be the dutiful daughter.
My Dad's funeral, like his death, was appropriate to the man. People remembered fondly (and don't we all wish to be remembered in that way), old photographs were passed around, anecdotes were told and laughter outweighed sadness.
Because my Dad led a good life, was a decent, honest, warm, kind-hearted man.
A rare species. And for that, always missed.
You would think at my age it wouldn't matter so much. The Hobbits had gotten to know and love their Grandpa. I didn't rely on him for advice although looking back I wish I had asked more.
In fact, looking back I wish I had done a lot more. Starting with getting him out of that damn hospital ward once I realised what an utter pit it was. Yes, looking back that is one of my main regrets.
My last day with my dad was spent at his bedside, thankfully not in that awful ward but in a ward where patients were cared for with respect. I held his hand. He couldn't speak at this point but his eyes said everything. For the first time in ages he looked healthy, happy and chipper. Almost back to my old Dad really.
I wanted to stay - Mother was complaining that she had to get back to the dog and so I, the dutiful daughter, had to take her home. In my mind I planned my visit for the next day, our next steps into getting him back and getting him into a decent home as the dementia was at the stage where Mother couldn't have coped. It was stupid, I wanted to stay. I knew my cousin was coming in and so I let myself be talked into leaving. Sometimes I should listen to my heart and not other people.
I turned, gave my Dad a cheerful wave, told him I would see him the next day and that was it. I have the picture in my mind of his expression as I left. Did he know how close he was? Did he want to ask for us to stay but couldn't? By the time I got home my Dad was gone.
My cousin later told me how moved he had been by how my Dad died. That it was the kind of ending we all should aspire to. My Dad smiled, a tear rolled down his cheek and then that was it. Sometimes I wish I had been there. Sometimes I am selfishly glad that I wasn't, I couldn't have then taken on the subsequent task of arranging a funeral by myself - nor could I have done everything that happened next. I would have been too busy grieving. Too busy to make sure everyone else was all-right and tickety-boo. Too busy to be the dutiful daughter.
My Dad's funeral, like his death, was appropriate to the man. People remembered fondly (and don't we all wish to be remembered in that way), old photographs were passed around, anecdotes were told and laughter outweighed sadness.
Because my Dad led a good life, was a decent, honest, warm, kind-hearted man.
A rare species. And for that, always missed.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
There Goes The Neighbourhood
Nothing changes the mind over a situation as quickly as discovering this has happened at some point between coming home from work and our attempt to leave for the school run this morning:
So as the Narnia winter keeps this crappy little town in its grip the intelligence of certain individuals shines through and we are £75 worse off plus a planned trip to the craft fair is on hold until tomorrow smashed windscreens notwithstanding. Throwing snowballs at cars when the snow is more like ice - that about sums it up.
This new place I had looked at, it isn't perfect, it is far from perfect. It is also far from here and that can only be a good thing. *sigh* Sometimes things roll on and it is hard to see a clear picture.
So as the Narnia winter keeps this crappy little town in its grip the intelligence of certain individuals shines through and we are £75 worse off plus a planned trip to the craft fair is on hold until tomorrow smashed windscreens notwithstanding. Throwing snowballs at cars when the snow is more like ice - that about sums it up.
This new place I had looked at, it isn't perfect, it is far from perfect. It is also far from here and that can only be a good thing. *sigh* Sometimes things roll on and it is hard to see a clear picture.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
This is how it is these days.
When I was growing up my parents subscribed to The Reader's Digest. I quite liked reading through the articles, trying out the word games inside although I would never have bought it in a shop. Still, products shouldn't be entirely aimed at the young - a nice, gentle magazine for elderly people, I presumed I would fit into that category the day I started subscribing. It would seem not.
I used to like having a browse around Borders, I used to like having a browse around Woolies. Both shops stocked things I haven't been able to find anywhere else. I noted that once Woolies went the price of stationery went up but perhaps it is just a personal niggle. I miss finding that one thing in either of those shops that would be a treat to buy.
So this recession (misspelling of depression - with a deliberate small *d* there?) has its casualties and although they may seem minor it may not hit home until later when the little things that made life more pleasant (book shops, toy/stationery/everything else shops) are gone. It is the small things that are pointing out how unfair the world is, how slanted towards those who have everything - looks pointedly towards the greedy bankers and their fat bonuses who are *still* making a fortune.
Maybe at some point things will even out. There is enough money in the world for every single person to live a comfortable, happy life. In fact, come to think of it, if the UK and US and every other country is in debt...who are we in debt to? Who are we owing all this money to? It can't be the banks, we had to bail them out with hard-earned and easy spent taxes. So who do we owe the trillions to?
And all this rambling train of thought because I'm still pissed off that Woolies is gone!
Friday, January 29, 2010
Like a worm on a hook
When the Hobbits are old enough to read accounts of this time I wonder what the history books will make of our ex-glorious leader Blair?
Having been married to one I feel I have the right to note that he acts very much like a manipulative liar. And like the manipulative liar he convinces himself that what he says is truthful - it is an artform he has truly mastered. If you say it often enough, no matter how much removed from the actual truth it is, then it becomes the truth. I've witnessed it, I've believed in it and I have been suckered into it.
No matter what, while he wriggles like the proverbial worm, it is almost assured that Blair will not be fed to the fishes. It is a showpiece, a theatrical act for a gullible audience - the sheeple who will think what a nice man he is, couldn't possibly lie and be deceitful.
Watching this, from the distance I have now from my own experiences, I can spot the signs. How many other people can and how many others simply go with it because it is easier than making uncomfortable accusations against a "nice man."
Having been married to one I feel I have the right to note that he acts very much like a manipulative liar. And like the manipulative liar he convinces himself that what he says is truthful - it is an artform he has truly mastered. If you say it often enough, no matter how much removed from the actual truth it is, then it becomes the truth. I've witnessed it, I've believed in it and I have been suckered into it.
No matter what, while he wriggles like the proverbial worm, it is almost assured that Blair will not be fed to the fishes. It is a showpiece, a theatrical act for a gullible audience - the sheeple who will think what a nice man he is, couldn't possibly lie and be deceitful.
Watching this, from the distance I have now from my own experiences, I can spot the signs. How many other people can and how many others simply go with it because it is easier than making uncomfortable accusations against a "nice man."
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Celebrity Death Year Rolls On
Although 2009 seemed to have a shocking celebrity death nearly every other week it would seem that 2010 is starting with the intention of upping the numbers and trumping 2009.
So amongst the likes of Jean Simmons and that rugby commentator from Hawick comes the news that J.D. Salinger has also gone.
So amongst the likes of Jean Simmons and that rugby commentator from Hawick comes the news that J.D. Salinger has also gone.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
A New Year
Not necessarily starting out the new decade the way I wished. For the most part I have been not so much running to catch up but simply running and watching my life disappear in the far distance.
Car = money pit.
Job = not what I would wish for.
Home = chaos.
Self = who is that again?
There is my task list, right there. I need to fix these things and fix them properly once and for all. Last year was spent run ragged helping out everyone else. I spread myself far too thinly and have managed to create a rather unfortunate situation where I have done so much for others that they no longer see the need in doing anything for themselves. That needs to end.
I sometimes wish I could get some more positivity in my life. I know how but it is just finding the time, finding those few minutes where I'm not being expected to do things for others or feeling guilty because I haven't managed to do 6 loads of washing, dried them and put them away all in the space of one evening - an example, one of many.
First things first though, I really need to get a night of decent sleep. That should be easy enough - right. Right?
(Note: I could write the entire list of "To Do" but it would be truly frightening. For me.)
Car = money pit.
Job = not what I would wish for.
Home = chaos.
Self = who is that again?
There is my task list, right there. I need to fix these things and fix them properly once and for all. Last year was spent run ragged helping out everyone else. I spread myself far too thinly and have managed to create a rather unfortunate situation where I have done so much for others that they no longer see the need in doing anything for themselves. That needs to end.
I sometimes wish I could get some more positivity in my life. I know how but it is just finding the time, finding those few minutes where I'm not being expected to do things for others or feeling guilty because I haven't managed to do 6 loads of washing, dried them and put them away all in the space of one evening - an example, one of many.
First things first though, I really need to get a night of decent sleep. That should be easy enough - right. Right?
(Note: I could write the entire list of "To Do" but it would be truly frightening. For me.)
Friday, January 01, 2010
First Foot
First post of the new decade, the last one was a bit of a roller coaster ride and not exactly enthralling for optimists. In fact if anyone got out of the past 10 years without once feeling a touch of depression about the state of things then bravo.
Time marches on and to be honest we are the only animals to mark it (which is conjuring up images of peeing on things but nevermind I know what I mean.)
The snow and ice are lying thick on the ground, untouched by plough or tractory beast from the council. The next 10 years will pass and so on and so on.
Time marches on and to be honest we are the only animals to mark it (which is conjuring up images of peeing on things but nevermind I know what I mean.)
The snow and ice are lying thick on the ground, untouched by plough or tractory beast from the council. The next 10 years will pass and so on and so on.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Eight years ago on this night...
I was lying in a hospital bed feeling very, very large and cumbersome and wishing that the two little aliens tumbling about in my vast stomach would come out.
They needed to you see, even though it was a few weeks before they were due their grand entrance.
There I lay,tucked into uncomfortable scratchy nylon sheets in a too warm ward surrounded by horrendous decor (really would it be too much to choose a *nice* colour?) Alone, which was prophetic in a way, wanting to see my babies so much. Waiting and waiting for them to decide to begin the twinge that would indicate things were happening and the gel (oh they don't tell you about where they put the *gel* do they!) had finally worked. Because if it didn't work then it would need to be under the knife.
My mind chased with thoughts and dreams and wishes. I could never have presumed what would eventually happen although the signs were already there. My priorities had changed, from the first moment the stick turned blue on a cool day in early June. My priorities had changed indeed and left him behind. The desires of a nurturing soul are much different from a selfish soul and too often they cannot be brought together.
I slept that night, despite the monitors strapped to my stomach drumming out the beat of their hearts. Or perhaps because of that. Because for every night since I have given thanks that they were born healthy, hearty and whole. Two tough little cookies; two wonderful little boys; two totally independent and interesting Hobbits. And I am so glad I am their mother, I am so glad I've gotten to know such little men.
They needed to you see, even though it was a few weeks before they were due their grand entrance.
There I lay,tucked into uncomfortable scratchy nylon sheets in a too warm ward surrounded by horrendous decor (really would it be too much to choose a *nice* colour?) Alone, which was prophetic in a way, wanting to see my babies so much. Waiting and waiting for them to decide to begin the twinge that would indicate things were happening and the gel (oh they don't tell you about where they put the *gel* do they!) had finally worked. Because if it didn't work then it would need to be under the knife.
My mind chased with thoughts and dreams and wishes. I could never have presumed what would eventually happen although the signs were already there. My priorities had changed, from the first moment the stick turned blue on a cool day in early June. My priorities had changed indeed and left him behind. The desires of a nurturing soul are much different from a selfish soul and too often they cannot be brought together.
I slept that night, despite the monitors strapped to my stomach drumming out the beat of their hearts. Or perhaps because of that. Because for every night since I have given thanks that they were born healthy, hearty and whole. Two tough little cookies; two wonderful little boys; two totally independent and interesting Hobbits. And I am so glad I am their mother, I am so glad I've gotten to know such little men.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Just dance...gonna be okay...
The Hobbits had a dance recital at school this week. Part of their gym class I suppose, I usually hear fragments of what is going on until the last minute but their gym teacher gives each class a theme and they do a little dance routine according to that theme. Youngest Hobbit's class did a sort of Highland-crossed-with-Irish dance while Eldest Hobbit's class did a very impressive "kaleidescope" with his part being one of the green team.
All in all it was good fun. I know the Hobbits love to dance although dance classes are completely out of the question as that is "girls stuff" and therefore not to be considered at all. Which is a shame. Still, while there is MTV there is always the opportunity to dance around the living room without a care in the world.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Oh crap
What did I say again? New starts and all that - blah, blah, blah. It feels like an endless rush at the moment.
On the plus side I have a lovely photograph of another Guide Dog pup (who lives with another walker but for whom I have always had a soft spot - point; for the dog and not the walker this soft spot occurs. I do not travel down that particular route for relationships. FFS get on with it...)
Yeah, so, I have a cute photo and I'm sure current Andrex hopeful lying snoozing on the rug at the moment is jealous. I was hugging youngest Hobbit earlier after an incident where I accidentally bashed him on the head with the corner of a book (he moved forward, I was reaching toward the bookcase with said very-heavy book in hand - bang.) Anywhatthehellissheontonight, much tears ensued and as I gave comfort to him I was getting big sad, look-at-me-mummy eyes from pooch. He then dunks his head on my lap next to sniffling Hobbit, like I needed another hint. Honestly. But at the same point I couldn't do without.
I really need a decent night sleep, I think *that* is evident. Especially from this rambling nonsense. But then sometimes I like to think that as I send this out to the ether then someone might raise a smile from it. Or call the men in white coats. Whatever comes first.
Interestingly I have noticed that I no longer swear as much as I used to. Except when I'm driving then I'm a right Gordon Ramsey. But being a singleton without the stress of a dead weight marriage strangling you will do that I suppose. Ah.
On the plus side I have a lovely photograph of another Guide Dog pup (who lives with another walker but for whom I have always had a soft spot - point; for the dog and not the walker this soft spot occurs. I do not travel down that particular route for relationships. FFS get on with it...)
Yeah, so, I have a cute photo and I'm sure current Andrex hopeful lying snoozing on the rug at the moment is jealous. I was hugging youngest Hobbit earlier after an incident where I accidentally bashed him on the head with the corner of a book (he moved forward, I was reaching toward the bookcase with said very-heavy book in hand - bang.) Anywhatthehellissheontonight, much tears ensued and as I gave comfort to him I was getting big sad, look-at-me-mummy eyes from pooch. He then dunks his head on my lap next to sniffling Hobbit, like I needed another hint. Honestly. But at the same point I couldn't do without.
I really need a decent night sleep, I think *that* is evident. Especially from this rambling nonsense. But then sometimes I like to think that as I send this out to the ether then someone might raise a smile from it. Or call the men in white coats. Whatever comes first.
Interestingly I have noticed that I no longer swear as much as I used to. Except when I'm driving then I'm a right Gordon Ramsey. But being a singleton without the stress of a dead weight marriage strangling you will do that I suppose. Ah.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Once again this time with feeling...
I'm keen on the concept of recycling so won't be ashamed of using a photo that is a couple of years old. Particularly when that photo has Paris giving the evil side-eye from underneath the tree. The decorations haven't changed much anyway. Is this all sounding a bit ho-hum?
I don't mean to be, occasionally I will admit to having the same thoughts that were running through Paris's mind at time of capture here. On the most though things are going fine at the moment and I won't say more than that as I wouldn't like to curse it all.
The presents are bought and hidden, the plans are being made and it will be a relief to stay at home all Christmas Day - I won't even pretend that it will be relaxing in any shape or form. Oh hell where am I going with this. I don't believe in New Years Resolutions but I do wish to nurture this little blog of mine a little more if only to write this tosh and not have it messing up around my weary head.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Where does all the time go?
It runs past so quickly I really want to trip it up and slow things down for a while but that isn't going to happen anytime soon.
So much is happening I can barely catch my breath and to be honest I am still being relied upon for everything by everybody which isn't always the ideal situation. Correction, it isn't the ideal situation at all at all or I wouldn't be online at this time trying to catch up with everything that is falling by the wayside.
There will come a time where I can get back to the old organised me and I look forward to that. It doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things but it matters to me.
When I turn my face to the cold winter sun and close my eyes I can remember Portugal.
(Yes the simple little package holiday really did mean that much to old stressy head here.)
So much is happening I can barely catch my breath and to be honest I am still being relied upon for everything by everybody which isn't always the ideal situation. Correction, it isn't the ideal situation at all at all or I wouldn't be online at this time trying to catch up with everything that is falling by the wayside.
There will come a time where I can get back to the old organised me and I look forward to that. It doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things but it matters to me.
When I turn my face to the cold winter sun and close my eyes I can remember Portugal.
(Yes the simple little package holiday really did mean that much to old stressy head here.)
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Friday, November 06, 2009
Can you tell me how to get...
...if you are about to add "how to get to Sesame Street" then pull up a chair and grab a slice of birthday cake.
I don't know if it makes me feel very old or not so bad that Sesame Street is 40 years old. Very old in that I loved watching it when I was little; from the slightly trippy and Monty Pythonesque counting pinball (my personal favourite even though it left me feeling a little spaced out) to the annoyingly nasal Big Bird. Not so bad in that I didn't realise it was older than me - yay me!
I saw places I'd never been when they went out and about in New York, learned sign language with Linda - it fairly widened the horizons of a little girl living in a Scottish village. Oh and that is Mr. Snuffleupagus in the photo, like you had to ask.
I don't know if it makes me feel very old or not so bad that Sesame Street is 40 years old. Very old in that I loved watching it when I was little; from the slightly trippy and Monty Pythonesque counting pinball (my personal favourite even though it left me feeling a little spaced out) to the annoyingly nasal Big Bird. Not so bad in that I didn't realise it was older than me - yay me!
Monday, November 02, 2009
Oh yeah, almost forgot...
Happy Samhain or dia de los muertos or Hallowe'en, whatever spooks you.
Congratulations I am only a couple of days late.
*sigh*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)