Am Feeling This Right Now...

A gorgeously warm blanket of a song, a heart breaking video (or at least I think it is, plaintive things always get me).

Tomorrow is the last day of school term, the Hobbits will no longer be in P6.  When summer (which doesn't depict anything but constant rain at the moment) ends they'll be in their last year of primary school and that makes me sad.

I said goodbye to the P1 class I helped out in today.  Lots of little people hugs and some tears but, said I, we'll see each other in the corridor next year and we'll say hello!  But it won't be the same, they said.

Oh bless.  The teacher wants me back next year, oh but to make that a permanent position.  I would be so very happy.

Ah, That Hits The Spot

Happy dog is happy.

Resolution

Do you like my skilful hiding of my government name?  Oh how arty am I.


So, Resolution.  Another title cannibalised from the P52 thing.  I'm on that again, oh yes I am.


This took me four years to achieve.  Now the snobbish amongst anyone who comes across this may look at my meagre upper second class honours and sneer.


However this is also what else happened in those four years:

• Very messy, humiliating marriage breakdown.
• Divorce.
• Illness and loss of a beloved parent.
• Dependency and then care of the other.
• Clearing out, decorating and then selling my family home.
• Buying another.
• Moving mother from her home to ours.
• Then moving all of us to new home.
• Working (boo) and volunteering (yeay!)
• Raising the Hobbits.

Meanwhile, I studied my level 1 introduction course.  Tutor nearly put me off the whole thing.  Two level 2 courses (including the brilliant creative writing course that I would gladly do every single year if just to keep me in).  Three level 3 courses (two of which were history as I do like my punishment to be severe).


When I finished, and I was well and truly finished, I was very pleased to have gotten my little degree - and with the mark it settled on.  Chuffed to bits and a big two fingers up to everyone who had talked me down in the past.


Resolution - see the date?  December 2010.  Time to use it and no more excuses (okay the illness wasn't an excuse as such but it may slow me down, it shouldn't stop me.)

A Matter Of Timely Tasting

For some reason this little gem was dredged from the furthest, darkest recesses of my warped memory as I walked the dog today and, in the way these things sometimes do, it got me thinking.

My parents had taken my younger cousin and I to visit my dad's sister in Helensburgh (what used to be a fairly nice town, birthplace of John Logie Baird and retirement heaven on the river Clyde coastline*).  Now we (me and female cousin) had a particularly awkward relationship - being on my mother's side of the family, the side that encouraged competition and favouritism.  She was younger, prettier and blonde and I could be catty enough to say she is none of those now.  She was everything that side of the family wanted, including remarkable unambitious.  Me, too much of a daydreamer for them, a common comment was "what do you want to do *art* for?"  Said in the tone used if someone announced a desire to become a tax collector.

Anyway this has nothing to do with what I was starting to say.

We went to this "Italian" restaurant where both of us picked spaghetti bolognese and yes I know it won't have been genuine, this is Scotland in the mid-80s not Masterchef.  It arrived, yummy yummy and we were asked did we want parmesan cheese?  Thinking of home cooked spag bol with a bit of cheddar grated on top we said yes please.  (Here we'll end that rumour of Scottish people eating deep fried everything.)  The cheese that ended up sprinkled on top of our pasta not only smelled of sick, it didn't look that appetising either.

We quietly scraped it to the side and ate the rest.

Now, fast forward 25 years.  I adore what the Hobbits call "sprinkle cheese" and yes, we do put it on our  pasta.  Proper Italian version, not the kind called "hard cheese" either.  Yummy yum.  So what happened?

I'm walking along the path beside the burn (small stream, I'll teach you Scots one word at a time).  I'm thinking of this for no reason whatsoever and wonder - was it poor quality substitute we got or just how things were back then?  I know tastes change but surely not that much that I would now love something I once associated with sick?

Plus my Hobbits, much as I love them, can be occasionally and frustratingly picky on certain things, cheese is one.  They love it and I would have been told if there was anything untoward about it.

Now I've unburdened this erratic mind fudge I'll leave you with a panda.

*It was too near Faslane for my anti-nuclear war view liking, at times the submarines would surface as they returned and the noise they made was so horribly metallic that it served the idea of them as machines of apocalyptic war very well.  It is very hard to describe the noise perfectly but even thinking about it sends fingers of ice down my spine.

Where'd you go?

It has been a busy time of late and then, for an entire week, there was sun...sun...SUN!!!  Lovely, warm, summery sun.  


Being Scottish this is a rare enough event to bring out immediate wearing of light and bright clothing, a raising of spirits, a general feeling of camaraderie.  The sun, not venturing on these shores for too long, disappeared yesterday.  


The weather equivalent of taking a lollipop from a baby.


We have the memories of course, and the hope that one day very soon the sun shall return.  Our shorts and flip flops demand it.

My Love of Old Books Is Really An Addiction to Lignin

Because I Can...That's Why...

The Things You Can Find

...when not really looking.


Today started auspiciously with a visit to the optician.  Eldest had managed to snap the spring in his specs leg.  He had been given into trouble at the school the previous day for forgetting his P.E. kit and it really wasn't shaping up to be a grand week.  I had just dropped him back off at school and off I went to the doctors for the monthly "I'm sorry there is nothing to do but wait for this to pass" appointment.


In the time I had beforehand I popped in to the local charity shop which is my wont to do.  And for once I found a gem...A whole set of little books filled with colourful, painted cards.  The type once collected from - well in this case from tea bag boxes and (hush now) cigarette cartons. (Daddy, you've might have cancer from all those ciggies but thanks for the mini cards!)


I adore things like this, old books, old illustrations.  There is almost an essence captured within that makes them my own personal catnip!  So here we have...




Being the fussy kind I did leave behind the ones featuring cars - but the wildlife and fauna were mine all mine!  Someone spent a lot of time collecting these, carefully (in most cases) pasting in the little cards and it is a little sad that they ended up here.  Yet I now have them and they will be cherished.  The Hobbits have had a good look through and gave a thumbs up wondering why they didn't have anything like that - now it is cartoon characters and expensive card sets to "catch 'em all".





My favourite has to be the oldest, or at least I presume it is as this is the only one with a date, written on the top right corner of the front - 1937.  




I also managed to bag a book published in 1932 on exploring the Highlands of the British Isles (they're not all up here in Scotland apparently) and a book on Frankfurt am Main (1973) with beautiful photographs showing the city, including some of the treasures that were lost in the bombing raids of WW2.


I just lap this up like a happy cat and am content.  Let the world wash over me, ignore the phone, the day was much more interesting after that.  If only I could have afforded the bird paintings featured in the window - the day would have been complete.  At £5 each I may just decide to have a little splurge.

Details

This boy is having a hard time of it just now.  I don't quite know how to help him and I'm putting this down to growing pains as he stretches once again in body and mind:  finding out who he is and wearing trainers that I can now borrow.

As Youngest Hobbit he has always been the comedian, the one I needn't worry about, the one who was a certainty in everything.  While his brother sailed emotional waves this boy kept calm with the occasional burst of fire.

Over the past week he has been tetchy, crying and taking offence at the slightest thing, distant one minute and super-huggy the next.  His brother meanwhile is the same old Eldest Hobbit, he has pretty much discovered his personality and we do have a rocky time with him sometimes - he just doesn't make life easy for himself when he goes in one of his strops but that is who he is and we love him for it.  For the majority of the time he is artistic, imaginative and articulate.  

So Eldest Hobbit and I will wait and see where Youngest goes next.  They have Cub camp this weekend, a whole weekend to myself!  Not that I'll do anything, this PVF has made me very boring.  That could be my new personality; boring, stick-at-home woman.  Let's hope, like the growing pains, it doesn't last.

P.S.  Through another blog I read I came across this P52 project far too late in the day to jump in and be involved.  But as I am always looking for challenges (see the 30 years Days fiasco and I was much better in the days of 26 Things) then I thought I'd take the titles and see where it went.  Who knows I might just catch up with them.  So I'll add the P52 tag as they are meant to inspire photos and we'll see where we get to, hopefully the originator doesn't mind me messing up her whole system.

Waggy Tail Days

Take one dog, add a little countryside and a dash of water.

Make that a big dash of water.

Such a Perfect Day

I'm glad I spent it with you...

During Easter we spent a beautiful day on the Isle of Cumbrae, visiting the town and, of course, the bay where my dad rests.  It has been three years now.

We discussed memorials, why people have them.  It was pointed out that my Dad, beloved Grandpa did not have one.  This was soon rectified.  I wonder if it will be there next year.

And then nature provided it's own heart shaped sign for us (spotted by Eldest after we'd spent some time sourcing perfect stones for the other one.)

I didn't feel or sense my Dad at the bay that strongly, this worried me.  Until I went to the town and there, near the Garrison, I could picture him walking - see it so clearly.  The time he forgot his glasses case and we had to search around, it was where he had left it on the Garrison wall.  


I know he can be at peace there, that his best memories involved the island.  No matter when we go I hope he remains where he was happiest.  At this point what others may believe or think is irrelevant -  I know he is there, I know he looks out for the boys and, importantly, they know too.


I would say until next year but if I could I'd love to go stay there for a week or so.  Like old times, take a bike out, ride around the island.  For the first time in a long while I relaxed, the stress and illness seemed to disappear for a day at least.


Sometimes I gladly suffer a few bad days if only to capture such moments as this.

True

Sunshine and Stress

Obviously sunshine and no stress for him.

The sun may be gracing us with it's presence these past few days (cue lots of people panic wearing shorts and sleeveless t-shirts, this may be the only chance this year.)  It may warm enough to encourage relaxation in the garden and nothing else but once again I have clouds on the horizon.

From the same two sources that have plagued me these recent months and which exacerbate the illness they are both quibbling about.  First off we have work.  Now I'm not a shirker, I've paid my dues, I sort of enjoyed my job right up until the end when it became unable to ignore the bickering and back-stabbing.  I had thought my exhaustion had to do with the atmosphere, tried and failed for four weeks to get holidays just for a little break and then I crashed.

Turned out to be something a lot worse than simple burn out but since then I've felt guilty at being ill, been made to feel a malingerer, a nuisance to be got rid of.  Understanding would be welcomed and I am aware that they run a business not a charity but I cost them nothing, I'm not an important part of the machinery just one of many.  As a company they have a reputation for making employees mentally ill and that is no joke.  I repeat what I am going through ad infinitum and next time I have to repeat it again.  Yes I have been off a while but I'm not exactly having a picnic.  The doctor says I'm not well enough to return, I can feel it myself when even hanging out washing tires me out.  It's frustrating, upsetting and not being listened to makes it worse.

Second we have the social worker who has, to our misfortune, been allocated to my mother.  She has some kind of agenda that, despite my mother having specific needs, she does not waver from.  The latest is that she has a permanent place for my mother in a home nearby.  Hurrah thinks I, no wait, it's sheltered accommodation.  Totally unsuitable, if my mother could cope in sheltered accommodation there would be no issue to sending her home with us.  Her needs are such that the temporary home she is in just now, with an en suite room to herself and a day room she can go to socialise in suits her well, has made her happy and content.

Does the social worker see this?  No, instead she insists that with a "package of care" mother should come home.  This sheltered accommodation is her latest gig in trying to make me give up and relent.  Never mind that it would mean my mother sitting home alone often, not able to go to her room when she wants (because it is upstairs so she needs help), not able to make even a cup of tea because she can't use a kettle any more.  According to her I "influenced" my mother into this decision.

Despite expecting me to be a full-time carer if my mother came home I have, at no point, been included in any of the decisions made since she was still in hospital.  The social worker took a bullying attitude right up until I got a carer's advocate involved and then, for good measure, after she accused me of influencing my mother I got her an advocate too.

She's still at it though.

And so while the sun shines and I defiantly sit outside and think of all the things I'd love to do to the garden if able to I have these two factors hovering over me.  Easter break starts Friday.  I have a meeting with my manager on Thursday during which I expect to come under pressure to return or be sacked (never mind whether I can cope or not), I have a meeting next Tuesday with the social worker and two advocates to once again discuss options for my mum despite the fact she is doing so well in her current environment.  I have to make a list of "concerns".  Oh I can make a list all right my dear.

I will not let this ruin Easter the way it ruined Christmas for me.  My priorities are just right and I know what is important to me will win out in the end.  I'd just like some time to relax and recuperate so I can rid myself of this illness and come out fighting.  I find it hard to concentrate and deal with things right now but that won't always be the case.

If Life Were A Film...

...it could be this simple.

To Sum Up The Month So Far

Apron Strings

We are at that stage:  the Hobbits are getting to the age where freedom beckons and I have to take a back seat.  I do so sadly but gladly.

Last week, after school, a group of Hobbit friends met up at the local leisure centre.  They had booked a football pitch for a kick-about.  Each boy (and two girls - brave of them) had brought their money for the pitch and lunch.  No parents were allowed and the one mother who did hover nearby caused her son to back out and go home.

I won't pretend that I did clock watch a little.  This is the point where they take bigger responsibility for their own safety and I have to step away.  This is the point where they start to make their own decisions and mistakes and importantly learn from them.  It is frightening as it feels like we have been trained to imagine the bogeyman behind every corner.

I remember being warned not to go near certain people in the village I grew up in.  The danger has always been there, the paranoia is just greater now.

Take a deep breath.  At their age I would walk the couple of miles to the town with a friend or two.  We would go off adventuring up by the river bank without a risk assessment being done.

I'm trying to quell my fear.  They're good Hobbits, they ask permission to do things, they always let me know where they'll be.  I've tried to instil the knowledge that honesty is rewarded with more freedom and it seems to have worked.  Certainly they understand why.

Little squidgy arms and legs have been replaced by long limbs and wide shoulders.  Faces have lost the apple cheeks and are lengthening and narrowing.  My babies are growing and a (not so) little part of me wishes I could have one day back when they were little enough to fit, one on each hip.  Such things do not exist and I have to enjoy this next part.  Loosen the apron strings that some are holding so tight it'll strangle their little darlings.

This next part - probably meaning girls, teenage years, that difficult bridge between kid and adult.  I try not to think - trouble.  Youngest Hobbit insists that 10 is *nearly* teen.  I tell him not to rush.

The adult part is long enough.

I really need to think of a new nickname for them as Hobbit seems not to fit - cute, hairy and big feet, yes but now not so small.

You Don't Know What You've Got Till It's Gone

Yesterday would have been my dad's 91st birthday.  Youngest Hobbit remarked that "Grandpa hasn't really died because I'll always remember him and he can be alive in my memories."  I hope that he knows this, I know he was aware of how much they loved him.  Often they would curl up on the sofa to look through photos or a picture book.


Today I brought mother home for a visit.  It is clear that her best place would be in a home, her mobility is such that anything else is potentially (rather likely) dangerous.


Of course this is a touchy subject.  My wish is that she is cared for.  I cannot offer the level of care she needs.  Some would say I'm dumping her by putting her in a home however anyone with any knowledge of caring for an elderly person, especially one you are closely related to, knows why that decision sometimes needs to be made.  It is something I would never expect any child of mine to do and I do believe it is almost cruel to expect it as it is such a huge responsibility for a family member to undertake.


I don't know if it can be understood as I can barely explain it properly.


I wish dad was still here and I wish things had gone differently.

Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits

Pinch, punch, first of the month - no givey backsies!

I Done A Drawing (again)

Will have a word about photographic quality control but I was moderately pleased with the reaction from Hobbits and friends on showing them this...

Seascape in pastels.  Yes I did roll it.  Yes that was a mistake.  No I've not covered it in hairspray yet to protect it from further smudging and when I do I'll press it between a couple of heavy books and that will sort the fetching crimping out of the paper.

I'm working on another at the moment, I do enjoy the messy nature of pastels, more colour ends up on me than on the finished product.  Next thing I move on to is paints.  The only paints I've ever used was the cheap crap poster paints way back in ancient school days and the cheap squeezy tubes I buy for the Hobbits artistic endeavours.  Excited much?

And with the mild winter...

...come the giant spiders again.  I mean really is there no respite from these buggers?  I have no issue with spidey being outside, in fact last year there were a bunch of quite sweet ones making their home on the decking.


But do not, I repeat, do not invade my space and expect to survive.  Although I hate to I cannot leave them alone, they have to die.  Bad karma but I do warn them (don't laugh this works) not to come in the house - some listen but some are stupid.  If I don't get them then their fate lies with Little Miss Kittie, who loves nothing better than to chomp on an eight-legged beastie.  I'm thinking some are not as tasty as others as she leaves the crumpled body as evidence, mostly though it is a leg or two.  Crunchy.


Yesterday I felt elated, the ridiculous elation of someone who has grown tired of being tired.  I made crispie cakes, no big deal, takes about 10 minutes maximum, more if I have to fend off hungry Hobbits.  But for me it is a big deal now.  I fight against this thing, this malaise, even though - to be honest - I'd rather never return to work in that place.  


I fight against it to get the strength to break free, to follow what I want to do.  This can only make me stronger as has all the other crap I've dealt with over the past few years.  I look on it like this and it doesn't seem so bad anymore.


Stronger.


Crispie cakes.


Hmmm.


Now if I get back to regular banana bread making (example below) I will have achieved something and Hobbits will be ecstatic.