Fashionable illnesses...

I have a very sore leg at the moment... I wrenched it and I felt the injury happen, and thankfully the leg didn't fall off or anything - so I assume (and so did the doctor) that it will respond to a bit of R&R.

A friend eagerly told me it might be Fibromyalgia. She's had it for a few years now, and I have to say, it seems very fashionable these days. This friend said to me last year: "I like being ill! It means I don't have to go to work and I can do what I like!" She appears to have the energy for the things she enjoys, but is more or less retired on grounds of ill-health.

It seems a high price to pay, regarding yourself as an invalid in order to get permission to do what you want in life. I have every - every! - sympathy with dreaming of a life of doing what you want, but... it doesn't seem to be how it works, not when you're single anyway! I think the whole of society is in an Emperor's New Clothes phase, where everyone KNOWS that work has become too stressful for most people, but nobody wants to be the first to admit to it (it would, after all, bring society to a grinding halt if we actually put our physical and emotional - not to mention spiritual - wellbeing before Money). So we have all these illnesses now... all real, but all very much connected to our mental state.

Six years ago, when I was off work for five months following some rather nasty bullying, I remember realising my body was playing tricks and I gave it a stern talking-to. It was incredibly tempting to be signed off for another few months but I realised if I went that way I was choosing illness over coping... I don't blame those who do, mind, but I do think we ought to acknowledge the enormous stresses people are under.

I was so exhausted that I actually fell asleep whilst crawling along in the supermarket pushing a trolley. I was so damaged by the bullying that I had panic attacks when I was contemplating going back to work.

And yet I'm fine now. I certainly entertain regular fantasies about running that bookshop/cafe by the seaside, as do most of the women I know. But I also realise that for society to run at all (and I don't think it's doing that well tbh) we do need to step up to the mark and do our bit. If we can. Some people are simply too burnt-out to continue, which I think is a perfectly rational response to being under too much stress - but it's not really possible to say "Stop the world for a bit" unless we have illness on our side. I'm convinced that this is what is happening to a lot of people; they are unable to frame the words, "I'm not coping." They can't give themselves permission to feel too stressed to carry on, so - they become ill. (Those illnesses are real. I just think they probably won't respond to medication unless it's accompanied by a change in lifestyle and perhaps some talking therapy or the listening ears of good friends).

True, I'd secretly rather be doing some other bit rather than the one I'm doing right now, but I'm not neglecting my spiritual side, I don't really buy too much into Materialism and I think I have a reasonably healthy attitude.

But what about all these people who daren't admit even to themselves that their job and their aspirations are at odds with their wellbeing?

Wouldn't it be great if there was a little less talk about sex and we removed the taboo around discussing true Happiness (ie learning to take care of our emotional and spiritual needs rather than pretending that getting pissed will sort it all out) instead?

Random thoughts...

Is an affair that's going so well you feel as though you're dancing on air, an Elationship?

How near did the Antiques show 'Going for a Song' come to being called 'Going for a Snog'? And what would it have been about?

Why has it taken me so long to realise that 'cassock' is an anagram of 'ass cock'?

Why am I rambling on here when I need a good night's sleep? ;)

Night, all! I notice the Madeleine link has gone, that didn't take long!

A quick brush with old age...

A few times in my life, I've had illnesses which gave me a glimpse into old age. When I had a middle ear problem many years ago, I wasn't able to walk alone, and needed a friendly arm to help me stand up straight and walk, not stagger, across a room. When I had a near-miss with ME, I held onto the trolley for dear life as I went round the supermarket, on one occasion falling asleep in an aisle...

And this last couple or weeks have given me a taste of those who struggle daily with arthritis. Shortly after I arrived home from Italy, my fingers - all of them - hurt so much that I could hardly write, let alone open bottles and turn taps. I wondered if it was RSI (not a good thing for an aspiring writer) and faced the thought of not being able to drive if it continued. Then my knees began to protest every time I asked them to carry me anywhere. I realised that it coincided with returning to work, and had a stern word with my body, assuring it that I would be in work with or without its cooperation.

And as suddenly as it started, it all vanished. My hands were fine, my knees seemed okay - until my left leg felt as though it had been stabbed. I rested it, put ice packs on it, and necked Ibuprofen. It improved. And then I tripped on a wire and wrenched my knee.

Reader, I expected to look down and see that my leg had come off.

It hadn't. And again it began to improve with a lot of care and none of my three-times-a-week visits to the gym.

Until last night I woke at 4, in pain. And remained in pain until it was time to get up for work. I drove to the doctor's and, bless him, he saw me immediately and has diagnosed an allergic reaction to mosquito bites, resulting in arthroscopic inflammation.

It will pass. Thank goodness. It may be a sign from the Universe that the Villa in Italy idea ought to be shelved, which is no great heartbreak.

It made me think. I had briefly begun to accept that such pain might be a part of ageing, that however much I embrace the thought of Fiftiness, my body will irrevocably complain at times.

And I'm pleased to say, it didn't dampen my enthusiasm for the next decade. Pain can be borne. All sorts of things can be assimilated into our lives and even perhaps learnt from. I've lived with emotional pain for years on end at various times. I have tinnitus, but forget about it so completely that I'm not sure I've ever bothered mentioning it to the doctor.

We can bear all sorts of things in life, if we choose to. That's not to say that we always accept difficult new things straight away, nor indeed that we ought to do so. It's important to acknowledge pain/sorrow/fear/sadness/grief etc, because (in my opinion) this diminishes their power over us.

It may be that one day I shall have to learn to live with pain. Well, what if that's the case? Many have done it before me. I am no more or less courageous than anybody else.

Meanwhile, I'm thankful that my brush with arthritis appears to be almost over. I have renewed sympathy for those who struggle with it daily. And a new perspective on what the future might - might - hold.

All the more reason to relish the present!

A poem I wrote...

She was a soft, warm blanket
Wrapped comfortingly around him every night.
But as he snuggled into her, he dreamed of
Egyptian cotton sheets; try as he might,
His treacherous memory drew pictures in the air
Which did not match the woman lying there.
He tried ignoring them; it felt so wrong...
But the lure of smooth, cool fabric was too strong.
He took the blanket, flung it through the door,
And cloaked in memories, slept alone once more.

Go on, I dare me...

It's been one of those weeks which feels about three months long, until you get to Friday and think, "Already?!" I remain fascinated by the fluidity of our perception of time. I can only imagine what reaching fifty will feel like! It's only a couple of minutes since my summers were spent hunting snails in Mr Shutt's overgrown garden, surviving only on wild raspberries (until teatime, at least, but it felt dangerously near to starvation at the time). Now they are spent wondering when to do everything that needs to be done around the house and garden, before realising that I've somehow left it six weeks to get my work outfits ready, and it's now too late...

I've never really grown up, I think that's the thing (I was going to write 'that's the problem', but it really isn't - not for me at least).

In my heart, I am still that little girl who wants to spend her days smelling the roses, watching the spiders weave their amazing webs, following ants as they carry miniscule crumbs of biscuit, racing snails, sitting in the graveyard wondering what it's like to be dead and making up stories for the people named on the tombstones, and dreaming of travelling the world one day.

I'm still her.

My daughters love this aspect of me - the enthusiastic, funny, bubbly never-stops-dreaming person who I think probably is the 'real me' as far as one can know. I love it too, but it makes settling into a job extremely difficult. Deep down I don't want to be a mortgage-slave, or appear to think that work is all-important... and yet in some ways it is. There's nobody else to pay my bills if I don't. I believe in Society and responsibility... and yet...

...can you keep a secret? I still wake up in the morning and want to run away. Not in a bad way; not in a 'stop the world I want to get off ' way. I just want to go and See and Be and Do all those things which I always thought I would do when I was Grown Up.

But I've never really grown up! I've done loads of things, of course - I've lived abroad a few times, given birth to the most wonderful daughters who are so much better than the wonderful daughters I always intended to have. I've dined with bishops (including Robert Runcie, who was gorgeous), driven a dogsled, swum naked in a mountain lake in Austria, sung some of the world's most hauntingly beautiful music in various choirs, played Eliza Doolittle in both 'Pygmalion' and 'My Fair Lady' (preferred 'Pygmalion') and been on television and radio.

Should that be 'enough'?

Well perhaps. But I'm no longer one for 'shoulds' and 'oughts'. I would put this whole thing down to Mid-life crisis, except that I don't feel any different about all this than when I was twenty. This is who I am - the restless, "Surely there's MORE?" bit is as part of me as all the rest. So I have learned to live with it, and as I approach fifty I see more and more that I am going to have to do more than tolerate it, perhaps accommodate it a little more. Maybe go somewhere I've never been, all on my own. Perhaps go on the kind of dates I've never been on. Take myself off to a restaurant with food I've never tried before.

It's NOT a rehearsal! I'm one of millions of people who've felt and continue to feel this way. As I look to the coming year, given that I've taken the trouble to start a blog, I think I owe it to myself (and others) to get off my backside and take a few risks!

Why ARE we here..??

Yesterday was my non-Silver Wedding. I had wondered how it would feel - we've been apart for 7 years, divorced for 5, so a fair few anniversaries have come and gone. Still, Silver Weddings are still celebrated pretty seriously, and I wasn't sure how I would feel about it on the day.

It was tough. I dreamt the night before about my Ex's family - including his father, who died over twenty years ago, and who was so alive in the dream that I woke feeling really strange about the passage of time since the wedding. It's always fascinated me how you can look back through time to a particular event and it can seem like centuries ago, but look back at that same event, and it could be yesterday. This is one of the things which demonstrates to me that time isn't real at all. (Another being, how you can not see someone for years but slip easily into talking as though you've never been apart).

So I got to thinking, as you do, about how many people on the wedding photos (I didn't get the album out, I know them by heart) aren't around any more. Some people keep their families intact down the years, we began to lose our wedding guests quite early. Two years on, one parent had vanished. Another two, an uncle of mine... and now, a quarter of a century down the line, at least 10 significant guests are gone, and many bit-players too.

Which brought me back to my perennial (everyone's perennial) question - What is the point of being here at all? I don't mean that to sound depressed, it's a genuine question which puzzles me from time to time. I have lots of answers - but they all seem to involve what I mean in context - I am someone's parent, friend, teacher etc. It used to be 'because God made me and loves me' but that one doesn't work at all for me now, as I suspect I may have made God...

Does there have to be a Point? This way Existentialism (about which I know incredibly little) lies.

Yet I do persist in believing - intuiting - that there IS Meaning. I refuse to be just the sum of my parts, and to have relationships which can be scientifically proven to be meaningless.

And I suppose somewhere in that refusal, that determination to have meaning, lies the answer. Greater souls than I have struggled with this and gone away from the fight empty-handed, but that doesn't mean I don't need to grapple too. In fact, I suspect that IS our meaning - that in this seemingly random (yet intricately inter-connected) Universe, humans are movers and shakers simply by virtue of asking the questions; almost like unwitting computer programmers.

Today I saw that Google has found this blog. It feels oddly comforting. I think most of us want to leave our mark on the world, and for me having children doesn't feel that way - they are THEM, not me. I don't want to burden them with validating my life (although of course they do, infinitely so).

This is the year I am going to find some answers! :)

I got this unexpected text from my Ex, which made me feel better in a bitter-sweet kind of way: Strange day. All kinds of emotion. Just thought I'd say it wasn't wasted time. Thank you for then and now. X

One day we too will be memories in a photo album. I wonder if those who follow us will have the answer to my question, and tell a new generation about me and why I was so unforgettable? It struck me as a child that once you are further back than 'Grandma' nobody gets emotional about you not being there any longer. And that's as it should be, isn't it? Otherwise, how would we cope day-to-day with all the emotion?

I'm beginning to feel a hint of Carpe Diem coming on!

I love this poem...

LIFE GOES ON

If I should go before the rest of you,
Break not a flower,
Nor inscribe a stone.
Nor, when I am gone,
Speak in a Sunday voice -
But be the usual selves
That I have known

Weep if you must;
Parting is hell.
But life goes on
So... sing as well.

Joyce Grenfell (1910 - 1979)

(Every version I looked at had different punctuation, some had none!)

Get on with it!

I've just been looking at jobs online. I've come across two wonderful schools' websites reporting the sudden and shocking death of their headteachers. Just looking at the websites tells me what an inspiration they have been, what they have achieved and what an enormous sense of grief and loss is being experienced by their school communities. One had won a prestigious teaching award last year.

They were both around my age.

It is a strange thing to feel sad that you never met someone whom - well, whom you never met! I found myself thinking, "If she'd been alive and I'd got an interview, we would have met and this would have been my loss too in some small way." Even without that meeting, I can feel sad for those who are reeling with shock as I type, and imagine the superhuman effort they are making to start term as normally as possible.

As I've written before, we are all connected. It is only by the merest chance that I even know about these people, but that doesn't mean I can't be touched by their lives and early deaths.

We cannot know how long we are here for. So it makes sense to make the most of it, to grasp those nettles, to dare to have those relationships knowing that even if they end, they were fun while they lasted, to take those risks, to make those differences...

...while we can. When we die, we leave a legacy in the hearts and minds of everyone who knew us. To a remarkable extent, we can choose NOW how we wish to be remembered.

If I died today, I think I would be remembered as a warm, friendly, loving and humorous woman with certain talents which perhaps I never used to the full. If death has a meaning for the living, perhaps it is a reminder to live our lives to the full - only I can live my life as it can best be lived. Nobody else can do that for me. This will be a good year to take stock and decide what footprints I want to leave in the hearts, minds and souls of those I care about.

Feelings...

I'm still feeling excited about this year. I'm just coming to the end of a period of counselling which has been very useful. It seems that although I've always been the person people go to with their problems, approachable and empathetic, in one sense it was all an act (I didn't know that).

I'd got to 48 without realising that I had mistaken thoughts for feelings, insight for empathy. To be fair, nobody else had spotted it either. I had to retreat into analysing and thinking as a little girl, when it was a bit too painful to face facts such as Mummy not really wanting me around. Because I have a good imagination, I've always been able to articulate my feelings - but in fact they were more... ideas about feelings.

This is hard to grasp, I know. When it first hit me I felt - felt - as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water into my soul.

The fact is, though, that it had never really occurred to me (although I work with children to help them identify their feelings) that feelings are - well, felt.

I'm still not quite there, but I'm getting there. I can now identify anxiety in my chest as opposed to giving a long list of words describing it. I've not yet had many visceral sensations, which is SO weird because I have always seen myself as incredibly intuitive. But my intuition is in my head...


This perhaps explains at last why I always felt different. Since entering teaching I've often wondered if I was some kind of autistic child who miraculously grew out of it. Now I realised that I deliberately froze my feelings because it was much safer that way. I'm beginning to have more and more 'Derr!' moments when it hits me that feelings are called that because you FEEL them in your body. Not rocket science, but to me, Quantum Physics. (Literally - read Deepak Chopra!)


I'm sure it's not just me. Many people run from what's In There. It's just that I'd spent so many years thinking it all through that it never struck me that I was - thinking it through. I've talked this over with my daughters; I think I've spared one of them the trouble of going down this path!


I've certainly held back at times, aided and abetted by Evangelical Christianity. I forgave hurts blindly, never challenging those who inflicted them. I accepted emotional abuse and turned the other cheek for more. I strived to be Loving without tapping into the anger which led Christ to beat people up in the Temple. Above all, I tried to be Nice. Because I knew what Not Nice looked like, and I didn't want to let it out.


Now I feel safer. It's okay not to be Nice. I always knew that - in my head... now I Know it - in my heart.

As people go, I'm not a bad one. No more or less than most of the others on the planet, in fact. I'm spending time every day meditating on some thoughts of Deepak Chopra (from the book 'SynchroDestiny') and one of the main themes is that we reflect, and are reflected in, everyone on the planet.

It's a big thought, but a comforting one in many ways. I have always felt a deep, deep connection, almost indescribable in words (and therefore probably one of my longest-lived and most authentic emotions) to the world and its inhabitants. I've been puzzled for years about why, when I drive past old people and their dogs, I'm overwhelmed with sadness at their inevitable separation down the line. For decades I've counted certain trees amongst my greatest friends.

Does this make me mad? Perhaps, I suppose it depends who's judging.

All I know for sure is that it makes me ME. And that's a great way to approach 50, isn't it? Being the most Me I've ever been...

Perspective...

Yesterday I visited a friend in hospital. I say a friend - he taught me 'A' level French over 30 years ago. We got in touch on Friends Reunited in 2007 and we've corresponded ever since. Earlier this week he rang to let me know he had probably got cancer and was in hospital for tests and pain relief. My immediate reaction was to ask if he'd like me to visit, and he was so thrilled that I went the next day.

I took the train up to Leeds. Even though my daughter had warned me about the charge to use public toilets, I was a little shocked at finding the station ones cost 30p. I showed my age by muttering darkly, "Six shillings! That's 72 old pennies! Inflation? Pah!" and walked cross-legged to the bus stop...

People were very friendly (as I'd expect in Yorkshire - still, it was nice to be right!) and someone showed me the stop I needed. St James' is HUGE - I found the right bit of it without too much trouble, and stopped off for a coffee before searching for my friend's ward.

As I sat there collecting my thoughts, I decided to write a poem for my friend in the blank card I'd bought. I wondered what one puts under such circumstances... everyone responds differently to the news of terminal illness, but I felt that if it were me, I'd like to know I wasn't going to be remembered just for being an invalid.

Here's the poem. It's not great literature, I didn't have time to polish it much, but it came from the heart and I know he loved it...

FOR JACK
Since we last met...
Thirty Christmases have come and gone;
Yet still I see you as you were back then.
Patiently dealing with our teenage silliness,
Coaxing us to a deeper knowledge of the grammar for which our school was named.
Still images are imprinted on my mind;
'Le Grand Meaulnes' - a film in Leeds -
Your dry humour, love of crosswords,
The sudden silence when you raised your voice
Because we'd gone too far.

We never kept in touch, but through the years
I have remembered you.
As I drink tea, and wait to come and find you on the ward,
My mind will not allow me
To see you any older than you were.
I replay the moving pictures...
You trudge across a bridge,
Perhaps you glance to see the river
Meander past the boathouse to the weir.
And then you climb a slope.
I walk behind you, watching,
Waiting for the moment when your back straightens, your weariness lifts,
Your face a happy beacon
As your little daughters run to you.
You drop your briefcase, scoop them to your shoulders,
Hold them close...

That's how I remember you.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

We had a great time catching up. There no strangeness between us, none of the awkward shyness you can feel when you meet an old teacher. We simply met soul-to-soul, and took great comfort in it.

Perspective. Life in perspective. What really matters? Estranged family had been to see him in hospital - bridges were being built. Love was shining through and triumphing.

Whatever happens, I hope he will take comfort from my memories of him as a young man full of vigour and love for his family. That's how I remember him.

And so it continues...

Today has been a long day, full of appointments and non-appointments (I was a day early for one!)

I took the car (aka Zachary) for his first MOT and 30,000 mile service. I spent the morning walking up and down the local roads, stopping at cafes from time to time, until at 1 they told me it would be all day, and asked if I'd like to borrow a car. Which I did, only to realise on the way home that my house keys were on the car-keys fob. I called at a friend's house and spent a couple of hours with kittens crawling up me and lying asleep on my chest.

The cat hadn't been well so once I'd collected the car (£233 plus another £180 in two weeks when they replace a part) I popped her to the vets - another £43... At least my trip to the doctor's was free! I had a good chat and laugh with the nurse who saw me. Bills were the last thing on my mind.

You know what? I refuse to worry about money. My Dad, who wasn't in the least religious, always taught me that "If you give, you get back." He said it was like some Universal Law. He was ahead of his time... anyway, I have always given, and always got back. Years ago I even tithed my student grant. I was the only person I knew with money left at the end of each year.

I spoke to a dear friend tonight. He has just learnt that he probably has cancer. He has thousands of pounds more than I do, but he probably won't be able to buy his way out of this one...

Money isn't real, after all. We've invented it. It's useful when it gives you a better quality of life, but it isn't useful when the pursuit of money leads to a poorer quality of life. This much I've learned in 49 years. I'm certainly not going to worry about it - to me, bills are a confirmation of the fact that I have enough. And that's all I need. More than enough will surely come my way, and I shall enjoy it, but enough is... well, enough!