Farewell to the Forties!!

Hi again.
This is going to be my last post on this blog, for obvious reasons!

Tomorrow I turn 50! I feel ridiculously excited about it. I've just been on a fantastic holiday with my daughters and a friend. We spent a week in Keswick in the Lake District, which is one of my favourite places in the whole world.

Tomorrow evening I'm having a 'Glamour and Glitz' party at the local bar where I used to perform my poetry. It promises to be a great evening, an eclectic mix of friends and family. It hasn't been easy, making friends in the last few years. I spent my time working/nursing a sick child. I didn't have time, energy or opportunity to meet people - but finally I seem to have grown a group around me. I know some lovely, creative, quirky people here, and I love and appreciate them very much.

So! New decade, new blog. I'll be launching it soon, then I shall add the address to this post. See you there!

http://myfantasticfifties.blogspot.com/

The Final Push...

Yes, it's finally here! August, that is. I'm able to walk without crutches, swim over twenty lengths, and I've left my job!!!

I'm sorry for the lack of blogs lately. There has been so much going on that I have been distracted, but one of my New Year's Resolutions (I make them on birthdays, seems eminently more sensible!) is to blog at least every other day. Every day may be optimistic, given that I am hoping to be Supply Teaching, which I know of old is pretty exhausting. On the other hand, I shall quickly have a fund of entertaining stories. I can't wait!

I left my job last month in a blaze of indifference. My boss never quite got round to writing my reference (well she said it had been posted and emailed, but several weeks on it hadn't arrived in either form, so I drew my own conclusions, which I accept may be wrong, but it doesn't seem likely).

The Farewell Fuddle (for two of us) was a masterpiece of English Embarrasment at its best. Apparently I shall be remembered for a training event I helped to run 6 years ago ("which was a disaster, but Speranza stuck to the script and kept us going") and for "unfortunately being off sick for a long time." Ah well, I've learnt my lesson. This is the first job I've ever done for longer than a year (apart from Motherhood, which continues as a lifelong, long-distance blessing!) Nine years was obviously just Too Long. Alas, no mention of the many children I've actually managed to help. Still, I know who they are...

My line manager stepped in and wrote my reference, bless her, thus continuing her wonderful work of enabling me to carry on (or in this instance, to leave). As she is an artist, I gave her some painting-related gifts when I left, and wrote her a poem. I thought you might like to see it...

For -----

You work with an artist’s eye

for the potential of white spaces,

content to leave them be for now

and see what comes.

There is always room

for creativity.

I wonder if you see

How much you bring to people’s lives?

You patiently explain

systems and protocols

until they take on meaning.

This is Art.

Your explanations

are gems of clarity in chaos.

Tiny masterpieces, they

hang in my mind in golden frames.

You washed me with confidence;

gently painted until

your light touch

brought fresh colour to my work.

You daily show

an artist’s patience

with the people on your team -

and that makes all the difference.

This is it!

Well - here goes!! Months of solitary meditation have finally given me the courage to do what I've been fantasising about for a few years now.

I'm sending in my resignation today. I've spoken to my line manager - who was very supportive and excited for me - but today I write and post the letter. WooHOOO!!

It is really strange how this 'timing' thing works. My daughters, who have seen me longing to leave work for ages, once threatened to resign for me if I didn't. "Don't go back in September!" they pleaded, at least a couple of years ago.

I had to explain to them that the time just wasn't right. I don't particularly know why it wasn't. I just knew it wasn't. And over the months (which became years) I got more and more frustrated with myself, and then began to feel scared that I had lost my nerve.

After all, a large part of what I do for other people is give them the courage to go for their dreams. I am a great believer in it. Why couldn't I do it myself? I inwardly blamed myself for getting stuck in the very trap I had always wanted to avoid - being too highly paid to leave somewhere. All the jobs which interest me would mean a salary drop of at least ten or fifteen thousand pounds - in fact many of them are voluntary.

No matter how many times I reminded myself that I have had ample empirical experience of the Universe Providing, I just couldn't do it.

My enforced time out, often in a lot of pain (no, make that excruciating pain) has given me time to think about many things. One of them was just how much I really wanted to leave my job. No one particular reason, I think I've just got very close to burning out in what amounts at times to being a Social Worker but with no power to change anything (I know they have little enough themselves).

I also had time to sort myself out a bit spiritually. I've been reading a lot and meditating and it began to dawn on me that those people I've always admired - the ones whose stories appear in magazines under titles like, 'I MADE A NEW START AT SIXTY!' or 'LOSING ALL MY LIMBS DIDN'T STOP ME CLIMBING K2!' all began somewhere. They all had the same feeling I did, and the only difference was that they had acted on it.

This wasn't a new thought - indeed, I had encouraged my daughters to try living abroad quoting those very articles. So why couldn't I live my own dream?

I realised that a lot of my dreams had got lost along the way. Sad - but not in fact my immediate problem.

I took time to think about what was keeping me in a job which was feeling like more and more of an uncomfortable fit. Instead of going through all the ways it used my talents, I allowed myself to sit (I had plenty of time for that) and feel how very wrong it felt inside. In fact I began to dread going back.

As I meditated, I began to see an old-fashioned set of scales, and I realised NOTHING outweighed my need to leave. As I've told many people, nothing is more important than your mental health. I did a few sums and saw that I was not in the financial trap I had allowed myself to imagine.

When I spoke to my line manager, she was incredibly supportive and excited for me. "I wish more people would have your courage," she told me. "Too many people get stuck for life and daren't move on."

My point exactly! And I heard myself say, "If I can get through the devastating pain of the last few months, there isn't anything I can't do."

And finally, I believed it.

So - today I am jumping. I have always known in my heart that I would never have the option of knowing what came next, that I had to create a cognitive dissonance of sorts before the next move became clear. But I know there IS a job out there. As I have told many people, you don't always have the luxury of seeing the path ahead, but when you look back, it always leads right to where you are today.

Having the courage of one's convictions feels a lot better than fearing the future!

Getting there...

I had quite an eventful week... I saw a specialist (not 'The' specialist, as in, 'The specialist who operated on me'). He was charming and jolly, told me I have osteoarthritis in my knee, and said I 'can have a new knee sometime - but God knows when that will be!'

I remarked that it was ironic that I'd injured my knee whilst trying to lose weight to protect it. He said, "Oh you don't need to lose weight!" (I do - about 40 pounds I reckon!) but later admitted that the pain will be better the slimmer I am. So - here I am again, back at the gym. A new gym this time, with a pool and a Personal Trainer who seems reassuringly knowledgeable about her work.

That word 'osteoarthritis' was a real shock to the system. I came out of his office feeling fine, and then had a delayed reaction as I walked through the hospital, feeling tearful and wondering if I was doomed to be a cripple.

However I'm not one to dwell on negatives. I am really proud of how I have coped with a really difficult year, and I'm sure it isn't unconnected to my determination to hit Fifty running! Well, I shan't quite be doing that - unfortunately my two favourite gym activities (running and rowing) are off the menu now, but I shall just have to find something else I love! I do feel a little sad because I know that exercise and fitness is a long-term thing, and I thought I had started in good time, two years before my fiftieth. I've told my PT (Jade) that she might have to boost my morale a little and help me be excited about what I DO achieve by my birthday - but it's still over 3 months away and I'm sure I shall see quite a difference.

I saw the doctor, who has signed me off until May 27th - so I shall be going back into work for the last day of term. I can do that! My BIGGEST news (the thing I couldn't talk about earlier in the year) is that I have decided to leave my job and see what comes to fill the cognitive gap... It's a calculated risk - Plan A is to do Supply teaching - but I am thrilled because I have been getting frustrated with myself; I've been wanting to leave this job for over three years, and I've never quite plucked up the courage before.

It's finally occurred to me that after the last few months, I can probably cope with pretty much anything. I am so good at encouraging other people to follow their dreams, to go for it (whatever 'it' is) - and it's been strange to see myself unable to do that. I felt there was some reason, that the timing wasn't right... but deep down I feared I'd lost my nerve and would never be able to leave.

And suddenly - the moment was there, gleaming in front of me like a polished gem, and I seized it.

I resign at the end of this month (my line manager was very supportive) and my contract ends on the 31st August - the day after my fiftieth birthday.

Exciting times!!

Birthday Girl!!

This was very remiss of me. Sophie Cat was 15 on the 8th of May. As I'm a single middle-aged woman, she is obviously a very important part of my cliched life! (Can't do accents, sorry!) She is such a character and has rather taken over my Facebook page these last few months, when I've been confined to the house and had very little else to write about and take pictures of!

Sophie has always had a healing ministry and has taken great care of my knee. This week she suddenly got up from where she was lying on the sofa and got into a very strange position with her front paws gently on my knee. The look on her face was one of prayer (you don't have to agree, but it really was!)

This amused me...

The other day I was in WHSmiths and I kept hearing this weird, high-pitched little voice go '"TCHOOOOOO!"

And I realised it was a woman about my age who was doing the first part of a sneeze (the spluttery part) and then waiting two seconds and then SAYING, "TCHOOOO!" as though she had been taught how to sneeze.

The third time she did it I began to laugh - it was somewhere round the back of a huge bookcase and was coming at me from random angles - and the fourth time I started to guffaw....

And then realised I was next to her husband. Who was obviously very embarrassed.

We all left quite hurriedly. But it was one of the funniest things I've ever heard!

Dancing the Political Limbo Dance

So - here we are, still waiting! Serves us right for having our Election under a retrograde Mercury, perhaps... Fascinating stuff, the first election I have ever stayed up all night for (usually I drift to sleep around 2am). Even the cat seemed to be taking an interest.

I think Nick Clegg is playing a very clever game here - I hope out of reasoned honesty, but who knows with politicians? He has been seen to Do The Right Thing and if talks with the Tories come to nothing, nobody can accuse him of not trying (although they will, obviously, this being politics). And he is now talking to Labour, so anxious supporters can't say he wouldn't talk to them... I fear despite the heightened similarities between policies, there is much UnCommon ground. Milliband scares me, and I can only imagine the tabloids if we ended up with a Prime Minister called Balls...

It is very interesting to watch the younger people I know and realise how much I am NOT an idealist these days. There is a clear online split between those who remember the LibLab pact in 1974, and those who don't. Personally I feel more anxious about the current Labour party than I do about the Tories, though I accept this may be misguided.

My concern about Cameron has ALWAYS been that I wonder if he is truly naive enough to believe that he could carry the whole party forwards. There is a reason we use the word 'conservative' to mean people who prefer the old ways, after all.

I am fascinated to see Clegg and Cameron apparently morphing into the same person (with a touch of Blair and Paul Merton thrown in on Clegg's side). If they do work together, they could superimpose the images and save on posters.

So - watch this space. Part of me wonders if at some austerely-set breakfast table, Prince Phillip is urging the Queen on: "Come on Lizzie, it's the only thing you haven't done and you may not have long left - call a ruddy Election! You know you want to!"

Time will tell.

Meanwhile, I go to see the surgeon today to hear exactly what happened when he looked inside my knee - and hopefully to find out when I will be able to go upstairs without grunting like a geriatric female tennis player serving an ace.

Plus ca change...

"...and when he got in his car, he called her a BIGOT!" The woman's face was incredulous.
"No," her friend replied, ""he said she wor BIGOTED."
"Same difference i'ntit? Whatever. He shouldn't have said it."
The bus changed gear to turn left into Pankhurst Street. There was a squeal from the little girl across the aisle - her mother gripping her arm just a little too tightly as the bus swung round. I caught her eye and flinched at the pain I saw; the stoicism in that little face was far too practised for someone so young.
"SHURRup, Emily, or you'll not be getting any tea," the woman said roughly.

A protest rose to my lips but died instantly as her mother glared defiantly at me with an air of savage challenge. The two friends behind me were still talking politics.
"Did you see the debate last night?"
"No - I'm not interested. They're all liars. They don't care what happens to the country as long as they can line their pockets at the tax-payers' expense. I don't vote for ANY bugger, I don't."
"What - yer never vote?"
"No I bloody don't, Jackie. Why should I waste five minutes of me life when nothing's ever going to change?"

There was another squeal from the little girl. I glanced across, avoiding her mother's gaze, and our eyes briefly met again. Her face was contorted into an expression of mute distress. Was I imagining it, or was that a fading bruise on her cheek?

"But I always think we SHOULD vote, Sandra - I mean... women DIED so we could vote. I teck it very seriously, I do."
"Bully fer you! I just don't trust ANY of 'em. Look at what THIS lot have done. Bled the country dry! Taxes, VAT, benefits cuts... do they think we're bloody stupid, or summat?"

"Emily! STOP it, yer little sod." The words were harsh. I couldn't see what the little girl was supposed to have done, but her misery was tangible. I squirmed in my seat, cold fingers of unease gripping my chest, but unwilling to speak in case I made things worse. And anyway, what could I possibly say? I felt powerless to extricate this little girl from the grip of a malevolent authority.

The bus reached the end of Pankhurst Street and pulled into the terminus. The remaining passengers stood up and slowly filed to the door. Emily and her mother were just ahead of me; the woman pushed her impatiently towards the exit and the child tripped and fell heavily onto the pavement. It must have really hurt - blood was seeping from her knees - but she made no sound, even when she got a clip round the ear 'for being bloody clumsy'.

Sandra and Jackie were still arguing about whether it was worth voting. My eyes were still on the sad little figure going home to God-knew-what.
"The point is, Jackie, nothing's ever going ter change."

I was afraid she was right.

The woman with the drip on her nose.

I still can't drive after my surgery. So when I had to go to town to post off my novel to an agent, I caught the bus.

I've always loved buses. When I was tiny my Mum and I sometimes used to take the bus on a Friday to see a friend of hers. It was a trolley bus - and all these years later, I still remember the excited hum as we rattled along the roads.

When we lived in France I usually drove, but sometimes I would take the bus to Antibes, marvelling at the scenery as it wound through the beautiful little villages on its way to the coast.

Yesterday I spent the obligatory half hour in the Post Office, felt an excited little skip of my heart as my precious parcel disappeared behind the counter, had a delicious lunch in the Veggie cafe, and set off for home.

There were a lot of people waiting at the stop. I was glad that I had remembered to get there before rush hour. To our dismay, a totally empty bus pulled in and left again without picking any passengers up. I witnessed a heartening little exchange between a middle-aged woman at the stop and a young couple who walked past, which went something like this:
Young man: "Ey! Sithee our mother! Yer reet?"
Woman: (grinning) "Aye! Ah wor reet an' all before you showed up, yer bugger!"

I love Derbyshire!

Eventually another bus arrived and we piled in - and by now it was a crush of people pushing rather anxiously to get home and start their evening. An old lady sat next to me. She had a distant, vague expression on her face so I didn't intrude by speaking to her, as I very often do. (Random conversations with strangers are one of my great joys in life). I noticed her beautifully-coiffed hair - almost remarked on it (I like to give compliments) but thought better of it as she looked frail and I didn't want to frighten her by forcing well-intentioned conversation on her.

The bus pulled away and as we drove along the passengers were still trying to settle, gently swarming up and down like bees on a hive. I glanced at the woman next to me and saw that she had a drip on the end of her nose - a drip as perfectly formed as a crystal ball. Part of me was disgusted (I have had an 'issue' with nasal discharge since my first day at school - the only thing I remember was Alan Wilcox's nose running into his milk as he drank it), and part of me was fascinated. I could see another woman passenger glancing surreptitiously from time to time; we were both, I'm sure, waiting for the moment when the drip would fall from her nose and land on her hand. It occurred to me that she might sneeze it off, as my cat sometimes does, and that she might well be facing in my direction when that happened. I edged towards the window.

Now I heard a humming sound. I don't know whether it was the old lady or a phone somewhere behind us, but in my mind she began to take on a more sinister persona, the Mad SnotWoman of Chesterfield, who sits on buses waiting - just waiting - for the drip on her nose to be fully ripe before breaking into loud singing, jumping to her feet and shaking her head, spattering liquid bogeys to the winds.

I could feel that my whole body had tensed up. Did she know about the drip, I wondered, which was still hanging, defying gravity, larger by the second and yet tenaciously clinging to the end of that ancient nose. Could she perhaps not FEEL it? I felt helpless - it isn't done to wipe a stranger's nose, after all... and then - she was only a mad old woman, probably she didn't mind...

My fellow passenger was watching more openly now, as amazed as I was that still the drip was growing larger. I suddenly felt as though I was in some black and white short, as though we were in some Brechtian silent movie.

And then...

...she patted her pocket furtively. And fruitlessly. This changed everything.

She knew. She was no longer some batty old woman with no awareness of her bodily functions. In my mind she shrank back from sinister ogre to elderly, probably lonely, woman who knew that her last shred of dignity would disappear with the drip.

What am I thinking??? Suddenly I felt ashamed for giving those thoughts headspace. I had been thinking how she reminded me of my mother, that vague, unseeing face... and how Mum once escaped from her care home and went on an impromptu (and unpaid-for) bus ride to a town about ten miles away.

There was a brief window, a moment when I could intervene before she forgot what she had been looking for, and I seized it.

Fumbling in my bag, I found a tissue - I'd used it to catch a hay fever sneeze, but on balance I knew I would rather have had that than the miraculous Drip. I spoke to her for the first time.
"Would you like a tissue?"
She started, suddenly focusing on me with eyes which seemed perfectly sane. I repeated my offer.
"Oh! Thank you! Thank you so much..!" She was all smiles and relief, and attacked the drip with relish, folding the tissue again and again over her humiliation. I murmured how annoying, how you never have a tissue that one time you need one... she gladly agreed.

And then we talked. We spoke of politics, the weather, foreign places we had both visited... This was an educated woman, my neighbour on the bus.

She got off before me. I saw her shoes for the first time. They were faux-crocodile, in shimmering, metallic pastel shades which exactly matched the colours running through her skirt. This was a woman with style. A woman who cared about her image. A woman whom I had left to sit with a drip on her nose because I thought she didn't care.

Big Fish!

I just wanted to share this picture - it was one of the strangest sights I've ever seen. I don't think the Canada Goose was too keen... and there was only ONE duckling on the entire, huge lake... :(

Leg ahoy!

Well - I'm back home after the surgery - I went in at 7.30 yesterday and my sister collected me at 3.30 (she came at 2.15 but I was very dizzy after some codeine so they kept me in for a bit longer).

I was supposed to be second on the list but as they suspected a latex allergy when they screened me last week, and the bloods hadn't come back, I was bumped up to first. I had been pretty nervous the night before but knew I'd be fine once I got there. My blood pressure was very high - not surprisingly - but the nurse reassured me I'd be fine later. I quite enjoyed the ride down to theatre - the staff were all so kind and chatty. I was wheeled into theatre at 9 on the dot, and the anaesthetist made me laugh by asking me something about golf... I talked right till I went to sleep; the last thing I said was, "I'm closing my eyes now, I'm off - hope he finds the bone!"

And then I woke up.

Although I didn't have my glasses on, the clocks were so big that I could see it was 10.10 and immediately realised I hadn't been gone too long. Apparently I was in theatre for 33 minutes (very precise!) and I knew it must have gone well to be so quick.

My nurse in Recovery had a name badge which said, "Michael Bond' and I said, "Did you write Paddington?" He smiled and said, "Yes! Not many people realise that! Most people think I'm James' brother!" O what wit and banter straight after an anaesthetic! My mouth was really really dry, and he kept bringing me little sticks to suck - I must have got through about fifteen of them, and I couldn't stop shaking. I've seen my daughter go through this which was a good thing cos I remembered that it does stop eventually! My head was remarkably clear in fact. I started crying and I asked for a tissue and said, "I know it's only the anaesthetic, but I feel really emotional!!"

When I went back to the ward, I had lots of iced water - my mouth was still terribly dry. Finally I was allowed tea, and as I drank it I thought, "oooh that's better!" but as soon as I drained the mug, my mouth was dry again. I must have had about seven mugs of tea, and they brought toast - the first bite I took was delicious for about a millisecond, and then it stuck to my palate and I couldn't budge it!

Still - they kept bringing the tea, and I even got onto Rich Tea biscuits, which were very welcome! My blood pressure was back down to normal, thank goodness.

I didn't see the surgeon but he'd left notes. Apparently he hasn't done anything to the bone - he'd written: BONE HEALED - but he has done something to the cartilage. So there must have been a tear the scan missed, I guess. I'll know when I see him in a few weeks - aparently he took photos so I hope it's interesting! Anyway I am off crutches - took them back to the other hospital today - and I can climb the stairs without groaning. I'm still on painkillers as you are advised to keep on top of the pain, but it's nothing like it was. I have lots of exercises to do and BOTH my knees click, which makes me a little nervous, but mobility is the main thing for now, so I shall keep at it! Tomorrow the nurse omces to re-dress the wound, and I'll get to see my leg (which the surgeon carefully labelled: LEFT LEG - SCOPE) in black ink, and painted with iodine during the op, so it's a bit of a sight...

So far, so good! :)

Oh! - and I DON'T have a latex allergy. Which is good news. Glad I got bumped up the list though...

The women either side of me were being questioned on admission, as you are, and it made me sad to hear that one of them had emphysema, asthma and angine - the other had asthma and a chronic cough... and they both smoked 15 - 20 a day.

WHY?? :(

And so it goes on...

Hi again, sorry for the lack of posts; this is partly due to sheer exhaustion but also due to the fact that some of the major developments in my life aren't for public consumption (yet).

Anyway - I have been back at work for a few weeks - on Easter holidays at the moment - and next Monday (12th April) I have an operation to try to sort out the knee. I saw the specialist last week and he was really lovely - explained that they are trying to locate a missing bit of bone surface which sort of flaked off, taking the protective cartilage with it, which is why there's been so much pain... Either they will find it and 'tack it back on' or they won't, and will debride (smooth off) the bone and I think fill it with something, not quite sure what he said...

So next Monday my dear friend Doris will take me to hospital bright and early, and my dear sister Pam will come and collect me mid-afternoon and take me home again. And depending on what they've done, I'll be off work again for between two and eight weeks. My boss very kindly offered to send me out in a taxi but unless there was also a sherpa to carry my bags I'm not quite sure how much use that would be!

I've really enjoyed my time alone in the house - even more now I'm back at work. There definitely is a touch of the hermit in me... I have recently bought a limited edition pack of the Gaian Tarot by Joanna Powell-Colbert, and I can't say how beautiful it is. I've never read cards before but it's funny - the first time I tried, it felt as though I was playing a piece I knew really well on the piano. These are particularly beautiful cards (the old ones always made me feel as though someone was drying my soul out, somehow, so I never liked them). I am going to study and hopefully will be able to do readings for other people at some stage.

I miss my daughters a lot from time to time, but I am so proud of them - so proud I could burst, really. What a privilege to have raised such wonderful young women. I really feel as though I've done my bit to make the world a better place!

And it's Spring! Sunshine! Light nights!! :D

So - in a good place really! I hope you are too...

BACK AT WORK! :)

This morning I went back to work! Not for the whole day, but still - a good part of it, for the first time since the beginning of October. I feel like a new girl again, but I'll soon be back in the swing.

I don't want to bore with details, but to cut a five-month long story short, I saw an Orthopaedic specialist on Monday, and he's going to operate to have a look inside my knee, and possibly drill and screw a bit of bone... I don't think he's sure until he looks, and still nobody can tell me what happened, how or why - perhaps I'll have a few answers soon.

Anyway - till then, I'm still on crutches (can't have Physio until after surgery) so my manager is easing me carefully back into the saddle... But it's good to be back, although I have to admit in lots of ways I didn't at all mind being at home; once the terrible pain lessened I did a lot of meditation and rested up, and people think I'm looking great!

So yet another new experience awaits me in this golden year! lol

:)

Gulf Stream

Last night I watched 'Coast' - I usually forget, but this week's programme on Ireland had caught my attention and I was captivated by the landscape and history of the place.

At one point there was a diagram of the Gulf Stream, and a reminder of all the warmth and fertility it brings to Western Europe. As I thought about it, I was struck by how we each have the choice of what to make of our lives, and how we relate to other people.

My personal mission statement is: "I want to make the world a happier place." It covers just about everything - writing, chatting, listening, joking, baking, being there for people... Last night I went to sleep thinking that I'd like to be a human Gulf Stream - bringing warmth and comfort to people when I can, rather than making their lives cold and icy.

When you go through divorce, it doesn't matter where 'the fault' lies (I think it's incredibly rare for it all to be one side though) - you are faced with choices every day about whether to be as loving and gracious as possible, or whether to go for the jugular, demand what you can, get something for YOU out of it... etc. I know everyone's situation differs and I would never dream of judging somebody for how they handle their relationships, but I did try to be as amicable as possible - and I have to say, that has left me with very few regrets.

The Gulf Stream goes out of its way for us, really. It surreptitiously makes the most tremendous difference. It goes largely unnoticed and nobody thinks to thank it. And yet it serves its purpose in life. I have no idea whether a water current can feel fulfilled, but it ought to...

Not a bad model for life! :)

Just show up and watch what happens!

Hi,
well - not had a lot to say really, so haven't! But just so you know, I'm still feeling enthusiastic about my year, if rather surprised at how it's turned out so far!

I'm still waiting to see the specialist about my knee - there was a brief flurry the other week, when I thought I was going back to work, but the GP said I shouldn't really go back until I'd seen the specialist. As far as I know, that's going to be in about three weeks... I'm having another chat with the GP tomorrow - my main concern is that I haven't yet had physio, and the other knee was very sore for a while (until I switched how I used the crutches to support it for a while instead). I've fallen through every gap in the system but - I can't help feeling there is some purpose to it all somehow. Anyway I can't change anything by worrying, so there's no point is there?!

Meantime I've been doing lots of reading and meditating. I grow more and more fascinated by the thought that nothing is solid - I mean, obviously it is, but it isn't, not at the molecular level. Just as I have always been stunned by the fact that all the things I do online which look so real on screen are fuelled by a series of ones and zeros, so my 'real' life is basically a load of energy pulses at various frequencies. On a sub-atomic level we are in constant motion, as are tables, plants, mountains and planets. I find that mind-blowing.

As I've read about meditation, I've been interested to come across the concept of the sound of 'Aaah' as the Sound of God. When I was a little girl, I had a phobia about this very sound - and I could never quite put into words the feeling it evoked in me. If people were chatting and I could see one of them understanding a point and getting ready to say, "Ah! I see what you mean!" I would shiver in terror, but couldn never explain properly as I couldn't say the word. I came to know it as my 'Ah!' feeling but even saying that frightened me.

I wonder now. I wonder if that feeling (as though the whole world was in my chest, spinning around out of control and so big I would explode) isn't a little akin to the feeling people in the Bible had when they were struck dumb by the presence of angels. I wasn't in a place to give it a spiritual interpretation back then, but now I wonder...

For the first time, I am living in an empty nest - my daughters now both live abroad. I was fairly sure I'd be fine, but having never lived alone before (I don't count student digs, where there is always someone around!) I didn't quite know what to expect.

The first couple of days were a little strange, a definite feeling of bereavement and emptiness - but it happened to be when the snow was at its worst and I was pretty literally stuck in the house. As I'm still using crutches and feeling quite disabled in some ways, it was a very strange time, as though Someone was saying, "Your nest is empty, and you are going to have to sit in it all week and think about it!" Which was actually quite a good tactic for me - it's how I used to deal with all my old phobias; I've always faced fear by mentally picking it up by the scruff of the neck and facing it until it holds no more fear. (My theory is that there are two types of people - the ones who react to toothache by booking the earliest appointment possible, and the ones who put off the dentist as long as they can. I'm the first kind - I see procrastinating as prolonging the worry of the inevitable!)

So - I sat in my house (feeling quite trapped, I must admit) and Faced it Out.

And I feel fine. I'm enjoying having my own space. I can be quiet when I want (which is a lot) and I can read, and I can fill the fridge with things I love to eat but wouldn't necessarily impose on my daughters. (Although I have discovered I've developed an allergy to lychees, which is really annoying - since I started with hayfever I have become allergic to some fruits and nuts, fortunately not majorly, but enough to stop me enjoying them).

I went for a walk in the park a few days ago and was suddenly overwhelmed with memories of being there with my daughter, and the time I ran a race there and she popped out of the crowd to take a photo - and I did stop for a cry, but that's okay. I've worked for many years to get in touch with my feelings; I'm not going to stop them coming up or be afraid of them. Anyway some of those tears were for my knee I think! I can't quite imagine ever running again, although I think it's highly likely I shall.

I've always had moments where my heart has been gripped by a sudden nostalgia, when I walk past an Early Learning Centre, for example, or see someone with two little girls in a cafe... in French, 'nostalgie' is 'homesickness' - and I think that's a very good description of those feelings - homesickness for the past. I suspect a lot of the Empty Nest stuff people go through is about realising just how far away that past is, a country they can't ever visit again. We are all refugees, in a way.

And yet - what about the present? The future? I can't help feeling excited about what my life will be in 6 months, 6 years from now... After all, if it's all down to bundles of energy shifting around in some incomprehensibly intelligent fashion, then there is A Purpose to my life, and all I have to do is show up every day and watch what happens!

Global Warming...???

I just found yet another site linking to sceptics commenting on the climate debate. Very interesting; yet another case of, "You pays your money and you takes your choice".

Which caused me to smile to myself - for many years I have been convinced that Science is as much a matter of faith as Religion. It's all very well for someone to say, "The numbers PROVE theories about gravity/virus replication/etc." I have to have faith that the numbers prove it. I suppose the scientists' answer would be, "Ah - but theology can never be KNOWN - whereas if you were a good enough mathematician, you would understand the figures PROVE these things."

However - I'm not. The fact that the figures work if you are good enough at Maths is something I've always had to take on faith.

I suppose I was an iconoclast from an early age, what with a mother who steadfastly refused to believe in gravity. ("So why do things fall down when you drop them?" Mum: "Because they're heavy." "WHY are they heavy?" Mum: "Because they weigh a lot") It was perhaps this background that led me to be uneasy at school when, as in variably happened, the Science teachers would review our carefully-planned experiments and instruct us to put in the results we ought to have got. Nobody will ever convince me that this doesn't happen on a larger scale, especially when grants and funding are involved. You can call it a lack of trust in the scientific community, a lack of faith, if you like...

I am no longer a Christian. There came a point where my observations led me to believe that, like my schoolteachers, the results were being fixed. I still have a spirituality, though, and some of that has come from learning about science - the way we are all interconnected, the wonderful way we seem to bring about change by observing the world at sub-atomic levels, research into memory... all of which, of course, I have to take on faith.

Now - this might not have mattered very much, One woman's view of the world is perhaps not that significant. But the current crisis for Science surely has to be that the Global Warming issue is NOT about Progress versus Ignorance, it is about two sets of people with diametrically opposed views, ALL of whom can 'prove' they are right. Mathematically. Which to choose? How does the average person know which to believe?

The Global Warming bandwagon is a heavy and expensive one. It is now beyond thinking that it should be shown to be based on incorrect science. This, of course, doesn't mean that Global Warming is not happening, even though it seems more and more counter-intuitive.

I have to hold my hand up here as someone who never quite believed in the 'New Ice Age', which some of my readers may be too young to remember. Over thirty years ago, we were terrified on a regular basis by warnings of the New Ice Age. Funnily enough, I don't remember there ever being an announcement that this wasn't going to happen after all; I think the scientific community just cast the belief aside, and - like an embarrassed teenager being reminded they used to believe in Santa Claus - never really talked about it again.

Well - I have the luxury apparently not afforded to scientists of being able to say that I simply don't know what the truth is. It's a shame they have painted themselves into the corner of Infallibility - it would be so much easier all round if they were able to utter those humble words, "We don't know."

Faith and Science are not that far apart...

Happy New Year!

Hi, sorry to be a little late with this, but it's All Go at my house. My younger daughter is getting ready to move abroad, a HUGE and exciting event for all of us (she was very ill for a long time and this wasn't even dreamable for years) and we threw her a surprise party - great fun when it happened but a bit of a logistical nightmare, which ended up in me (on crutches) going to a supermarket on the day to get everything that had been promised but not delivered by various people! So blogging wasn't the first thing on my mind!

Anyway - last night I had a random thought which felt blogworthy - so here it is.

I was talking to my daughters and said, "The Church should be thoroughly ashamed of itself for letting the Diet Industry steal the concept of Sin."

By which I mean this: Sin is about selfishness, hatred and destruction. It is NOT about one extra sandwich, or a Snickers bar, or wanting a hot chocolate. The greed which leads us to overeat is NOT a sin. It is a misreading of our needs, a means of comforting ourselves, or protecting ourselves, or of being a Bigger (and therefore safer) Presence in the world or - God forbid, maybe we just enjoy food - which is after all an important part of life. Sometimes we eat to stuff a Food lid on uncomfortable feelings, or because the act of eating was our only pleasant part of childhood (everyone was too busy to argue) so we recreate our own little emotional food-cocoon. There are as many reasons for overeating as there are overeaters - and it's good to gain control, I'm not saying just go ahead and be obese, but...

It is an insult to the raped, abused, murdered, pillaged, slaughtered, bereaved, disenfranchised, disinherited, deceived and despairing throughout history to allow people who get fat on the misery of the overweight to call their appetite 'SIN'.

It makes me sick to think that as well as already low self esteem, people are persuaded that they are overweight (if indeed they really are) because they need to stop sinning. Because everyone knows, deep down, that sin is serious stuff.

Hitler ordered the murder over 6,000,000 people. THAT was sin.
And yes, small things too, like allowing ourselves to habitually lie, steal, cheat... they too are sins because they don't add to the overall well-being of humankind.

So if someone eats a bit too much and lets that be associated in their mind with Hitler at some level, what is that going to do to them?

Probably make them feel so bad that they reach for another biscuit...

I feel really, REALLY strongly about this, because I see so many lovely people who are convinced they would be fine a little lighter, then perhaps a little more, then maybe skeletal... and paying good money to organisations who basically exist to make them feel bad about themselves so they can rake in the money.

FOR GOD'S SAKE! (Literally)

It is not a sin to overeat. It's not a good choice - it doesn't help you to be healthy - but it is NOT a SIN! We sin in many ways at many times, I'm sure - but eating a bar of chocolate does NOT put you in a bracket with Adolph Hitler!

Get a sense of perspective, and stop paying other people to make you feel bad about yourself!

Thanks. That's better! :)