That's a reference to the wonderful Michael McIntyre, whose show I saw the other week. He did a whole set about how people can never believe it's October. ("It was just AUGUST! What happened to SEPTEMBER?!")
But it's true. I've let the time fly past this month with hardly a blog, because so much has happened that I've hardly drawn breath.
My daughter had a (thankfully very minor) accident in her car, I performed in the town Arts Festival, was busy at work...
WAS busy at work.
The Leg - more precisely, the Knee - had other ideas. It feels as though a rat with very blunt teeth is slowly gnawing through the bone. I've had a blood test for Rheumatoid Arthritis. I'm hoping it's not that, though I have been ignoring some mild symptoms for the last few years.
I've now had four weeks off work with another sick-note until November 9th. The pain, I explained to the doctor, was about an 18 on a scale of 1 - 10. (And this from a woman who had both her babies without any painkillers at all).
I'm hobbling round like a good'un, and am considering writing to ask if I could be the New Face of Stannah Stairlifts.
The doctor isn't quite sure what's wrong, but I'm beginning to accumulate fluid on the knee and the pain isn't easing at all, quite the reverse. He muttered something about sending me to Someone Who can Do Something.
SO - my challenge in all this is to see how it fits into my wonderful 50th year...
Not difficult, actually, given that life is never predictable and it's perfectly okay in my book to include some hard times in a wonderful year. So what if I LOOK 85 as I limp through the supermarket? I'm still alive and happy to be so!
I've had time to type up most of my poetry, which will make it easier to send to people and put online. I'm thinking about the future, and taking time to read. I'm making the most of this opportunity to rest and just Be. I can't do any housework which involves crouching or bending, as I can't guarantee being able to get back up (my daughter had to help me last time, and I was crying with pain before I managed to stand back up!)
But - there's always the memories of Michael McIntyre to see me through!
So - I'll just see what happens. It's different, that's for sure.
Friday, 30 October 2009
Sunday, 4 October 2009
For the little girl in Costa Coffee this afternoon...
I wrote this poem this afternoon in a coffee shop, watching the most beautiful little girl - she looked as though she'd been polished with Baby Brite! I hope you like it.
She sits in a high chair,
Fist holding tightly
The crumbs from the biscuit
Her daddy just gave her.
A CRASH in the corner,
Now everyone’s looking;
A flustered young waiter
Picks glass off the floor.
She gazes a moment,
Then back to her biscuit –
Pays no attention,
Gets on with her task.
She’s only ten months, yet
Has learnt very early
To mind her own business
And do as she’s asked.
But now she is glancing
Across to the kitchen
Her eyebrows are question marks,
Mouth a wide ‘O’.
The grown-ups are chatting,
The noise is forgotten
Except by the baby,
Who’s wanting to know
“What was it? Who did it?
And why did it happen? And
What made the noises? And
How does glass break?”
She catches my eye, and
A look of intelligence
Flashes between us –
And that’s all it takes.
A brief recognition
Of something in common;
I smile, and she grins
As she chews on a spoon
My heart melts, and I whisper,
“Enjoy it, dear baby!
It goes oh, so quickly!
Have fun with your life,
You’ll be all grown-up soon!”
Then I feel someone looking,
Glance over my shoulder
And see an old woman
With snowy white hair.
She nods, and her eyes
Send me the same message,
“Enjoy being young! Have some fun if you dare!”
She’s smiling and beautiful,
Calm and serene, with
Long years of happiness
Etched on her face.
I look, and am heartened,
And know beyond doubt
That the key to growing old
Is to do it with grace.
Never stop questioning,
Let curiosity
Keep you alive and
Thirsting for more.
And don’t let regrets
Quench your pride in maturing –
Welcome each day
As it knocks on the door.
Live like a baby,
With hope and abandon,
Use all your energy
Learning to play.
Don’t use half-measures,
Cram buckets of laughter
As many as possible
Into each day.
She sits in a high chair,
Fist holding tightly
The crumbs from the biscuit
Her daddy just gave her.
A CRASH in the corner,
Now everyone’s looking;
A flustered young waiter
Picks glass off the floor.
She gazes a moment,
Then back to her biscuit –
Pays no attention,
Gets on with her task.
She’s only ten months, yet
Has learnt very early
To mind her own business
And do as she’s asked.
But now she is glancing
Across to the kitchen
Her eyebrows are question marks,
Mouth a wide ‘O’.
The grown-ups are chatting,
The noise is forgotten
Except by the baby,
Who’s wanting to know
“What was it? Who did it?
And why did it happen? And
What made the noises? And
How does glass break?”
She catches my eye, and
A look of intelligence
Flashes between us –
And that’s all it takes.
A brief recognition
Of something in common;
I smile, and she grins
As she chews on a spoon
My heart melts, and I whisper,
“Enjoy it, dear baby!
It goes oh, so quickly!
Have fun with your life,
You’ll be all grown-up soon!”
Then I feel someone looking,
Glance over my shoulder
And see an old woman
With snowy white hair.
She nods, and her eyes
Send me the same message,
“Enjoy being young! Have some fun if you dare!”
She’s smiling and beautiful,
Calm and serene, with
Long years of happiness
Etched on her face.
I look, and am heartened,
And know beyond doubt
That the key to growing old
Is to do it with grace.
Never stop questioning,
Let curiosity
Keep you alive and
Thirsting for more.
And don’t let regrets
Quench your pride in maturing –
Welcome each day
As it knocks on the door.
Live like a baby,
With hope and abandon,
Use all your energy
Learning to play.
Don’t use half-measures,
Cram buckets of laughter
As many as possible
Into each day.
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
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?
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?
Monday, 28 September 2009
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!
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!
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
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!
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!
Monday, 21 September 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, 19 September 2009
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!
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!
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